Photos: Lyle Such
Writing: Thu Buu
Camera: Canon 5d MkIII
Our camp for the first night at the trailhead.
Broken lens before the hike even began.
The noon bus departure from Reykjavik arrived at our first campsite around five pm. While on the bus, we debated whether or not to start the first leg of the trek right away or to camp the night and begin fresh and early the next morning. As the bus pulled into the camp, the weather made up our minds for us. The precipitation began with small droplets, which soon grew into hearty pellets. Quickly we pitched our tent and retreated inside even before all the stakes were grounded.
As we listened to the loud pitter-patter of the raindrops on our tent, we thought of ways to take off the broken UV filter on Lyle’s camera. The impact from the fall had bent one side of the lens thread making it impossible to unscrew without the proper tools. Unfortunately, we weren’t able to find anything to help the situation, so Lyle wasn’t able to use this lens for the duration of our first backpacking trip. Even worse, he still had to carry the extra weight around for days.
There is a natural hot springs about 50 yards from the hut making Landmannalaugar a popular day-trip spot for those who want to soak in its healing water and get a taste of this breathtaking landscape.
Looking back over camp after about 15 minutes into the hike.
The first climb of the day.
Black jagged rocks crawling with neon green moss. Columns of smoke rising unexpectedly from the ground. In the horizon, rolling mountains covered with newly sprouting green grass interspersed between smooth patches of snow. We felt like we were walking on another planet.
In fact, the flatter part of this terrain has been used in training astronauts for moonwalks.
The trail on this hike is marked by colored stakes that are not always obvious, nor are they positioned in the most opportune places for a hiker to make a well-informed decision. For example, we followed a stake up the middle of two ridges until there was a division in the path. Tracks led in both directions, one turning left hugging an outcropping, the other straight up to the top of a ridge. There were no visible markers to help inform our decision. We and another couple behind us decided to follow the more treaded path that circled to the left only to encounter a steep climb in scree up yet another ridge. We decided to turn around and go back to the other route. Only after climbing over the top of that ridge and down a little ways did we see the next trail indicator.
We’ve been on hikes where the destination holds the reward. But here, on this hike, it was the journey itself that proved most rewarding. There was so much to see in every direction. The fun part was that we never knew when the landscape would change, and it changed often and drastically. Over the next ridge, whole new worlds of wonder lurked, waiting to be explored.
Volcanic steam rising from the earth.
At the crest of the mountain, gray clouds settled in sending down a light spray of rain. We hurriedly donned our raincoats, waterproof pants and gloves. These proved very useful for the snow crossing ahead.
We passed a memorial for a Japanese hiker who died in a snowstorm at the top of the mountain pass. If he only knew the next hut was so close and perhaps within his reach, he would have braved the storm, make it there and might still be alive today. It took us only about fifteen minutes from this stone pile memorial to the next safe refuge.
Once again, we had a major decision to make about our schedule. Our original plans had us camping at the end of the first leg of the trek, but when we arrived, they said we would be better off continuing on given the high altitude and cold, snowy conditions. It would be a long, brutal day, but with the two brothers that we were sharing the trail with we decided to continue on. Part of it was not wanting to stay at a bitter cold and windy campsite, but I think more of it had to do with the excitement of continuing on this amazing trek without wasting time sleeping at camp. Luckily the extremely long daylight helped us not worry about venturing out that late in the day.
The second section of the hike was the most beautiful and magnificent in my opinion. We trekked across countless snowfields, snow patches, and snow bridges.
So much variety in the textures.
Living in California, I’m not too familiar with the whole concept of snow. At first, I thought that snow melts from the top down because the sun is shining from above. In the States, I’ve seen what looks like a miniature village of snow teepees on a patch of snow glistening under the sun. It was melting from top down. I thought that principle was universal. Only after seeing the snow bridges a couple times did I put it all together. The land warms up faster, so the snow closest to the land melts away first since the air is still pretty frigid. As the snow melts, water begins to roll downhill, eroding more snow off the bottom and soon turning into a little creek. Then it gathers more force as it moves and eventually grows into a larger stream. Further down in the flatlands, it becomes a cold river that hikers like us would have to reckon with.
