Adventure Travel Online

Iceland; the country where hotdogs, balmy summer days and Berserker Vodka have stolen the show from icecaps, sagas and volcanoes is perfect for hiking from coast to coast. In the first of a two part feature, Alun Davies treks across the interior from Blonduos on the north coast over the Kjoure Pass to Gullfoss and Geysir.

Dicuil an Irish monk, one of the earliest visitors to Iceland, wrote that it remained so light during the summer you could pick lice off your shirt at midnight. If the Celt were around today he’d have probably added ‘and see the left hooks being swung outside the Dubliner’.

Our first night in Reykjavik and we walk straight into a post modern saga with a horde of noisy Norsemen squaring up under Iceland's clear skies. But the real brutality had taken place ten hours earlier outside Keflavik airport. With a bus strike in full swing, crippling Iceland's public transport system, a racketeering cartel of taxi drivers were inflicting travellers with more suffering than anything the infamous interior weather system or the capital’s modern day berserks could offer.

The price for the 40 kilometre taxi ride to the Salvation Army Guesthouse in central Reykjavik was 9000k (£80) and the choice was simple; pay it or leg it. We paid it. The bastards.

Even by Icelandic prices this extortion racket was considered ‘robbery’ by Icelanders who wouldn’t blink an eye at spending £5 on a packet of crisps or £8000 converting a brand new 4*4 into a monster Tonka Toy. Make no mistake Iceland is expensive; very expensive, expensive enough to make Bill Gates sweat over his Visa card limit and force less well financially endowed travellers to go walkabout in the uninhabited and shopless interior for weeks at a time.

To our surprise and delight however, the strike was temporarily suspended the next day and the buses were back belching diesel fumes along Iceland's ring road. With only 14 days to trek across the country we needed to get going as soon as possible and were glad to be on our way to Blonduos, the north coast terminal of the Kjolur Route.

Iceland's interior is crossed by two or debatably three recognised and unpronounceable tracks, the Kandidalur/Storisandur Route west of the Langjokull icecap; the Kjolur Route between the central Langjokull and Hofsjokull icecaps, and the Sprengisandur Route to the east betwixt the Hofsjokull and Vatnajokull Icecaps.

Our route would take us down the Kjolur and across the interior as far as Gullfoss and Geyser - Iceland's top tourist attractions - where we’d turn east and follow electricity cables across country for 50 kilometres to Landmannalaugar and join the famous Porsmork and Skogar trails to the coast. A total distance of 350 kilometres, or there abouts.

With limited resupply points at (Geyser, Landmannalaugar and Porsmork) meant carrying plenty of food and the fickleness of the interior weather - blizzards in July are not unheard of - meant packing lots of protective gear. With packs weighing in at over 60lbs and the sun still bright in the evening sky we left the delicious hotdogs of Blonduos service station and with a gentle tailwind set off into the uninhabited interior.

One of the things this first time visitor to Iceland noticed was there’s far more grass than mentioned in any guidebook. There’s also far more general greenery than portrayed in the ‘classic’ photographic images which tend to focus on glaciers, volcanoes, hot springs, arid moonscapes, contorted lava flows and former Icelandic Miss Worlds.

The word that best summed up our view of the area surrounding Blonduos is ‘surprised’. Fields and meadows but no trees; horses, sheep or cattle, rounded hills, wide flat valleys and an abundance of bird life including dive bombing arctic turns.

The rough track is not as pitted as you’d imagine, though it’s very hard underfoot and perfect blister making terrain. There’s hardly an ascent and descent of any note and if it wasn’t for the shoulder crunching weight of our backpacks the first push on the Kjolur trail was nothing more than a gentle stroll.

About 15 kilometres out of Blonduos we pitched camp at around midnight in a rubbish dump surrounded by old farming equipment and broken pallets. Fifty metres away there was a freshwater lake and the wood from the crates made for a great camp fire on which to brew tea. With hardly a cloud in the sky and snow capped mountains in the distance we all agreed that this refuge tip was as good as a junk yard gets.

Day two was sunny, warm, clear skies and a gentle 16 kilometre walk through agricultural land where farmers were furiously making hay whilst the sun shone - just the sort of Icelandic day you’re never told of. One local, fixing a fence at the roadside, boasted that it hadn’t rained in over three weeks and the forecast for the next four days was good; that’s good by Icelandic standards, of course.

