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| Gourmet breakfast in the rain |
Morning! Back on the monster truck bus, a quick stop at Sejalandafoss for a rainy breakfast and bus change, then on to Skogar to tackle the other side of the trek. We were able to leave our bags at tourist info (inevitably staffed by hip young kids with sweet haircuts), and set off into a dubious looking day.
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| View from the top of Skogáfoss |
The waterfall is massive. 65 meters tall and sends huge clouds of spray misting across the viewing area, soaking the unwary. And the wary, for that matter.
A loooong set of stairs wends its way up the side of a hill.Tourists huff and puff their way up as sheep chew grass complacently. At the top of the falls, a path follows the river (this certainly ain't no creek) back into the hills and eventual mountains via a series of twenty something waterfalls.
It didn't look real. Dark grey, jagged rocks broke the earth as massive surges of white blue silver water stormed past. The ubiquitous low grey clouds scudded overhead, as a very Basque-ish Siri Miri filled the air - not quite raining, but the air was so damp and wet that we were quickly soaked through. Or rather my old gear and I were soaked, the wife's proper gear held up just dandy.
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| Tiny people in the upper right of the vast landscape |
By the time we had hiked four kilometers in or so, the weather had long given up any pretenses of not pouring down rain and was slowly filling the wide valley with dense fog, rain, mud, and then even more rain.
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| Soaked through! |
We trudged back, happy, but with a definite sense that we had missed some amazing landscapes. Luckily, we got a feel of what it looked like, but if what we saw in the first few kilometers was any barometer, it would have been a hike of epic proportions indeed.
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| Completely fogged in |
As it was, we made our way back to wait for the bus, where we took advantage of a gorgeously heated restaurant where we bought a portion of never ending soup and rolls for 1100 ISK. I hear the dairy filled soup was passable, but the rolls were fresh and tasty, and we lined our pockets with butter packets for future use. Eventually, not wanting to miss the bus, we made our way to the bus stop slash camping ground toilets, which smelled even worse than you think. Running a bit late, the bus finally arrived, giving us a scare we might have to spend a wet, smelly night at the base of an incredible waterfall. On an amazing adventure. Not working 70 hours a week. In Iceland. Woe is us.
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| Found David Caruso in the parking lot? |
BUT we got on the bus, promptly crashed out, and rubbed our sleepy eyes open just as we pulled into Vik.
Purely little coastal town, or so were told- it was rainy and cloudy and cold for our entire stay. There was at least a semi-dry eating area, but the roof leaked and there was no heat, so we furiously made cup after cup of tea, pretended we couldn't see our breath, and eventually made our way into the relative warmth of our sleeping bags.
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| Vik Campsite |
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