One minute, we were side-stepping stinky, colorful vents spewing puffs of hissing steam and spits of liquid into the air. Then unexpectedly, the mountain opened up. And spread before our eyes was a panoramic portrait of the most breathtaking composition of earth and sky. Layers upon layers upon layers…there was just so much to take in all at once. It is seldom one sees nature in such a raw, pure form.
The grandeur of this landscape is truly the most magnificent sight I have ever witnessed in all of my travels. A massive glacier, blindingly white, lies seemingly quietl in the midst of menacing black volcanic peaks. The contrast is glaring and powerful. Mountains, green with new summer growth, delicately frosted with the last blankets of cold. Countless rivers meandering through new found land, shimmering like diamonds, secretly bequeathing the gift of life. Then behold…the lake. So solemn, so calm, so perfect.
We could have stared at this mesmerizing setting for hours, but the shadows were getting longer and our destination by the banks of that lake was beckoning us forward.
The first river crossing of the day. Although the stream was not very wide, maybe about 7 feet across, it was deep near the middle. We threw rocks into the stream to build an underwater walkway for me. As expected, the water was icy cold, and by the time we reached the other side of the stream, our legs were stinging with numbness.
Right on cue, the sun peeked out from behind the clouds as we sat down to snack on some trail mix and wait for our shoes to dry. Before the final descent down the mountain, we had to cross a smaller stream that had gotten our shoes wet. As if on purpose, the next climb was along a narrow ledge of soft, slippery clay. Our shoes and pants were caked with clay. So we took this opportunity to wash them off.
Before embarking on this hike, we had read of and heard of many accounts of river crossings where the water rose above the hikers’ waists. Thus, naturally due to my height, I was most concerned about my ability to make it safely across without falling in and getting all my gear wet. I had conflicting feelings about this particular aspect of this hike; I was nervous because I didn’t really want to be in waist-high freezing water, but at the same time, it was a part of the trip that I was highly anticipating. We might say that when we are in a certain situation, this is how we would act, but not until we are actually faced with the challenge, do we know how we would handle it. So I was thankful that we were able to turn this first crossing into a fun and positive experience. It alleviated a lot of my worries about the next leg. The third leg of this hike, which would be tomorrow, would be full of river crossings of varying depths and widths. I was now mentally ready to confront them.
By the time we reached the campsite, the winds were already howling, making the simple chore of setting up the tent a real task. We had to wander around looking for rocks big enough to weigh down the stakes. Sure enough, just as we finished putting up the tent, the rain started. It didn’t let up until after our departure the next morning.
Our second camp, this time on a lake.
The first five minutes of the morning was a good indicator of what the rest of the day’s hike would bring. Before reaching the first marker from camp, we had to take off our gloves, socks, and boots, roll up our pants, and wade across a rocky stream. Because the water here seemed shallow, we went barefooted. Big mistake! The frigid water made our feet extra-sensitive; each step felt like walking on sharp knives. From then on, we always wore our water shoes at each river crossing.
Putting on water shoes sounds easy enough. But it is a lengthy and laborious process when you consider how many layers we had on. Each crossing added about twenty minutes to our hiking time. By the end of the day, we had unlaced and laced up our boots four times.
After all of the elevation gain and loss on the previous stretch of the trail, this section was a relief on our tiring legs and backs. We walked between ridges of green snowcapped mountains, with the glacier looming in the distance. The ground was black rock, and the contrast between the ground and the mountains is something we’ve never seen before.
