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I was sad to leave Vik, though there was not much else to see and I knew I needed to move on. Something about the place called to me, in a way. It’s hard to describe. I felt a deep connection to it.

Every now and then I have these moments of complete euphoria. I feel like I’m in a dream, where everything around me is perfect and nothing at all could go wrong. I can only describe a few moments in my life when this has happened, but one of them was on that Black Sand Beach in Vik. Maybe it was the whiskey (that certainly didn’t take away from my state of bliss), or the incredible sights I’d seen, or my determination that this was going to be a life-changing trip; but I associate the feeling with the place, the gentle sounds of waves, the sunlight hitting me just enough to warm me without making me sweat.

My night in Vik was best described as tumultuous. I decided this adventure of camping and “finding myself” required meditation, which I tried to practice most nights before reading my book and dozing off to sleep. It was peaceful, until it wasn’t.

I was woken up by lightning during my night in Vik. I only saw a few brief flashes before it abruptly stopped and I was left disappointed. Lightning is exciting, it’s energizing. Something about the way it crashes sporadically, the ways in which it manifests itself, brings me joy. You will never see the same pattern twice. I spent a few years of my childhood in the Midwest: I miss the storms.

The rest of the night was exactly how I’d been told Iceland would be. At that point in my trip wind had not been an issue, and the weather the day before had been beautiful, so I forwent using my guy lines for the sake of time—my first mistake. Camping on the highest spot in the campground was the next. I struggled to keep my tent from collapsing on me for most of the night.

After packing up my belongings and heading for the nearest gas station for fuel and coffee, I headed toward my next destination: Fjaðrárgljúfur.  Fjaðrárgljúfur is an estimated 2 million-year-old canyon with incredibly steep walls and a peaceful river flowing through it.  It was accessible with my little Honda Civic, though the rocky, potholed roads had me nervous for dings in the rental car. 

It is possible to hike inside the canyon, but it requires getting a little wet and I was mostly interested in taking pictures from the top.

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  Day 3 was less structured than the other two and it was only another hour drive to Skaftafell, so when I saw a road sign that indicated yet another place to hike, I took the opportunity to get out and stretch my legs.

Looking back, taking a detour to Kirkjubæjarklaustur seems like fate. It offered sweeping views the likes of which I’ve only seen in Iceland. The journey started an easy hike up past a waterfall and another short jaunt along a narrow path to find Systravatn: a small lake with a big history.

Changing rooms and Systravatn

This was a frequent bathing spot for the nuns.  Once, two of them were bathing when they saw a hand sporting a beautiful gold comb reach out from the water.  As they grabbed the hand, both were pulled down into the water, never to be seen again. 

I followed the trail back down to the road, stopping to take pictures of the view (and of course the sheep) and admiring the rocks and scenery before me. I had another almost-euphoric moment here, although not quite as prolific as the one in Vik. At the time I was hiking, my friend James was in heart surgery. I felt him there, alongside me, and promised him we’d go there together when he got his new heart. A promise I can no longer keep.

Systravatn

View of Vatnasjokull NP from the mesa

Rocks, and a particularly daring sheep

Though Systravatn and the mesa I’d been hiking was my favorite part about the place, Kirkjubæjarklaustur had other sights to see, including Hildishaugur (Hildir’s Mound), a burial site for a pagan man who supposedly “fell dead” the instant he entered a Christian estate, and Kirkjugólf, a series of basalt columns that have eroded to look like a tile floor.

Moving on from Kirkjubæjarklaustur, I made my way toward Skaftafell to see some rather ominous storm clouds hovering in the mountains.

After getting things sorted for camping at the Visitor’s Center and checking in with family back home using their WiFi (a God-send), I set up camp and tried to figure out what I’d be doing the next day. I was tired. My legs were sore. I can move for quite a few miles before tiring out, but I was unused to hiking for more than 2 days in a row. And the following day I’d planned the longest hike yet: a 22km scramble up Kristínartindar.

View of the glacier

Seeing this made me remember the dangers of mountaineering. You always think “this can’t happen to me”, but no one is immune to death. 

There was plenty of time left in the day, so I decided I’d do a short hike to the glacier to the Skaftafellsjökull glacier after I ate something. A hike and a nap later, I felt rested and determined for the following day.

        Iceland Day 3: Fjaðrárgljúfur, Kirkjubæjarklaustur, Vatnajökul National Park I was sad to leave Vik, though there was not much else to see and I knew I needed to move on.

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I was sad to leave Vik, though there was not much else to see and I knew I needed to move on. Something about the place called to me, in a way. It’s hard to describe. I felt a deep connection to it.

