Following my two-weeks adventure in Iceland in August 2016, I returned to Denmark. However, it wasn’t for long as I was planning another little trip. This time non-work related. During the time I had moved and settled in Denmark, one of my best friends from back in Romania, Daniel, had decided to move to Norway. The promised land, the land of an unforgettable adventure that started it all for both of us. Now that I was financially stable and settled into my new life, it was time to return to the far north and reunite the brotherhood!
Thus just a few weeks after my return from Iceland, I took a flight from Copenhagen to Trondheim to visit my best buddy in Norway.
Once more above the clouds
Back in Norway
I got to Trondheim pretty late at night. By the time Daniel picked me up and we got back to his place his then girlfriend was sleeping. As was most of the neighborhood. I remember we sat out on the porch during the cool Norwegian night drinking and chatting away while trying to keep our voices down.
We had a lot to catch up on since both of our lives had radically changed since last we met. However, no matter how much had changed, how much we’d change, we would always seamlessly pick up right where we left off.
After one and a half year, the Brotherhood reunites!
The next day was a Friday and Daniel had planned a little road trip for us over the weekend. After a lazy morning, he had to run some errands in the city so I tagged along and got my first brief view of Trondheim.
Driving around Trondheim, Norway
Around noon we drove over to the one of the University of Trondheim locations to pick up his girlfriend. As I was waiting, I remember admiring this casually parked submarine in the harbor right next to the building.
This is not the yellow submarine
Soon enough, we were all packed up and ready to hit the road for the weekend.
Jostedalsbreen National Park
For the rest of the day and well into the night we drove to the Jostedalsbreen National Park, mainland Europe’s largest glacier. We couldn’t see much of anything during our night drive, but the next morning we were treated to quite a spectacular view.
A cool, misty morning in Jostedalsbreen National Park
We woke up in the heart of the national park, somewhere in, or near Fjærland. It was like poetic justice that we started off our trip in the place that we were eyeing three years before, from across the fjords and mountains in Søgndal. I have to admit though, for the better part of this trip, I had no idea where we were. I was just marveling at our surroundings and enjoying the adventure.
Norwegian Glacier Museum in Fjærland
Our first stop of the day was the Norwegian Glacier Museum in Fjærland. The museum showcases the science of glaciology, the history of glaciers in Norway, and their role in climate change. It featured interactive exhibits, models, and presentations on the topic.
Glacier model at the Norwegian Glacier Museum
The museum also highlights the cultural significance of glaciers in Norway’s history and provides insight into the challenges and importance of preserving these natural wonders. But best of all, the museum had a big polar bear in the lobby area that I could high five!
Heck yeah!
Melkevoll Bretun
Following a scenic drive around and under the mountains, we ended up on the northern side of the glacier, at Melkevoll Bretun. Located near the Briksdal Glacier (Briksdalsbreen) in Stryn, Melkevoll Bretun offers stunning views of dramatic glacial landscapes. It was time for a little hike.
The trail to Briksdalsbreen glacial lake
A 3 km trail from Briksdal Mountain Lodge led all the way up to the Briksdalsbreen glacial lake. The winding gravel trail took us up the mountain through lush valleys surrounded by towering peaks and cascading waterfalls. On our way up we passed Kleivafossen waterfall, one of the major highlights of the the hike.
Kleivafossen waterfall spraying everyone that passed it by
Following the waterfall we passed by some cool glacial features in the outcropping rocks. Jettegryter, or the giant potholes formed naturally during the last Ice Age, when glacial meltwater carried rocks and debris that swirled in strong currents, grinding into the bedrock.
The giant potholes (Jettegryter) on the Briksdalsbreen trail
The polished, smooth wall of the rocks also revealed other neat features in these rocks that would excite any geology enthusiast.
Structural features in the rock layers, including displacement and boudinage
Of course a Norwegian hike wouldn’t be complete without encountering a pack of goats. Most of them were minding their own business, grazing around. But then there was this one goat perched up on a rock that was just staring down at us lowly humans like the king that he was.
Close encounter with the Goat King
Briksdalsbreen
Shortly after our encounter with the Goat King, we reached Briksdalsbreen glacial lake. A serene lake with a gorgeous view, Briksdalsbreen glacial lake continues to grow larger as the glacier gradually retreats over the decades.
Briksdalsbreen, an arm of the larger Jostedalsbreen ice cap
This was one of the best places to test out my newly acquired PENTAX digital camera. It wasn’t as fancy as a Canon, or Nikon, but its fixed lens had quite an impressive zoom for the time. The only problem was keeping the camera steady. I never invested in a tripod, so I had to always find just the right surface around to get my zoomed in shots.
Briksdalsbreen zoomed in
I ended up getting some really neat zoomed in shots of the glacier. One of them even captured distinctive cracks/crevasses in the blue ice.
Even more zoomed in action revealing cracks in the ice
Of course I couldn’t just ignore the jagged mountain peaks surrounding us. After a quick camera repositioning, I got some moody shots of the landscape as well.
Ice patches tucked away between the surrounding mountain ridges
Finally, Daniel ended up just in the right spot for a spaghetti western style shot!
The man, the viking, the legend, Dovahkiin Daniel
An epic sunset
After we finished our nature photoshoot at Briksdalsbreen, we slowly headed back to the parking lot. As we drove back towards our lodging, the clouds led up just enough to offer some amazing sunset views that just kept on getting better and better.
Sunlight just barely grazing the peaks of the mountains
Even Daniel was constantly staring into his mirrors while driving while we were “oo-ing” and “aa-ing” at the scenery. We ended up pulling over numerous times to get the best shots.
Jostedalsbreen in the distance
But it wasn’t until the apex of the setting sun that we were truly treated to some spectacular sights.
An epic Norwegian sunset
Nothing like a lake view of the burning red sky as the sun goes down behind the mountains and fjords. A perfect way to end a great day on the road. However, our adventures in Norway were not over yet. The story will continue in “The return to Norway part 2”.
Having now journeyed across most of the country for the last 10 days, our adventure in Iceland was soon coming to an end. With but a few days left to travel across the south of the country, I thought that I had seen everything this volcanic island’s landscape had to offer. However, to my surprise, the south would provide a radically different environment then what I’d seen thus far. There, the unrelenting waves of the Atlantic constantly battered the shore, while moody, dark clouds kept the tall looming cliffs in a constant shade. In contrast to the desolate volcanic wastes of central Iceland, the south was a mystical place where valleys whisper and icebergs are born.
The gloomy, shadowy southern coast of Iceland
Southern Iceland
We drove from Laugarfell south to get back on the ring road. It was an overcast day. Quite typical of southern Iceland since the weather there is heavily influenced by the North Atlantic Ocean. The combination of the oceanic climate and proximity to the Arctic Circle means that weather can be highly unpredictable, with constant cloud cover, rain, and wind. Furthermore, the mountainous terrain exacerbates this, creating microclimates. It’s not a stretch to say it’s an entirely different land than the arid center, or the calmer north.
The clouds were there for good
After driving across green mountainous lands, in and out of tunnels, we arrived at the coast. The road followed the coastline and the visual was quite impressive. On the one side there was the vast North Atlantic Ocean, relentlessly battering the coastline. On the other side, towering cliffs loomed above us with their tops hidden by thick, low-hanging dark grey clouds.
A place I would have loved to explore more
As the road swerved around the base of the cliffs, I’d occasionally get a glimpse of thin waterfall, or a narrow valley hidden in the constant mist. On one occasion the fog lifted just enough to reveal an icy “limb” of the Vatnajökull glacier creeping down from one of those narrow valleys. The eerie sight reminded me of the “Paths of the Dead” valley from the Lord of the Rings.
Jökulsárlón
Every now and again there would be a small wooden house nestled in under the cliffs. I could just imagine the kind of tales and sagas one would be able to write while living in a fantastical environment such as this. It was around that time that I began considering potentially moving to Iceland for a time. perhaps as part of a PhD? I probably wouldn’t have wanted to live out my whole life there, but a solid few years could have been incredible.
Some of the more visible waterfalls along the way
Some time later, we arrived at Jökulsárlón glacier lagoon. A stunning glacial lagoon, Jökulsárlón is where large chunks of ice break off from the Vatnajökull glacier and float in serene waters before drifting out into the Atlantic Ocean. It is basically a place where icebergs are born.
Where icebergs are born and with them the worries of Atlantic seafarers
This tranquil, peaceful area is surrounded by dramatic landscapes like the nearby black sand beaches giving it an otherworldly feel. This unique landscape is of course a highly popular tourist attraction, where masses of people congregate for photos and boat tours offering a closer view of the ice formations.