Usually, as we had come to learn in Iceland, waterfalls are seen from below. They generally are spilling off of the enormous cliffs that rise straight up out of the earth above your head. The dull roar we had been hearing for a while turned out to be the opposite. A powerfull waterfall opened up from the river we had just crossed, and fell into a chasm that wandered it’s way through the landscape off into the horizon. It was the perfect spot to take a nice long break. In between eating some snacks, almost falling in and taking a few nice pictures, we managed to figure out where we were and how much longer we had to hike that day. Several other people used this as a resting place as well, but it never bacame overcrowded.
This forceful river was way too powerful to walk across. There is a bridge built across it and a road for vehicle access to this area.
Leaning against a giant boulder, we leisurely waited for tour groups to maneuver across this low-flowing stream. Some hikers easily balanced themselves and their packs by strategically placing their feet on the rocks. Others made it seem as if it were one of the hardest things they’ve ever encountered, even though they didn’t have a pack on and were holding their guides’ hands the whole time. The rocks look pretty close together from afar, but there is a good stretch between each one when you’re actually standing on them.
One impatient hiker, who was not a part of the tour group that was currently occupying the rocks, decided he didn’t want to wait for the slow European ladies in front of him to finish making their way across. He hastily stepped onto the first couple of rocks and easily made his way toward the center of the stream. Since there were others occupying the larger rocks in the middle, he had to step onto the side of the next one. Ooo, it’s trickier than it looks. He slipped, fell backwards into the water and had to get help from the tour guides to get up. Red-faced and with his bottom wet, he slunk back to drier grounds and waited properly for his turn. Serves him right!
Does that formation in the background look familiar? It’s Grandfather’s mountain from the movie Noah. This barren, volcanic landscape was Noah’s home and where the arc was built.
Getting close to our third campsite.
This was a beautiful campsite. We enjoyed this campsite so much we decided to leave late the next morning.
The truth is we didn’t want to constantly bump into the tour groups throughout the day. The tour groups were able to travel at a faster pace than us because they weren’t carrying packs. The problem is that they were constantly stopping and taking breaks. On the other hand, we traveled slower, but we really didn’t take breaks unless it was for pictures. Which meant that whenever the groups stopped, we would catch up and pass them. But then when they started again, they would pass us. Therefore, someone constantly had to step aside for someone else to get by. It gets tiring after the third time. And we simply don’t like to be around others when we’re out enjoying nature. They ruin our pictures. We’re selfish that way.
One of the few steep sections that require some assistance from a chain.
Although there wasn't a huge amount of plantlife, it was well worth a stop every once in a while to notice the small details in the landscape.
Whereas the third leg was flat and long, part four of the trail had varying terrains and elevation differences. It felt like we were either climbing up or sliding down for the greater part of the day. In one instance, we had to use a rope that had been anchored into the rock to make a short repel down the slippery side of a cliff. At another area, we felt like giants stomping through a vast field of miniature violet bushes that only grew as high as our calves. On yet another section, we were suddenly sinking into sand so soft, so fine and so smooth; it was reminiscent of the beach in Carmel. Only this time, the sand was black.
Vibrant greens covering the cliffs.
Taking a short break and admiring the landscape we were about to cross.
Just as Lyle commented on the lack of animal companions and poop on this hike, we came across a small flock of sheep grazing on the tall grass and munching on the shrubs along the trail.
The final river we would have to cross.
Rumor has it that the river crossing close to the end of this leg is the widest and deepest of this whole hiking trail. By the time we reached the river, the rain had started coming down steadily. Looking down at the enormous riverbed before me, I do believe that it is not just rumors. Lucky for us, it was still early in the summer and much of the water that would cover this riverbed by Autumn was still trapped in its solid form high up in the mountains.
Even so, we had to zigzag through four divisions in the river, dancing on sandbars between each division to shake off the bitter cold before going back in. The current in the middle of each section was pretty rapid and our poles proved useful. The deepest part of the river, thankfully, only licked at my shorts, which were rolled up mid-thigh.
Our last and softest camping spot. Look at the long green grass we had to stamp down to make a bed for our tent. What a perfect place to end an amazing trek through the heart of Iceland.
