Leaving the campsite I crossed wet, flat land, trying to avoid the deeper pools of water while not damaging the vegetation. I noticed some fresh fox prints on the path and then surprised an arctic fox, which bounded off ahead of me. According to one of the people at the campsite they had spotted several in this area.
At the far side of the plain was a river. It was sluggish, wide, with a sandy bottom and the water came up to my knees. It was also extremely cold. After the river I walked along the edge of the bay. Eider ducks were guarding clutches of little chicks by the shore, gaudier Harlequin ducks preened themselves on rocks a little further out. Yesterday, I had also been surprised to see swans. There were a few houses at the old settlement of Horn, summer houses I assumed owned by people living in larger towns and visited on holidays. Nearby only low mounds in rectangular patterns marked out where old farms once stood, until, defeated by the harsh climate, isolation and poor land, the families left for more rewarding habitats.
I climbed to the tip of the peninsula and continued along its east side, high cliffs dropping vertically down to the turbulent sea a few feet to my left. Sea gulls effortlessly soared above me, and their many nests on tiny ledges of rock on the cliff's face. I continued, moving inland a little to avoid higher peaks and any scary drops, admiring the geraniums and buttercup, spreads of pink and yellow beside my path. Returning to the cliff side, where I met the only other hikers out, I walked down towards the orange lighthouse, masts and associated buildings at Látravik. From there it was a climb up and over a pass, then down again to re-join my outward route and a repeat of the unpleasantly cold river crossing.
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