The bitter sub-arctic winds came howling through the barren night, the gusts chilling anything not hunkered down, pulling and tugging as it had for ages at the indifferent glint of black lava glass chunks scattered across the rocky field. Our tent constantly flapped in the stiff breeze so loudly that it would have been nearly impossible to sleep if we didn’t have earplugs in. Snuggled deep in our sleeping bags, the inside of our tent made for a toasty cocoon of cozy warmth and it was with extreme reluctance that as the muted sun rose that we shrugged off our sleeping layers off and packed up. It always surprises me how an uninsulated flap of fabric like a tent can keep out the worst weather and softens the bite of a below-freezing morning, bringing the inside temperature up to toasty t-shirt levels.
The irascible gusts of wind had died down just before dawn and a damp freezing fog settled into the dragonglass valley this morning, muting the weak sun rays and causing distant hulking shadows to appear and disappear in the early hours of the day. Shannon and I didn’t linger long at our campsite as in this type of weather you would catch cold by standing still despite being dressed in layers of wool, down and Gore-tex.
We quickly packed up our gear in the obsidian forest, the churning clouds of superheated geyser water steamed shrilly like a freight train from the volcanic vents on the nearby hillside below the hut. Breakfast was a couple of granola bars on the go as we chowed down on our morning rations while hiking uphill and away form the Hrafntinnusker hut. Only one other group of hikers were on the trail before us in the overcast early morning light and we passed the Brits on our way out of the hut approach trail. The fog was so thick as we climbed that it was making navigation difficult and it was yet another morning of following rock cairns through the mist to find the Laugavegur.
We crossed another glacier covered in a thin blanket of melted powder from the snowstorm a few days ago that had made for difficult travel through the mountain passes. A brown zipper of a trail cut across the glacier, piecing the two huge halves of the hulking ice masses together with patterned muddy bootprints. Fields of hoarfrost and ice flowers sprouted from the frozen mud, their ephemeral beauty soon to wither away under the muted sun rays of the afternoon. The barren land became thick with low lying clouds that we thought were more fog but even as the sun came out, the thick vapor lingered and actually seemed to grow stronger as we got closer. As we descended from the hillside, we heard roaring coming from the valley and more steam vents erupted from the ground near the trail. Boiling pools of electric teal water puffed huge clouds of mist and small geysers erratically shot scalding water several meters into the air right next to the Laugavegur trail. Plumes of acrid sulfur steam poured from the ground and soon we were enveloped in a sauna smelly not of essential oils and lavender but more like rotten eggs and farts. It was magical yet simultaneously a little bit disgusting being consumed by egg fart clouds. We hurried through as I wasn’t sure if the clouds were a weak sulfuric acid or just sulfur-heavy water plumes.
As we hiked north, the wind changed and the sulfur clouds left us to properly admire the steaming ground and mini-geysers that popped up like molehills everywhere. The hillsides were painted yellows, umbers and whites from the spewing volcanic vents. The trail was a rainbow of colors from all of the volcanic activity and our boots scraped muds colored in stark brick reds mixed with poisonous looking leaden whites, deep boysenberry creamy soil dotted with beige cookie dough chunks and steely green-gray algae covering the burnt orange rocks where the hot sulfur springs bubbled from the ground. The ground was very much alive with volcanic activity churning right below the thin crust here and it felt like we could burst into a version of the Pocahontas song singing “Can you paint with all the colors of the volcanooooo?”
We clambered over some more painted hills and started running into day hikers admiring (a little too closely in my opinion) the spraying geysers and steam vents. A thrumming sound broke the peaceful nature sounds and we looked up to see one of many drones that we would see that day. I get it that drones provide beautiful photographic perspectives but damn… they are super loud and disruptive. Anyways, as the drone descended a little too close to Shannon and I, being a cranky old lady I held up my middle finger quite prominently for a while and hoped that one of the geysers would blow the thing to pieces. Should be some good footage for our drone friends to review.
