For some reason it is hot in the sleeping bag although the tent shakes in strong wind.
Rain
in the morning. I move slowly to pass time hoping for a break in rain.
There were such breaks in the night. The fact that tent should go inside
the backpack makes packing logistically a bit complicated with rain.
Lost hope for a dry moment I decide to use the emergency shelter as transfer base. Pack everything except the tent and bring it to the shelter. It seems to be locked. Strange. What if I was in the middle of same major emergency right now? Back-up plan is to use the outhouse. So big bag stays there while I collect the tent and re-pack.
First there's a river to cross. Deeper than I would like which ends with my already wet boots getting more wet. Trouserlegs too. Surroundings are beautiful nevertheless and worth to take a picture. Camera battery dies and I remember that spare batteries are inside the sleeping bag. It does not seem to be a good idea to take the the item that most of all needs to be dry out here on a windy and rainy seashore. Well, no pics then. Too wet anyway.
Trail goes through the yard of the only house on the beach and someone waves to me cheerfully through the window. Then up next to a waterfall. Quite a climb, hanging on to grass and stones. Then the path appears again, following a much more moderate course. It continues upwards through probably breath-taking views but I can't see a thing. Beside two hikers who approach over the field below and start following me on the trail.
We meet at the windy top. They are from Belgium. I change the battery.
Level ground in thick fog, strong wind and rain. Big flowing water and together with the Belgians we walk back and forth looking for the best place to cross. There is no best place. Since we're all wet anyway we just walk through. I can use a hiking stick from one of the guys. He's the merry one, whistling and joking and waving hiking sticks. I have the valuable gps so they'll follow me. A stream instead of the path. Rain beats hard agains my face. Everything is soaked and it's cold. Fighting wind and gravity. For once I'm glad to have a heavy backpack, otherwise I would be gone with the wind.
Cool rock formations by the beach but my camera seems to be dead. Steep descent along a narrow path, half of it fallen into the sea. Stumbling along wet rocks. Up and down with the help of a rope. In addition to being wet my gloves are now also covered in red mud.
Emergency shelter appears on the horizon, shining in bright orange through the wet world. It contains a Frenchman called Patrick who has a hole in his tent. The Belgians are Stefan and Ben.
We take off some of the wet clothes and try to dry. Campsite is a bit further away and it's raining quite heavily. It seems that the journey I planned for my last day goes over a steep white descent where Patrick turned back due to no visibility. He's taking the boat back to Ísafjörður tomorrow.
It's wet and cold despite a quick tea. With rum. No sign of the rain giving a convenient moment for putting up tents. Water has somehow found it's way inside my rainpants so trousers are also wet. All socks are wet. Boots are soaked.
So it happens that we all stay in the shelter for the night. Backpack is damp inside and it feels as if I didn't have anything dry anymore.
The cliff next to the campsite called Hornbjarg was the main reason for the whole enterprise. If it continues like this tomorrow then not only is there nothing to see but I also have to enjoy being wet for a day in order to climb down the dangerous white invisible thing the day after. Doesn't sound like a very good plan.
Lost hope for a dry moment I decide to use the emergency shelter as transfer base. Pack everything except the tent and bring it to the shelter. It seems to be locked. Strange. What if I was in the middle of same major emergency right now? Back-up plan is to use the outhouse. So big bag stays there while I collect the tent and re-pack.
First there's a river to cross. Deeper than I would like which ends with my already wet boots getting more wet. Trouserlegs too. Surroundings are beautiful nevertheless and worth to take a picture. Camera battery dies and I remember that spare batteries are inside the sleeping bag. It does not seem to be a good idea to take the the item that most of all needs to be dry out here on a windy and rainy seashore. Well, no pics then. Too wet anyway.
Trail goes through the yard of the only house on the beach and someone waves to me cheerfully through the window. Then up next to a waterfall. Quite a climb, hanging on to grass and stones. Then the path appears again, following a much more moderate course. It continues upwards through probably breath-taking views but I can't see a thing. Beside two hikers who approach over the field below and start following me on the trail.
We meet at the windy top. They are from Belgium. I change the battery.
Level ground in thick fog, strong wind and rain. Big flowing water and together with the Belgians we walk back and forth looking for the best place to cross. There is no best place. Since we're all wet anyway we just walk through. I can use a hiking stick from one of the guys. He's the merry one, whistling and joking and waving hiking sticks. I have the valuable gps so they'll follow me. A stream instead of the path. Rain beats hard agains my face. Everything is soaked and it's cold. Fighting wind and gravity. For once I'm glad to have a heavy backpack, otherwise I would be gone with the wind.
Cool rock formations by the beach but my camera seems to be dead. Steep descent along a narrow path, half of it fallen into the sea. Stumbling along wet rocks. Up and down with the help of a rope. In addition to being wet my gloves are now also covered in red mud.
Emergency shelter appears on the horizon, shining in bright orange through the wet world. It contains a Frenchman called Patrick who has a hole in his tent. The Belgians are Stefan and Ben.
We take off some of the wet clothes and try to dry. Campsite is a bit further away and it's raining quite heavily. It seems that the journey I planned for my last day goes over a steep white descent where Patrick turned back due to no visibility. He's taking the boat back to Ísafjörður tomorrow.
It's wet and cold despite a quick tea. With rum. No sign of the rain giving a convenient moment for putting up tents. Water has somehow found it's way inside my rainpants so trousers are also wet. All socks are wet. Boots are soaked.
So it happens that we all stay in the shelter for the night. Backpack is damp inside and it feels as if I didn't have anything dry anymore.
The cliff next to the campsite called Hornbjarg was the main reason for the whole enterprise. If it continues like this tomorrow then not only is there nothing to see but I also have to enjoy being wet for a day in order to climb down the dangerous white invisible thing the day after. Doesn't sound like a very good plan.
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