Every now and then I have these moments of complete euphoria. I feel like I’m in a dream, where everything around me is perfect and nothing at all could go wrong. I can only describe a few moments in my life when this has happened, but one of them was on that Black Sand Beach in Vik. Maybe it was the whiskey (that certainly didn’t take away from my state of bliss), or the incredible sights I’d seen, or my determination that this was going to be a life-changing trip; but I associate the feeling with the place, the gentle sounds of waves, the sunlight hitting me just enough to warm me without making me sweat.

My night in Vik was best described as tumultuous. I decided this adventure of camping and “finding myself” required meditation, which I tried to practice most nights before reading my book and dozing off to sleep. It was peaceful, until it wasn’t.

I was woken up by lightning during my night in Vik. I only saw a few brief flashes before it abruptly stopped and I was left disappointed. Lightning is exciting, it’s energizing. Something about the way it crashes sporadically, the ways in which it manifests itself, brings me joy. You will never see the same pattern twice. I spent a few years of my childhood in the Midwest: I miss the storms.

The rest of the night was exactly how I’d been told Iceland would be. At that point in my trip wind had not been an issue, and the weather the day before had been beautiful, so I forwent using my guy lines for the sake of time—my first mistake. Camping on the highest spot in the campground was the next. I struggled to keep my tent from collapsing on me for most of the night.

After packing up my belongings and heading for the nearest gas station for fuel and coffee, I headed toward my next destination: Fjaðrárgljúfur.  Fjaðrárgljúfur is an estimated 2 million-year-old canyon with incredibly steep walls and a peaceful river flowing through it.  It was accessible with my little Honda Civic, though the rocky, potholed roads had me nervous for dings in the rental car. 

It is possible to hike inside the canyon, but it requires getting a little wet and I was mostly interested in taking pictures from the top.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

  Day 3 was less structured than the other two and it was only another hour drive to Skaftafell, so when I saw a road sign that indicated yet another place to hike, I took the opportunity to get out and stretch my legs.

Looking back, taking a detour to Kirkjubæjarklaustur seems like fate. It offered sweeping views the likes of which I’ve only seen in Iceland. The journey started an easy hike up past a waterfall and another short jaunt along a narrow path to find Systravatn: a small lake with a big history.

Changing rooms and Systravatn

This was a frequent bathing spot for the nuns.  Once, two of them were bathing when they saw a hand sporting a beautiful gold comb reach out from the water.  As they grabbed the hand, both were pulled down into the water, never to be seen again. 

I followed the trail back down to the road, stopping to take pictures of the view (and of course the sheep) and admiring the rocks and scenery before me. I had another almost-euphoric moment here, although not quite as prolific as the one in Vik. At the time I was hiking, my friend James was in heart surgery. I felt him there, alongside me, and promised him we’d go there together when he got his new heart. A promise I can no longer keep.

Systravatn

View of Vatnasjokull NP from the mesa

Rocks, and a particularly daring sheep

Though Systravatn and the mesa I’d been hiking was my favorite part about the place, Kirkjubæjarklaustur had other sights to see, including Hildishaugur (Hildir’s Mound), a burial site for a pagan man who supposedly “fell dead” the instant he entered a Christian estate, and Kirkjugólf, a series of basalt columns that have eroded to look like a tile floor.

Moving on from Kirkjubæjarklaustur, I made my way toward Skaftafell to see some rather ominous storm clouds hovering in the mountains.

After getting things sorted for camping at the Visitor’s Center and checking in with family back home using their WiFi (a God-send), I set up camp and tried to figure out what I’d be doing the next day. I was tired. My legs were sore. I can move for quite a few miles before tiring out, but I was unused to hiking for more than 2 days in a row. And the following day I’d planned the longest hike yet: a 22km scramble up Kristínartindar.

View of the glacier

Seeing this made me remember the dangers of mountaineering. You always think “this can’t happen to me”, but no one is immune to death. 

There was plenty of time left in the day, so I decided I’d do a short hike to the glacier to the Skaftafellsjökull glacier after I ate something. A hike and a nap later, I felt rested and determined for the following day.

        Iceland Day 3: Fjaðrárgljúfur, Kirkjubæjarklaustur, Vatnajökul National Park I was sad to leave Vik, though there was not much else to see and I knew I needed to move on.

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I woke up once in the night to stumble to the bathroom which I found warm, clean and crammed into a building about the size of a shipping container. I wandered about in the dark for a little while before heading back to my tent and reading until I fell asleep again.

