Foreign rain: The Snaefellnes Peninsula

After returning from Iceland I've read a few books about the country and I believe it's in Sarah Moss's excellent Names for the Sea where the author remembers one of their local friends mentioning "foreign rain" during a downpour, meaning heavy, pounding rain as opposed to drizzle of various intensity which apparently is Iceland's garden variety rain.

I couldn't tell if that's true but if it is we are having rather foreign weather the whole day.

The weather report has forecast a dry spell at 10 a. m. which - most surprisingly - really happens and allows us to pack up the tent. It's one of the few times we are favourably impressed by the Icelandic weather report.

 We stop by a desolate black beach at low tide, taking in the otherworldly, dark landscape around us, dotted by only the hardiest of plants. The rest of the day is rain. We follow the road westwards around the Snaefellsnes peninsula, the mountains hidden behind a wall of low hanging clouds, stepping out of the car only a few times. 

At Arnarstapi we take a walk along the shoreline, taking in the basalt formations and the choppy sea. Fortunately my coat is as waterproof as promised and keeps me dry from head to knees while the hiking boots have me covered up to well over the ankles so there's only a small part of my legs getting really wet.

At the parking lot we buy some fish and chips off a guy in a food truck who doesn't like the weather much either. It's supposed to be better north of the Snaefellsjokull so that's where we're headed. I don't remember much of the drive except green fields, broken by the cooler green and white of moss covering dark lava, the wet band of the road ahead leading on through the fog and the rain. 

I also remember overtaking a cyclist in neon yellow rain gear with a camera attached to his helmet. After the trip I try to find him and the footage of his travels on google but nothing comes up.

In the afternoon we come to Stykkisholmur where there is sunshine - but only on the screen of our weather app. In reality heavy raindrops are pounding the windshield and so we continue on eastwards, keeping our eyes peeled for a place to camp. We find it after the Alftafjördur close to a river.

As H. can't find the lighter it's bread and jam for dinner - again! 

Glymur, Borgarnes, camping in the swamp and first of all: getting a car

I'm awake early, itching for things to do but H. is still soundly asleep (sounds familiar?). The airport is practically right outside the window, to the other direction there's a rock strewn mossy wasteland populated by seagulls. I take a quick walk outside but it's still drizzling and there's not much to walk to anyway: There's the guesthouse grounds, then there's the highway and the airport beyond it and an uninviting business park on the other side. I spend the rest of the morning reading up on things to do in the Lonely Planet.

After a very basic breakfast we call our car rental and wait for their shuttle to pick us up which takes quite a while but then we're good to go: a huge black beat up Ford Escape with four wheel drive and a loudly roaring engine will be our home for the next three weeks. We stock up on food at the Bonus market in Keflavik - we've brought some Ramen but packing space has been very limited - and head towards the capital. The weather is grey, drizzly and overall uninviting but after we've passed Mosfellsbaer it clears up somewhat and views open up left and right, there is the sea and on the other side: the mountains, vibrantly green hillsides transitioning into rocky crags with the odd creek and small river rushing down the mountainside. I'm writing this several years after the trip but the wonder of these first sunny hours is still vivid in my mind.

While H. has slept in I've made a plan for the day which involves seeing Iceland's highest waterfall, the Glymur - though apparently that is up for debate as there may be another one around beating it to the title. I don't mind though, especially since the text says the waterfall can be a bit underwhelming after dry weather and there definitely has been a lot of rain lately. 

 

 

To reach the waterfall we need to follow Hvalfjördur all the way in so we miss out on the new tunnel but get a lot of nice views instead. The Glymur parking lot is a little ways in towards the mountains alongside a pebbly riverbank. Apparently the spot is popular as there are a lot of "no camping" signs around - not a very warm welcome but we don't intend to stay here anyway.

 

 

The weather deteriorates as we set on the clear path which leads through a valley and a little cave down to the river where we have to ford via a log and some boulders; there is a rope to help maintain balance. There is also a small gathering of people who seem to be in the process of making up their minds about whether to make the crossing or not or who are watching those who attempt it. Of course we take the (fortunately strictly metaphorical) plunge and begin the ascent to the plateau on the other side of the river. It's steep, wet and partially muddy, not particularly far but I still don't care for making the descent here. The information board at the parking lot said something about fording the river above the waterfall and descending on the other side so that's what we are going to do. 

