ISSUE 001 - EXTREME PARADISE
19/09/2024
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It’s a mild September as we touch down for my first time in Iceland, this is the second trip of its kind, in search of solitude and wild places. Last year’s visit to the Faroe Islands was the gateway into a search for desolate landscapes, fierce seas, and a sense of solitude.
Kerlingarfjöll
No amount of research and planning prepared me for the rugged beauty of Iceland’s F roads. The gravel crunches beneath our tires as we leave the last paved road behind. The F35 stretches ahead like a scar across an alien landscape, and for the first time, I can't hear another engine. Skipping lunch, we set off on our first hike of the trip, Ásgarður - Hveradalir. Five kilometers in, doubt creeps in. The map promises burnt orange hills and sulfur columns, but the snow-capped mountains show no sign. Then the wind shifts. The smell of sulphur hits first. Creeping around the south side of Hveradalshnukur, Kerlingarfjöll reveals itself: rhyolite hills streaked with mineral stains, steam rising from hidden springs, the earth breathing around us. This is the first real feeling of solitude; the path behind has faded into the hills, and my focus shifts to the multicolored slopes now surrounding me. Fighting through the sticky orange mud, all traces of normality disappear as I feel drawn into the landscape. Listening to the earth, feeling the searing heat rising from bubbling streams, only an icy snap of wind is enough to bring me back to reality, a reminder that the untamed beauty doesn’t care who you are.
Landmannalaugar
Heading south towards Landmannalaugar takes us to the F208, the most dramatic road I’ve ever driven. Hidden down a small side track is Sigöldugljúfur - the valley of tears. Tens of waterfalls flow gently into the river below, its oasis-like beauty feels like a mirage in the black sand desert. The surrounding hills shelter us from the Icelandic wind and create an eerie stillness for such an immense landscape. Back on the road, we are met with towering red and green mountains and crater lakes thousands of years old. Formed by volcanic eruptions, they are a stark reminder of the power this landscape holds beneath. Looking into the distance, the horizon is broken up by the Landmannalaugar mountain range. The second hike of the trip takes us over Bláhnúkur and Brennisteinsalda, the deep grey mountains surround the black rock lava fields that erupted from Laugahraun. The green moss forming on black rock looks like it belongs on another planet. Boulders tower overhead, causing the path to twist and turn, cutting off sight lines like a maze. The F225 took us back west towards civilisation, with the light fast disappearing, we raced through the single track, dodging rocks, potholes, and glacial thaw. The tall road markers are a reminder that driving in a storm would make the already rugged roads potentially impassable.
Þórsmörk
Þórsmörk (the valley of Thor) sits south of the Fjallabak Nature Reserve, nestled within three glacial rivers, it was too much for our little Jimny; time for something bigger. The deep river crossings and lack of access really make this spot feel wild. During the months of research, one viewpoint escaped me - a view across the valley that seemed too perfect to be real. I'd studied satellite maps, scoured hiking blogs, built the image so completely in my mind that I wondered if the reality could match it. Starting from Slyppugil volcano huts, we took the orange loop up and around Tindfjöll, mountain paths zig-zag in the distance as the Myrdalsjokull glacier comes into view. Looking at the path ahead, I recognised some landmarks and watched the arrangement of peaks fall into place. Reaching the viewpoint felt like completing a conversation that had started months ago at my desk back home. Looking across the valley is the Fimmvörðuháls North Trailhead. The finish line of a classic multi-day route that links Landmannalaugar and Þórsmörk. Having only had a glimpse into both of these places, I can only imagine the beauty that lies between.
Mælifell
The final trip into the highlands was the search for Mælifell. The green volcano, standing alone in a black sand desert, once hidden by the Mýrdalsjökull glacier. The F210 took us back north, its scree slopes felt like we were sliding backwards as all four wheels wrestle us forwards and upwards. The wind bouncing off the windshield as I wind the window down to check the depth as we pass through yet another river crossing. After a few hours, we reached Brytalækir, the fast-flowing water topped with white horses is a clear sign that only the largest of wheels will make it through this part. We pull off to one side and start to prep some layers for the hike ahead. In the distance, Raudibotn’s red walls reveal its location, tucked away in the Eldgja canyon. The giant red fissure has a small lake which feeds into a horseshoe river winding down from Hólmsárlón lake. As daylight started to fade, we explored every option to get closer to Mælifell, to no avail. Accepting defeat, we pitched up on the hillside above Brytalækir lake and watched the sun set in silence.
I feel privileged to have experienced this ever-changing, untameable landscape firsthand. With an appreciation for the power, the beauty, and the solitude of Iceland.
