20.2km – 880m gain – 10 hours
Egilssel hut, 8.05pm. I have a bunk from which there is no chance I might fall, as it is squarely on the floor of the spacious loft. The hut sits on a hill above a pretty lake, Kollumúlavatn, with mountains and glaciers ringing the horizon, and it is generally much nicer than the hut at Geldingafell. I am pleased that we will be spending two nights here, rather than there.
The day itself was also much better: longer, steeper and rougher (so many stone fields…), but the pay-off in landscape outweighs all that. I’ll be honest, I am so tired that I can barely remember the start of the walk, and the sequence of the day is hazy, so these notes will need to be checked against a map at a later date. But I do know that we left Geldingafell hut and headed eastwards and upwards, climbing steadily over heathland and stone fields. The tongue of Vesturdalur glacier soon poked out from behind the mountain, each view only surpassed by the next. We reached a stony plateau at around 1000m and paused to take in the view of a sequence of 4 lakes stepping across the valley floor below us.
The ‘path’ (there were still no way-markers) descended slowly; towards the bottom, the glacier bared its cracked and riven teeth. At my feet, tiny tenacious flowers clung to the rocky ground. The path rose again somewhat, revealing a green, layer-cake valley – the Vesturdalur. A second glacial tongue articulated its fractures in a broad sweep, and behind us Snæfell reappeared. We inched along the northern lip of the valley, following its course until the stark termination of the ice, some 200m short of its reach 10 years before. The river rose from beneath the ice and etched its way along the groove carved by the glacier over thousands of years. We climbed again, then descended to the river‘s edge, where a waterfall thundered into a cleft maybe 100m deep. I asked Hjalti if it had a name, knowinng that it probably didn‘t and he replied ‘The magnificence of nature is nameless‘. I lay on my bellly to look down into the roiling, steaming cauldron. After, we took our lunch, and I struggle to think of a more striking place to linger.
We didn‘t linger long, however, and headed upwards again, pausing to look back at the glacier, the falls and the valley. Thick grey-green moss covered the ground and made for a very comfortable bed. Then we were under way once more, rising and falling over harsh stone fields, interspersed with moss and patches of level gravel that appear as a natural mosaic, rollered flat by the weight of the winter‘s snow.
Snow. There were more snow fields todays, small and level, which made for some respite from the stones and rocks. Around us, snow peaks and the glacial mass glowed in the sunlight, bringing some joy to the steep ascents and steep descents that wracked lungs and knees alternately. A longer, steadier climb was interrupted by the sudden appearance of a reindeer stag on the ridge above us. He cantered back and forth, well aware of us but comfortable with distance between us, posing imperious before slipping off into the wide spaces beyond the ridge.
Eventually, we crested the ridge and reached a small plateau at about 950m. The views were immense, including to long ribbon of waterfall, tumbling from the glacier. By now the group had started to string itself out into a comfortable order – the first day had been walked as a bunch – and often the tail of the file could not be seen from its head. We snaked down again, to a polite river that needed to be waded but which caused no great distress, the cold water briefly calming burning feet.
Rocks gave way to grass, and sheep appeared. Ragnheiður and Alexandra laughed at them inexplcably, and seemed surprised that I found this unusual. Off on a ridge, across a pretty lake, the hut was visible. A snipe, or maybe a wimbrel, but probably a Golden Plover (I had stopped trying to discern between them) piped us home as we circumnavigated the lake, crossing a small black beach before a slight rise ended at the hut door. I collapsed, suddenly conscious of each of the 20000 metres I had walked. While Ragnheiður and some others went for a dip in the lake, I selected my safe bunk and sorted out some food. The group is much more convivial this evening, as we get used to each other and as exertion breaks down the social reserve we brought with us from our respective towns and cities. Language still leaves me on the outside, but chinks in the wall are starting to emerge.
Maps and Legends 