Assuming we had a car, he asked where we were travelling. ‘We’re walking to the south coast’ we replied. ‘You are crazy Blondous boys’ he replied; a term that was to become a catchphrase. That evening we stopped to pitch camp at the roadside and soon enough a monster 4*4 roared up alongside. A young farmer stuck his head out of the cab, ‘Blonduos Boys, you can camp in my field, no charge’. Word was getting about .

We awoke to the sound of the tents flapping furiously. The wind had changed direction and was blowing hard down off the interior plateau. Dust storms were spiralling across newly ploughed fields, the sky was overcast and the walk up the Blondudalur Valley into a bitterly cold headwind was in complete contrast to the previous day. Occasional horizontal showers of icy rain forced us to walk in full battle gear and take rest stops in any available roadside ditch.

Up on the plateau the full force of the wind reduced our pace considerably and sucked mercilessly at our energy levels. Near the hydro electric station, that marks the end of habitable civilisation, we took a short cut across open ground and discovered why Icelandic tracks and trails take long winding routes between points a and b. In no time we were shin deep in a strength sapping bog and sinking a little too much for comfort. It was just as well it hadn’t rained over the past three weeks, fossilised trekkers anyone?

A few kilometres past the hydro station we set up camp in the shelter of a quarry with the wind raging around us though never quite making it into the small depression we’d found. Occasionally, the cloud would lift and part providing us with our first dramatic view of the Langjokul Icecap. We reckoned the ice to be about 70 kilometres away and in this sort of weather with very little shelter up on the plateau it would be a tough going. The map indicated a hut about 30 kilometres from the quarry, this we decided would be our next stop.

By morning the wind had dropped and we made good time on the raised hard-core track. Tinsel, the party’s civil engineer, explained how the Icelanders had adopted Roman road building techniques by using big rocks as a base layer gradually reducing in size to a fine dust surface. The top layer had been flattened and bonded through use into a reasonably level and pothole free rough track.

By midday the wind had died down completely and for the first of many times we came under attack by Iceland's famed squadrons of midges and flies. There was thousands of them, and we were the only targets within flying distance. They infested, and I mean infested, in fact, they set up home in our eyes, ears and mouths. Every couple of minutes one of us would be wrenching and dragging the backs of our throats to try and retrieve an intestine bound fly. The faintest and quickest of mouth openings and they’d be there, in numbers, aaaarrgh.

But - and this was very strange - as Ian discovered (now known as Ian Edwards wilderness tip No 1) the flies would not come under a jacket if draped over the head. This really was a very odd phenomenon which also applied to mountain hut doorways - stand just inside an open door and a wall of frenzied flies and midges would zoom just inches outside the door frame. Poke a finger outside and it was attack, attack, attack; bring it back inside and it was retreat, retreat, retreat. All over Iceland we found flies observed these codes of engagement with great dignity, we salute them.

Generally the scenery was flat, or rolling, with the odd bigger bump now and again. There were many lakes, the major rivers were bridged and those that weren't were dry. There was still the odd smattering of scraggy grass but nothing like the neat lush fields down in the valleys. The occasional monster 4*4 would roar past, as would the odd cyclist, as would the daily interior bus service from Reykjavik to Akureyri.

Our occasional traffic encounters also took on a fixed rule of engagement; the driver would point us out, the passengers would wave and we’d respond. Nothing enthusiastic like, just suck in our jowls and bellies, puff out our chests and offer a nonchalant explorers wave of the arm whilst maintaining a traditional ‘ard, expressionless adventurers gaze. Until, that is, they were out of view and we’d hunch our shoulders, let our bellies and chins flop back into place and screw up our faces to reflect the aches, pains and sore feet that come with carrying heavy sacks on hard unrelenting surfaces.

We stopped and brewed up on a sandy beech near the shoreline of the massive Blondulon lake before pushing on over Saudafell, the first hill of any note, to find the hut, our shelter for the night, was closed. Through the windows we could see mattresses, bunk beds, chairs and a fully equipped kitchen. I confess, the though of unscrewing a door or window frame became the hot topic of conversation.

Near the hut were two smaller buildings and they were both open. One housed a smelly diesel generator that provided power for the hut, the other was a barn with raised feeding trays full of clean hay. It was decided that two of us would sleep in the diesel spills and two would impersonate cattle fodder. The farmer who turned up very early next morning thought the whole thing hilarious.

