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.
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 following day was to be our first rock sampling day in Iceland. We were looking to find specific types of rocks called hyaloclasites. These rocks were formed during submarine or subglacial eruptions. The rapid cooling of the erupting lavas in contact with cold water/ice produced volcanic glass fragments through a process called quenching. Within these glass fragments we hoped to find primary olivine crystals that would preserve geochemical information about the magmas and their sources.
The typical view from central Iceland, 2016
Paul Martin had pre-picked numerous volcanic targets across Iceland based on previously published data. The main target for that day was a volcanic center named Kistufell. Located just north of Vatnajökull, Iceland’s largest ice cap, Kistufell is not an easy place to get to. The F-road we had to take was one of the roughest and most notorious roads in Iceland: Gæsavatnaleið.
The road to Vatnajökull
From our lodging at Nyidalur we drove north on the F26 to get on the F910. The weather was perfect. Sunny and mildly warm with a slight cool breeze. The F910 would take us back south towards Kistufell, as well as other targets along the way. Our first one was a small and insignificant looking mound of rocks in the middle of nowhere called Bokki.
Basaltic mound (tumulus) at Bokki
There were still no hyaloclastite rocks at Bokki, but we did grab a couple of basalt fragments that were rich in olivines. Despite not being the target rock, this would end up being quite a good sample later on.
Further along the road we reached the second target of our day, Kambsfell. Here is where we found our first hyaloclastites. These rocks were basically breccias containing pillow basalt and volcanic glass fragments held together by a compacted brownish crystal matrix. Very easy to break off and sample with a hammer.
My first hyaloclastite rocks and a nicely shaped pillow basalt at the bottom
Following the road southeast, we reached a junction where we turned towards Gæsavatnaleið. To this day I’m uncertain if Gæsavatnaleið is just a section of the F910, or is the actual name of the entire road. It’s fairly hard to figure out these roads based on google maps and the limited information available online. For the purpose of consistency, I’ll just stick to calling Gæsavatnaleið the portion of the road that came after the aforementioned junction and ran along the northern edges of the ice field.
Gæsavatnaleið – as rough as they come
We had reached the northwestern edges of Vatnajökull and were now driving parallel to the grand glacier. At certain points it would have been easy to pull over and just run over to touch the ice, but we had to stay focused on our work.
Getting closer and closer to the Vatnajökull ice cap
Soon enough the vast flood plains of the ice field opened up before us. The road seemingly disappearing in a large canvas of wet sand and shallow water flowing down from the glacier. A continuous set of road pilons were the only thing keeping us from completely veering off course. Occasionally, we could see fresh tracks of vehicles that had previously left their mark in the sand.
Paul was driving slow and steady over the wet sands, but the car was showing signs of poor grip. There were several occasions where we feared we might get stuck in the sand. Unfortunately I have no images of the flood plains, but for anyone curious, there is this video I found on YouTube showcasing this section of the Gæsavatnaleið.
On the way to Kistufell, passing several fascinating volcanic edifices. Some might think we were in the heart of Mordor
After about 10 kilometers of flood plains came the basalt fields. We were back on solid rock at least, but it was the bumpiest “road” I’ve ever experienced. As opposed to other sections of the F910, the road here was rarely level and barely graded. At times it simply consisted of continuous rounded mounds of basaltic outcrops with the all too familiar road pilons telling you which way is less deadly to go. The whole SUV was rattling from side to side for the rest of the way. Suffice to say, our car did not have a good time.
Kistufell, a harsh wasteland
The last bit of road before reaching Kistufell was extremely rough. The belly of the car took more then one bump on the rocks while we were traversing the old lava flows. But everything seemed fine when we finally came to a stop.
I tried to take some photos of the various terrain we saw from the car, but the bumpy road did not help at all
In the vicinity we spotted a massive crater, Urðarháls, just northeast of the road. The road didn’t exactly lead to our mountain, but it got us close enough that we just had to hike a short half an hour south to reach it.
Remarkable features of the an old subaqueous fissure eruption
On our way we passed long, jagged stretches of rocks that were the results of old fissure eruptions along the rift. Being hyaloclastites in nature, we sampled these as well. As we passed the fissures and volcanic edifices nearby, the landscape opened up to reveal Kistufell. A towering, elongated mountain with patches of snow covering it’s steep inclines.
Mount Kistufell, at last
To reach Kistufell we had to cross an open field of old lava flows, sprinkled with ash and pumice. I kept remarking how the flow-direction features frozen in the basalts beneath our feet reminded me of that thin, wrinkly top crust of cooling mushroom soup. I was indeed craving mushroom soup at that point…
The “wrinkly” looking basaltic flows that reminded me of mushroom soup
After crossing that barren wasteland we reached the base of Kistufell. We climbed slightly up the steepening slope to get a fresh sample from the outcropping rocks.
