My Second Trek in Iceland for Macmillam Cancer support - 2002

Having spent nine days in the freezing cold and hideously wet wilderness of Iceland’s interior the previous summer you would not have thought that I would have made the same foolish mistake again. But here I was packed and ready to leave once again. This time with what I thought would be a better waterproof jacket, good walking boots and the benefit of experience.

Waiting in the departures area of Heathrow’s terminal two, I felt the same twinges of nervous excitement but it was different this time, I was a pro as far as the others saw me and I was the only participant to be returning to Iceland.  You might ask why was I doing it all again.  It was difficult to put my finger on the exact reason but I had meet so many people who had benefited from Macmillan’s wonderful services. The year’s fund raising had been fun too, I had started organising stalls at local carnivals and had my first mega BBQ in the garden. In Iceland, I hadn't completed the route yet either and just possibly the weather would be better in July. My final reason was a logistical one:  I work as a teaching assistant in a local school and I had to take my holiday in the summer break. This trek was in the first week of the holidays and so it was the only one that I could take part in.

As the group gathered at the check in desk, we spotted a glamorous lady wearing a little black dress, black handbag and to complete the outfit dainty high heeled shoes. At once we thought she was either a Macmillan official here to wave us off or a member of the Royal family about to bestow a legacy upon us. Her greeting was simple “Are you the Macmillan group trekking through Iceland”. We confirmed this and to our surprise and amazement she replied “Oh good so am I”.

The weather was much brighter this time, with episodes of sunshine and showers. There were many rainbows brightening the sky and the clouds moved quickly across the ever changing arena above. The trek began in the same manor starting at the volcanic area around Mt Hekla, then over the lakes and lava fields of Dómadalshraun and on to landmanalaugar. Fortunately the spirits must have been with us for they let us enter there dwelling place in the dark high plateaus above and as we climbed higher in our two groups the air became colder and the land turned to ice and snow. We passed the old lava flows that danced down the mountains in their coloured and rocky bands. From here the land undulates for about ten miles and the air is freezing, icy and damp. On the approach to the icecap there are countless jets of steam and hot springs that burst from below ground. The snow being dotted with large chunks of jet black Obsidian, a glossy mineral rock of exquisite beauty. We sheltered in a mountain hut for lunch and moved on once the second group arrived.

Up here the clay covered slopes were becoming ever more slippery in the dancing rain, it made our journey even more tiresome. We dropped down the steep ridges of rolling solidified lava into the Álftavatn valley heading south. Álftavatn Lake (Swan Lake) with great anticipation only to find that there was no sign of it when we arrived. Our camp crew had missed the camp site and gone on to another valley further south. After some wait the crew came back for us in a small Jeep bumping down the rocky track and ferried us over the mountain to our camp site. It was a welcome sight but the feeling was short lived, when we were told to erect our tents about half a mile away from the main tents over a landscape of rutted mossy land and small water channels.

My legs were very sore from walking the day before. Both of my knees had become swollen from the twisting and pressure of walking such a long distance over the mountains. We had been told that today would be a short day, walking across a volcanic dessert of black ash. Our route took us along the Kaldaklofvis River where we waded across the freezing river. We took off our boots and socks wading up to our knees in the fast flowing water.The freezing water sent shivers up your spine and it was with great difficulty that you could stay upright and make it to the other side with falling. The water was so cold that your toes tingled and hurt when they began to warm up.

It was a long morning of walking and my knees were beginning seize up. I began to wonder whether I would be able to disguise the pain that I was in and continue walking in the following days. It would have been a good idea to have a rest that afternoon but with a clear flat area of rocky ground to the side of our tents, two young boys, a football and forty over grown school kids with a free afternoon on their hands, we soon gathered to play our national sport of football. The owner of the Kitchen crew, Halkow had decided to bring his two young boys with him for the week as it was the start of their holidays and they welcomed a few adults joining in their game. It seems surreal looking back, back we had such fun with our improvised pitch that afternoon. The whole area is devoid of vegetation and the surface is a crumbly black ash with large random boulders dotted about. From here you can see the Entujokull glacier shinning like a white silky ribbon on the plateau above. To the south are flat slabs of volcanic rock leading down to the deep canyon of the Markarflot River and rising above the camp was the mountain of Hattfell.

The night never seems to come at this time of year, there really isn't any more than an hour and a half of semi darkness. So after our evening meal of salt cold curry which was in fact rather Moorish, I disappeared up Hattfell for a reconnaissance exercise.   I was going to disappear for a few hours: so with a plausible excuse of fetching water for the kitchen and cleaning my teeth in the steam I nipped off.  Quickly I passed the guides who gave me a knowing look as they merrily drank beer that had made it to this wild camp in the Jeep of a passing national park ranger. The stream lead down to a wide, wild river that tumbled through an impressive canyon with high dark walls.  Above the mountain loomed with its flat top and steep sides. My route took me up above the river and gave me a glimpse of what tomorrows trekking problems might be, but tonight it was beautiful up there alone in this silent world, where only the wind whispered and the evening light gave the landscape a golden glow.