The dome shaped Hofsjokull and rugged Langjokull Icecaps were now in full view and cresting a ridge near Heigufell we had our first sight of the spectacular Kerlingarfjoll (witch) mountains, said to be the most alpine of Iceland's hills and the fabled haunt of cutthroat bandits.

After walking for 24 kilometres we arrived at a small hut overlooking the plains leading to the Hveravellir hot springs and refuge. We stayed the night at the hut and awoke to blue skies and fantastic clear views of the icecaps and snow covered mountains across the valley.

By now, the unpredictable storm shot interior weather was er... incredibly hot. Most of the rivers marked on the map were dry and water supplies - in a country noted for its heavy rainfall - were few and far between. The surroundings had changed into the dry, arid and dusty moonscape depicted in guidebooks and late in the afternoon ominous black clouds rose over the Hofsjokull icecap to our left. As we approached the crude airstrip at the Kjolur pass the first boom of thunder roared out over the plain and the black clouds began moving off the glaciers in our direction.

Having been caught out in exposed positions during thunderstorms in the past I didn’t fancy the prospect of another scary late afternoon drenching. Especially on a featureless plain where the only objects above ground level were us. We upped the pace, continually looking over our shoulders at the lightning streaking the sky. The booming got louder and the clouds nearer.

It felt like we were in one of those American disaster movies, racing against time and a ferocious storm. If a monster 4*4 with Elle McPherson in a shirt open to the navel and beads of sweat rolling down her cleavage had pulled alongside shouting ‘get in boys’ it couldn’t have been more exciting.

We arrived at Hveravellir just before the storm, stripped off and took refuge in the hot springs. If geothermal sites were more likely to be hit by lightening than the surrounding plains, then so be it.

The warm water relieved our aching bodies and the poolside entertainment was provided by a group of naked Germans demonstrating how high they could lift their legs when stepping out of sulphurous hot springs and how wide they could open their legs when sitting on the bank. The stiff limbed Blonduos Boys offered no competition especially when one particularly athletic lady took to emphasising her superior dexterity, much to our emotional turmoil.

The warden at the Hveravellir Hut told us it was the first thunder storm for at least five years and asked if we were the four stupid guys walking to Skogar. In fact it was the first of three thunderstorms for at least five years; there was the biggie to the east and smaller squalls to the north and south. In between bolts of lightning we admitted that yes we were the Blondous Boys, which turned out to be a good move. ‘You so stupid, I’ll give you a discount’ he replied. We accepted his financial offer with a smile.

For the next two days we left the track and headed out on the Kjolurvegur Trail following the old and historic Kjolur Route via the Hvitarvatn, Proskuldur, Pverbrekknamuli and Hvitames huts - surprisingly the names of the huts never came up much in conversation.

The path skirts around the prominent snow and glacier capped Hrutfell (1396m) and is cairned in parts though it’s easier to follow the deep tracks eroded by trekkers and horses. The Proskuldur hut (the first one) is situated in a valley that looks more like Switzerland than central Iceland and there are two freezing rivers to be crossed en-route. This is where Ian Edwards demonstrated wilderness tip No 2 - how to cross rivers that are far deeper than they look.

And this is how - throw your rucksack as far as you can, making sure it ends up in the stream; take two steps back and go for it making the biggest tsunami possible. The inexperienced are advised take off their boots and socks, role up their trousers, carefully wade the river and stay dry.

From the Proskuldur Hut the Kjolurvegur Trail follows the course of the Fulakvisi river to the glacial lake Hvitrvatn where icebergs calved from the Nordurjokuw glacier can be seen bobbing along on the surface. The path crosses expanses of sand, rock and the Kjalhraun lava field. It’s easy going and the huts are about 12k apart. What did worry us though, was that we could not find the second (Pverbrekknamuli) hut, and we thoroughly checked out the location marked on the map. In the event we carried on and camped in small sand dunes about 10 kilometres from Hvitarnes.

During the days the temperatures were so hot two of us were showing the early signs of sun stroke - that’s right, sun stroke in Iceland. There was very little clean drinking water (the warden had warned us of this) and even less shade. Fortunately we found a fresh spring (not marked on maps) just past the point where the Pverbrekknamuli hut should have been.

