The morning after the terrible storm, I gobbled a quick breakfast and waited impatiently in front of the hotel for the Trek pick-up. It was still raining a little, and, because, for some reason, every minute lasted one hour, I was certain that they had forgotten or abandoned me when they arrived. I got to sit in front in the jeep and tried very hard not to be weird. After a quick stop at the trek’s company headquarters, we went direcly on our way for the Friðland að Fjallabaki park.
Thus started the trek to the Door of Hell.
Of course, I forgot to tighten my shoe laces before starting to walk (I must have been too busy going into raptures about something), so of course, I had a small annoying blister for days, and I told myself many times afterward, Owl, you really are stupid, it’s not as if it was you first hike!
But first, let me introduce the group. Some were going from hut to hut in the jeep and took care of logistics and supplies, while the 4 clients and 2 or 3 guides where walking. Each and every one of them was nice, friendly, pleasant, and I love them all. Here are their names, function, and description, as scribbled in my notes.
Walking:
- Yoan The Guide (guide)
- Guillaume the guide on vacation (so, not officially a guide on this trip, and some days, he stayed in the jeep)
- Ben the Belgian forest ranger (a guide in training)
- Alain and Claude: the quiet French couple who stayed in bed while there were magical northern lights outside because they were tired
- Mathilde who lives at La Réunion and who’s the coolest
In the jeep:
- Quentin the nice bear who likes Jacques Brel and who fixed my sunglasses with tape when I accidentally sat on them (the driver of the jeep and the official logistics guide)
- Viktor the photographer (a friend of the guides)
Yes, it’s a lot of guides for 4 people!
The glasses and the Bear – adventure in three acts, from the point of view of the Owl
Oh tragedy, how quickly doth you cometh!!
Fie, what roar doth I heareth?
Tis but the roar of mine hero, the sweetest of its kind!
The End.
It’s the first day, so I’m quite serious, very well-behaved, and I even ask lots of smart and interesting questions to Yoan (it won’t last). He gives me fascinating answers, with interesting facts (which I instantly forgot). Then I discovered than in his backpack, he had a thermos bottle filled with hot water, tea, coffee, and cookies. Add to those incredible attributes that he knew where we were and where we were going, and you’ll understand that Yoan was the most important person in the group.
From the very first day, on the very first break, I couldn’t hide the spark of pure bliss and excitement which appears in my eyes every time I hear the words “cookie”, “biscuit” or “cake”, and I soon gained a…. reputation.
All week long, if some cookies went missing, or a pack was surreptitiously emptied, I was immediatly held responsible, or at least suspected of having taken an active part in the mischief. Alas, it was often justified. Still, day after day, with my face radiating angelic innocence, I righteously protested against the infamy of such slander. With the mouth full, and crumbs all over.
In short, it was just like home.
Mathilde and I became instantly friends, and she was a great support in the more intimate things (I remember a bathroom door issue the second day which was the source of long discussions) or in the very intricate problem of should I shower/shoudn’t I?/Is the shower clean and warm, or not?
The guides and their friends were all in their early thirties and I adopted them all as my brothers/cousins/other. The atmosphere was relaxed and more familial than in my family, with lots of laughing and talking with passionate, fascinating people.
Another detail: we were all French. All. French. That is, except for the Belgian. Let’s say it was not a big culture shock.
Anyway, back to the trek and our first slope, where we leave behind the last farms and walk towards a spectacular landscape, with the Hekla in the middle of it.
On one side, civilisation : farms and fields
On the other side… With the snow-covered Hekla on the left
Here is the famous Hekla, with its full height of 1491m (4892ft), and its multiple craters spread over 5km. It massively dominates the area, but from my observation on the ground, the view at its summit must be the less interesting of the island… It’s constantly in the clouds (it is indeed the meaning of its name) and during the 3 days where I observed it, I only behold it free from clouds once, and for 5 minutes. Yes, Hekla is a dreamer… Or maybe it’s because it’s the tallest, and all the clouds are attracted to it (and all the clouds of the world come to Iceland!), rushing in from all over to worship its venerable snowy head, and seeming to somewhat suffocate it sometimes.
Poor Hekla. It is the volcanic equivalent to the guy sitting next to you in a plane who suffers from hay fever: likely to set off at any moment in violent explosions closely followed by lava slides. Just think about it: its eruptions were historically so spectacular that all of Europe, watching them from afar, said: yep, the door of Hell is definitely there, no doubt about that!
Not only is the entire valley shaped by its eruptions, but we somehow found traces of its hysterics in Scotland and Norway! And, as a child holding his breath to be able to scream louder, the longer it is dormant, the stronger the eruption when it comes. Next one is late, so… Get ready for it!
Still, it’s a beautiful volcano; look at it, all alone in its big ash and slag plains, majestic with its eternal hat of clouds…
Did I tell you that Iceland was the land of rainbows? So many rainbows… to be fair, the weather changes constantly, and so quickly that you have usually both rain and sunshine at the same time. You can see it clearly on this picture.
The weather? Well, it was sun-raining!
Hold on to your hats, we have trees!! The only trees of the whole trip! Yes, they look unhappy, unsecure, warped and stunted, but still, they do constitute a tiny forest! It was the only occasion to shine for Ben, the Belgian forester… Indeed, people laugh in his face when he says he’s a forester in Iceland, but see, there are trees, and here is the proof:
Trees in Iceland? I suspect an alien invasion, maybe we should call the Doctor…
It’s a short day, and we soon arrive at the hut.
In the evening, before going to sleep, Mathilde and I decided to bravely face the cold to watch the sky, in the hope of seeing some northern lights. It was somewhat overcast, but walking away from the lights of the hut, we were able to see a white spot glowing behind the clouds…
White? That can’t be northern lights then, say we. We saw pictures, and it’s not white! What can it be? A light show? Projections? A city?
(thinking about their geographical position in the exact middle of nowhere, nothing, Iceland) mmmmmh unlikely.
Timidly (it’s the first evening!), we fetch the guides and ask them: what strange phenomenon is this weird white light?
Answer: Northern lights of course!!
There we are, eyes riveted on the sky… The clouds part a little, we can see it, it moves and dances, it’s both amazing and unexpected (why isn’t it not green???) but the clouds hide it, and we go to bed.