The trail thankfully kept descending and with the clear bluebird skies we were able to see for miles and miles into these magnificent Icelandic highlands that were only accessible to hikers in the brief summer months. The view was so spectacular and I swear that could almost see to the Landmannalaugar parking lot where the Laugavegur Trail’s northern terminus ended. A couple of knife edges and steep drop offs changed up the rolling hills landscape and it felt like we were on a completely different hike from the shiny obsidian lava fields, snowy mountains and black sand swaths of desert that we had trekked through the day before. The whole hike over the past few days has been strikingly beautiful and it seems like few hours we encounter a new micro-climate.
Before we knew it, we had reached the famous landmark of the yellow streaked volcano named Brennisteinsalda which roughly translates to mean “sulfur wave” in English. Shannon tossed his pack behind some rough looking lava rocks at the base of the mountain so he could climb up the short and steep side trail to the peak. As he was walking away from his pack, the rocks where he had just stood oddly started smoking. What was going on? Oh wait… this whole park had been a series of volcanic activity from geysers to steaming rivers to scalding rocks. Shannon kept walking not even noticing the burning stones. I turned to my hiking partner and yelled, “Shannon I think you, um, may have put your pack on lava!”
He looked at me like I had gone nutso and shook his head. “Babe, it’s ALL lava out here!”
“I know but… but… I think the rocks are on fire! Look!” I pointed to the thick plumes of smoke gushing out of the oddly shaped black rough rocks and giant obsidian boulders hiding Shannon’s backpack. “Might want to check if your pack is still there or if it’s melted.”
Shannon dashed behind the smoking rocks to verify that the bubbling ground hadn’t swallowed up his backpack and came back out.
“My pack is just fine. If I had placed it more to the left it would probably be melted or on fire,” he reported sullenly. “Let’s make it quick up to the top of the mountain!”
I hustled behind him keeping my pack on because it had been an easy morning hiking and I wanted to get an additional workout. Crazy, I know. The summit was a quick 10 minute scramble up loose rock and afforded us the most amazing views of the Landmannalaugar area. Gorgeous multi-hued mountains painted the landscape with green tinged mosses, sooty bruised blue-black of ash, ribbons of sulfur yellows and red bands from the iron in the earth. This by far was one of the most incredibly colorful natural places I had ever seen and I urge anyone who is even remotely thinking of heading to Iceland to take the time to hike the backcountry of Landmannalaugar. It is well worth the long four wheel drive bus ride to spend a day or two there – the land is absolutely magical.
We descended the peak of Brennisteinsalda as hoards of day hikers slogged up the mountain. Shannon grabbed his slightly warm pack and we continued our downhill hike very carefully now as the ground was smoking everywhere, reminding us how close we were to active volcanic activity. The trail was roped off where volcanic vents were erupting from the ground and the trail was covered in a not so friendly looking white, coral and orange chemical deposits. We trotted around the off gassing plumes and tried not to inhale too much as we weren’t sure if it was just water vapor we were breathing in or some sort of toxic byproduct of the volcano. The air was thick with sulfur smells that irritated our throats and stung our noses. I was hoping we were just inhaling harmless water vapors but looking back at it, the gases were smelling could have been hydrogen sulfide which is an irritant to humans’ respiratory systems or worse, sulfur dioxide which according to the US Geological Survey website can be fatal in high concentrations. Regardless, I pulled up my Buff over my nose and mouth and tried to hold my breath until we descended to some clearer air.
What was more dangerous in my opinion was that the rocks next to and on the trail were hot but not always emitting vapor. I went to tie my shoe and set my boot on what looked like a harmless boulder to more easily tie my boot. I felt a weird sensation on the sole of my foot and pulled my boot back. Balancing on one foot, I placed my hand near the bottom of my boot and the heat was so hot that I feared for a minute that my thick Vibram rubber boot bottoms were melting. Hovering my hand over the rock, I had to pull it back quickly as the temperature was like placing your hand over a fired up barbecue grill. Not a good choice! I moved down the trail to where the ground was just warm and not searingly hot and tied my shoe without further incident. I had heard about some hikers who cooked their dehydrated dinner meals in the hot springs or made boiling water for backcountry tea by setting their pots out over the fiery ground patches. Talk about a low-impact hike! Unfortunately that didn’t work out for us this time on our hike but we did get to enjoy hot spring baked rugabraud, or rye bread, when we had rented our car the week prior. We can always dabble in the delicate art of hot spring meal cooking when we come back to Iceland in the future.
