Iceland 2023 - Backpacking the Laugavegur Trail

It may be hard for anyone who has seen photos of it to believe, but the highlands of south Iceland are indeed part of our own Planet Earth, and not something taken from a dark, hostile moonscape of light years and lifetimes into the astral void. It's a real place, and is a remarkable example of our own planet's geological diversity.

The famous Laugavegur Trail goes through this remote place, commanding a degree of experience and humility in the face of the country's wild terrain, thundering ice capped volcanoes, raging river canyons, volatile weather systems, and more. But if you're prepared and the weather isn't working against you as it often does, you might have a moment, an hour, a day, or perhaps even a few days to enjoy it.

I hoped so, anyway. It was a rainy July morning at sea level in Reykjavik when I was about leave for a three day trek through this wilderness. What it would be like in the mountains was anybody's guess. I boarded the shuttle bus outfitted by Arctic Adventures at the main cathedral.

I was greeted by our guide, Anika. Other hikers boarded the bus and we left for the mountains. Rain continued as we traveled out of the city and into the countryside. Three hours later, we arrived at the north trailhead at Landmannalaugar. Clouds were low and imposing, hovering just above the tops of the dark green mountains that surrounded the site. Our group brought our packs into one of the huts and we got oriented with our guide and itinerary for the next three days.

To ensure our preparedness, Anika took us on a day hike for the afternoon along the nearby colorful ridgeline. Luckily, the rain backed off and the clouds lifted. Coming back, sulfuric steam blew out of the geothermal surface of numerous mountainsides, perhaps warning modern civilization of a seismic event beyond reckoning. We returned to the shelter, ate dinner, and slept in anticipation of our first steps into this alluring, beautiful hellscape.

We started on the trail the next day, hiking into a lava field full of gnarled basalt formations covered in patchy moss. It would certainly be impassible if not for the well cut mountain trail that was carved out for us. Steep elevation gains continued. Fortunately, the rain cleared last night and the sun was out, though there was no way to know for how long. At this latitude and altitude, the weather can be outright vicious.

We stopped at the Hrafntinnusker hut at midday for lunch. It was situated at the top of the pass, giving way to about an hour of flat hiking and a steep downhill trajectory towards Lake Álftavatn and our next shelter. I remember looking out at the edge of that huge, open valley. I couldn’t see any trace of civilization besides the trail that made its way towards the lake, and tiny dots of what would be our shelter for the night.

I knew I was going to hate this descent as I saw the trail curve its way down the mountainside. For the next hour, I cautiously maneuvered my way down the steep, ragged trail, digging my poles into the dirt whenever possible, regretting that I didn't bring newer shoes with better traction.

But we finally reached the valley floor, including the 78 year old grandfather whose family convinced him to come along. I mean, why not take the next step if you can, right? It reminded me of Dan the Storyteller from the Camino. He was in his mid seventies and had the energy of a fifty year old. I guess some people have the feeling in their age that there is still so much more in life to see.

We forded a fast, freezing river without incident and hiked the final three miles to Álftavatn, escaping what would be another night of rain and sharp, cold wind. It was one hell of a day.

Continuing east the next morning, we crossed another freezing glacial river and turned south through a large flat plain of black sand in stark contrast with a large, mossy mountain of prominence just to my right. We passed over more ridges and hills, one with a large field, sparkling with broken shards of obsidian scattered about the ground.

There was also the raging waterfall of the Innri–Emstruá around midday, a wild glacial river thrashing its way out of the high country. But we finally made it to the Emstrur shelter a few hours later after a somewhat uneventful descent.

The final day from there to Þórsmörk was about nine miles and mostly went along the side of the river canyon, descending at last out of the highlands. Here, the prominent Mýrdalsjökull Volcano stood high to the left. Near the end of the trail was a forest, one of scarce number in the country. And finally, Þórsmörk, the south terminus of the trail.

Anika planned to take the rest of the group on day hikes for the next day. But I was ready to get back to the city by then and took the bus out of Þórsmörk instead. It was the end of a remarkable Icelandic adventure.

Well, not really. There's more.

I sat on the bus with four other backpackers about halfway back to Reykjavik when we suddenly saw fire blowing past the right side windows.

"STOP THE BUS!!! STOP THE BUS!!!!" I heard a woman behind me yell, and the driver stopped in the middle of the road. "EVERYBODY GET THE FUCK OUT NOW!!!!" She kicked the side of the door open and we all ran into a field along the road.

We looked back as the front of the bus was engulfed in flames, with each of us a bit rattled but nobody hurt. We feared that the diesel tank might explode, but the local firemen showed up pretty quickly. One of them shuttled us away from the scene, and I thanked the fellow and shook his hand.

In the end, that whole fiasco delayed us by an hour and I still got the Icelandic hotdog that I had been craving for days.

Check out the reel I made about it on Insta here.