I woke to the rattle of rain on my tent, the same sound I fell to sleep with, and the wet weather continued until I reached Ásbyrgi. It was not the heavy rain allied with strong winds of a week ago which could soak you in a few minutes, but over a few hours it had the same effect. I was getting damp under my waterproof shell, my gloves dripping, my socks wet, damp patches spreading from the join between my waterproof jacket and waterproof trousers.
The Bláskógavegur was mainly a narrow path between low bushes that the man at the Ásbyrgi visitor centre told me were a type of dwarf birch. Patches of larger downy birch trees, but still only two or three metres high, straddled the path in patches, mixed with small willows. Water dripped on me as I brushed past them struggling on the slippery, muddy path. I saw a few sheep, who ran away on sight, and some birds, otherwise I had the world to myself. Fissures and cliffs, lying in a north - south direction were evidence that the ground was splitting apart here, as the American and European plates tried to separate from each other (I am sure there is some political analogy here).
Reaching Ásbyrgi just after midday I pitched my tent at the National Park campsite, checked out the visitor centre and had lunch in the busy roadside café. In the afternoon I completed one of the many circular walks in the area; up a cliff on stairs and with the help of ropes and then through birch woods. On a summer's day it would be delightful, or rather on a summer's day without semi-continuous rain.
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