Blue sky and sunshine finally lure me out after a 12-hour hibernation. Yesterday took it out of me. Despite feeling a little heavy-limbed, it’s too fine a day to waste, so I’ll stick to the plan and hike the local six-mile Tindfjoll Circle in the mountains.
I’d rather not carry all my gear, but I’m moving to another campsite tonight. The first obstacle is the Krossa River.
Thankfully, there are a couple of bridges, avoiding an early morning freezing dip.
I pick up the narrow trail at Slyppugil Hut, winding up through the wooded valley. It’s another challenging trail, hugging the side of a dramatic valley, with a steep drop to my left and the mountain wall to my right.
A zig-zag path, off the trail, leads up the distinctive Rjupnafell mountain — tempting — but I’ll pass after yesterday’s exertions.
Approaching the most popular viewing point, a group of young women – student volunteers — are repairing the wooden steps. Unfortunately, they break for lunch just as I reach the top, spreading out along the cliff edge, with unexpected English accents discussing chutney.
They do like to make trails interesting in Iceland. The descent is not for the faint-hearted, twisting and turning along a series of ridges — but what wonderful views.
The sheltered Haradusar campsite is luxurious, with a restaurant, WiFi, Viking beer, hot showers, good music and delicious food. Civilisation before I set out north on the Laugavegur Trail tomorrow. The trail is only 35 miles long and I’d planned to take my time over three days. Unfortunately, there’s a storm warning for Friday, so I need to push hard to get ahead of it, condensing the walk into two days, which means a fun 20 miler tomorrow. Perhaps just the one beer then.
Next day
I’m first up and on the trail at 6 am, enjoying the warm morning among wooded alpine slopes.
The first river crossing is a shock to the system. The water is only knee-high but the piercing cold is painful. I feel nauseous, concentrating on working my way diagonally across as quickly as possible. No wonder people fall unconscious so quickly in deep icy water.
There are a few wild campers on the far bank, shaking out their tents. Cresting a hill, the land opens up and there’s no movement. I have it all to myself, as I’d hoped.
The walking is easy along stony tracks and dry riverbeds.
It’s late morning before I meet the first walkers travelling south.
After a calf-burning climb out of the river valley, constantly slipping back down a steep soil slope, Emstrur hut is a welcome sight. There’s a large communal tent for hikers and we swap notes. Everyone is changing plans to beat the storm.
Leaving the hut, the landscape changes once again. Black volcanic sand stretches to the horizon. This is no place for man.
A colourful ant column appears, which explains the huge pile of bags stacked at the last hut. I’d forgotten how much noise people can make, glad to pass them.
This is the least popular section of the trail, but the vast brooding space, dotted with mountains, is fascinating.
The skies darken, and rain falls as I discuss the best river crossing point with a small group hiking in the opposite direction. While we strip off and cross carefully in sandals, a couple of cyclists appear, leap straight into the water, carry their bikes across, and pedal off into the gloom. Hmmm, they don’t have to worry about blisters from wet socks.
The weather is worsening, but the views keep me going.
Alftavatn hut sits on the edge of a lake. I’d planned to camp, but I’m weary and the wind is picking up, so ask if there’s a spare bunk in the hut. I get the last spot, albeit in a room with three other women, which makes me feel a little awkward, unnecessarily so.
It’s a pleasant evening, chatting round the communal kitchen table, including two sisters around my age, one from London and the other living in California. I’ll sleep well, in preparation for a tough day tomorrow, climbing to the highest point on the trail.
Walk distance: 20 miles.
Total distance: 20 miles.