Natural ice sculpture: The shark and the spear fisherman
Truly it was one the busiest places we’d experience in Iceland. Probably even busier than downtown Reykjavik.
Highway to Hella
After our brief stop at Jökulsárlón, we continued west towards Hella. Our destination for the day was Beindalsholt, a guesthouse located on a farm near the village of Hella. On the way we made another stop south of Öræfajökull to collect some tephra samples for another study Paul was involved with.
On the side of the road, two pieces of mangled steel that used to belong to the Skeiðarárbrú bridge. The bridge was severely damaged by flooding in 1996 after a volcanic eruption in Grímsvötn. The remains now served as a monument to the raw power of Iceland’s volcanic and glacial forces.
Skeiðarárbrú bridge monument
As we drove further away from Vatnajökull, the landscape opened up revealing more waterfalls, hills and distant mountains. On the way Paul pointed out one of Iceland’s largest lava flows as we passed it by, the Laki fissure eruption.
The lush landscape of southern Iceland
The Laki eruption began in 1783 and lasted for eight months. The eruption that created a volcanic fissure system stretching over 27 kilometers released large quantities of lava and toxic gases like sulfur dioxide causing an environmental catastrophe. Evidence suggesting that the quantity of ash and gasses released caused a cooling period in the northern hemisphere that contributed to the “Year Without a Summer” in 1816.
Hekla and the highlands
The next day was to be our last day in the field. We had two final targets to sample. Located further northeast, to reach them we drove back once more toward the all too familiar wastelands of central Iceland. On our way we passed by one of Iceland’s most famous active volcanos, Hekla.
Driving by Hekla on our way north
At 1491 m high, Hekla is part of a 40 km wide volcanic system linked to the underlying rift between the Eurasian and North American tectonic plates. Notable for its frequent violent eruptions, Hekla is often referred to in Icelandic folklore as the Gateway to Hell.
One last trip into the Icelandic highlands
Contrary to Hekla, our target volcanoes, Saxi and Fontur were a lot less extravagant. In fact, they were relatively small phreatic craters composed of fine-grained unconsolidated crystal fragments. Once we reached Fontur, we realized we didn’t even need our geological hammers as we could simply scoop up a few fistfuls of loose crystals into our bags. Paul remarked that it was the most unorthodox sampling he had done so far.
Fresh olivine and plagioclase crystals, straight from Fontur
As we made our way back to the car, the weather turned bad. We took the opportunity to a have lunch and waited around in the car to see if we could ride out the rain. However it wasn’t going away and in the end we decided to pass on the hike to Saxi. After all, we had such a successful field campaign that we could afford missing out on one single sample.
The end to a great adventure
The day after, we drove back to Reykjavik. The sun came out to shine down on us one last time while on Icelandic soil. A few familiar sights greeted us on our way back. The moss-covered Laki lava fields followed us for the better part of the drive.
The friendly doggo at Beindalsholt greeting us in the morning
Later on, steam vents dotted the lush landscape as a constant reminder of the ongoing geothermal activity underneath. Finally the sights of increasing human activity dotted the rugged terrain as we approached the capital.
Moss covered lava flows that formed during the Laki eruption
Once in Reykjavik the urban landscape took over completely. The rugged terrain replaced by wood, concrete and steel structures. Cars coming and going, and everyday people living their normal lives. A stark contrast to the harsh land they inhabit, as well as a testament to humanities nature to survive and thrive in the some of the most unforgivable places on Earth.
Walking around in Reykjavik
As my time in Iceland had come to a close, I walked the streets of Reykjavik one last time reflecting on the incredible sights I had seen. It had been a truly remarkable journey, filled with laughs, adventures and good times. It had also been an amazing mentor-student bonding experience between Paul and myself.
It’s been quite the ride, both living and retelling the journey
I believe that the details in which I could retell this story today, over 8 years later, are a tribute to the many fond memories gained during my trip there to Iceland. Hence, I will forever be thankful to Paul Martin for the opportunity to go to Iceland as part of my Masters thesis project.
As my geological trip across Iceland was progressing, I had run out of targets in north and central parts of the island. The next destinations were the east and south. Given the speedy sampling that we got done in the previous days, we were ahead of schedule. As a result I would soon embark on an impromptu journey across Iceland, from Snæfell in the east to Mývatn in the north.
Following our drive from Dreki, we spent the night at a guesthouse in a remote area in east Iceland. The owner was a big intimidating looking, bearded Icelandic gentleman. With a dog by his side and an axe in his hand, his visage combined with the isolated location gave us pause. Paul and I were wondering if we’d survive the night, or the man would chop us up into little bits. In the end our host turned out to be a warm and welcoming fellow. Genuinely curious about our work, he could not for the life of him wrap his head around what exactly was the purpose of my study.
Our AirBnB host’s doggie
The following morning we were supposed to get a replacement vehicle from the car rental company. We emptied the Landcruiser and waited for the rental agency representatives to come make the exchange.
Upon their arrival, they inspected the damaged car inside and out. I will never forget the hilarious moment one of them stuck their head inside the car and the foul smell created waves of wrinkles along his face. The odor of spilled food and beverages due to the absent suspensions made that car smell like a collage frat house. After the exchange we ended up with a smaller, more compact SUV in the form of a Dacia Duster.
Driving across the lush green landscape of eastern Iceland
How ironic that in Iceland of all places I’d end up behind the wheel of a Romanian car brand.
The snow-capped Mount Snæfell
Finally on the road again, we set off towards our new target area, Snæfell. An imposing snow-capped mountain, Snæfell is one of the tallest mountain peaks in eastern Iceland. When I gazed upon the mighty mountain, my hiking senses were tingling. However, our sampling points were not on Snæfell per se. Rather they were located on the various hills and in gullies surrounding the grand mountain.
The snow-capped Mount Snæfell rising above the horizon
This is where the novelty of Icelandic landform names had worn off for me. Ever since then, when other foreigners would come up to me and ask whether I could pronounce the name of the famous Eyjafjallajökull volcano, I would say “Please, that’s child’s play”. Then I would throw a few names from eastern Iceland at them like: Langihnjúkur, Nálhushnjúkar, or Vestri Sauðhnjúkar.
Some of the many “jukurs” and “jukars” we traversed and sampled
Indeed, there were many strange “jukurs” and “jukars” we trekked in our days around Snæfell. As we traveled further inland, with each new spot, we’d end up edging closer once more to the vast Vatnajökull ice field stretching across central Iceland. At around mid-day we took a lunch break atop one of our hills, marveling at the gorgeous view of Vatnajökull.
Nothing like having lunch with a panoramic view of Iceland’s largest ice cap
Another great day for sampling
Our first day in the east was quickly turning into another great success. With splendid weather and road conditions, we managed to sample over half of our targets around Snæfell. With but a few locations left, we decided to call it a day towards the late afternoon. That’s when I realized I didn’t have my borrowed geological hammer on me anymore.
The illusive hammer hiding in plain sight
Losing ones tools is such a typical rookie geologist mistake. Paul was eager to see how I’d deal with the problem. I was fairly certain I had forgotten it on our last outcrop. But the landscape was so uniform that it was hard to retrace our steps precisely. It didn’t take me long though to realize we had our GPS trackers on. So with some help from technology I quickly recovered the missing hammer. With a sly smirk on his face, Paul was visibly pleased with my quick thinking.
With a successful bounty in tow, we drove towards our new lodging, Laugarfell. A quaint mountain lodge fairly close to Snæfell, Laugarfell, with its two natural hot springs was quite a step up from the cramped and crowded huts we stayed at in central Iceland.
Natural hot spring at Laugarfell with Mount Snæfell in the background
The monolith
The second day the sky was overcast and there was a light drizzle in the air. We drove back towards Snæfell to continue our rock-hunt. During one of our stops we hiked along a mossy valley with lingering patches of snow and ice. The rocks and landscape clearly carved out by expanding ice sheets not long ago, geologically speaking.
I just loved the visual of the green-yellow vegetation seemingly seeping out from the dark rocky valleys and crevasses
All was going well as we circled the mystical Mount Snæfell, now covered in a thick layer of clouds. Our sampling for the entire region was nearly done. As we drove around, we spotted a large rock pillar sticking out of the side of a slope in the distance. We had time to spare so we decided to investigate.
Behold the Monolith, Sótaleiði
It was thus that we found Sótaleiði, or as I called it, the Monolith. This giant gravestone-shaped rock pillar composed of dark volcanic breccia was likely a large loose block remobilized by the receding ice sheet. A hiking trail panel nearby described the Monolith as Sótaleiði, a gravestone for the mythical giant Sóti.
Even though it wasn’t exactly the rock type we were looking for, we decided to take a sample for geochemical analysis, just out of curiosity.