The Hvitarnes hut is in a superb location and on a clear day the views over the lake to the glaciers tumbling down from Langjorkull and the snow capped bulk of Blafell (1204m) are very impressive, probably the best on this section of the walk. On the approach to the hut my thermometer hit 28 degrees and water was again a problem. We stopped and melted snow from a dirty patch in the shaded bank of a filthy glacial river. This stop pleased the local flies who were more of a nightmare than any we’d encountered previous - the worst I’ve ever experienced, anywhere - though they did honour the ‘not under the jacket’ rule.

The Hvitenes Hut is supposed to be haunted, though our trek medium, who also doubles as trek civil engineer, could not confirm any presence. After a couple of hours rest we walked eight kilometres back to the main track and crossed the bridge over the mighty Hvita river below the Blafell pass. Here, yet another hut marked on the map was closed, fortunately there was a convenient stable nearby.

From the Hvita crossing it’s 37 kilometres to Gulfoss. The track goes up and over the Blafell pass and through scenery reminiscent of the how the desolate coal slag mountains of the South Wales Valleys were before the landscaping and regeneration work carried out in the 70’s.

Resting up at the hut 12 kilometres from Gullfoss we found ourselves surrounded by a group of horse riders displaying fly like characteristics. Their support vehicle unloaded ‘lunch’ outside the front door but having established that four smelly, sweaty trekkers were crashed out on the floor they stayed outside even though it was blowing a mighty gale.

If we’d had more time, we’d have taken a rest day or two at the hut. Walking big distances with heavy sacks takes it’s toll on the body very quickly and the last 12 kilometres to Gullfoss was painfully hard going; mind switched of stuff. Just head down embrace the pain and ignore the freezing wind, just keep the rhythm going.

We arrived at Gullfoss cafe at 9pm, dropped on the floor, and pleaded with the waitress to spoon feed us anything hot. Two hundred yards away roared Iceland's No 1 tourist attraction, yet none of us had the strength to walk the short distance to the waterfall. It’s difficult to remember just how bad we were suffering, or if we were just acting like wimps. But I do remember how easy we accepted a lift off a builder to the nearby campsite in Geysir.

The Geyer, is the original big daddy; the geyser every other geyser in the world is named after. It had last blown off 20 or so years ago - apart from when recently encouraged with a couple of tons of soap flakes. Nowadays tourists are entertained by the smaller Strokkur geyser which blasts 50 metres high every three minutes, it’s said to be the most reliable geyser in the world.

Driving into town the builder pointed out a group of researchers and scientists camped around the site. ‘We had two earthquakes last week’ he said. ‘’That lot are expecting The Geyer to blow any time’.

And with that, a massive plume of steam and spray shot into the sky and the builder slammed on the breaks. ‘There you go, that's the big boy going off’.

Some timing eh.

At 20 million years of age, Iceland, geologically speaking, isn’t out of nappies. Sat high on a Mid Atlantic constructive junction (where continental plates pull apart as opposed to collide) of the American and European plates, the country is being ripped apart at a rate of 3cm a year. As a direct result earthquakes and volcanic activity are omnipresent and magma is periodically released to fill in the holes.

Not surprisingly, the interior of Iceland is a huge, barren, uninhabited and treeless plateaux of volcanic origin which has recently - we’re speaking geologically again - been contoured by wind, rain, ice and volcanic activity of the more up to date variety.

The desolate nature of the interior and harsh winter weather has meant that it has never been permanently inhabited - apart from two crazies in a weather station at Heveravellir. Historically it’s been the place to head for if your an outlaw on the run and more recently a meeting place for nude Germans contortionists (see main feature for the grisly details).

Icelandair, the national carrier, offers low cost seats, and, if your lucky, for which you should read prepared to book 3 decades in advance, you can end up paying as little as £115 for a return flight.

If you’ve got the time, motivation and sea legs, Smyril Line offer ferry crossings to Iceland out of the Shetlands by way of Norway and the Faeroe Islands. Prices start from £150 one way. Tel P&O Scottish Ferries for details, 01224 589 111

Keflavik airport is 45 kilometres from Rekjavik and incoming flights are met by buses which charge about £6 for the ride into town. We arrived in the middle of a bus strike and were robbed of £90 for a taxi.

From Rekjavik buses depart daily on the north circular road which passes through Blonduos. The cost of a one way ticket is about £20, it takes just over 4 hours with a couple of coffee/toilet stops along the way.

The interior of Iceland is pretty grim during the winter months. Almost perpetual darkness, deep snow and savage storms would turn any attempted crossing into an epic.