As we neared Landmannalaugar hut and campground, the handful of day hikers soon became hordes of tourists, just as it had been at Skogafoss waterfall where we had started hiking five days before. A couple of drones were being flown and Shannon scolded me to stop acting childish by flipping them off when they got too close. I feel like an old lady but damn those things are incredibly loud and distracting when you’re trying to enjoy nature. There had been signs all over Skogafoss that drones were not allowed but people just went and flew them anyways. Soon the trail leveled out and we had smooth sailing into the finish of the Laugavegur Trail, cruising quickly to see if if was possible for us to catch the 2pm bus from Landmannalaugar hut back to Reykjavík instead of the 6pm bus that we had originally banked on taking. On the bus website it says that the tickets are transferable to other times and to let the bus drivers know if you wanted to go later or earlier. Since it was about noon when we finished, we had an hour or so to kill before we started seeking out the bus driver and a very famous natural hot spring river awaited us near the hut. We touched the Laugavegur sign and rejoiced at what an amazing and varied hike this had been. We were already talking about when we could come back to Iceland and hike other hikes like Hornstrandir National Park in the northwest or a lesser known lakes trail that was supposed to rival the beauty of the Laugavegur-Fimmvorduhals trails in the Far East of the island.
A quick visit to clean up in the bathroom to change into swimming gear and we tramped down a boardwalk over some boggy grasslands to the hot river entrance. It’s a big no-no in Iceland to swim in the hot springs without showering first in order to preserve the health of the spring and not dirty the pools. We rinsed off in the sinks as best we could before we headed to the springs as the showers were for hikers staying the night at the facility. The sunny day was perfect for an idyllic dip after five rigorous days of hiking through the Icelandic highlands. About twenty other hikers were already in the hot spring mostly congregated around the steaming waterfalls at one end of the river but the entire river was free for the picking with various water temperatures you could choose from. The clarity of the slow moving gravel bottomed was brilliant, the burbling of the waterfalls and bleating of nearby sheep were musical as the soft zephyrs blew over your windburned face. It was the perfect end to a strenuous hike and despite the increased elevation we had heading north on our trek, I would recommend ending in Landmannalaugar instead of starting here as many hikers do. Having a natural hot spring waiting for you after spending days backpacking in the dusty volcanic wastelands is much more appealing to me than ending at the glacier spit of Thorsmork or stopping at a tourist-infested waterfall on the side of the road at Skogafoss. To rephrase the Dude in The Big Lebowski, well, that’s just my opinion, man.
There were signs about possibly contracting something called swimmer’s itch in the hot spring since it’s not treated with chlorine or chemicals. A friend of mine got this when she swam in a hot tub that hadn’t been kept up on cleaning and the bacteria infection is pretty irritating and gross but goes away after a while. We were just lucky that Iceland’s hot springs weren’t like the ones that had been to in Nevada where you couldn’t submerge your nose, mouth or ears into in fear of contracting the brain-eating, hot spring-loving amoeba Naegleria fowleri that had no cure. Being a natural hot spring you had to be careful about the hot water erupting where you were swimming as there is no manmade temperature regulation of the pool. Case in point, I was laying down in the shallow water where a cool ribbon of current was flowing over top of me and warm water rising from the ground bubbled up, slowly mixing the waters into a perfect jacuzzi of relaxation. However, it wasn’t so relaxing when scalding streams of water jets started randomly shooting out from under my hands as the magma shifted. I moved quite quickly from that spot to a cooler, less active area luckily without getting burned and learned my lesson to not linger long in any one spot.
Like most natural hot springs I’ve been in, this one had its fair share of slimy algae floating around. I read somewhere that the Icelandic people call the algae globs bobbing around in their beautiful hot springs something that roughly translates to “shit balls.” All I know is that the Blue Lagoon is making a fortune turning these “shit balls” into a luxury amenity where one face mask made of ground up algae balls will cost you the same price as buying a six-pack of microbrewery beer back in the US. At first I was kind of grossed out by the stringy, gooey algae balls brushing up against me in the hot spring. After reminding myself about how people pay good money for this kind of algae skin treatment at the Blue Lagoon, I tried to think of it as a free luxury that we could enjoy in unusually large amounts at the Landmannalaugar hot spring. I think it was after pulling a large glob of brown and puce colored goo from my armpit that I was officially over these “deluxe” algae treatments. We moved downstream into clearer water and chilled amongst the bleating sheep that were cautiously nibbling grass next to the stream. Shannon tried to sneak up on the small flock of sheep by swimming quietly along the banks as they meandered closely to the water but eons of evolution has made those critters so unbelievably attuned to everything that goes on around them that it was impossible get close to them.