Paying homage to the “gravestone”
Leaving the Monolith behind, we made one more quick stop on our way back to Laugarfell and grabbed the last of our target samples in eastern Iceland.
A journey across Iceland
Thanks to our good fortune and hard work, we were one day head of schedule. So I was hoping I could get Paul to go do some touristy sightseeing the following day. Specifically the Mývatn area which had caught my eye a few days before while we traveled around north Iceland. Unfortunately Paul had paper work he wished to catch up on, so he handed me the car keys and set me on my solo journey across Iceland.
The decision to let Paul solely drive throughout our trip came back to haunt me that day. I was quite reluctant about taking the wheel as it had been many years since I had driven and my past driving experience from Romania was minimal. Regardless, I wasn’t about to pass up an opportunity to go sightseeing in Iceland because of my driving fear and anxiety. So with shaky hands and heart in throat I set out towards Egilsstaðir and Mývatn.
The journey across Iceland, from Snæfell to Mývatn
The weather was not great that morning. Heavy rain and wind were constantly battering the car throughout my journey. In some parts of the drive the wind was so strong that it felt like it was trying to tip the car over. Regardless, I kept on going with my loud music blasting on. My main gripe at the time being how I couldn’t enjoy that wonderful moment of my life because of my high anxiety. I was freely driving alone in Iceland to my Norwegian black metal music. Something I couldn’t even have dreamt of years before and all I could think of was what could go wrong on the road.
Mývatn
As I got closer and closer to Mývatn, I was finally starting to relax. I had completed the 240 km drive (my longest continuous drive at that point) from Laugarfell to Mývatn. There was of course the little issue of driving back, but I wasn’t going to worry about that just yet. I was going to take my time and enjoy some sightseeing.
Oh my Dacia at the Dimmuborgir lava fields
Dark Fortresses
My first stop was the Dimmuborgir lava fields. To me this was a major attraction that I never thought I’d get to see, so I was super hyped. The main reason being that there is this Norwegian symphonic black metal band that I was a big fan of for years called Dimmu Borgir. Translated as “Dark Fortresses” their name was clearly inspired by the geologic feature in Iceland.
Orientation dial at the entrance to the lava fields
So what actually is the Dimmuborgir of Iceland you may ask. Simply put, it’s an expansive field of lava formations, including caves, pillars, and arches, which were created during a volcanic eruption approximately 2300 years ago.
Dimmuborgir lava fields, Iceland
This dramatic landscape formed when a large lava lake from the eruption began to cool and solidify on the surface while molten lava continued to flow beneath it. When the underlying lava drained away, the crust collapsed in some areas but left other sections standing, resulting in fascinating, unique, irregular features.
One of the many contorted lava features at Dimmuborgir
The name was given to reflecting the eerie, castle-like appearance of these lava structures. According to Icelandic folklore, the area is considered a mystical place, believed to be home to trolls and other supernatural beings. The site also ties into local legends about the Yule Lads, mischievous figures associated with Icelandic Christmas traditions.
I was in my element then like never before
The gloomy dark grey clouds above combine with the otherworldly landscape around me were fueling my vivid imagination. It was like an ancient dark fantasy conjured up by my young brooding mind had come to life. I deeply savored each moment of my time there.
The towering features resembling dark fortresses that earned the place its name
After a good couple of hours of walking around the lava fields I went back to the car and had some lunch. It was still fairly early in the afternoon so I decided to go check out one more attraction in the area.
“R” for Reverse
My point of interest was Hverfjall, a large volcanic crater nearby. There was just one little problem. I seemed to be having a tough time figuring out how to put the car in reverse so I could back out of the parking space. The “R” on the stick shift clearly showed left-down, but no matter how much I tried it wasn’t going in reverse. To make matters worse, the parking lot was on a cliff. So each time I’d tap the gas and it would go forward instead of backward, I’d be creeping closer and closer to the cliff’s edge.
One of my favorite photos from Mývatn capturing the widely diverse landscape of Iceland with craters, lava flows, steam vents all in one
I was so frustrated and embarrassed that I’d constantly look around to make sure nobody was paying attention to my laughably futile maneuvers. Clearly there had to be some trick to changing the gear. Upon a closer inspection I noticed the line leading to the “R” was discontinued. I thought that perhaps there was a button there, so I tried pushing the stick down. Another failed attempt. As the car got closer to the edge, I was running out of tries.
I stopped once more to think carefully. That’s when it hit me! This was a Dacia and I had driven Dacia cars before. The way you put a Dacia in reverse gear is a little weird. You have to grab the ring around the fabric of the stick shift and pull it up. Then you can push it left-down into the correct gear socket. Eureka! I could finally back out of my parking space!
Lake Mývatn, Iceland
A short drive later I arrived at Hverfjall.
Hverfjall
With my renewed confidence I parked the car like a boss, and headed up the trail to the crater. Hverfjall is a phreatomagmatic crater, formed by explosive interactions between magma and groundwater or surface water.
Hiking up Hverfjall
These interactions led to violent eruptions that fragmented the surrounding rock and created the large, circular crater with a nearly symmetrical shape. This type of eruption results in a tuff ring, which is evident in Hverfjall’s steep 420 m high walls. The eruption occurred approximately 2800 years ago, producing a crater that measures around 1 kilometer in diameter and 140 meters deep.
There’s an entire hiking trail around the rim of the crater. However, I’m not sure if it’s possible to go down into the crater itself. Sadly I didn’t have enough time to do the hike or explore too much. I only spent about half an hour taking in the sights before I hopped back into my newly mastered car to drive back to Laugarfell.
The phreatic crater, Hverfjall. At least as much as I could fit in a photo
I was less nervous about the drive then in the morning, but I felt quite tired for the first hour. At one moment I decided to pull over and go out for a few moments to allow the cold breeze to wake me up. I was also taking in the awesome sights of northern Iceland one last time. In spite of my driving related anxieties, this turned out to be one of my most memorable days in Iceland.
By the time I got back to eastern Iceland, the sun was out and shining. With a gorgeous sunset on the horizon I was finally enjoying every moment of the rest of my drive.
After our respite in northern Iceland, Paul Martin and I found ourselves driving towards the volcanic desert of central Iceland once more. Our rocky target of the day was the “Mother of all tuyas”, Herðubreið. Tuyas are flat-topped, steep-sided volcanoes that formed as a result of sub-glacier eruptions. Referred to as the Queen of Icelandic mountains, Herðubreið is one of the countries most iconic tuyas and a marvel to behold.
Herðubreið, the Mother of tuyas
To reach our target, we followed roads 1 and F88 into the Icelandic highlands until the turnoff to Herðubreiðartögl. Herðubreið, by far the most visually captivating edifice was in fact one of a series of eruptions in the same area. A shorter, more disproportionate sibling of it was Herðubreiðartögl. Given the relatively flat nature of the surrounding wasteland, the towering series of tuyas were evidently imposing even from afar. The closer we got the more we marveled at the sight and formation of these massive volcanic centers.
Lava cave around Herðubreið
Herðubreið and the lava fields
While approaching Herðubreið, the road became quite rough as it crossed a series of old lava flows. The ride was very bumpy and we couldn’t help but joke about the extremely bouncy ride we had a couple of days before when our rear suspensions broke. Just a few moments later there was a noticeably bad bump that felt like the car’s bottom had hit the rocks beneath. I gazed over at Paul and said “That didn’t sound good”. He tried to wave it off with a smirk and an “I don’t know what you’re talking about” line.
The lava road to Herðubreið marked out by sporadic road demarcation pylons
We first pulled over to sample Herðubreiðartögl and then proceeded further to stop at Herðubreið. After a short hike up the base of the mountain to collect my sample, it was lunch time. By that time the sun was out and the sky was clear. It was a gorgeous day to be out exploring the natural beauties of Iceland. Paul and I were both very happy with how the day was going. That is until we went back to the car and noticed the back half of the chassis slanted down on the rear tire… The suspension broke again.
Dreki hut and the Icelandic park rangers
With our once more handicapped car we drove to our next destination, camp Dreki. Located at the mouth of the Drekagil gorge in central Iceland, Dreki is a small base camp for the Icelandic national park rangers offering two living huts that can accommodate 50 visitors during the summer. Paul had to notify the rangers of our arrival and intent of work within the park’s limits. He was also hoping to get some advice and perhaps some help with our limping Landcruiser.
Dreki Hut, east of the Dyngjufjöll mountains in central Iceland
One of the rangers had a look at our car and was quick to point out that it would be a bad idea to keep driving the car on the F-roads. Instead of both suspensions giving out on the back, this time only one of them broke. This caused an awkward tilt side tilt of the chassis and was putting a lot of strain on the back axel. If we forced it too much on the mountain roads it could completely break the axel. Considering we still had several targets planned in central Iceland for the next two days this was pretty bad news.
