Landmannalaugar and the Laugavegur Trail

Have you ever felt an invisible happy hand reach down your throat and steal the sounds you think you need to scream when you see something spectacular? Something that forces your body into a silent moment of AWE? Yes... it is as beautiful and wonderful as they say. The Laugavegur Trail is Iceland's most popular hike and one of the world's top destinations, for good reason, too.

Sure, us adventurous types typically flee populated places to experience nature untouched. We want solitude and serenity... where no one else is... but Honey-Bun, there is enough beauty to go around for everyone! In fact, it brings me so much joy to see people out on their first hike in this kind of terrain. What better introduction to the great outdoors?

I made it to Landmannalaugar in time to find my resupply box and down two beers before setting off on the final stretch. This was an interesting resupply. A few weeks back in Reykjavík, I gave a bus driver 3,000 Króna in blind faith to deliver my food... no address, no recipient to sign for, just faith. Onward to a cloudy misty snow crossing with the sweet smell of sulfur fuming through my feet. I set up camp in a white out, close enough to about 40 other tents to hear them snore. I had to pee in my cook pot, since there were no trees to block the view and the outhouse was too far for my morning regularities. Nothing like salty coffee to remind you of your outdoorsyness? It wasn't until I unzipped my tent at 4:00am that I caught the first glimpse of the obsidian packed volcano snow bowl I slept in. I cried in awe of the beauty. Up and out, here we go.

I pushed past half a hundred people that day and made the questionable decision to stealth camp out of sight down a babbling brook gully. It's my last night on trail (potentially) and it feels so right to be here alone... listening to the water and wind. Only 25 miles to the lighthouse, Iceland's southernmost point. I'm happy and strong. I know someone or something is looking out for me and OH! how thankful I am. 

Two Days With Touratech

I tried to get a room at my next town stop, but they were booked out. All of Iceland is booked out. It’s a thing. This country is blowing up, the new global hot spot. The motorcyclists who passed me earlier happened to be in the lobby. They overheard my situation and found a spare mattress. WHAT LUCK! Touratech Sweden was on a 9 day backroads adventure across the country. It's pretty cool what they do... visiting the secret spots few people have the opportunity to see. 

No seriously… WHAT LUCK!!! I’m in the planning stages of a major international motorcycle tour. Come January, me and my step mom are doing a 3 month ride across Argentina to support our favorite hobby... wine tasting! I know very little about riding, so how cool to meet this professional team. It gets better, they took me for a ride along the next two days! Poor guys had to put up with a million questions all day long.

I promise you David, Mads and Carla... I will come visit in Sweden and I will arrive on my own bike! 

Facing Fear

The Nyidalur Hut: what a wonderful place to sleep. Ok, it cost me $70 to share an attic lined with mattresses, cozy as a tin of sardines. No electricity. Just a handful of others, international explorers including the search and rescue team. You have to do these things when you visit a foreign land, sleep in expensive huts. When else do you have this opportunity?

I had the corner window view!

I love you Nyidalur Hut!

The caretaker had recently returned from a backcountry excursion in my same direction. She told me about another private hut not listed on the map and where they hid the key. Her directions, precise: follow your nose straight towards the Hofsjokull Glacier. Moments before I set out, a young Algerian photographer asked if I would like his new compass, since he was carrying two. Pre-trip, this was something I didn’t think I would need. I brought just a tiny, almost toy like thing — assuming the metal in the rocks would render it unusable. This silly idea came from the blogs I read in preparation, but one should ALWAYS have a good compass, especially with solo off-trail travel. Overwhelmed by his  generosity, I accepted the gift and gave him mine in return as a token of thanks. 

Well, the grey ash hills were simply wonderful leading to the glacier, so far removed from any road. Again, perfect weather — cloudy with a few blue patches providing a bit of light on the giant frozen mass. I probably hiked too hard and fast to keep a solid pace, but I made it. Even crossed a few rivers without getting my feet wet. Ending with the best night’s sleep.

It was completely white out when I woke up. I forced down a few more hours of sleep and then took my sweet time getting ready… meditating, photos, preparing my 'dry suit,' pooping, you know the routine. I pre-rolled 2 burritos and 5 cigarettes, in case the rain shouldn’t subside, and lined my shoes with plastic bags. Today would be wet. 

