The quiet is the first thing you notice. Not silence, exactly, but the absence of other voices. On a solo hike in Scandinavia, the forest does its own talking — wind in the pines, a distant waterfall, your own boots on the path. It's a good kind of quiet, once you get used to it.
I won't pretend the first few times are easy. There's a hum of nervousness that follows you up the trail. But that hum fades with every kilometre, and what replaces it is something worth the effort: a deep, uncomplicated sense of being exactly where you should be.
The trick is to build that confidence on purpose, not by accident. Start on popular, well-marked routes where you'll meet other hikers. Save the remote terrain for later, when your skills have caught up with your ambition. There is no shame in taking the easy path first. That's how you learn.
Tell someone where you're going
Before you leave the car park, send your plan to someone reliable. A live location share works well, or a simple check-in schedule — a text when you start, another when you reach the summit, one more when you're back at the trailhead.
This isn't paranoia. It's just smart. If something goes wrong, the search area is smaller, and the rescue happens faster. Your mum doesn't need to track your every step, but one person knowing your route is the difference between a good story and a bad one.
I have a friend who sends his wife a screenshot of his planned route every time he goes out. She thinks it's sweet. It's actually the most practical thing he does.
Choose trails you can actually handle
Solo hiking is not the time to push your limits. On a group hike, someone can help you down a tricky scramble or lend you a warmer layer. Alone, you are your own backup plan, and that changes the calculation.
Pick routes within your skill level. If you're unsure about a trail, err on the side of boring. A flat, easy walk with a nice view beats a stressful, overambitious route where you spend half the day wondering if you've made a terrible mistake.
You can always come back and do the harder route later, with more experience under your belt. The mountains aren't going anywhere.
Trust your gut
Here's something I've learned the hard way: your instincts are usually right. That uneasy feeling when the weather turns, or when the path looks sketchier than you expected — that's not weakness. That's your brain processing information you haven't consciously registered yet.
Turning back is always valid. There's no prize for finishing a hike you didn't enjoy, and no one is keeping score. I've turned around more times than I can count, and I've never once regretted it. The walk back is just more time outdoors.
If something feels off, it probably is. Listen to that voice.
Learn to navigate without your phone
Phone GPS is brilliant right up until it isn't. Batteries die, screens crack, and signal disappears in valleys. You should be comfortable navigating with a paper map and compass long before you need to.
This isn't hard. It's a weekend of practice, maybe two. Learn how to orient the map, take a bearing, and identify landmarks. Once you have those basics, your phone becomes a convenience rather than a lifeline.
I'm not saying you should leave the phone at home. I'm saying you should be able to survive without it. There's a difference, and it's a comforting one to have.
Gear that earns its place
Solo hiking changes what you pack. You're carrying everything yourself, so weight matters, but you also have no one to borrow from. Here's what I consider non-negotiable, and none of it is exotic:
- A fully charged phone plus a small power bank. The power bank weighs almost nothing and can save your day.
- Offline maps downloaded before you leave signal. Do this at home, not on the trail. It takes two minutes and costs nothing.
- An emergency whistle on your pack strap. It's lighter than a shout and carries further. Three blasts is the universal distress signal.
- A satellite messenger for truly remote multi-day routes. This is the one piece of gear I'd never skip on long trips where you're more than a day from help.
That's it. No need for a satellite phone or a personal locator beacon for a day hike on a popular trail. The messenger is for the big stuff.
Hiking poles are not just for old people
I used to think poles were for people with bad knees. Then I tried them on a rocky descent, and I understood my mistake. When you're alone, a stumble that would be embarrassing with company can be a real problem. Poles give you an extra two points of contact with the ground, and that stability matters.
They're especially useful on uneven terrain, where one wrong step can twist an ankle. With poles, you're less likely to take that wrong step in the first place. And if you do, the poles can help you keep your balance.
They also give your arms something to do on long climbs. That's a nice bonus.
The fear fades with practice
I won't tell you the fear disappears entirely. It doesn't, and a little of it is healthy. It keeps you careful. But it does shrink, and it shrinks faster than you'd expect.
The first solo hike feels like a big deal. The tenth feels like a normal Tuesday. By the twentieth, you'll wonder why you ever hesitated. The quiet forests of Scandinavia were never the problem. The only thing standing between you and them was the idea that you needed someone else to go with you.
You don't. You just need a plan, some basic skills, and the willingness to turn around when the day calls for it. That's all. The rest is just walking.
About Erik Lindqvist
Erik Lindqvist is a Scandinavian trail guide and outdoor writer based in Norway. He has spent fifteen years hiking fjord paths, mountain ridges, and forest tracks across Norway, Sweden, and Iceland.