Talk about a low-rider SUV…
We asked if there was any other vehicles available at the camp that we could potentially borrow. Or if the rangers had any other suggestions. This one ranger, Hannes, tentatively mentioned that he might be able to gives us a ride to our locations. I could see Paul’s face lighting up immediately. Hope was back! But our ranger friend couldn’t promise us anything yet and had to get back to work. He left us there to settle in for the evening and would be back later with an answer.
The Icelandic National Park Rangers at Dreki
After settling in, we had dinner and tried to salvage whatever was left of our scratched up “Viking” beer cans. The recovery was about 80-90% which wasn’t too bad considering the cans were bouncing all around in the back of the car together with rocks and tools for hours. Later in the evening we met up once more with Hannes and he finally agreed to drive us around for the next two days.
A couple of the surviving Viking beers after battling flying rocks and tools in the back of our bouncing car
The desolate land of ash and rock
The next morning we got into the truck with Hannes and bolted across the grey landscape of central Iceland. The man clearly knew these roads like the back of his hand. The car was literally flying on the F-roads. We were reaching our targets in little to no time.
A shout out to our friendly Icelandic park ranger and volunteer driver, Hannes
We were once more on the infamous Gæsavatnaleið that had wrecked our car during our first day in the field. We had a short stop at Gigöldur, where we sampled an old fissure eruption as well as a few other hyaloclastite outcrops around the mountain.
Claiming my rocks at Gigöldur
Without wasting any time we were back in the car and flying towards Urðarháls. Urðarháls was a massive crater located fairly close to where we had stopped the first day when going to Kistufell. With its steeply inclined walls, Urðarháls is about 0.1 km deep, 1.1 km long and 0.8 km wide. The bottom of the crater seemed impossible to access and the thought of falling into it with no chance to escape gave us pause. Luckily, for our work it was enough to simply hammer out a piece of rock from the top.
At the mouth of Urðarháls crater
With our tasks for the day completed in record time, we drove back to Dreki for a relaxing afternoon.
The Dyngjufjöll mountains
Upon our return to camp, Paul decided to catch up on some reading/work and I got the afternoon off. I decided to take advantage of the free time and go hiking up the Dyngjufjöll mountains near Dreki.
Hiking up the Dyngjufjöll mountains
At first I was just aimlessly walking up the first slope taking the path of least resistance. After crossing a narrow valley, I reached a plateau just above the camp offering a spectacular view towards the east. The whole area was covered in a variety of volcanic sediments. The most intriguing being a centimetric layer of light beige pumice.
The eastward view from above Dreki
Apart from the eerie blanket of fine pumice, several large fragments are scattered about across the landscape. The pumice which blanketed a large area in all directions was formed as a result of the Askja eruption of 1875, one of the most catastrophic volcanic events in Icelandic history.
Light pumice fragments covering the Dyngjufjöll mountains
The highly explosive eruption of Askja in 1875 killed much of Icelands livestock and local vegetation. So much so that it led to a famine crisis. As a result much of the population emigrated to other parts of the world, especially North America. Ash and pumice from the eruption was carried across the North Atlantic, with reports of fallout as far as Norway and Poland.
Glacial striations in the volcanic rocks of Dyngjufjöll
Upon exploring the plateau further I discovered a hiking trail with a sign reading 8 km to Askja. I was immediately hyped to go see the famous caldera for myself! However, 8 km one way was quite a lot considering it was already around 3 pm. With a reluctant sigh, I decided to play it safe and not venture into the unknown alone without notice for several hours.
Exploring the valley towards Drekagil
A storm front was also visibly closing in, so staying back was the right call. There could always be a next time anyway. As the rain rolled in, I decided to go back and further explore the narrow valley I had climbed up on. This lead me to a hidden little gem of a waterfall called Drekagil.
Drekagil waterfall
I spent another hour or so roaming around the mountains without venturing too far from Dreki.
Saving a day
The following day we had just two more targets to reach. A small distant volcanic cone called Lindakeilir and a quick sampling stop along the way at Upptyppingar.
A well-defined pillow basalt at Upptyppingar
The first stop went without a hitch. We reached our hyaloclastite target, grabbed a quick sample and blasted off. The second one though ended up being quite the disappointment.
The little volcano Lindakeilir surrounded by the most vegetation we’d seen in the last two days
In the geological literature and maps, the little volcanic cone at Lindakeilir was labeled as hyaloclastite, our sought-after, brown rock types. However, when we got there there was no brown rocks in sight. The entire cone was made up of sub-areal black basalts. Not at all the sub-glacier volcanic rocks we desired.
I could hear Obi Wan Kenobi’s voice in my head saying: These are not the hyaloclastites you were looking for…
Nonetheless, we reluctantly grabbed a sample and vowed to forever mention this felonious error that made us drive all the way out there for no reason. However, with Hannes at the wheel we wasted little time and ended up saving a day of work.
Once more it was time to say farewell to central Iceland
Since we had finished our objectives in the area, Paul decided to cancel the last night at Dreki and hit the road the same day. A last minute Airbnb booking and a quick phone call to the car rental agency later, we bounced along with dodgy suspensions towards East Iceland.
The months following the decision to move to Denmark were filled with elation and renewed excitement. Finally, after what felt like a lifetime of failed attempts, I was going to leave my birth country behind for good. It was now time to go out there and find my place in the world. A place I could one day call home.
The final north-Transylvanian adventure
During the spring of my last year in Romania, my good buddy Daniel and I planned a little road trip across Maramureș County. He and his girlfriend at the time came over to visit a couple of monasteries and take a steam train ride along the Vaser Valley. For me, going on one last Transylvanian adventure with my best friend was a fitting way to part ways with my past.
The trip took a little over two hours by car from my hometown of Baia Mare. On the way we made a stop in the town of Săpânța to visit the Merry Cemetery (Cimitirul Vesel), famous for its brightly colored tombstones with paintings and poetic descriptions of the past lives of its residents.
A sea of color at the Merry Cemetery, Săpânța (2015)
Northeastern Maramureș
Late in the afternoon, we arrived at Vișeu de Sus where we would spend the night in the Mocănița train yard. The train yard has multiple parked train cars with sleeping compartments. These compartments are rented out to visitors staying the night and have all the necessary amenities of a hotel room.
The over-night train cars in the the Mocăniță train yard
There are several picnic tables next to the train cars to enjoy an outdoor evening dinner and breakfast. There’s also a couple of old refurbished locomotives on display that you can view and explore.
Big old steam-powered locomotive on display
The next day we briefly visited the Bârsana Monastery to the south. Home to the tallest wooden church in Romania, Bârsana Monastery is situated in the centuries old settlement of Bârsana, dating back to the 1300’s.
Bârsana Monastery, 2015
The outside courtyard has many walkways across the Monetary gardens and boasts a couple of beautiful peacocks. The wooden buildings are decorated with wooden carvings and religious iconography.
Peacock at Bârsana Monastery
In the afternoon, Daniel and I took a little road trip to the city of Borșa situated at the foothills of the Rodna Mountains. As we saw the mighty snow capped mountain peaks in the distance, we felt them calling to us. Teasing us, daring us to attempt a little adventurous hike. We couldn’t refuse, however, after a short half an hour walk up the slope, a wet chilly breeze coming down from the mountain reminded us of our past reckless experience in the Făgărăș Mountains. So we decided to play it safe this time around and returned to the safety and comfort of our train yard in Vișeu de Sus.
Mocănița
The following morning our little steam powered train was all ready to take us up the Vaser Valley.
Grumpy morning face
Mocănița, which roughly translates to the little shepherd is a narrow-gauge railway built around the mid 1930’s. The railway is serviced by several steam engines two of which were built in Germany in the early 1900’s.
Chugging along
Partially destroyed during World War II, the railway was later rebuilt and mainly used for logging until 2004 when work began on turning it into a tourist attraction. The 47 km main line runs from Vișeu de Sus to Comanu near the border with Ukraine. However, the service usually terminates at Faina station due to ongoing rehabilitation work on the line.
Our steam powered locomotive
The train made a few stops on the way for fueling, or repositioning. The trip took a few hours both ways and crossed the exceptionally scenic Vaser Valley home to a variety of wildlife, including brown bears and deer.
Along the Vaser Valley
As the trip progressed, the valley became increasingly narrower, with the rolling hills turning into steep mountain cliffs flanking both sides of the track.
She’s getting pretty tight
Around noon, we arrived at Faina station in the heart of the Maramureș Mountains Natural Park. After having a quick snack, we spent the afternoon roaming around the gorgeous landscape before heading back to Vișeu de Sus in the evening.