One of the reasons I wanted to hike Iceland was to face my fear of cold. I’m trying to broaden my skills and experience… push my comfort, if you will. Remember folks, I'm a California girl and have a cute allergy to snow. This is just my second year in the outdoor world. Oooooh baby, let's go!! These next 30 miles were on a 4x4 track so, no need to worry about navigation.

I screamed to the hills in excitement, once I confirmed my rain system was working. I can’t quite explain it… this feeling of euphoria, completely ecstatic with a teaspoon of pride. I proved to myself that I properly prepared for my biggest fear. I didn’t conquer it, no, more, I found a way through it. I’m still terrified of the cold, and I’m sure the storm wasn’t really that bad.. or maybe… just not that long.

About 5 hours into the wet freeze, I saw a little weather station, just like the one I remember reading about in Luc Mehl’s trip report packrafting across Iceland. Luc is a true adventurer… one of the big dogs, he's in a completely different league. Well, to find myself in a similar situation as him, it was almost like a dream! I cooked up a pot of ramen and giggled to my self with glee. So fucking happy. I’m doing it! On my own! Just like the cool cats! (Again, my journey can’t come close to comparison with these guys, but that’s how I felt). I’m not a failure! And I’m having fun! The time of my life! In the sole company of dead flies! I remembered Luc writing something about the temp readings being largely off the night they slept inside. I gave a quick kiss to the blue box thermostat, thinking I may have made a similar mark before setting back out. 

Several more hours of heavy rain and sleet. Two BMW touring bikes passed me and I gave the biggest smile and wave. Soon, 14 more… followed by a truck lugging their gear. I’ve never been so excited to see people, drenched in cold. I mean, they are bad ass motorcyclists touring Iceland. Walking is easy. Riding takes skill, not to mention the added danger factor. But here I was, crossing the same country, only me with all my gear on my back, at a much slower speed. I can’t wait to ride over foreign lands, and I can assure you that I already have this in my plans, but for now, I am just so happy to be here on foot.

Needless to say, it was a very good day! 

Crossing the Norhtern Highlands

This was supposed to be my most difficult section. I remember calling my sister from the airport describing where she could find my will, should my body go missing: a scribbled list of names and percentages in the front of my journal… as if I have anything more than a stinky collection of rocks and bones.

I set out with 10 days of food and 100 pounds of needless fear. I'm not sure which weighed more.

Perfect weather. Beautiful black sand dunes. Volcanic flowerless gardens. I went to sleep each night with watery eyes… tears of thanks, joy and confusion in how I got so lucky to experience this place.

A chunk of isolation. A slab of solitude. Vacant. Null. Desolate. Empty. Alone. Alone. Alone!

One early morning, I saw two alpinists ahead on a 4x4 track in the middle of nowhere. A speck of sand at first, growing in size each hour as they approached, until they towered over me, 4 meters high. Their smiles were priceless, but I couldn’t keep my eyes off the gear: ropes, ice axes, crampons. They just came off the glacier. Real Mountain Men. I felt their pride in me, this little American girl alone in the Northern Highlands, and mine in them. I’m just walking, nothing special. I have few skills other than to put one foot in front of the other. There was a sigh of mutual respect when we parted… since I couldn’t communicate in their Polish tongue. It was a silent respect in understanding how special it is for anyone, anyone at all, to make it to this remote part of the world. It didn’t matter what we were doing, simply that we were doing it. 

I made it to a “road” minutes after a storm rolled in. Finally, I get to try on my fisherman gloves! To my surprise, a van approached, the only car passing that day. It was loaded full of French tourists and they so graciously gave me a ride to the next hut along with some Chartreuse, Cognac and special gingerbread treats from Dijon. Vive la France! What a gift. Sincere apologies for the horrible smell. 

What was supposed to be most difficult, turned out to be a breeze. No wind, a few drops of rain, forgiving fords, and I was able to hike it with ease. This is not normal… no no no. Thor took personal care for me, there is no other explanation. If any of you are planning a similar traverse, take my experience with a sea of salt. I got lucky. Had the weather been normal (meaning extreme)… well, I don’t even want to think about it. 

I am ahead of schedule now… by several days. My pace was fast, my days were long with no serious obstacles along the way. 

Something in the Nothing

The void is impossible for a dreamer. It simply doesn't exist. Where some see nothing, I am overwhelmed in abundance.

There are those who hike to disconnect, but it's here in the solitude where I feel most connected. 

I thought I was alone, but found myself in perfect company. How is it possible to be so provided for, without knowing a soul in this country? How can a flower bloom without any soil? The wind is singing, without a branch to rustle through. A fire burned bright in this treeless tundra. 

