Hornvik to Ísafjörður: Iceland tour Day 20

A climb over a mountain then a cold wait for the ferry back to Ísafjörður.

Under a cloudy sky I walked across marshy land, avoiding a yellow summer house with "private" signs, to follow the path to Veiðileysa where my ferry would hopefully pick me up. Soon I was climbing up a succession of boulder strewn "steps", towards a high pass. On the other side of the pass, a view of Veiðileysufjörður opened out in front of me, an expanse of water enclosed by steep sides of ancient lava flows, stacked on top of each other, shaped into a fjord by some ice age glacier. The path was now indistinct, lost among boulder fields and patches of snow which made for slow progress. Aided by my GPS and stumbling over rocks I recovered the trail on lower ground where three fast flowing streams barred my way. There were stepping stones, many slightly underwater after recent rains and coated with moss, but using my trekking poles for balance and to provide support should my foot slip, I was able to safety cross without  slipping or the long and cold performance of removing my boots and trousers and wading through. 

Owing to an early start I had five hours to wait for the ferry, some of which I spent looking at the plants and flowers nearby, which included common spotted orchids and some small, delicate ferns. A few eider ducks passed by me on the fjord, otherwise there was little bird life, also surprisingly little flotsam left stranded on the beach, none of the plastic bottles and remains of fishing equipment you see in most places, just a few stranded jelly fish, mounds of seaweed and some scattered mussel shells. The facilities at my pick up point consisted of a latrine and a two signs, one with a picture of a boat. So I completed a few exercises, read my kindle and became increasingly cold. As the ferry time approached I was joined by a few others, reassuring me that I was at the right place.

Our boat ride back to Ísafjörður was rather more comfortable than the trip out, crossing calm waters without too much bouncing. With fewer people on board I was able to sit down in the cabin, watching the boat move across the map on the captain's Raymarine navigation system. We saw the glacier coming from the Drangajökull ice cap at the end of one fjord, the white ice merging with the white sky so parts of the black mountain seemed suspended in space. Now I am comfortably ensconced in my warm hotel after enjoying a hot shower and a dinner of cod and lentils, feeling slightly guilty as others on the boat were heading for a campsite. 

Looking down to Veiðileysufjörður.

Drangajökull ice cap. 

Around Hornvik Bay: Iceland tour Day 19

Today, a circular walk around the Horn peninsula that lies on the east of Hornvik Bay.

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. 

Where I crossed the river.

Eider duck and chicks.

Cliffs of Horn peninsula. 

Hornvik Bay.

Látravik lighthouse.

Ísafjörður to Hornvik bay: Iceland tour Day 18

At last, I reached Hornstrandir in the empty and remote north west corner of Iceland.

For the first time in my three night sojourn in Ísafjörður there was no pita-pata of rain on my bedroom window when I woke up to my alarm. It was 4:45 am as I had a 6:00 am ferry and dislike rushing my final packing and maybe forgetting something. I had already checked out where the correct jetty was at the quay, and inevitably, when I arrived 30 minutes early, no-one was around. Gradually hikers began arriving in their cars and congregated, eying each other's kit, at the top of the jetty, but quiet at this early hour. 

When the departure time finally arrived we boarded in a rush, our bags thrown below decks somewhere and were on our way. Although the fjord was calm, on reaching the open sea, the modest, one metre swell caused the small boat to heavily roll and yaw. Great sheets of white spray covered the boat as it hit each wave, dripping in where there were gaps in the covers. Soon a few people on the crowded boat were sick in the bags provided. I asked the captain if it was particularly bad today, but she said no and that it would be much worse on the way back due to the wind direction. Fortunately I was not going back today. A great deal of baggage was unloaded, and other luggage plus several children were taken on board at one location, watched by a curious seal, its head bobbing above the waves. Then we sailed to the next stop where four other hikers and I were put in an inflatable boat that hung off the stern, the outboard was pulled into life, and we were taken to the shore of Hornvik, climbing over mounds of washed up seaweed to reach the grey sand beach.

After carefully surveying possible camping spots in the area designated, I erected my tent at an arbitrary location and enjoyed a delayed breakfast. I decided to explore to the west side of the bay today and set out along the beach by the orange emergency shelter and the faint remains of ancient farmsteads. There was an awkward section with a rope to help you up and down (which I tried to avoid using on principle) before I turned inland and headed over a pass towards Hlöðuvik. My surroundings reminded me of Northern Skye in Scotland, the same geology of stacked lava flows forming terraces on the hillside, and the same wet and marshy land in flatter areas with scattered pools of water. However I do not recall seeing Angelica growing in Skye, here it grew lush beside streams near the sea, bent over and crushed in places by the recent high winds.

Returning to the coast I continued along a path heading north. As it climbed up the side of a steep slope I felt somewhat precarious as the ground dropped away steeply from the little used, narrow path, one footstep wide. Thinking that no-one knew exactly where I was if I lost my balance and fell down the cliff towards the sea, I decided to retrace my steps. Coming towards me was a brown, cuddly looking, arctic fox.  I stopped and he or she trotted up the slope above me and turned to stare at me. After taking a few photos I moved on as a sign at the campsite warned that while the foxes may looked unperturbed by your presence that may actually be very stressed. Earlier I had passed what might have been a fox's den. There were seagull wings scattered nearby, no doubt the remains of the fox's meals or that of its cubs, and there were "mewing" sounds from a cavity beneath a sheet of corrugated steel.

That evening I walked along the beach, looking at some of the driftwood washed up, some large tree trunks which I have read come from Siberia, spending five years reaching Iceland. Being July it never seems to get very dark, being so close to the Arctic Circle, which makes me feel that I am always snuggling down into my warm sleeping bag far too early, but then I did have an early start this morning....

View across Hornvik Bay.

Emergency shelter.

 

Path on uncomfortably steep slope.

Arctic fox.