In the heart of the Maramureș Mountains Natural Park
We spent the final night drinking and laughing, reminiscing and goofing around the train yard. I couldn’t have asked for a nicer farewell and ending to this first big chapter of my life.
Beyond the threshold
As my departure date came close, I recall a now familiar feeling I then felt for the first time. It’s hard to describe this feeling, but to me it’s like a “life threshold”, a point beyond which you can’t see anymore.
Perhaps it was the fairly repetitive nature of my life up to that point that made things fairly predictable. Being in the same places around the same kind of people, there’s always a type of familiarity in your life. I always yearned for more. To explore new places, meet different kind of people and experience new things. This is why I loved traveling so much, especially aboard, since this opened up a whole new world for me. Even so, as exciting and memorable as each of my travels was, they were just that. Short episodes in an ocean of fairly mundane, predictable days and weeks.
However, this time it wouldn’t be a short episode. It would be a complete overhaul of my day to day life. Everything would change. I simply could not imagine what my future looked like after moving away from Romania. I couldn’t see beyond the threshold, but I had a gut feeling that it’ll all be ok. Thus, there was no fear, no anxiety, just a calming inner peace and a trust in myself that I’ll figure it out. I was ready to embark on a new journey and begin my Odyssey from East to West.
One final look back before departing on the train of life in search of a new home
After a couple of months of traveling, working and procrastinating, I finally sat down to write again. Today I thought to add to my “Transylvania 101” series by talking about one of my favorite camping destinations in Romania. Namely “Scaunul Domnului” (God’s chair), a mountain peak and plateau in the Călimani Mountains, east-Transylvania.
How it all began
Around 4.54 billion years ago, when the Earth was a molten fireball baby… Oh sorry, I went back too far. About 80 million years ago, during the alpino-carpatho-himalayan orogeny volcanic activity gave birth to the east-Carpathian mountain chain… Wait, no. That’s still too far.
Ok, let’s start in 2010, towards the end of the summer exam session at University. While discussing with one of my friends and dorm mates about holiday plans, an idea for a camping trip came up. As we were both mountain lovers, I suggested a few spots in north-Transylvania that I knew of close to my home town. However he already had plans to go hiking with a couple of friends in the Călimani Mountains to the east. I had never explored that region of Transylvania and was keen on discovering new places.
My University city of Cluj Napoca where all great adventures began
We decided to go camping for a few days in Călimani, in a spot that he once went to called Scaunul Domnului. Our trip basically hinged on my friend’s ability to recall the way to this place, half day’s walk across the bear-ridden Transylvanian wilderness. Suffice to say, there were a couple of instances of coin-toss level decision making where the path would diverge, but in the end he got us through to the top.
The Călimani camping experience, which I will detail more below, was so much fun that we ended up returning the following years.
The Călimani trip
My journey the Călimani always started in city of Cluj Napoca, which was also my University city. From here I would take a train to my friend Cipri’s hometown of Târgu Mureș, in central Transylvania. the rest of our adventurer friends would all meet up there and spend one night at his place. The next day we would take an early morning train to the village of Deda-Bistra. From Deda-Bistra we would begin our ~10 km hike in the Călimani Mountains.
The old train station in Cluj Napoca
Now 10 km doesn’t sound too bad, but with fully packed 60-80 liter backpacks on our backs, it was certainly no cake walk. Especially when apart from the canned foods, tents, sleeping bags, we would also pack an excessive amount of alcohol with us. The Transylvanian way…
The hike up to Scaunul Domnului
The first leg of the journey would see us cross the village of Deda-Bistra. A very gentle incline upwards, this bit always felt like the tutorial section of the hike. Yet, by the time we’d reach the edge of town, we’d already be sweating.
At the edge of the village of Deda-Bistra
The next portion was the “make it, or break it” section, which involved a grueling steep climb in the morning sun, with zero shade. During this part, everyone was expected to complain, swear and curse while questioning why on Earth they are doing this instead of relaxing in a soft, comfy bed at home. However, after passing the test of endurance, the mountain would reward us with a gorgeous view of the valley bellow. Then Cipri would always add that there’s only two more big steep climbs to do. Well, that and about three quarters of the way to go…
Overlooking the valley of Deda-Bistra after completing the first steep climb of our hike
After the first big climb, the forest completely envelops the path. From there on up, we’d spend most of our time hiking up and down through the forest. Occasionally crossing a few meadows where we’d remember to be on the lookout for signs of bears. At that time the Călimani Mountains were known to have one of the highest bear populations in Romania. During this long section, a couple of diverging paths could potentially stray one away from the right way… Which was to the left… I think.
A little glimpse of the long hike through the Călimani forests
The plateau and peak
About half a day later and a couple of kilos less, we would reach the final stretch of the hike. A moderately steep climb in a rocky coniferous forest. This bit was always associated with excitement and euphoria of having nearly completed the long and arduous hike to the top.
Nearing the top of Scaunul Domnului and the end of our hike
Finally, the forest would open up and reveal a glorious mountain plateau. The area offers plenty of good flat ground for pitching tents. There’s at least a couple of great campfire spots as well. Most importantly, there is a safe to drink fresh water spring situated in the center of the plateau.
On the northwest and east side, slated rocky cliffs offer some of the best views of the Carpathian Mountains I’ve ever seen. Northeast of the plateau, the path continues for over 20 km towards “Pietrosul Călimanilor”, the highest peak (2100 m) in the Călimani Mountains.
Southward view of the Călimani Mountains from Scaunul Domnului peak
Since the first time I saw the sign to Pietrosul, I always tried to convince my companions to do a full expedition all the way to the top. For some reason, I’d always find it hard to just sit in one place for more then a day. I kept wanting to go further, walk more, see more! Sadly, that trip would never materialize. However, I did somewhat learn to appreciate the less active camping style of simply relaxing and enjoying nature in one remote spot.
Slated rocky cliffs atop Scaunul Domnului peak
The first year: Perfect conditions
When we first went camping in July 2010, we were very fortunate with the weather. the mornings and evenings were nice and cool, while the days were warm and sunny. The weeks prior to our departure also saw plenty of rain, so everything looked super fresh.
Sunshine after light rain in the morning is just perfect
We pitched our tents next to a fireplace atop an elevated section just north of the plateau. We were right at the edge of to the forest, which was great because it provided us with plenty of dry dead wood that we could use for our nightly campfires. A few meters from our tents we had breathtaking views of the Călimani Mountains stretching north-south. A short walk down the plateau, we had easy access to the fresh water spring.
Our neat little camping site in the Transylvanian wilderness
We were also lucky to have the entire place to ourselves. Not say that Scaunul Domnului is a popular tourist destination, but when the weather is so good there’s a high chance of other hikers stopping by.
Nights and days
The nights were filled with drinking, philosophical debates, nonsensical rambling and lots of laughs. The night sky was so clear and visible that each night we’d spend a couple of hours stargazing. On the other hand, when we’d venture into the forest for more lumber, we’d be enveloped by a darkness that no city dweller could imagine. Roaming around the pitch black forest with our headlights, we discovered a tree with its bark pealed like a banana. The deeply engraved claw markings were unsettling to say the least.
Our long nights by the campfire
Fueled by the other wordy of our surroundings our imagination went wild and the spooky campfire stories followed. Weather it be extraterrestrials, demons, or bears, or extraterrestrial demon bears with corn eyes, the ridiculous tales were endless. To add to all that, the first night after we retreated to our tents, I’m fairly sure we were visited by a beast. As I lay ready to fall asleep, I clearly heard ruffling in the grass near our tent. This was distinctly different than the sound of the blowing wind. The sound got closer and closer until it seemed to be next to the tent. Everyone else was asleep at that point, so I just rolled towards the center and hoped it would go away. The next morning there was a large patch of flattened grass beside my tent. Could it have been the beast that pealed the tree nearby? Who knows…
The peeled tree we discovered the first night, about 50 m from our tents
The days were mostly spent recovering from the long nights of drinking. Weather this involved meditation, walks in the forest, or throwing up depended on the individual. Another fun daytime activity was foraging for blueberries. It’s always impressive how time can fly when you’re munching on fresh berries – bear life 101.
First year hiking crew in Călimani (2010)
It’s easy to see how we fell in love with the place and quickly decided to return the next year.
The second year: A bit moist
So it was that in July 2011, we were back at Deda-Bistra, preparing once more for our hike in the Călimani Mountains. This time around however, the weather was not favorable. It had been raining for a couple of weeks and it didn’t seem to have any intention of stopping.
