Kill Me Now

(Hyperborean Hopscotch 2017: Day Ten)

Back and shoulders aching from the weight of my pack, knees sore and weak from the downhills of the two preceding days, I left for the most difficult hike of the entire ordeal. My “partner” the Belgian gym teacher/mountain climber was fine. I told him I’d be slow on the ascents up to the pass, that I’d be stopping a lot, that he should go his own pace and leave me behind. I saw him several times along the way, but to avoid focusing on the subjectively negative psychological aspect of our objectively positive association, I’m going to cut him out of the story here and say he went on ahead while I lagged behind.

There are not really “parts” or “legs” of the Fimmvörðuháls Pass hike, but for me there were five distinct sections:

1. Gradual ascent:

The road to Fimmvörðuháls Pass.

The trail went up immediately, and the views became more and more impressive as I ran out of breath quicker and quicker. There was a section where hikers have to use an anchored nylon rope to assist in walking across a narrow, steep, high piece of land. This tested my acrophobia, but I made it across without falling. Being afraid of heights, this was semi-terrifying. Luckily, it got worse. 

The path ahead.

Morning views.

After more climbing, the trail leveled out a little, but eventually I came to a mountain.

2. "Steep" ascent:

Believing this was the climb up to Fimmvörðuháls proper, I paced myself and stopped a few times as I worked my way to the top. It was tiring - because I’m out of shape and my pack was very heavy. But once I reached the top, I felt accomplished and happy. I took some time to relax and enjoy the view. 

This is not the top.

Continuing on.

3. The real ascent:

Shortly after the previous ascent, the trail ran into a much bigger, much steeper, much scarier mountain. It took me a while to comprehend what was happening: the previous ascent was a hill compared to this monster. How was I going to walk up that thing? 

Neil Peart is my favorite drummer and one of my favorite authors. His books Ghost Rider and The Masked Rider are among the best adventure travelogues I've encountered. In The Masked Rider, a book about riding bicycles through West Africa, he captures the painful truth of in-the-moment adventure:

“Some people travel for pleasure, and sometimes find adventure; others travel for adventure, and sometimes find pleasure. The best part of adventure travel, it seems to me, is thinking about it. A journey to a remote place is exciting to look forward to, certainly rewarding to look back upon, but not always pleasurable to live minute by minute. Reality has a tendency to be so uncomfortably real."

The climb up to Fimmvörðuháls Pass took every iota of energy I had. It was uncomfortably real. Including constant breaks to take off my backpack and sit down, this portion of the hike took a lot longer than it should have. I have never been more aware of my lack of physical fitness – but I made it! Other hikers did not struggle as much as I did, though it wasn’t easy for anyone. All three people I saw during this climb were fighting to the top. I was pathetically gasping for air and on the verge of vomiting by the time I got there.

But I got there. And this time, it really was the top. 

Finally.

4. Ice Land:

This was the actual Pass, Fimmvörðuháls, that crosses between the glaciers Eyjafjallajökull and Mýrdalsjökull (each with large, active volcanoes under their icy caps). It was here that I saw the landscapes I most wanted out of the whole endeavor. Mountains of ice on either side, snow and ice underfoot, whites and blues with stark black rock outcroppings. I was so far from home, but I felt…at home. I took my time wandering the trail, mesmerized by the sheer existence of a place like that. I drank water running directly from the glaciers, rubbed some ice on my face and neck. Despite walking for three days without bathing, I felt clean. 

Eyjafjallajökull.

Snow patches.

Ice.

As Neil Peart put it in Traveling Music:

"Fully appreciating the moment, I chuckled to myself and said, 'Just kill me now.' "

Why I'm here.

Kill me now.

5. Waterfalls:

Reaching the mountain hut, I knew it was time for the slow, long descent to Skógar. The trail here follows the Skógá River, which in my mind is not so much a real river as a series of waterfalls leading to the ocean. 

Falls.

River.

Falls.

More falls.

Yep.

Constant falls.

"We have an unknown distance yet to run, an unknown river to explore."

- John Wesley Powell, as quoted by Edward Abbey in The Journey Home

Mountain, falls.

Four falls in twenty seconds.

I honestly think there are something like thirty astounding falls in a row, broken up by several less-astounding falls. It’s like there’s more falling water than running river all the way to Skógar, the town where the final, dramatic waterfall – Skógafoss – greets tourists pulling off the Ring Road for a photo op (as I did in 2014). 

Locals.

Gorge.

More falls?

More falls!

Captivating.

And finally, Skógafoss.

Back in civilization, I staggered into a restaurant and ordered a victory meal: Fish and chips with beer. It was 7pm so I took a nap in a nearby hostel lounge chair until my bus came at 9pm, and I slept again on the whole ride back to Reykjavik City Hostel.