Photos: Lyle Such

Writing: Thu Buu

Camera: Canon 5d Mkiii

Uploaded by LS Travel on 2014-09-15.

Ísafjörður is a little town situated at the end of a narrow inlet on one of Iceland’s many finger-like peninsulas on the North end of the Westfjords. From this remote area, we boarded a small ferry that would take us even further North to what is known as Iceland’s wilderness, Hornstrandir Nature Preserve. Here, we would embark on our second backpacking trip.

This hiking adventure would require us to be more self-sufficient and resourceful than the previous hiking trip. In this area, hikers are few and far apart. Trails are rare and cairn, rock piles used as trail markers, are easily camouflaged or still covered in snow. Before we left Ísafjörður, we rented a GPS to help track our position.

On the ferry, we met a local expedition guide. He informed us that just a few days ago they had found a hiker in trouble on the very hike we were about to go on. The hiker was alone and all his gear: socks, shoes, and sleeping bag were wet. Before getting off the ferry, the guide’s advice was to follow the GPS and keep our footwear dry. Seems easy enough, right?

The universe was looking out for Lyle and me that gray day. On the small ferry that morning was a group of seven Icelanders who were also hiking out to Horn. Their leader had experience with this trek, and a few of the others had also done it before. They were really nice and encouraging, reassuring us that it won’t be so difficult.

The ferry dropped us off at a wooden post with the sign at its base that read Hornstrandir. After that, we were on our own; nothing to suggest where to begin or which way to go. We knew we had to cross over the mountain pass, but which ridge to follow? So we just trampled through the wet vegetation following the group of Icelanders. Sometimes the bushes were deceiving. Their branches were about as high as the ground around them, but once we stepped in, our legs were swallowed up. It was a rough start. It took the leader a few tries, going up and down a couple of wrong ridges before finding the right one.

Our last look at the boat before it left Hornstrandir.

One of the most nondescript trailheads we've ever experienced!

Snowmelt created many little streamlets and creeks flowing down the side of the mountain. Closer to the bottom of the mountain, we were constantly crisscrossing these streamlets. Higher up the mountain, the snowmelt formed larger, faster flowing streams. About an hour into the hike while crossing one of these streams, I stepped on a loose rock, which rolled onto its side, sliding my foot into the cold running water. In order to keep from falling all the way in, my automatic response was to change my footing. My other foot lunged forward and settled right in the middle of the stream. Water gushed into my shoe. Standing there, midstream, with my boots wet, all I could think of was the guide’s advice: keep your feet warm and dry. If I had only worn my gaiters!!!

I had to peel off my shoes to wring off my soggy socks. I contemplated putting on a dry pair of socks, but that wouldn’t help much since my shoes were also wet. After a lackluster attempt at wringing out the water, I pulled those heavy, wet socks back over my feet and wondered if I’m going to get frostbite after the day’s hike. However, because my socks were made of wool, they held in the heat and kept my feet warm. Wet and warm the whole day long. Wool is the best type of material for cold, wet climate. That’s my conclusion.

By the time I was ready to move again, our “guides” were beyond our vision. Lyle and I scrambled up the cliff, knowing that was the direction they had taken. In the distance, we spied a cairn and were spared the thought of being lost. Up another incline, our “guides” were taking a break on a large pile of boulders. They seemed rather concerned about our slowness. I think they rested on purpose waiting for us to catch up. And I am so glad that they did because what lie ahead would have been extremely difficult for us had they not been there to pave the way.

The green vegetation so abundant at the base of the mountain gave way to brown rocks and boulders. Soon the rocks disappeared under a layer of pristine, white snow, and we were enveloped in a thick shroud of gray fog. We now traveled in a single line. Digging his boots into the snow, the leader made steps for the rest of us to follow. At times, we were surrounded by nothing but white and had no idea how much further we had to travel to get out of the snow. But the snow was only interrupted intermittently by bands of rocks. Thanking our lucky stars that this group had gotten on the same ferry that morning, we trudged along at the end of the pack. In this way, we slowly made our way out of the snow and over the mountain pass.

An oasis of brilliant green greeted us as we descended out of the fog. Waterfalls careening from ragged cliffs backed by snowcapped peaks were emptying their contents into silver rivers that snaked through the lively marshland below.

From afar, the scene was so romantic. As we approached the marsh, the reality of walking in soggy dirt with mud suctioning our shoes to the ground while dodging flying insects brought back the fact that the wilderness is a harsh place to be.

The best picture of the journey: Lyle, the rugged mountain man, who had just conquered the dangerous peaks in the background, now walks confidently among the softer side of nature, a field of colorful wildflowers.

Our camp for the night at the edge of the marsh looked towards the inlet and the horn on the peninsula. This trek had taken us almost ten hours. And for those ten hours, besides the seven who got off the ferry with us, we did not meet another soul on the way. This really is a quiet, remote area.

The tip of the horn would be our final destination of our journey.

After a quick meal, we decided to hit the trails again, this time out to the tip of the horn. We left camp at seven p.m. with the sun still high in the sky. From the map, we knew there was a section where we would have to cross a wide river. Depending on the tide, it was possible to cross at the mouth of the river where it empties into the bay, but that still meant wading through thigh-deep water. If we hit the river at high tide, we would have to backtrack along the river until it spreads out within the marshland and becomes shallow. This would add a couple of hours to the hike.

