The Hrafntinnusker hut is heated by geothermal energy, which essentially comes from a volcanic vent. Apparently, once you start it, you can’t turn it off, or you risk losing the source. While this heating was a relief when we first came in from the cold, it quickly became too warm—especially with so many people in a relatively small space. The only way to adjust the temperature is to open the windows. Although I was lucky enough to score a double bed, and a bottom bunk no less, it came with the downside of being right next the windows. No matter which way I turned in bed, the wind seemed to funnel straight down my sleeping bag. At first, this was fine, but soon I started to shiver, despite being bundled up. Finally, I bit the bullet and closed the window most of the way. I knew this would make the entire room suffer the opposite problem—becoming almost unbearably warm. The key word being almost. While it did get pretty hot, I ended up getting a great night’s sleep, all things considered. Fortunately, my new friends only grumbled lightly about the heat over breakfast.
Morning broke with bright sunshine and more wind. While we’d been promised a decrease, the flag stood just as straight today as it had when we arrived the day before. As an added bonus, the pipe that connected the hut to the nearby stream froze. The amazing warden hand-carried stockpots of water from the stream to ensure everyone had enough, both for breakfast and to start their trek. Truly above and beyond!
As I set out, I took one last look at the hut. The obsidian shards on the ground caught the morning light and sparkled like diamonds. I stopped by the warden’s hut to thank him for his enthusiasm and warmth, then headed out toward Álftavatn. Not 300 meters from the hut, on a relatively gentle downhill, I took my first fall of the trip. The loose, cindery gravel makes for slippery footing, and sure enough, one foot shot out from under me, sending me straight onto my butt. Luckily, it was more startling than painful, and after a short chuckle, I picked myself up and ventured forth.
Looking at the map for today from the comfort of my couch at home, I had been gearing up for the long downhill at the end of the day. What I didn’t realize is that to get to that long downhill, I’d be crossing approximately 30 tiny canyons that would have to be crossed. This first dawned on me as I was tracking a couple ahead of me who unexpectedly disappeared from view. What seemed like an unbroken trail extending into the distance was actually a series of valleys. All geared up for a downhill day, it took me awhile to find my headspace for the climbs. The emotions from yesterday have subsided though so I’m much more able to keep a steady breath and heart rate which helps the up hills.
The other thing that helps is the incredible views. Today starts by leaving the icy lunar landscape behind and transitions into the buff and rust-colored hills that all of the trail summaries highlight. It was great to be greeted by sweeping views after leaving each valley.
The initial miles passed quickly. Yesterday taught me to not take the trail signs quite so literally – some scouting is required. I quickly learned that it’s much easier to see where the trail picks up again from the top than in the valley, so make sure to pick out a landmark before your descend. At about the halfway point though, the trail comes to essentially a canyon wall.
The descent is tricky, but the ascent…The up looks endless. After a short pity party and the realization that living where I am isn’t an option, I pick my way down to the floor and over to the rocky scramble that marks the ascent. I make a deal with myself: I just have to make it over the first 20 foot section of what appears to be a 60-degree scramble over loose dirt, and then a I can quit for the day. Gathering my trekking poles in one hand, I start the scramble and make it up over the first step. I find a relatively flat spot, collect myself and strike my next bargain. 10 more feet up the more gentle 50-degree slope and I can stop for few sips of water. Easy enough! The wind opted to help me out by kicking up again and pinning me in a four point stance (both feet and poles firmly planted) for a few minutes. After that though, I found a good rhythm for the remaining 150 feet or so of up.
Once at the top – Holy crow! Words can’t describe the view. The trail follows a ridge for a time and every time there is a break in the rocky outcroppings I think ‘Surely, the view can’t be any more amazing!’ And surely the next one is.
I run into some of the folks from the hut and we pause to grab pictures. It’s so hard to get a sense of scale on this trek when the views go on forever!
I start to feel the impact of the decrease of elevation and the day is slowly getting warmer. The warmer trail starts to get muddy but it is nice to be able to pause with out immediately starting to freeze. After walking through an impressive set of fumaroles, the long downhill I’d been fretting about finally appears — and it’s pretty manageable. First, there is a stunning view of Álftavatn, our destination for the night. Second, aside from being long and having a few areas of loose dirt and scree, it’s not nearly as steep as I’d feared.
I pass several of my new friends who found a sunny slope for a quick snack and thread my way down the hill. About three-quarters of the way down, I pause to allow a couple headed *up* room to pass. Considering how scary the one section was going uphill, I can’t imagine doing it in reverse.
Shortly thereafter, I’m back on flat ground and make easy time thru the grassy plain. The snacking couple catch up to me at a water crossing and we cruise into camp chatting about our other adventures and bucket lists. Álftavatn is set up very differently from Hrafntinnusker. Instead of three large rooms with bunks, there are individual cells with single beds—at least on the first floor. I’m assigned to a room with two other women I bunked with the first night, so it’s a happy reunion! We all change into dry ‘camp’ clothes and congregate in the kitchen to hydrate and warm up. I start the communal water pot, since the hut will soon be filling up and everyone will need water.
One of the women from the previous night decides to take a shower. The shower set-up is like an outhouse stall—there’s privacy, but no real protection from the elements. She discovers, only after getting under the freezing stream, that there’s no hot water. It turns out the gas cylinder feeding the water heater is tapped out. Even after it’s replaced, though, several of the guys report that it isn’t what anyone would call ‘hot.’ Having looked forward to this shower, I decide not to risk it.
Soon, the kitchen is full as we all settle into our meals. Most of us have some sort of bagged meal—dehydrated lasagna, couscous with dried veggies, etc. A few couples, though, have full-on meals with risotto, canned tuna, and more. The Tutu Crew—five guys from Canada who wear matching neon tutus—have full-on grilled pork chops with roasted cauliflower and rice. Quite gourmet for the middle of nowhere!
After settling down to cards and story telling, we soon hit hiker midnight. However, instead of an early bed time, nature had other plans for us tonight. One of the Germans in our group has a borderline fanatical fascination with the aurora borealis. The night before we made half-hearted but well-intended agreements to wake each other up if we see anything. Tonight, everyone is all in and with the clear skies we’re all hopeful. No sooner have I taken out my contacts when she’s shouting throughout the hut “Au-roar-ah! AURORA!!!”
Suddenly, the hut comes alive with people hurriedly throwing on layers and rushing outside into the frigid night. At first, I’m not sure what I’m seeing; it mostly looks like clouds threading across the sky. But as the night grows darker, the signature green becomes clearer, and there’s a definite shimmer—something clouds simply don’t do.
My first aurora! I stand outside, watching until the shivers become too much. Then I head back into the warmth and to bed, eager to tackle day three.
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