The next morning I was rearing to go. I was eager to make up for the embarrassment of my one activity the day before—and also make up for my lack of total adventure. So, I packed up my car as quickly as I could, headed to a gas station to pick up a fuel canister for my next camping spot, and opted to eat breakfast—a cliff bar and a piece of chocolate—on the road.

It was only a 30-minute drive until my first stop, the Seljalandsfoss Waterfall. Iceland’s scenery is incredible, and if I haven’t said it before I’ll probably say it 6 more times before I finish my story. A lot of the landscape is flat and sprawling, quite different from what I’m used to in Western Washington. But then, seemingly out of nowhere, giant cliffs will sprout up and give way to majestic waterfalls. The sheep don’t seem to care, though, and the small houses juxtaposed against these grand sights make me think the locals have gotten used to it, too.

Seljalandsfoss is a relatively skinny waterfall, but it falls close to 200 feet and gives visitors the opportunity to walk behind it. It was cold and wet, but woke me up for the day and made me excited to see more.

After taking pictures and trying to avoid the waves tourists that had been shuttled in, I headed back to my car and continued onward toward the next waterfall.

Skogafoss was much more massive than my previous destination, also falling around 200 feet but boasting several times Seljalandsfoss’s width. Though going behind the waterfall proved to be impossible, there was a staircase that ran alongside it, and I mounted with a racing heart to get to the top.

  Skogafoss Waterfall, Iceland

  After topping out of a very tall staircase

At times, I can be a fairly competitive person, and my intention when coming to Iceland was not only to have an awesome time and take really neat pictures, but also push myself physically and kick off an era to get in better shape. This goal also helped me push past my mental and physical fatigue to do more during my trip. However, in my beginning-of-the-trip excitement, my competitiveness was probably a little overkill.

But it was fun to try to take the stairs two at a time, to keep up a good pace until I’d gotten to the top (or got stuck behind other people along the way). And it was nice to be warm, even a little sweaty, once I’d reached my goal.

Skogafoss is the typical entry point to the Fimmvörðuháls hiking trail, a 25km hike that runs between the Eyjafjallajökull and Mýrdalsjökull  glaciers in Iceland. I didn’t know about this trail, and unfortunately, didn’t follow it for too long before heading back toward my car. I did stop to snap a few more photographs, collect some “authentic Icelandic spring water” for my brother, and talk to a couple from New York for a bit. It’s strange, but every American accent made me feel less alone. More at home. It’s funny how something as simple as a voice can make you feel comfortable.

  Drangshlidartindur Mountain in the distance

Eyjafjallajökull from the trail

Looking back toward Skogafoss

I stopped off at the Skogafoss Bistro to get a sandwich and a beer and reflect on my day thus far:

“I’m learning I like people better than places. Or maybe it’s just this place. It’s beautiful, don’t get me wrong, but… barren, I guess is the best way to describe it. There are few trees. Very little snow. Even the mountains appear to be mostly choss… everything is covered with light green. Moss on grass, it tinges everything.”

I traveled to the Dyrhólaey Nature Reserve next, but not without taking a few pictures along the road first.

Iceland is homes to thousands of horses and sheep

The fog made for a beautiful morning

This is quite possibly my favorite picture, and the best I’ve ever taken

I stuck to the lower section of the nature reserve because I didn’t think my car could make it to the top of the massive dirt hill and I didn’t want to take any chances. I joined the throng of other photographers—most with cameras much more impressive than mine—to take shots of the sea, the Dyrhólaey arch, and the puffins. I was absolutely thrilled.

My first glimpse of a black sand beach

Puffins on the rocks

    Mesas are pretty typical for Iceland

Even the Visitor’s Center was aesthetic

Making sure to grab a rock for a friend from home, I knocked out my second souvenir of the trip and loaded myself and my gear back into the car.

Iceland is home to some very scenic abandoned buildings and, spotting one on my way out of the reserve, I decided to pull over and check it out. Not only did I find a rather intact structure, I also discovered a small path that led up a steep hill to a cave. From there, I followed along and topped out on a small hill to take in more views of the land and sea.

  Abandoned barn just outside of Dyrholaey

Self-timers are great for solo travel

  My next stop was one of the most anticipated points of my journey: Vik. A small village lying on the southernmost tip of Iceland, its Black Sand Beach was named one of the most beautiful beaches in the world sometime in the 90s and I’m assuming this still holds true today. I immediately drove to a small gravel parking lot and picked my way through the tall grasses and onto the beach to take some pictures. Out came the journal once more, to keep my memories intact.

“The waves are nice, regular. Like a deep chant from the Earth. The sun is out, too, but the wind is blowing enough to keep it from getting too hot. For the first time since my trip started, I’ve felt utterly at peace…I’m learning things. I cant name the latest one specifically, but it’s there, in the back of my mind. A concept, unexplained. I’m glad I did this. I knew I would be. But I’m very, very happy I’m here. And I’m happy I’m alone.”

