If it does not kill you . . .

I invited a few friends to join my on a ten days backpacking tour in the interior of Iceland. Celebrating with me my 65th birthday.

We met the day before departure at my home to go through the final stage of preparation. The weather forecast was challenging, mainly because of strong winds. And low temperatures. Summer of 2018 was the wettest and coldest for quite a long (long) time . . .

Leaving the bus at around 11:00 in the morning of the first day. Walking on the heath on very uneven, soft grounds. And some bogs. Some rain and wind of 14 - 16 m/sec at the first planned camping site, Flóavatn. Wet feet after long-term tramping on the moor and on the boggy heath. Everything is better in the morning. Tolerable, that is to say.

Second day, strong wind but not a storm. Showers of rain. Camping site located close to Veiðitjörn. Wet feet. Night temperatures similar to disireable temperatures in a frigde.

The third day, some wind with a mix of showers and continuous rain. Camping north of The Hill of Guðni - but the wind fell down in the evening. Some creeks/rivers to wade across and more bog to walk in. Still wet feet. The smell is bad and quite strong. Almost touchable.

Fourth day, walking in sunshine by noon, and all the black flies that the weather had battered down during the last stormy days appeared , bloodthirsty like never before. Vegetated land in the morning but after lunch we go higher, close to the icecap of Langjokull. Lava fields for some kilometers and after that land which is marked by the glacier: no vegetation. Just stones and dirt and quite a number of small creeks on our way, flowing from the glacier. In most cases we find stepping stones to cross the creeks, but in some cases, crossing is only doable by wading. Dry feet. Some wind as we get east from Krákur á Sandi mountain. Camping after around 25 km of walking at the top of the Dead Man's Creek at almost nine hundred meters above sea level at just after 18:00. Then the wind fell down and a gentle drizzle swept in.

The fifth day started with a bang just after midnight. A sudden storm, >30m/sec and pegs get loose in the ground of dirt. Half naked, I get out and secure the pegs with large stones. We are talking about 15 - 20 kilograms pieces. This should do . . . Sleep again, but about fifteen past three, the wind direction changes and now the rest of the pegs has to be secured. Barefoot and it does not matter if is an overcast night, a barefoot man senses the snow cover on the ground. A companion shows up a bit later, worried and talks about if we should make a distress call, asking for a rescue team. I dress fully to check the condition of other tents. All the three of them are more or less down to the ground with the poles bent. MSR, Buffalo Lahsa and Big Agnes, all of them. Things are getting out of control. I walk from tent to tent and ask people to dress as much of dry clothes as possible, pack and go.

Crippled and dirty, the tents are stuffed and tied to the backpacks and we start walking just before five in the morning. It takes an extra long time to pack in a raging storm. The first river to cross is only a ten minutes walk from the camping site: the Dead Man´s Creek is knee deep but I do not give it a chance, to take off boots to take on crossing-shoes. I simply head on and I can not hear any complaints. The roaring storm and the beating sleet are close to completely overwhelming the noise of the river. And all other noises, including possible (but not likely) complains. The furious wind is on the back and on the right side and it is strong enough to make us stumble and almost fall, every now and then. We arrived at Hveravellir resort just before eight o'clock in the morning after ca 11 km walk. Of course we did not take off the boots when crossing the last river on the way, close to the resort.

The wind is still strong, though the storm is over and everything is dry - except feet. Tents are set up for experimental and drying purposes. Too many curved poles make them useless - except the little Eureka! Spitfire tent. Itinerary is changed considerably in the aftermath. We take it easy through the day. The beer is bl..... expensive but the next pub is a two days walk away. Some go to the hot pool and enjoy the warmth of the sulfur-rich water. Sleet whitens the ground repeatedly. Overnight indoors.

The sixth day and we take the bus to Kerlingarfjöll just after noon. Relaxation when we get there. Half a liter of beer here costs less than 1/3 liter of the same liquid in Hveravöllur. Sleeping bag acomodation is also at a better price. Life is full of nice surprises.

The seventh day, light walk into Hveradalir geothermal zone and around. Some rain. Well marked trails with steps in the steepest hills. More professionalism in this area than, for example, in Landmannalaugar. And much more to see.

The eighth day, clear skies in the morning and the hike is up to Fannborg. We do not get to the top of the mountain because of the circumstances: the guide‘s safety regulations say that one should not try to get across so steep (hard) field of snow - unless people have the neccesary equipment. Does not make all that difference - magnificent views to the end of the world to north and west. A short day of hiking and Mr Prokofieff offers a delicious Ukrainian Borscht for a late lunch.

As the premises are fully book on the ninth day (Friday night and Icelanders head for the weekend to their favorite spots) we take the bus to Reykjavik on the ninth day. The bus stops for us at a petrol station and we walk to my home. As we are a day ahead of what was planned, there are no vacancies waiting for my flock. So – after the days of backpacking and nights spent together in a bunker, the idea of spending one more night together is welcomed. Dinner the Ukrainian way, but the landlord bakes a pile of pancakes, whips up half a liter of cream and puts two medium-sized jars full of jam with coffee and tea-for those who wanted it. All food disappears swiftly. Sleeping in bedrooms and on the floor of the living room. Dry feet.