Trouble on the horizon
The weather had stayed good thus far. However there were quite a few dark clouds gathering towards the east. With our work done, we considered having a late lunch break under the mountain as it was well in the afternoon.
The barren wastelands around Kistufell
As we stood there debating, we noticed an ominous haze growing on the horizon. A pale-brown veil began falling over the landscape in the east. We weren’t sure what it was, but quickly decided to best head back to the car.
We proceeded to cross the open wasteland once more. As the brown haze grew in size it became apparent that it was in fact an approaching dust storm. We covered up as well as we could and continued our hike. Within a matter of minutes the storm was upon us.
It was at this moment we knew that we were screwed
Fine-grained volcanic ash and pumice engulfed us in a windy torrent. Anything that wasn’t fully covered up like my ears, quickly filled up with dust. My sunglasses and buff were barely enough to keep the debris from my getting into my eyes, nose and mouth. I had to squint walking back the whole way as I felt the sand creeping in around my glasses. I could even taste the grains of dust in my mouth as we pushed trough the storm.
Trying to capture the dust storm… Good thing my camera survived
Finally, we reached the car and much needed relief from the harsh elements outside. Having never been in a desert myself, I couldn’t begin to imagine how awful one of these dust storms could truly be.
By the time that we finished our lunch it was passed 3 pm. The dust storm had passed and we were ready to head back to camp. The drive back should have taken us about one and a half hour. However, things didn’t exactly go smoothly.
We have a problem…
As soon as we started driving, something was off. We felt the car bouncing around way more than it should be. We weren’t sure if it was still just the awful road, or if there was a problem with the vehicle. After about 10 minutes of violently rattling around we decided to pull over and have a look at the tires. However, there were not flats and the pressure on all four tires looked to be fine.
On our way we passed one of Iceland’s largest shield volcanoes, Trölladyngja
I took the opportunity to answer natures call and when I was walking back towards the car I noticed something very strange. From afar, the back of the car was clearly tilting downwards. I told Paul and then it became even more clear that the chassis was barely above the back tires whereas there was significantly more space in the front. Could something have happened to the suspensions we wondered? But how?
We tried to look under the car, but due to the vehicle design and heavy dust cover we could barely see anything. At that point there was not much we could do anyway, so we decided to continue on slowly.
In the desolate brown-grey wastelands of central Iceland, Vatnajökull shined blindingly bright
The rocking became extremely violent as we drove over the worst parts of the F-road. It became more and more obvious to us that there was a serious problem with the suspensions.
In the middle of nowhere
Paul Martin was increasingly concerned about crossing the flood plains with our damaged car. With the stops we made and the slow driving, it was now passed 4 pm. As it was getting late in the day, the chances of any more traffic on the Gæsavatnaleið were dropping rapidly. This meant that our chance of potentially getting help in case we got stuck were quickly diminishing.
Ash fields, lava flows and volcanic ridges
We stopped the car on the last ridge before the flood plains. I remember us preparing a plan in case we had to ditch the car and walk. Luckily we spotted a shelter hut on our way to Kistufell, so we knew we could at least take shelter for the night. However, that was past the flood plains. Over 10 km away. It was the best we could come up with though.
We got out of the car and walked around to try to get reception on our phones. By some miracle my phone managed to scrape up one measly signal bar close to the hood of the car. Paul immediately called the car rental agency to explain our predicament.
I recall it was frustratingly funny to try to explain to the guy where we actually were: Central Iceland, north of Vatnajökull on the Gæsavatnaleið, east from the F910 junction and west of Mount Kistufell. The guy had no clue. Then I realized we had Garmin GPS devices on us. As I was telling Paul that we can give them coordinates, my phone lost reception and the call got cut off.
Man in the middle of nowhere
About 15 minutes and several attempts later, we managed to reestablish connection and give them our coordinates. The guy’s response was “So you’re in the middle of nowhere…”. Yes. Yes we were.
The resolution to our adventurous day
The guy told us that there was nothing they could do for us there. We had to bring the car back to Akureyri where they could have a look at it. Paul explained to him the potential hazard we were facing by crossing the flood plains and asked for advice. The guy didn’t know what to say so he took some time to consult with his colleagues. Another 15 minutes later he got back to us and suggested we attempt the crossing. Their thinking was that with the car’s weight bouncing around a lot more, it may actually keep us more buoyant when crossing the water and wet sand.
There was only one way to find out. In any case, we were to check back with them if we crossed safely or ran into any more trouble. Considering the poor signal coverage, it was unlikely they’d hear from us again if we did get stuck. Luckily, the flood planes proved to be a breeze to cross. Perhaps there was indeed something to their buoyancy idea.
All of in a day’s work for a geoscientist
It took us another two hours to slowly get back to camp. Poor Paul was completely exhausted by the end. We were both relieved and grinning proudly back in camp. We had gotten our first set of samples, endured the unforgiving dust storm and survived one of the worst roads of the Icelandic highlands, with a broken car no less.