On the Black Sand Beach outside of Vik, I also found my third souvenir—the one for myself. As an amateur sand collector (what does that even mean?), sand from Vik has become my prized possession. Unfortunately, I forgot to save a special bottle for it, and I was “forced” to chug a nip on the beach to make room for more solid contents. Move over Jack Daniels, I had more important things to carry around.

  The Black Sand Beach, Vik, Iceland

  I sat for a while longer, shut my eyes and listened to the roar of the ocean, taking deep breaths and counting the inhales and exhales. Another goal: getting better at meditation. I tried my hand at it for the first time in forever on that beach. Then, feeling elated, I turned and headed back to my car.

I stopped for a brief moment at a small building selling felted wool products but left empty-handed after seeing the prices.

At the campground just outside the Village, I set up my tent on top of a hill at one of the most picturesque campsites on my trip.

The Campground Vik is home to a large multi-tiered lawn that butts up against a cliff on one side and offers distant views of the ocean on the other. The night that I camped there was a windy one, and I’d made the mistake of setting myself up at the top of the hill without using any guy-lines to secure it against the wind. Needless to say, half the night was spent battling to keep my tent upright and the other half trying to slip outside to catch a view of the lightning over the ocean, which I sadly missed.

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Iceland Day 2: Seljalandsfoss, Skogafoss, Dyrhólaey, the Black Sand Beach, and Vik I woke up once in the night to stumble to the bathroom which I found warm, clean and crammed into a building about the size of a shipping container.

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My first day in Iceland was like the first day of school in 8th grade. New, exciting, terrifying, and a little embarrassing all at the same time. Showing up to the airport was easy. Going through security was simple, after all, I’ve done it a thousand times now. Boarding the plane was like biting my nails or picking a scab: a habit.

In truth, the weight of what I was doing—traveling alone to a foreign country, entering an entirely new territory without any aid or comfort—didn’t hit me until I was almost there. My seatmates were from Iceland. The man next to me, Throstir, had given me tips about traveling safely. He told me about the Iceland 112 app, which is like a techy version of a trail register—it’s designed to alert authorities if you don’t check back in according to plan. That was the first sign I was in way over my head.

Then the sun was coming up and we were flying over Greenland. That was incredible in itself, and I’m upset that I wasn’t able to get better pictures.

  Flying over Greenland

  Then I was in the airport in Keflavik, getting off the plane, promising to text Throstir if I needed any help (I didn’t). I wandered around, made a few mistakes, like trying to buy alcohol in the departures section and then exiting the arrivals section before making any purchases. Then I was buying expensive water, a phone card, and trying desperately to contact the rental car company to pick me up.

After a short mix-up, I was in the back of a van and heading to get a sweet new ride and truly start my adventure.

The rental car was worth the awkward wait at the airport

Before I left, I wrote up a flexible itinerary for David that I’d promised to follow as closely as I could. My only planned stop for the day was the Secret Lagoon in Flúðir, though I took a few incredible stops along the way to take in the sheer beauty of the place.

Iceland is very different from anywhere I’ve ever been. Coming from Washington, AKA “The Evergreen State”, I was used to endless forests and a limited line of sight. As an ignorant traveler, the first question I asked was “where are all the trees?” The answer from my new and very knowledgeable friend was that trees have a difficult time to grow due to the wind and loose soil from volcanic ash. According to the New York Times, this is correct. However, Iceland was home to lush forests prior to Viking settlement on the island.

  At a pullout on the side of the road.

  Following deforestation, wind erosion, unstable volcanic ash, and animal grazing have further prevented natural reforestation—and kept me from seeing my lovely trees.

My whining aside, Iceland is incredible. Rock formations and cliffs seemingly pop out of nowhere. Hundreds of shades of green cover black volcanic rock while white bluffs crash onto shores and plains alike.

And then there are the hot springs and geysers, which brings me to my first major destination.

The Secret Lagoon is less populated than its better-known alternative, The Blue Lagoon, which made it an easy choice to go there. It is also free so, you know, I had to.

Ye Olde Changing Room

SAMSUNG CAMERA PICTURES

SAMSUNG CAMERA PICTURES

Vadmalahver

The pool itself is incredible and was a nice way to relax after a long second flight from Minneapolis to Keflavik and hours of driving after. The crumbled changing house, located across the pool from a much newer guest shop, was a stark example of how the most beautiful parts of Iceland have been adapted to suit the economy. The Secret Lagoon itself has been a public swimming pool since 1891, and sitting in its relaxing waters, you can almost feel the history there.