The train station in Deda-Bistra during the wet season in 2011That first steep climb that ended up being way harder then the year before
The climb felt much harder. The ground was wet and muddy and our clothes got soaked within the first hour. Personally, I may also have been fairly out of shape at that time, so everything felt extra heavy. We had to make a lot more frequent stops on the way. About half way into the hike, we even decided to pitch a tent to rest and nap for about an hour. It truly felt like a completely different game then the prior year.
Second year Călimani crew, getting ready to head out again after a little napOur wet forest hike
With plenty of extra hours spent on the hike, we finally made it to the plateau in the evening. The clouds were very thick and low, so we didn’t have many hours left of light. We had to scramble to pitch the tents and start a fire as soon as possible. Due to our earlier rest break, the tents, sleeping bags and most of our clean clothes got wet too. Everything was wet and the rain showed no intention of stopping anytime soon. It was a disaster.
Our mood after arriving at our destination all soaked
The sinking submarine
The hasty manner in which we pitched our tents the first night came back to haunt us the next day. I’m not sure if one of them had sprung a leak, but somehow this one tent got flooded. So much so that our friends sleeping in the tent woke up with their sleeping bags and feet in a pool of water. Thus, we christened it the sinking submarine.
Cliffside in the clouds atop Scaunul Domnului, Călimani 2011
The sub had to be evacuated and abandoned for the rest of our stay. This meant that all four of us had to cozy up in a two-person tent. Talk about sardines in a can… At least we used the sinking submarine to store our wet backpacks. Speaking of wet things, the clothes left outside to dry never dried because surprise surprise, it kept raining through the night!
Futile attempts to dry our clothes
We solely had to rely on the campfire to attempt to dry anything. This had it’s own downsides, like when I ended up burning my boots while trying to dry them.
Still trying to dry those boots too…
On the flip side, Cipri was very knowledgeable about wilderness survival, so thanks to him and his skills, we could constantly make and maintain a fire even with all the wet wood and bush. A handy thing I learned from him is how well tinder fungus burns even when wet.
With all the rain, there were plentiful mushrooms at least
A mystical allure
Despite the hardships, our second year in Călimani was fantastic! Once we got used to our new conditions, we adjusted our habits and adapted well to the new wet environment. The night parties raged on as the year before, with music louder than ever. The spooky atmosphere of the constantly foggy forest added a new layer to the mystical allure of the place.
Most importantly, we always made time to goof around
Mushrooms and berries were flourishing thanks to the abundant rain of the past weeks. Eventually, a day, or two in, even the rain stopped. So we finally got a chance to dry some of our clothes. To top it all off, during one of the evenings the clouds even gave way to a few rays of sunlight. This provided us with some incredible photo opportunities and breathtaking sunset views.
A sneaky sunset behind the clouds
Honestly, as perfect and fun as our first year was, the second year remains my favorite Călimani camping adventure. Perhaps it thanks to the challenging nature of that trip.
The rare rays of sunlight we got on this trip were extra special
That being said, we wanted to make sure that the following year we would avoid all the rainy days and strive for a warm and dry camping trip. Oh boy, did we ever get it…
Leaving behind the cloudy Călimani Mountains in 2011
The third year: Where’s the water?
This time around, I was in better shape and so was the weather. No more clouds, no more rain, the sky was clear and it was damn warm. We were in fact hiking during a heat wave. Whenever we’d start complaining about the heat, we’d just think back to the rainy conditions in 2011. Not this time. this time it hadn’t rained at all for weeks before we set out on our trip. The issue with this wasn’t evident at first, but would soon be made clear once we reached the top.
Out of the three years doing this trip, I’m fairly sure we completed the hike in record time in 2012. After exhausting most of our water supply going up, we were keen for a refill from the spring. However, in there’s where the problem lay. Due to the lack of rain and persistent heat, the freshwater spring had almost completely dried up. All that was left was a muddy little puddle…
We saw this stork back in Deda-Bistra and its expression perfectly mirrored our reaction to the “no drinkable water” situation
Some attempts were made to filter the muddy mess through a cloth and then boil it. But despite our best efforts, this was unsustainable for days and nights. With no other known water spring in the area, we realized we had no choice but to turn back the next day. To top it all off we couldn’t even drink all the alcohol we’d brought up, because without water, the next day we’d be screwed.
Another group of excessively rowdy campers arrived that evening and completely hampered any semblance of our enjoyment during the one night.
Even if it was just the one night, we still had our mandatory campfire in the evening
The final grueling return trip
The next morning, we all woke tired and thirsty. There was no time to waste. We packed up everything and started our descent. What would normally be a fairly easy half-day hike down from the mountains, turned into an very physically and mentally challenging trek. We were 4, or 5 people and had half a liter of water left for the entire trip back to town. Let’s not forget that we were already dehydrated from the day before. Even though the walk was mostly downhill, or straight, the temperature highs of around 30°C still made us sweat whatever little water we had left in us. It was truly miserable.
These days we see and hear people constantly reminding us about the importance of hydration. Well, after what we went through that day, I think none of us would ever forget to drink enough water for the rest of our lives. When we finally managed to get back into town, tongues out and half hallucinating, we rushed to the first store we saw and emptied their shelves and fridge of water bottles.
Our final sunset in Călimani
Final thoughts
Our camping trips to the Călimani Mountains were generally an absolute blast! The key of our good time lay as always in great companionship and camaraderie. The great memories we made together those days are unreplaceable and despite the hardships and even dangers that nature threw at us, we came back each time for more.
Bear footprints we found during our hike in 2011
It’s just a shame that our last trip ended up being so dissapppinting. On top of that, the failed trip served only to accentuate an already bad period of my life fraught with personal issues and depression. It would take another year for things to start to turn around for me. Specifically, it would take an unforgettable little trip with one of my best friends to Norway.
In my previous post I mentioned how I went to EUGEN Switzerland in 2008. I also said I would showcase the field trips I went to during the week there. Now again, because of how long ago this was, I sadly can’t recall the names of any of the places. Perhaps one of my EUGEN friends, Gaudenz, who was one of the organizers for EUGEN 2008, can help out in the comments.
As with each EUGEN event, there were a number of field trips to choose from during our week long stay. Some of them are organized twice, so that people have a chance to do all, or almost all of them. All the field trips are worthwhile, but we each have our own preferences for what we’d like to do and see. For me, it was hiking. I wanted to go out there and walk up some Swiss mountains and see some geology on the way! There were two perfect options for this. One of them involved visiting a big dam and then hiking for most of the day around that region. The second one involved a hike up a fairly tall mountain peak.
Hiking in the Swiss Alps – 2008
I believe the name of the place with the dam started with an L, so let’s just call that the L-dam. Then the mountain… all I remember is that there were cows and horses on the way, so I’ll go with cow-mountain.
The L-dam
The morning of our trip was fairly chilly and cloudy. We were all so tired in the morning. The late night partying combined with the early wake-up was a drag. Even now I can hear the organizers walking through camp in the morning, beating on metal pans and pots to wake everyone up. The horror…
My tired friends in the mornings, Switzerland 2008
I recall we took a fairly long bus trip to reach our destination. I also specifically remember the road was very winding with many sharp turns. This, because every time I tried to fall asleep the bus would turn and I’d end up banging my head against the window… concussion number 45.
Then finally, about two hours later, we arrived at the L-dam. The place must have been beautiful. Too bad we couldn’t see much due to the clouds. Ok, I’m exaggerating, but to be fair, it was pretty damn cloudy. At least for the first part of the day.
My friend Daniel in the clouds
We sat out on a trail following the lake. On the way, we had a few stops at several rock outcrops. I recall one of them had a bunch of nice garnets and, everyone took a piece with them. For the non-geologist readers, garnets are basically cool looking minerals that are sometimes used as gems. They kind of look like little mineral balls with nicely shaped geometric faces. Some of these garnets can even grow to a few centimeters wide. Take two of these big garnet balls and a long staurolite in the middle and you have a recipe for an obscene Bachelors dissertation project “wink, wink”.
The L-dam, somewhere in Switzerland
The weather started improving during the day and finally we got to see our beautiful surroundings. Gorgeous mountains on each side of the trail and the lake behind us. It was a wonderful field trip that I would gladly do again.
Hiking around the L-dam lake
Cow-mountain
On our second field trip in Switzerland we had the perfect hiking weather. Beautiful clear skies on a warm summer’s day, with just the right amount of a cool mountain breeze to keep us fresh.
The perfect weather and scenery for a lovely mountain hike
We started our hike from an already relatively high point and had to reach a peak of around 2500m. On the way we passed a bunch of horses and cows. For whatever reason this images stayed with me, hence why I decided to name it cow-mountain. Maybe it’s due to all the old “Milka” chocolate commercials with the cows and the Swiss Alps. Does anyone remember those?