Yet with all of this taking place within just the first day of field work, we knew there was much more to come. I was cautiously curious what this alien world would have in store for us in the coming days.
The second day in Iceland was spent mostly on the road, driving from Reykjavik to Akureyri in the north. The landscape thus far consisted of large grass-covered flat-topped mountain plateaus. These were in fact the remnants of past lava flows stacked on top of each other. Small patches of snow still persisted atop the higher plateaus. Sharp, jagged crests would occasionally emerge from among the generally gently curving mounts and hill mounds.
Serrated peaks towering above the rolling basaltic plains, Iceland 2016
It was a wild and rugged looking scenery, but with farmlands and pastures dotting the grasslands and foothills, it still looked quite habitable. This would soon change once we’d head towards central Iceland.
After the circa 5-hour drive we arrived in Akureyri and spent the rest of the day shopping for supplies and maps for the days to come. Sadly our time was short and there wasn’t much time for sightseeing this time around. With the car packed and ready to go, we began our drive towards central Iceland the next day.
Eyjafjörður Fjord in Akureyri
Iceland’s roads
For those who’ve never been to Iceland, the countries paved roads outside major cities basically consist of a large ring-road going around the island. In order to access the central part of the island (the Icelandic highlands) you need to use a series of F-roads (Fjallvegur), which are only accessible during the summer.
On the ring road east from Akureyri
The F-roads, or mountain roads are rough, unpaved gravel roads that require 4×4 vehicles. The F, which stands for “fjall” (mountain), might as well stand for “fuck”, because if you don’t have a good vehicle you’re fucked on these roads. Like seriously, some of the F-roads literally cross basalt outcrops that will destroy any low-riding car. Certain F-roads cross sandy glacier flood plains that can get you stuck in an instant. Plus there are numerous river crossings, which can easily drown a car engine.
This is as good as it gets on the F-roads in central Iceland
Most of the vehicles we saw on these roads were modified trucks and SUV’s with raised chassis, large tires and elevated exhaust systems. At a minimum you need a good SUV and even then you may have problems as we would soon find out.
The northern Icelandic Rift Valley
From Akureyri we drove further east for about an hour before turning south into the northern Icelandic Rift Valley on one of the F-roads. I was eagerly anticipating seeing one of the main active rift valleys. I expected we would drive through a narrow rocky canyon. Instead, we simply turned into a wide open grassy field with an anemic river flowing parallel to the road. All of which was flanked by the typical flat-top hills in the distance. The hills were so far apart on both sides that it took me a while to realize we were in fact in a valley.
Driving along the Northern Rift Valley
The landscape was similar for a while more before shifting radically to a completely barren wasteland. Gone were the grasslands and any semblance of vegetation for the most part. The greenery was now replaced by harsh rocky terrains covered in centuries old pumice and ashfall. The vast majority of the land was nothing but a brown-grey wasteland with snow-capped peaks in the distance. However, the occasional rivers and creeks would still allow for seldom patches of vegetation to fight for survival.
The old “land-bucket” was handling well thus far, but could it survive the F-roads for our entire expedition?
I had never seen such a desolate landscape before, or since. It was incredibly eerie and fascinating at the same time.
Huts and highlands
The plan for the day was to drive to Nyidalur, a remote hut and camping site deep in the Icelandic highlands. Nyidalur was also home to a couple of Park Wardens from the Icelandic Northern National Park, with whom we had to confirm our arrival.
The drive there was fairly uneventful with the exception of a couple of dubious river crossings. One of these gave us pause when we felt the backend of the car gently sliding down-river. No wonder these roads are closed for most of the year. We were getting nervous crossing these rivers during late-summer in a fairly large SUV. Imagine trying to cross them in late-spring when they’re bloated from all the melting snow.
Road poles marking the shallow river crossing near Nyidalur.
After arriving at our destination we drove to the dam at Þjórsarlón to scout our first possible area of interest. However, we didn’t find much there and it seemed like our real field work would only begin the following day.
Towards the late afternoon we were back at Nyidalur. Our SUV dwarfed by the large modified trucks in the parking lot. The hut consisted of an amalgamation of cabins and tents. Some of them offices and storage spaces, while most others were rent-outs for visitors. A large and proud Icelandic flag rising above all blew in the harsh, cold wind. We were on an alien planet and this was our base.
Nyidalur huts and camping ground deep in the Icelandic highlands
We had a nice dinner and then settled in to our shared cabin. Before sunset, I went out to briefly explore the surroundings by foot. It was fascinating to see vegetation surviving in this harsh, desolate land. Among the timid grasslands there were even patches of blooming pink wildflowers. This was truly a remarkable land.
Life finds a way even in the harshest remote regions