“I definitely should have thought it through, but I didn’t.”

After trying to meditate and relaxing as best I could, I headed in to shower. In truth, I didn’t take a swim suit because I thought a sports bra and some boy shorts would be enough. They were, but it meant that I didn’t have any underwear to wear after I’d showered (my first mistake). I also forgot to bring a towel, which meant drying myself off on my fleece sweatshirt, which I had to wear after.

I definitely should have thought it through, but I didn’t.  And that lack of foresight had me practically waddling to my car uncomfortably with my arms crossed against the wind and wet hair further soaking my clothes. I’m pretty sure a lady laughed at me as I left.  I also got yelled at for trying to wear shoes in the locker room.  I threw my wet underwear in the back of my rental and drove to a nearby campground called Arnes to remind myself why I was there at all. 

I crashed in my tent, embarrassed, nervous, and regretting my decision to travel alone. (Don’t worry, I later changed my mind on this front). For whatever reason, maybe it was lack of sleep leading up to the trip, poor sleep on the flight over, almost constant anxiety since I’d arrived, or the sweet sound of rain pattering lightly on my tent, but I passed out, hard. 

  I could see the rain from miles away

  Iceland Day 1: The Secret Lagoon My first day in Iceland was like the first day of school in 8th grade. New, exciting, terrifying, and a little embarrassing all at the same time.

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How to Travel in Iceland for Cheap

How to Travel in Iceland for Cheap

Iceland: a land of adventure, of kind people and beautiful landscapes. My first major solo trip, and probably one of the best starter places to go for a single female traveler. Everyone speaks English, camping is plentiful, and plane tickets are cheap.

  I wanted a trip that wouldn’t break the bank. I wanted to go to a place that allowed me to get around easily and enjoy on my own. I wanted a…

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James

It’s been almost two months since I’ve been back from Iceland, and while I have few excuses for not posting my pictures sooner, I’ve been hesitant to write about what happened because it hurts. It was the trip of a lifetime, which I’d hoped would be the case when I booked my ticket. But it came with some serious misery.

About three days before my trip, I found out a very dear friend to me, a…

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You can’t really be a writer without a god complex. 

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Babes, beaches, and fancy bug nets.

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“ The dip of the light meant that the island itself was always left in darkness. A lighthouse is for others; powerless to illuminate the space closest to it.” ― M.L. Steadman

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Always planning new adventures

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Into the forest I go, with only my wits about me.  What will the future show?  What will my adventures bring?

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Smith Rock Climbing

Last weekend I was given the most amazing opportunity to travel down to Smith Rock and do some climbing. A friend had mentioned a few weeks ago that he and our regular climbing group were planning on heading down to adventure in Oregon. After much deliberation—it is a long drive from Tacoma and David and I have pretty much scheduled out our weekends until September—we decided to go for it.

Thank…

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The Tooth: The Easy Trad Climb Close to Seattle

The Tooth: The Easy Trad Climb Close to Seattle

Route:  South Face Difficulty: 5.4 YDS Pitches: 2 (usually 3-4) Location: Snoqualmie, Exit 52 (~52 miles from Seattle)

This past weekend was the third time I’ve climbed The Tooth, which, as the title suggests, is an incredibly easy trad climb close to Seattle. We left early since it was Memorial Day and this is a very popular route, getting to the trailhead at around 6am to head up.

First, I must…

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The Enchantments: Round II

The Enchantments: Round II

Trail: Snow Lakes trail to McClellan Peak

Total Miles: 24

Level of soreness? Surprisingly less than last year, and with the gorgeous weather again today I was dreaming of going back.

Upper Snow Lake, May 2016 Upper Snow Lakes, 2017

The differences between this year and last year’s hike into the Enchantments with a subsequent scramble of McClellan Peak were pretty…

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R&D: The Ultimate Ego Boost

R&D: The Ultimate Ego Boost

What with Rockfest going on this weekend in Leavenworth, I was nervous about being able to teach a group of new climbers thoroughly and quickly while having enough energy to later do my own climb.  It turns out the turnout was not as crazy as last year (thank God) and the event was mostly held away from the areas we needed.

R&D.  It’s an easier climb, rated 5.6 overall and some really nice…

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An Ode to Gertie

Oh Gertrude,

They know not what they speak of.

Forgive them when they blaspheme against you.

For you are more than a 9-ton rust trap;

You are our future.

A future laden with photographs,

with adventures,

with unnecessary stops to pee.

But a future, all the same.

You yearn for more than your rotting wood,

strive for more than just turning on.

And you will…