The God of Walkers

(Hyperborean Hopscotch 2017: Day Nine)

As I was finishing my last entry, about the first day of my Laugavegur hike, Facebook alerted me of a memory from two years ago. I had posted a quote from Bruce Chatwin's book In Patagonia:

"I haven't got any special religion this morning. My God is the God of Walkers. If you walk hard enough, you probably don't need any other God."

That is just about the most pertinent thought for my time in Iceland. It's also appropriate for today, as I think back through it all. I must have had the God of Walkers on my side. Or luck.

Anyway, back to August 23...

Toward Mýrdalsjökull, the glacier covering Katla volcano.

If we were going to finish the trail on day two, we had roughly 30km to go. While Ani and Sourabh made their breakfast I set off alone around 6am. They planned to catch up with me at the next stop.

Going it alone.

Crossing another small stream, my feet were refreshed in cold, cold water. After a long walk through magical lava fields surrounded by fairy tale mountains, I came to Hvanngil ravine with its smaller hut and campground, where I discarded trash I’d been carrying and refilled my water. Just after Hvanngil was a bridge crossing the Kaldaklofskvísl River, and farther south the unbridged Blafjallaksvísl River. This one came up over my knees and was maybe thirty feet wide. Very cold.

Another lava field.

River crossing.

From the bridge.

Cold, knee deep water.

The trail then led into a vast, time consuming desert plain of black sand. It was an unearthly, intriguing place, and it was easy walking. But it seemed to go on forever. When the way finally opened and turned down a mountain path, the hut Emstrur/Botnar came into view. I was more than ready for a break.

Desert.

In the desert, I remembered Abbey.

In the desert, I always remember Abbey:

"Life has come to a stand still, at least for the hour. In this forgotten place the tree and I wait on the shore of time, temporarily free from the force of motion and process and the surge toward - what? Something called the future? I am free, I am compelled, to contemplate the world which underlies life, struggle, thought, ideas, the human labyrinth of hope and despair."
- Edward Abbey, Desert Solitaire

There were no trees here. I would see those later.

Desert solitaire.

Eyjafjallajökull in the distance.

Anirudh and Sourabh caught up with me at Botnar as planned, where we ate lunch with a Belgian guy and a Brazilian girl. We all drank tea together, then Ani, Sourabh, and I left, expecting the other two to catch up soon after.

Glacier foot and river.

Anirudh’s knees didn’t seem to suffer as badly as Sourabh’s and mine as we climbed down a steep, steady slope to a bridge crossing Syðri-Emstruá canyon. 

Bridges.

The river below.

On the southern side we walked through the Almenningar valley and up another ridge with breathtaking views all around. 

Almenningar.

Greens, reds, greys.

360 views.

Rounding another ridge, the Belgian guy from lunch (I’ve forgotten his name) caught up with us, saying the Brazilian girl (I’ve forgotten her name) was too slow. She did eventually catch up but always wound up behind again. We all continued together for a couple hours, until tragedy befell the group. Something was wrong with one of Ani’s feet, possibly blisters, but he was in pain walking and announced that he could not continue for a while. He and Sourabh decided to set up their tent and stay the night so Ani could rest. I gave them a slip of paper with my name and email, we shook hands, and that’s where we parted. 

The Belgian and I continued on, but I was sad that my impetus to try the hike in two days – Anirudh and Sourabh – were no longer walking with me. For my journey, however, they had served a significant purpose: they put me a day ahead of schedule by suggesting the 2-day itinerary. It’s too bad that they ultimately had to wait until the following morning.

Into another lava field.

Somewhere after that, the Belgian stopped for a snack break. A high school physical education instructor and avid mountaineer, he was light-years beyond me in fitness. He was also a sincerely nice guy, but we didn’t have much in common. He was hiking the Laugavegur for sport, as exercise. I was there for something else. I opted to carry on when he stopped, hoping that would be the end of our alliance. 

Eventually I had to take my boots off again and cross the braided Þrönga River over into Þórsmörk Nature Reserve. Þórsmörk is a land of forests. Forests! It was such a strange thing to see forests on an otherwise treeless trek. (Þ is pronounced "Th" as in Þor - Thor.)

Trees!

Forest! Glacier!

Cave!

Field!

By the time I reached Básar Hut on the far side of another braided river (this one had bridges), I was exhausted, excited, and had been curiously rejoined by the Belgian. We would be hiking the Fimmvörðuháls Pass together.

At Básar, a motherly warden checked us into the campground and gave us two tips:
1. The night’s aurora forecast was about as high as it could be and the skies were mostly clear. Northern Lights were likely.
2. It would get well below freezing in the night. Expect to be cold.

I climbed into my sleeping bag with an alarm set to wake up and watch the sky. By the time the alarm sounded, both tips had come to fruition: I was freezing, but the lights were out!* It was really a stunning show, though not as vivid as some I’d seen in Alaska. I suspect at other times in the night it was even better, but I could only stay out of my tent for a few minutes before retreating back to my sleeping bag to warm up. After doing this several times, I gave up and fell asleep. Another big hiking day was ahead of me – the biggest of the trip – and I needed to get up early. I knew the Fimmvörðuháls would be tough for me.

I just didn’t know how tough.


*Again, I am not posting my aurora photos because my iPhone does not do them justice.