Soon it was 1pm and we left the hot spring behind to get changed and grab the earlier bus if possible. I was instructed by Shannon to get back in the hot spring as soon as I got out as I had algae shit balls all over my back, face, neck and stomach. Delightful. We changed in the restrooms into dry clothes using an extra fast-drying shirt as a towel and then located the bus line we were trying to board a few hours earlier than our original tickets were for. The young bus coordinator took his job quite seriously and after lecturing us about how it would likely be impossible for us to switch bus times (the entire forty seat bus was empty by the way) he dramatically announced that he would have to check with his superiors see if it was okay to add us. Alright bro.
After about 10 minutes of deliberating in Icelandic with his manager, the bus coordinator (different than the driver) said that we had permission to come aboard but commented that we were extremely lucky to have this happen. We thanked him, unsure of why the bus website made it seem so casual that you could switch times, and grabbed water and snacks for the four hour ride home. Five more hikers boarded and we were off through the backcountry “roads” of the national park. These busses were the most souped up public transportation vehicles I had ever encountered that could take a serious beating in the backcountry with their four wheel drive, studded tires and jacked up frames. After splashing through knee deep streams, navigating through rocky glacial streambeds and getting followed by a motor cross gang across kilometres of lava fields and dirt roads, we finally hit our first paved road 1.5 hours into the drive. We picked up about thirty more hikers and made our way to Reykjavík where we were dropped off at a central station and we got some more steps in on our way to our favorite Rey Apartments and our buddy Mathias.
We picked up our luggage and Mathias was happy we didn’t lose the key to the closet on our backcountry hike. Showered, deodorized and sporting somewhat cleaner clothes, we headed to a tapas fusion restaurant called Tapas Barinn to dine on various dishes that were Icelandic in tradition but more likely catered to tourists, especially with the prices. But then again everything is expensive in Iceland as nearly all items must be imported to the island. This was our treat to ourselves for safely completing the Fimmvorduhals and Laugavegur trails.
People are likely going to comment on this but amongst the restaurant’s “Taste of Iceland” tapas menu we tried slivers of Minke whale steak, which were actually somewhat tastier than our pungent first experience as it’s fishiness was tempered with a smoky sweet blueberry sauce. We tried a small portion of smoked puffin which I didn’t want to enjoy because the birds are so cute and awkward when they fly from the cliffs to the ocean and supposedly all of the North Atlantic seabirds population are dwindling due to warming waters and disease. Iceland has the largest population of puffins world with colonies 8 to 10 million strong making it one of the only places where it is legal to eat them. The savoriness of the meat was a combination of silky beef tartare and melt-in-your-mouth flavor of sushi grade ahi tuna and was guiltily delicious. Probably eating puffin is going to a be a once in a lifetime thing for me but for the Icelandic people, it is a traditional way of life that is slowly dwindling as the bird populations shrink according to this Smithsonian Magazine article.
Then there was…foal. Shannon and I both bit into our slices of medium-rare foal, or young horse, at the same time not being sure of what to expect. Guilt came across our faces as the absolutely delicious meat melted in our mouths.
“This is like the best thing I’ve ever eaten,” I said after swallowing a tiny piece of horse meat.
Shannon nodded ashamedly in agreement. “I know. It shouldn’t be, but it’s absolutely amazing. A bit like venison tenderloin.”
So I hate to admit this but when cooked right, horse meat is pretty dang tasty. It’s outlawed in the US I think in part because of what a huge role that the horse had on the colonies, the expansion of America and the symbol of what horses mean to the American public. But wow, horse was better than the best venison or steak I had ever eaten.
We finished off the day with a stumbling walk back to the studio apartments, exhausted by our long travels and long evening in the cozy restaurant.