The black sand on the beach was so powdery our steps sank deep into the sand. It was easier to take off our boots and walk barefoot. The waterline was low, far away from the line of dark seaweed that must have been piled there during high tide. At first glance, the seaweed seemed dark green. Then we realized it was actually red but was swarming with millions of buzzing flies.

At the river crossing, Lyle waded in first to test how deep the water was. It went up to mid-thigh on him. When it was my turn, I took off my pants and used the multi-functioning buff as a miniskirt. At the deepest section, my bum got wet. It was no fun walking in wet undies for the rest of the night.

The shoreline on the horn was made of rocks. Fumbling around on the rocks was fun at first, but it was time-consuming. We would walk and walk and still the tip of the horn seemed just as far away as an hour ago.

Deciding to seek higher grounds, we clambered up a steep slope. There was a narrow pathway that seemed like a trail. Walking on a trail was much quicker since we didn’t have to make decisions about where to plant our feet with each step. We followed that trail for a while until it disappeared leaving us in the middle of tall weed and wild plants. We spread out to see if we can find where the trail might start up again. Only after crossing another river did we see some trampled vegetation. We trailed that set of footprints until it led to nowhere again. Again and again during this hike, we would find a trail that went nowhere made by another hiker who was probably trying to find an already established trail just like we were.

The view from the horn looking back towards camp.

Eventually, we found a path on the very edge of the cliff that took us all the way to the tip of the horn. The hike out to the tip had taken us three and a half hours. Much longer than we had expected. But the view back towards camp was worth all the hassle.

One of the benefits to hiking this far north is that you never have to worry about the darkness of night looming. Normally being this far from camp this late would be a disaster, but we were free to take our time at the top and get some nice pictures before returning to camp.

I don't think it really dawned on us at that moment, but this spot, at the edge of the world on the cliffs overlooking the sea, really was the origin and final destination of our trip to Iceland. It had begun with a simple email, containing a picture of this spot and a brief description of this hike that brought us here. After some 13 grueling hours of hiking, we had reached our goal, and every exhaustion-filled step became worth it just to say we had accomplished the ultimate goal of our trip.

At 10:40 P.M. we still had enough sunlight to find our way back. Unfortunately since it had taken us so long to get to the tip, by the time we reached the point where we had crossed the water earlier, the river had grown twice as wide and at least three feet deeper. The current in the middle of the river was flowing at a good pace. There was no way we would be able to wade or even swim across this area at this time of night. We were then forced to walk another hour along the river until we found a safe crossing. Once again, we had to undress. This time, even Lyle took off his pants and was wading across in his briefs. Just like before, my bum was submerged, but as experience had made me wiser, I had nothing but my buff miniskirt on.

By this time, we were so ready to be done. Instead of walking back out to the mouth of the river and back to camp along the shore, we cut through the marsh and made a beeline to our tent. The porous surface of the marsh acted like a suction cup on our shoes. Pulling my sandals up soon became a big struggle, and I opted to go barefoot once again. The water was stinging cold. I couldn’t decipher if the sting was from walking on thorny weeds or from the cold. When I couldn’t feel the sting anymore, I knew it was time to put my sandals back on for a while until enough circulation could warm up my feet and the stinging feeling returned. Crossing that marsh was a grueling task, but luckily the water was clear and free of any harmful animals. It was past 2 A.M. when we fell onto our sleeping pads.

The next morning, we asked the warden about the boat that was scheduled to stop at the campsite that day. We both agreed that we’d had enough of Iceland’s wilderness. We saw what we wanted to see, the Horn.

The trek back was really just that, getting back to the ferry on the other side of the mountain pass. Besides, our guides were camping at this site for a few days and then taking the ferry back, which meant that if we continued, we’d be by ourselves. The trek was too wet and dangerous, one of Lyle’s poles broke the previous day on our way down the mountain, and there were seven marked river crossings on the map on the return route. There were no river crossings indicated on the map for our trek to this campsite, and yet we had to cross at least a dozen. So, all in all, it seemed like the better, safer choice was to call it quits early and get back to Ísafjörður a day early.

Since the ferry didn’t arrive until noon, we spent the morning leisurely reading, slowly packing up and sneaking pictures of the artic fox family that had made their den under the warden’s hut. This mother fox has five furry baby cubs.

Aboard the ferry, we saw the two Asian brothers from the first hike. They had done just a guided day hike out on the horn. For them, that was four hours on a ferry there, four hours back, and only four hours to explore. I still think we explored Iceland’s wilderness in the best way possible, really getting a feel for the land and climate.

The tourism industry in Iceland is excellent at making traveling as easy as it can be for tourists. Even though the company that outfits this ferry is not the same one that we had tickets for, they honored our tickets and we only had to pay the difference. At the dock, we were able to give our GPS to one of the workers there, tell them which company we rented it from, and they returned it for us. That was really nice because instead of waiting for the business to open up the next morning to return the device, we were able to leave town bright and early.