There is nothing lonely about the Ódáðahraun Desert, nothing lonely at all. 

Lava Blood

The sheep in Iceland are of a different breed. I'm convinced that lava runs through their veins. It must. How could they possibly survive the black winter nights? Beautiful and impressive not seeming to be afraid of a thing. There's so much I can learn from you, my dear friends. Next time someone calls me sheepish, I'll take it with pride and remember your cocky smile as you gave permission for me to pass by. 

If I could be a waterfall...

... it would be you, Hafrgilsfoss. With a name like that, I might even run for office. 

I woke up with the sun (as if she ever went to bed) and started my day as giddy as a puppy swimming in a pool of bouncy balls. This section was beautiful. Stunning. Like nothing I’ve ever seen. Jökulsárgljúfur National Park – from the Asbyrgi Cliffs down to the famed Dettifoss. I skirted a furious silty river canyon through a volcanic maze in complete confusion. Why is it so sunny out? Shouldn’t I be trudging through snow and sleet?

It was impossible to stay focused… Every angle held a postcard view. A 7 rainbow kind of day. 

I heard something raging inside the mountain. It wasn’t an echo… there had to be a waterfall hidden inside. A little ford where the pentagonal basalt columns came crashing across the river… what a delight.

And then I saw her, in the far distance, mist roaring above the canyon cracks… She was big, she was mighty, she was everything I wanted to be. All alone, not a soul in sight. I climbed up close for a midday shower. Life is complete.

I thought this was Dettifoss: Europe's most powerful waterfall located in Iceland's Northeast. I was a mile off, but I liked her better. Hafraglisfoss doesn't get the same expression of reverence as her big brother upstream. She is harder to reach (and pronounce). You have to climb to get to her. There's no parking lot or footpath easing the way. It's not that she's neglected, no, she's doing just fine on her own without the extra attention. A secret little gem. She's moving the same water down the same river; she's getting the job done. A nice reminder that we don't have to be the biggest, we don't have to be boastful, we don't always have to be number one. 

You're Never Going To Make It

When I came to Iceland, I suffered from a stupid condition called self-doubt. This is probably the most dangerous condition for a thru hiker. So much of completing a grand task, such as walking across a country, is dependent on your mental drive. I’ve never let other's doubts phase me, in fact, I’ve always used it for motivation… at least there’s one positive we can glean from being a stubborn young lady. But man oh man, my confidence was down from the very start. I listened to the criticism… what a dangerous thing to do. 

Day three and I considered giving up. 

What happened? Well, I lost my sunglasses, of course. It was a sign, I just knew it. He was right, I must not be prepared.

Native Eyewear sent me to Iceland with a new set of shades and they were simply awesome. I’ve never worn glasses before, this was my first pair. You see (pun intended), my eyelashes are too long and I need to make eye contact with just about every person I come across, something all the ex’s struggled with, but hey, that’s me. Also, one of my favorite things in life is squinting at the sun. Sure, it might sound funny to you, but I love the feeling of warm yellow rays kissing my face! Yum! Since my eye whites started getting foggy, I became a sunglasses wearing woman. It was great! It felt like I was on drugs with the intense polarized color. Why didn’t you guys tell me about this before?

It was my first challenging off trail haul when I realized they were gone. All the fears and doubts came flooding across my cheeks. He was right, I’m ill-prepared. I’m never going to make it. I’ve already lost my glasses… I’ll surely die in the tundra if I continue. I prayed to Thor that night, and asked him to give me a sign if I should quit. 

Hey Thor, thank you for your strength!

The next morning, I woke up to a lecture given from myself to me. It went something like this: First of all young lady, remember your 14 day rule! You are expected to lose things and struggle right now. You’re getting back into the groove. No giving up so quickly. Secondly, it’s a freaking pair of sunglasses! No big deal, this happens all the time, you can get a new pair in town tomorrow if you really need them. You will survive. Third on todays list, since when have you ever listened to criticism? Even worse, since when have you internalized this nonsense and let it get you down?! Girl, you need to remember who you are. You’ve hiked over 5,500 miles in the past 2 years… starting with ZERO experience, you did it all alone, unsupported and without any financial help. How many thru hikes? Exactly. You taught yourself how to ride a motorcycle in Asia and crossed 3 countries without injury. You’ve got your degree baby, when your high school PE teacher told the class that you would be a drop out raising kids out of a car on welfare. You aren’t going to pull the weak card this easy. Get your ass out of the sleeping bag and go hike. Its a beautiful day. No time to waste. Come on baby girl, you can do it. Let me see that smile.