Meanwhile it's starting to rain in earnest, the kind of drizzle that will have you sopping wet in minutes without you even noticing it - but we don't care a lot as we've finally reached the top and can overlook the narrow canyon and the water disappearing into it. The rock walls look dark and foreboding, circling seagulls being the only specks of light.

 

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The river is wide up here, not very deep but enough to fill our shoes should we leave them on, so barefoot it is. Of course the water is icy cold. Fortunately all the pebbles in the riverbed are nice and smooth and after some squealing on my part we reach the other side cold but, for the most part, dry. Putting the socks and boots back on feels amazing and we make our way back down a grassy slope, it's very relaxing.

Unfortunately somewhere around there we lose the path. I can't recall if it was marked at all and if so whether we payed attention to it - I was just such a noob back then, it's unbelievable! Anyways we follow one of many paths which in hindsight was made by the sheep which are grazing the slope so it peters out in the scree leaving  us still pretty high on the slope without a path to follow downhill. We backtrack a little and, while checking with OSMand, follow another path that's branching off only to meet the same fate somewhere further along in the scree. I start panicking inwardly as I there isn't a lot of power left on my phone either; meanwhile H. spots a faint trail leading rather steeply down the hillside. Whether this one was made by humans beats me but it's definitely not the recommended hiking trail. There are rocks, a lot of mud, some slipping but suffice it to say that after some rather long minutes of descent we make it back to the valley floor where we soon hit on the main trail - and what a blessing it is! Back at the car we both need to change into dry clothes, my pants are quite muddy and my jacket will take 3 days to dry - it's a good thing I've brought a spare.

We head back through the drizzle along the Hvalfjördur and to Borgarnes where we buy some cooking gas and a SIM card at the petrol station - it's the last year we'll be going through this foreign SIM card thing and I sure am not going to miss it, it's quite the hassle until I get it to work and we are able to get the weather forecast. The news are not great, it's going to rain until 10 a. m. tomorrow.

After Borgarnes we head out west to Snaefellsnes looking for a place to camp. The terrain is flat and grassy with mountains visible in the far background and long bands of lava rivers crossing the fields; it looks like something out of The Lord of the Rings, the landscape through which the Orc army carries Merry and  Pippin. As it's so nice and flat around here there is also a lot of farmland and fences but we manage to find a spot to pitch the tent in the midst of one of those lava rivers near a swampy lake. The ground is dirt strewn with pebbles, everything looks very bleak, especially in this light; it's not pretty, but it's definitely very out-of-this-world and somehow beautiful in its own right. We had planned to have soup for dinner but for some reason H. doesn't get the cooker to work and so it's bread and jam and then getting comfortable in the sleeping bag while rain batters the tent. 

 

 

Looking back, "uninviting" seems to be a suitable word to summarize our first day in Iceland but I don't remember feeling that way. It's all an adventure, especially the hike which was much more demanding than anything I'd done before - mainly the part where we lost the path - but has served as a cautionary experience and has made me wary of sheep trails in particular!

To cold and distant shores - Iceland 2017

This is it, the great journey, the one Sweden has warmed us up for - me specifically, the camping newb. Turns it it didn't really because we had such great weather in Sweden, in Iceland however... you'll see!

Saturday, September 2 - getting there and around

We have a late flight directly to Reykjavik so I have all day being nervous. There is a lot of packing, weighing and repacking as we don't have our comfortable car with us this time but are going to pick up a rental 4x4. The flight is rather uneventful except for us seeing our first northern lights when nearing the polar circle.
With the flight and the shuttle transfer to the nearby guesthouse which is very well booked and has to return 3 times until it has picked up all the guests it's late at night and chilly with a light drizzle.

I'm tired but still it takes me a while to fall asleep. We've heard several warnings about the weather and the risks of camping in it. Will everything work out, will I be able to cope with 3 full weeks of camping in this remote and inhospitable country? There's no way back now, everything in Iceland is super expensive, most of all accomodation due to the tourist boom and we're stretching our budgets with this journey as it is. On the other hand and stronger than everything else there is wild joy about having these 3 weeks of absolute freedom, touring the incredible landscape, stopping wherever we want, and after all, I fall asleep.