Our EUGENeers gathering for some field geology
I recall our geologist professor/guide for the day had quite the hefty pace. So much so that some people had a hard time keeping up with him. I can’t remember what else we did during this field trip, except for walk, walk, walk, higher and higher.
Slippery terrain and impressive rock outcrops weathered by the elements
As you may imagine, the hike was absolutely worth it. The views we had on the way and especially from the top of the mountain were incredible. We even got to see some glimpses of snow here and there. Remnants of old glaciers, now just a thing of the past.
Me and Daniel: the brotherhood
Heading home
After the wonderful week in Switzerland we embarked on our multi-train journey back to Romania. All was going well, until we had to board the final train in Vienna. The second class cars were so packed that some of us had to upgrade to first class at extra cost to get on the train. When I mean packed, I don’t just mean all the seats were occupied, but that so many people were squatting on the train car hallways everywhere that there was simply no room.
It was an over night train ride too, so since I was very tired after the long week and the previous train rides, I agreed to be one of the guys to pay the 50 euros extra for the upgrade to an actual bed. That didn’t stop me and my volunteer friends from moping all night about the expensive ticket. However, we found a satisfactory solution. This first class premium service included a complementary 0.5 liter bottle of water. We simply told ourselves that it was that damned bottle of water that cost us the extra 50 euros.
Us and our 50 euro water bottles
In my next post I will jump ahead one year to EUGEN 2009, which was held in The Netherlands. So stay tuned for that!
After leaving the car near Bâlea Lake, we began our hike up the mountain slope. The clouds were low and thick, so visibility was quite poor. For a while, we followed one of the marked paths. Since the trail would have taken us right up the steep crests, we decided to find our own, smoother climb. To me this basically meant – go up in a straight line until you can’t go any further. And so we did.
Leaving Bâlea Lake and our sanity behind.
As we got higher and higher, small patches of remnant snow began decorated our surroundings. I was quite surprised to see leftover snow during this time of the year. We climbed further up the wet grassy and rocky slope with a gradually increasing inclination. We were up in the clouds by the time we reached a steep wall of rock, rising well into the gray mist above. It wasn’t a dead end though. There was also another trekking path stretching parallel with the cliff.
As we looked up, an odd dark gray-bluish tint loomed over us in the clouds. I figured it was an approaching storm cloud, so we decided not to linger on the mountain for too long. The safest bet would have been to turn around and go back down. However, for lack of better judgment, I let Daniel decide our fate. Thus, we ventured on the newly discovered path a bit further.
Let’s just follow the blue line. What could possibly go wrong?
Further into the unknown
Since Daniel was more familiar with this region, or at least that’s what I thought, I let my good buddy take the lead. The general idea was that the path should lead back down to Bâlea cabin at some point. By this point, visibility was extremely poor. We couldn’t see much past one to two meters around us. However the trail seemed to descend, which was promising.
Stumbling in the clouds in the Făgărăș Mountains of Transylvania
Ten minutes in, we came across a fairly large “patch” of snowy ice. This thing stretched up and down the mountain slope, covering our path for about five meters. The inclination, combined with the icy, hardened snow made these few steps quite slippery. My summer-time footwear wasn’t doing me any favors either. I carefully managed to cross the obstacle, but it had made me quite uneasy. Nonetheless, since we were clearly descending, we carried on.
First of the white “terrors”
It didn’t take us long to run into a second snowy portion of the slope. This time twice the size of the first. I was getting really nervous about attempting the crossing. My wet shoe soles were slippery even on grass by this point. When I tested the frozen snow with my feet, there was simply no grip. It may have been just me, but the slope also seemed to be getting steeper and steeper. If we were to slip we would have fast been rolling down the rocky mountainside to whatever was at the bottom. The smart thing would have been to turn back. However, we had descended half-way and the prospect of climbing back up wasn’t very appealing.
A slippery slope
After some convincing from Daniel, I started cautiously crossing the snow, with one hand on the ground and feet shaking. It felt like forever, but I managed to cross safely. After a sigh of relief, I looked back at the white “terror” we had to overcome. We then carried on downwards, only to come across the third and biggest ice field of them all. This ice cover looked to stretch on forever into the gray haze. “Nope, nope, nope” – I said – “ This is not passable”. Indeed it was not, but the major issue now was that we were caught in between two large ice fields. It seemed like the only way out of there was straight down.
Once more, we slowly descended sideways on the steep slope, trying to hang on to any stable rocks we could. Daniel was faster, as he was actually wearing mountain boots, so the wet gravel and grass wasn’t affecting him as much. My gaze and focus was fully on each step I took, making sure not to slip.
Ice fields surrounding us on our descent
An unexpected sight
Daniel called out and I looked up to see a rocky cliff in front of us. The two ice-covers on each side closing in around us as we went down. With fingers crossed, I shouted back at him to take a look over the cliff and see if there was any clear way to go down around the rocks. He tried to make something out amidst the thick gray blanket of clouds. As I was cautiously approaching his position, he suddenly cursed out loud, got up and turned around with a face as pale as the snow. There had been a moment when the clouds dispersed to expose nothing but waves somewhere at the bottom of the cliff. We were right above Bâlea Lake. The problem was the two accursed ice covers met up around the rocky cliffs, leading straight into the lake. Only then did we realize that those icy snow patches were in fact remnants of the glacier that formed the lake itself.
Bâlea Lake, so close, yet so unreachable
Daniel’s expression made it pretty clear that there was no way of getting down on this side of the mountain, without tumbling into the glacial lake and probably breaking some bones along the way. I had to see for myself, so I tried to take a few tentative steps around the rocky cliff to see if there was enough ice-free space to sneak through. Unfortunately, there was hardly any, and by this point, the glacier also had just enough thickness to get one’s foot stuck in between it and the rocky wall. Climbing down the ice was also out of the question, since the slope took a major dip just before hitting the water. As much as I hated to admit it, the only option we had left was to go back up. Back all the way we came and descend exactly on the same slope we had climbed up initially. Right then and there, I had a flashback to earlier when I had suggested we turn back down instead of following a path blindly. But hey, where’s the fun in that?
The way back
With no other option, we reluctantly climbed up again, passing the two tails of the glacier once more without incident. Luckily we had memorized the location of the rocky wall and initial path marking. So without much trouble we ended up in the exact spot we had climbed up about two hour earlier. We made a stop one last time to look up at the stony cliff. In the clouds above we noticed yet again the same ominous dark gray shadow looming over. The one we had thought to be approaching storm clouds earlier. At this point it seemed very strange to have a storm cloud apparently hovering in the exact same spot for two hours.
The spiky crests of the Făgărăș Mountains revealed
As if the elements had read our thoughts and wished to reveal the truth, the clouds gave way to reveal a huge overhanging bit of the mountain to be our looming gray shadow. In hindsight, I highly regret not taking the time to photograph the impressive formation, but at that moment in time the only thought we had was getting down as fast as possible before that thing fell on top of us. So much so that we ended up sprinting half-way down to safety. We had had our fill of the Făgărăș Mountains for the day. Reaching the parking lot, we were extremely relieved we had survived our great Făgărăș adventure without any incident.
We were quite pumped full of adrenaline and in some weird way felt very pleased with ourselves. To finish off the day in the theme of spontaneity and adventure, Daniel decided to book us another room in a different Hotel, closer to the mountain. It was unfortunate that we had left all of our precious beers in the hotel in Cârțișoara. However, the view we had from our new crib was a worthwhile tradeoff.
The view from our hotel room on the Transfăgărășan
The night is young
As the darkness settled, we had a great meal and restocked our alcohol supply. I then had an idea of the perfect way to finish our exciting day: an adventurous spooky walk out into the woods with a couple of beers, a flashlight and Daniel’s airsoft gun. It had also started raining heavily, just to make it that much more interesting. We proceeded into the pitch black woods, in search of the unknown. Crossing a small stream, we carried on until we reached a nice little clearing. There we had our fun goofing around and shooting empty beer cans in the rain. It was the icing on the cake with plenty of good laughs and childish fun. After getting drenched for about an hour we headed back to the hotel for a well deserved rest.
The next morning, after a delicious breakfast, we had a lovely chat with the Hotel’s bartender. He told us this wonderful story of the problems they kept having the other night with a bear that was roaming near the hotel… Yes, the same night that two half-drunk idiots that had almost gotten themselves killed earlier in the day were goofing around in the pitch-black forests around the hotel. Perhaps the bear was just looking to join in on our fun. In any case, we packed-up and drove back to Mediaș, but not before receiving a phone call from the motel in Cârțișoara, reminding us that we had forgotten some items in the fridge – good old Transylvanian hospitality.