The guides had been enjoying there drinking for a few hours when I sneaked back into camp and of course questioned my devotion to perfection in the cleanliness of my teeth. They were indeed very happy to be able to head off to bed with everyone accounted for.

Unfortunately the weather had taken a turn for the worst and it was both extremely windy and raining steadily. My jacket was holding out pretty well, unlike some peoples who were not so lucky. I had a spare light weight rain jacket and lent it to another participant whose coat was by now unusable.

The views were gone today, it became colder and more difficult to stay upright as the day wore on. We came to a clay covered slope, descending into the canyon. The muddy brown rapids below the rope bridge tore against the valley slides making the journey to the other side seem quite daunting. Our lovely lady in black had certainly come into her own. She was quite a character, donning her crazy multi coloured horned hat with great gusto, but this she found difficult.  We watched with great anticipation as the guides skilfully attached her to a rope and lowered her down the canyon. We listened quietly to her cries of woe and cheered and applauded her eagerly once she had made it to the other side.

The wind was incredibly strong by now and the guides were concerned for our welfare. They explained their concerns in a gully while we stopped briefly for a drink and a short lunch stop. It was too cold and windy to stop for more than a few moments. The wind tore at our clothing like a savage panther eating away at our strength and pushing us fortunately away from the unfriendly canyon edge.  All afternoon our group struggled against the powerful blasts which exceeded one hundred kilometres per hour. The route went from a flat plateau to undulating hills, my knees became so painful I constantly stopped to control the searing pain. I didn’t want anyone to see my legs they were so black and swollen that I worried that they would stop me walking the next day and completing my challenge. All that existed between me and camp now was a few more kilometres and a very fast flowing deep river. This was so cold and swift that we dared not remove our boots, moving across the river in threes linking arms and loosening our backpacks. We eventually made it into camp, and I was relieved in the knowledge that tomorrow would be our final day of trekking. Funny enough the end always seems to come at the right time. That’s when your body can take no more punishment and you appear to have more blisters than feet. It’s now that you miss home and your family most, although you really don’t want this extraordinary journey to end.

We delighted in our spectacular achievements of the day that evening and marvelled at the magnitude of the impressively beautiful valley. I had of course spent three days here the year before and was happy to relax and went into my tent laid on my sleeping bag and cried to myself as my legs hurt so awfully.

That evening we had a bit of a celebration, the camp crew had made a BBQ and were cooking a lamb.  The air smelt wonderful and soft with a warm mixture of fresh rain and sweet tender meat gently cooking over crackling coals. There was quite a bit of drinking to that night too. The week of averse weather had encouraged some rather riotous singing from one or two of our company.  Even a few practical jokes were played on one rather obnoxious participant. He had brought along a chair and had spent the past week guarding it from anyone who dared to play Goldilocks. Inevitability rebuke was in order and at midnight a great deal of grievance could be heard as he single handily removed about forty small camping stools from his small and crowded tent.

The following morning the air was clear and bright with blue sky and warm sunshine gracing the impressive valley as we walk our last few kilometres. The scale and vastness of the astounding scenery here is quite astonishing, all around are towering cliffs and beautiful glaciers with deep blue fishers. Our squelching boots became even wetter as we jumped and waded through swift streams. Here we pasted wild Icelandic horses the first animals we had seen all week and a sign of nearing civilisation. Finally we rounded the last corner and like a magicians work nature had conjured up a glacier of such magnitude that we marvelled at its glittering and glorious volume. Here we stood tall, gratified once again for our final group photograph, proudly wearing our white a green Macmillan Cancer Relief T shirts.  Our smiles could just be seen under the hoods of our jackets, for it was once again gracing us with the pleasure of Icelandic drizzle.

I didn’t join the others revelling in the bars and clubs of Reykjavik as my knees were sore and I was feeling very sick as my period was now four weeks late. We still had our celebration meal to look forward to and this was spent as usual at the Icelandic restaurant above the Tourist information office. We received our Trek T shirts and dined on Lamb, Whale steaks and dark fishy titbits of wild puffin.

The next day was free for us to enjoy, but the weather was not to last. I dashed out to join the early group who had decided brave the waves a join a whaler trip to view the whales and dolphins who frequent this agree coastline. The dolphins entertained us with their joyous play, dancing and spinning in the waves. A beautiful and powerful sight. The rain came in once again wrapping its silvery veil around us, but not before we caught sight of a distant whale. I think the boat trip had about concluded my need to punish my poor body any further and feeling quite sick by now I decided to remain firmly on dry land for the rest of the day and then enjoyed an afternoon of a short shopping spry and the back to the hotel for a while earned rest. It did in fact take more than that to heal my legs, a good three days of lying in a deck chair in the English summer’s garden in fact.

We had all got up at the crack of dawn to get our flight home. The airport only being thirty minutes away and the coaches booked for four thirty we hadn't expected to be late for our flight. Only this was Iceland and early on a Sunday morning. Our flight was held for us, but it was a mad scramble and I apologised for my passport being so wet and tatty at the desk. When I told the girl how it had come to be that way she smiled sweetly and put me in first class. So it all ended wonderfully and I slept the whole flight back, weary but satisfied.