Well damn it, I did it. I turned off the GPS to work on my navigation skills and was spot on. I marched myself over a volcano as proud as an ox. There was a sea of tourists below in the parking lot on the Southside of Krafla. It sure felt good to arrive on foot. What a sight I must have been for them, and them for me. Onward through the gorgeous braided lava fields... Spectacular. It was hot and sunny all day long, and then suddenly, I was plummeted by a quick and forceful hailstorm. It only lasted 20 minutes but you better believe it had me skipping like a child with an ear to ear grin. Onward with the rainbows... I'm telling you, a minimum each day of two or three. I danced the final mile into my resupply point at Reykjahlíð. Booked the last room in the village and fell asleep with some newfound strength. You got this Bloody Mary, you're even 1.5 days ahead of schedule. 

The 14 Day Rule

I have a few rules for myself when I go on a long distance hike. For example: 

• If it’s a clear night, I have to count 3 shooting stars before I’m allowed to close my eyes.
• I must try and say hello and smile to every person I cross on trail.
• There is ALWAYS enough time for a photo op.
• Don’t forget to turn around; if the view is stunning ahead, you might be missing something equally beautiful behind.
• The first 14 days suck!

Allow me to elaborate on this last rule. I guess it’s more of a reminder, but oh so necessary for my mental wellbeing. You see, months of preparation go into planning a thru hike. You have to establish a route, get the maps in order, confirm water reports, check weather conditions, buy food, estimate your speed and distance capabilities, send resupply boxes, refine your gear, train your body, say your goodbyes and rethink everything a million times. As prepared as one might be, nothing, and I mean NOTHING, can really get you ready for what you’re about to experience. 20 pushups a day and walking a treadmill with ankle weights might give you a .04% physical advantage, but don’t expect much more than that.

It's my experience that I feel so much of the struggle during these first 14 days. Even with a few trails under my belt, I expect that almost all of my planning will be wrong. This is when I realize I can no longer stomach the 50 favorite cliff bars I packed for a full month's breakfast. Climate change suddenly brings me record high temps when the last 3 years of weather reports were laden with snow. I used to be able to reach my water bottle from the side pocket, but my shoulder flexibility is now completely out of whack. I forgot an essential piece of gear. I lost an essential piece of gear. I'm carrying a useless piece of gear. Oh, the raw, open skin… on my hips, shoulders, ankles and toes… PAIN… Lots of pain… Sleepless nights from all the excitement and PAIN! Lost... utterly lost even though my GPS shows me dead center on trail. I start to question myself; "Were they right when they said I would never make it? Am I capable? Is it going to get easier?"

The other side to this 14 day rule is that I must hold out. I can cry, complain, question and whine all I want, but I am not allowed to quit until I reach the 14 day mark. Once I've passed these critical 2 weeks... BING BANG BAMB! Congratulations! It's time to find a cape because I've officially become a super human. I can now hike with my eyes closed, feet floating an inch above ground. I can do anything my little heart dreams up. I will make it til the end. I have transformed back to my hiking Alter Ego - Bloody Mary.

Thank God I had this rule... because Day 3 was a bit concerning.

When The Sunset And Sunise Blend Together As One

Misty frost, soggy feet, numb hands, this can't be beat. I'm in love. It's so beautiful... So peaceful and free. Not a person around, alone with my thoughts and strong legs... It's just me.

I can't imagine what it will be like when it really gets cold. When it sleets so hard I won't be able to see. Right now, everything is perfect and my shadow is standing tall. 

I took a 4x4 track until I felt confident enough to go off trail. Struggle. I did this until the highway, new struggle. A beautiful lunch on a black sand beach. Only a few drops of rain.

I made it to Ásbyrgi hours ahead of schedule. Burger, beer, charge devices, fall asleep. Head resting in my greasy plate of fries. My body isn't used to the time change and there's so much I want to see. Seven more miles before I can set up tent tonight. I don't mind though, because this is where I need to be.

It didn't get dark today. I continued down or up, I'm not sure which direction. Is it morning, is it night? I left so late, there was only one other person in sight. We camped together under rainbows, above a canyon, silty raging water below. I needed this company. I was deflating from exhaustion.

Thank you, Iceland... for bringing me so much light.