In hindsight
To wrap this story up, one should never venture up the Carpathian mountains, or any mountains as matter of fact, without proper equipment! Even if it’s just for a short day hike. These places can be extremely unpredictable and dangerous, as we learned on our own skin. Some semblance of knowledge of the area also goes a long way. And for goodness sake, don’t go out in the middle of the night, during a storm, into bear ridden woods with booze and toy guns. Unless, you’re a Transylvanian, of course. Then you do as you please 🙂
No bears, no snow, nor mountains, or lakes shall stand in the way of my adventure!
The following morning, we woke up to a perfect summer’s day. Clear skies, high temperatures it was the perfect day for what we had in mind. After a relatively quick breakfast, and here I use “relative” loosely, we hopped in the car. We drove towards the Southern Carpathian Mountains, passing through the plains of central Transylvania and enjoying the warmth of the season.
Who am I kidding? It was too damn hot! It’s always too damn hot here in the summer…
The Southern Carpathian Mountains seen from the road in Sibiu county. Image from bracobabic.wordpress.com
After what felt like hours of sweating and driving, but was probably a lot less, the landscape started to change. On the relative flat horizon a wall of towering mountains now popped up in the distance. The mountain chain ran parallel to the road, growing ever taller and more imposing. As the road turned towards the peaks, we arrived in the town of Cârțișoara.
Cârțișoara and the Transfăgărășan
Situated in the flatlands just under the great mountains, Cârțișoara is known for being the starting point of trekking paths leading up the Făgărăș Mountains, as well as the ruins of the 13th century Cârța Monastery. Daniel decided to book us a room at a motel. We left our valuables in the safety box, meaning we put our beers in the fridge, and hopped back into the car.
Cârțișoara marks the starting point of one of Romanian’s most famous roads: the Transfăgărășan. Basically, one of the roads crossing the South Carpathians and the only one to cut straight through the Făgărăș Mountains. The road is usually closed during winter due to bad weather and dangerous conditions. Up to date information on the status and road conditions on the Transfăgărășan are available here.
Cârțișoara and the sunny plains of Transylvania in the distance
The view was spectacular as we drove up the winding road. About half-way up we pulled over to enjoy the landscape. As I struggled to open the door, an unexpected ice cold wind blasted me in the face. Blowing from the direction of the high peaks, it was quite the radical change from the weather we experienced ten minutes before, in Cârțișoara.
The Transfăgărășan road, summer 2014
Clouds were persistently hovering over the mountain, while the plains from whence we came remained visibly sunny. I then realized that I was highly underdressed for the occasion. However, since it was going to be just a short one day trip, I was confident I could power through with my shorts, sleeveless shirt and a summer jacket. The lack of boots was no issue either, at least for now. After all, it was summer and we weren’t going to hike up anywhere crazy!
Come at me Făgărăș Mountains, me and my Norwegian Valdres bandana are ready for you!
Bâlea Lake…
Another ten minutes later, we stopped at Bâlea Lake – the name of which has been an eternal conundrum for me. Ok, so let me explain… When referring to a lake in Romanian, the general rule is the articulated word Lake “Lacul” comes before the given name of the lake. For example Lake/Lacul Vidraru, Lake/Lacul Sf. Ana, Lake/Lacul Iezer, etc. But then you have Bâlea Lake/Lac. Yeah, it’s not called Lacul Bâlea, but Bâlea Lac. Why you do this to me Bâlea? Why you got to be so rebel?
Bâlea Lake and the cabin bearing the same name, mark the highest point of the Transfăgărășan road. From this point on an almost one kilometer tunnel cuts through the mountain connecting its northern and southern slopes. We weren’t planning on crossing this time though. Instead, we left the car in the parking lot, took our backpacks, and started stumbling up the mountain in search of adventure.
The following hours would prove just how stupid it is to venture up the Făgărăș Mountains unprepared…
The next morning, before heading out, we met Julio’s boss and manager at the Borgund Stave Church museum, Tanna. I recall being eagerly inquisitive about a potential part-time position at the museum. By this point I had fallen in love with Norway so much that I would have done anything to stay. They were actually looking for more people for the next year’s tourist season. But they wanted someone fluent in French. Unfortunately my French language skills were abysmal. Ironic how today, ten years since this trip, I am in a place and position where I once more would greatly benefit from a high level of French. After our pleasant conversation with Tanna, we bid farewell to her and Julio and set off to climb the mountain.
The tiny village of Borgund with the Stave Church museum to the upper left
Once more, we were very fortunate with the weather. The entire week we spent in Norway we had nothing but beautiful clear sky and warm days. From what we were told, the entire summer before that was murky and rainy. We definitely picked the best time to go.
The climb
From the Borgund valley at around 400 m, we climbed all the way up to around 1200 m during the first half of the day. We followed a gravel road climbing the mountain and ran into the owner’s herd of sheep at one point. The sheep had stopped in the middle of the road and eyed us like motionless statues. With their horizonal pupils intensely focused on us, we felt uncomfortable… judged. We maintaining eye contact as we slowly approached the herd. It felt like a stare down in one of those old western movies. Then out of nowhere, they defecated before our very eyes and moved along. We felt we had been given the right of passage. We could now continue climbing up.
Admiring rock outcrops on our hike up the mountain
Along our journey up, we had to make many stops. The backpacks were heavy and our energy levels were not the greatest. I guess that’s what you get when you’re on a mostly ramen-berry diet for days in a row. At least we didn’t have any water shortages. There were plenty of small creeks we ran across on our way up. We were however a bit hesitant about drinking from the creek after our sheeply encounter. We decided to ration what we had and find a safer source, closer to the top.
The higher up, the better the view
A bit over half the way up we decided to make a base camp. We pitched our tent in a small clearing in the forest and left most of our heavy stuff there. Coming from Romania, we have an overly cautious attitude towards leaving belongings in the open where they can be easily stolen. In this situation we were on private property and far from anyone else. This was also Norway, not Romania. So begrudgingly I agreed to leave some of my stuff behind. However, I still refused to leave my big backpack. It was like my big blue baby. I wouldn’t abandon it.
Our new base camp with tent tucked away under the trees
On top of the world
Not too long after setting off from our new base camp we reached the start of the mountain plateau. Gone was the densely vegetated forest. Taking its place was alpine vegetation, with but a few scattered trees. Before us lay one final gentler climb to lake Vassetvatnet, flanked on both sides by gorgeous, tall peaks. We simply referred to them as the two monsters guarding the path. Behind us the scenery now opened up to reveal the deep valleys and neighboring peaks. It was magical.
The start of my victory pose, only to be used on rare, glorious occasions
We spent the rest of the daylight up there. Tried our luck once more with some fishing, but third time was not the charm. We tentatively climbed a portion of one of the monster peaks, but weren’t serious about going all the way. It had been a long day already and these peaks required a lot more energy then we had left. We also followed one of the small creeks all the way to its spring point, which was strangely satisfying. Fresh water, right from the source! A couple of times during our stay, we spotted a lonesome car driving away into the distance on the road. Somebody waving their hand at us from the car. Most likely the kind owner of the property. We returned the gesture.
Vassetvatnet, the lake with a dam and plenty of fish, but none for us
I find it hard to describe just how good I felt when we were up there. Perhaps it was the serenity of the place, or the sheer panoramic beauty. For whatever reason, that day there in particular managed to heal my troubled mind. All my troubles and worries from back home now washed away. At that moment, for me personally, our adventure had achieved its goal. I used that day to mentally get over all the hardships and struggles of my life back in Romania. I was forging a new purpose. Something to fight and strive for. I was going to make moving to Norway my one primary goal from that point on.
One of the two monster peaks rising just above 1600 m altitude
The end of a journey
Before heading back down to our tent for the night, we were treated to one of the most beautiful sunsets one could ask for. As the sun gradually disappeared behind the great fjords in the west, it felt as if the land itself was bidding us farewell. After a good night’s sleep, we packed our things the next morning and headed back to the bus stop.
A sunset over the fjords
We went back to Fagernes and our favorite camping ground to relax. Since it was our last day in Norway and we managed to not break the bank, we indulged ourselves with some local food. I recall the last evening in Fagernes camping as we melancholically stared across the lake. I pointed to a red building in the distance on top of the hill and told Daniel that that would be my house one day. With my loving Norwegian wife preparing some scrambled eggs for breakfast. He pointed out that that was in fact a barn. I didn’t care. It will do just fine! The heart was heavy, but the mind was more determined than ever before.
Strondafjorden lake, Fagernes
The day of our flight back from Oslo, the skies were overcast and an chilly autumn wind had arrived. It was the end of our journey for now. Just as we seemingly had brought the good weather with us, we were now taking it back. I was going to return to Norway one day. But twists and turns would redirect my life in many more ways before that day would come.
