Inside the Picture: the Laugavegur Trail - Day 6

Valahnúkur Circuit: 4.8km

It was drier than anticipated when I rose at 7:30.  The kitchen and main room were busy with a group of 10 or so Dutch cyclists who had stayed the night.  They seemed oblivious to the recommendation not to cross the river and, in the end, persuaded one of the wardens to hitch a trailer to the tractor and take their bikes across while they waded through somehow.  Later we heard they had made it, though not without a certain amount of falling over and enforced swimming.  Most of the others who wanted to cross were doing the ‘orange route’ round Tindfjöll while a few were waiting to hitch a ride on the mid-morning bus (tits or no tits).  Breakfast again consisted of bacon, eggs and pancakes with Mikko’s group.  As we put together something for lunch, including some leftover lamb, I made some crack about tearing the meat off the bone like a Viking.  ‘The most Pommie Viking ever,’ said Sarah.  Nothing like an Australian for puncturing your self-image.  When all that was done, Nadine and I helped HD carry the food boxes and sleeping bags – a lot of which had been left by a previous parties – down to the edge of the beach to be loaded onto the bus later.

Today we were taking a short hike over Valahnúkur, the ‘home mountain of Þórsmörk’, according to HD, like Esja is the home mountain of Reykjavík.  The path went from right outside the huts, following a line of pink flags that had been put out earlier for the Volcano Trail fell run.  It was a steep climb which felt warm at first but soon cooled down in a stiff breeze.  The top came soon enough and we were treated to fantastic views of all the river systems, of the leading edge of Eyjafjallajökull and far to the mountains in the north.  Cloud played around with us, hiding and revealing the views for a while.  It started to feel cold so we dropped down a series of steps on the north side.  Near the bottom, HD led us aside to a cave that could only be accessed by a bit of scrambling through some narrow squeezes (leaving the bags behind).  A couple of waterfalls trickled down from above the shallow overhangs.  ‘Definitely an elf home,’ said HD.  ‘Definite elf vibe,’ agreed Nadine.  HD also described the arc of the walls as ‘a singing cave’ and gave us a few notes.

‘Is that like rímur,’ I asked to a blank look.  ‘You know, traditional Icelandic singing?  Chanting?’

‘What, football chants?’ he replied.

‘No, rímur, the old songs.  R-I-M-U-R.’

‘Oh,’ he said, ‘rímur,’ with some extra aspiration on the initial ‘r’ revealing an Icelandic word rather than my incomprehensible grunt, apparently.  Nadine burst out laughing at the microscopic change.

It wasn’t far from there to Húsadalur, where there were small huts, ready-assembled tipis and a bar-restaurant.  This was also the start/finish of the impending fell race, so there were a lot of people hanging around and music was blaring out.  We went into the restaurant to eat our snacks and to help ourselves to hot drinks.  It was clearly closer to civilisation that where we had been for the last few days as there was mains electricity and free wifi, both of which we indulged in.  HD fancied a burger from the stall outside but they were ages getting set up and ages prepping the burgers.  In the end he didn’t really like it and left a load, despite it costing around £20.  I was a bit greedy and ate all mine.

Icelandic forest

We had a leisurely walk back to Langidalur where we found the buses were parked up at the other side of the river.  Kind of worrying.  HD went off to investigate but the bus set off our way before he returned.  There weren’t many passengers, which was a good thing as we took up most of the storage with all the boxes and sleeping bags.  HD gave a last ‘jæja’ and we boarded.  The river crossing was excitingly bumpy and occasionally scary, as we leaned over to one side or another.  I was feeling sleepy – perhaps because of all that food – but the scenery was still too good, and there were more river crossing to bounce over.  Only after we passed Seljalandsfoss and hit route 1 did I finally close my eyes.  And then, with a slight diversion for a car accident, we were back in the capital city and saying our sad goodbyes, with hugs and good wishes.

What a journey we had been through.  I tried to think how it had changed my relationship with Iceland.  Despite my many visits and previous explorations around the place, I think it deepened my appreciation of the country, of the wild heart that lies behind the shiny, modern front.  Aware of it before, but only in an abstract way, I had experienced it close up, in its full glory and terror.  HD said that doing the standard tourist sights along route 1 on the south coast was like looking at a picture of the country; we had done more than that, we had been inside the picture.  That felt right.  From Fjallabak, the back of the mountains, through their core and out the other side.  Not just looking but bearing withness

As we drove back on the bus, some Sigur Rós songs came unbidden into my mind (Ný Batteri and Njósnavélin, as it happens) as if this was the landscape they had been soundtracking all along.  They probably had been.  Jæja.