From mid May until the end of July Iceland has almost 24 hours of daylight. The interior routes are not normally open until the beginning of July when most of the snow has cleared. The main tourist season and the best time for trekking across the interior, unless your a mad sadomasochist with a winter storm fetish, is mid June to mid August.

We arrived in the last week of June to find the interior routes newly opened. We were the first and, so we were told, the only trekkers out walking on the plateau that year but you can expect company from mid-July.

We took 8 days to walk the 140 miles from Blonduos to Geyser. This included 3 easy breaking-in days, 2 days trekking at a slower pace off the main track and three high mileage, lots of pain days. It ‘s possible to knock off the Kjolur Route in 5 or 6 days but you’ll need to be fit and capable of carrying a heavy pack over long distances. There are no re-supply points on route so you’ll need to pack everything your going to need including gear to cope with blizzards which can occur during the summer months. Our packs weighed in at about 70lbs.

On a two week trip you could complete a coast to coast crossing down to Sellfoss or do as we did and cross inland to finish off on the famous Porsmork trail from Landmannalaugar.

Accommodation in Iceland is for the most part expensive with the cheaper options, particularly in Reykjavik, sold out during the summer months. Booking in advance is recommended.

On the Kjolur trail you’ll need a tent as the mountain huts are few and far between with the exception of the Heveravellir area and even these tend to get full during the busy months - members take preference over non members and guest books are full of tales of whoa where loan trekkers have been chucked out when the hut is fully booked by members. Huts range in size from sleeping under 10 to over 100 and cost £18 per night for rolling out your sleeping bag in a dormitory.

Some huts have wardens and cooking facilities but none sell supplies so you’ll need to have your own.

If you’ve a tent, you can camp basically where ever you want in the interior.

In Reykjavik the Salvation Army Hostel in the city centre is the cheapest and the Laugardalur Camp Site costs about £8 per night.

There are no food re supply points between Blonduos and the shop at Gullfoss other than a cafe near the Kerlingarfjoll mountains which is a good 8 miles off the route.

We ended up taking most of our own food from the UK - there are import restrictions on food so check in advance. What we did buy in Rekjavik supermarkets was reasonably priced, extortion rules every where else.

There are fresh water streams and springs all over the interior and you should never be more than an hours walk from the next source. On saying that we found ourselves in the middle of an exceptionally dry spell and a number of streams were dry.

Flies and midges are a nightmare on calm summer days so pack loads of insect repellent. Other than that there’s no major worries except, the bastards in 4*4’s who drive past you at 200 miles per hour causing major dust storms.

The Kjolur isn’t a tough trek. Throughout it’s entire length there are only a couple of steep ascents and even those are not so bad. Carrying a heavy rucksack over long distances however does take its toll on the body. It’s advisable to attain a reasonable level of fitness before setting off.

It’s possible to trek the Kjolur Route without leaving the 4*4 track. If you choose to do so, it’s easy going and all the main rivers are bridged though it is very hard underfoot. On the old trail from Hveravellir to Hvitames the path is well worn, easy to follow and there’s a couple of river crossings to keep you entertained.

The weather is your main concern. In general we were lucky and had more than our fair share of clear, hot days and managed to avoid any raging storms. However, snow isn’t uncommon during the summer months neither are fierce winds and icy rain. This means you’ll have to pack the works even though you may never get to wear them.

*The diverse scenery

* The wilderness experience.

*The Icecaps

*Hot springs at Hveravellir

*Trekking the old track between Hveravellir and Hvitames

*Gullfoss

*Geyser

*Good company

As always carry a first aid kit and be familiar with its use. Problems can occur from exposure to sun/heat (yes even in Iceland) or cold, hygiene, accidents, water or lack of preparation.

No parts of the route are dangerous underfoot or exposed though you’ll need to take care when crossing the fast flowing streams on the old track. If your travelling on your own, the main danger is having a serious accident or illness on this part of the route with no one around to raise the alarm or provide help.

On all other parts of the route, a daily quota of 4*4’s pass by should you need assistance.

Comprehensive travel insurance covering trekking and medical emergencies is essential.

Dick Phillips has been running walking holidays to Iceland for about 400 years (well almost), he also stocks all the maps of the country you’re ever likely to need. Contact Dick on 01434 381 440, tell him where your going and what detail you need and he’ll sort you out. In Iceland maps are widely available in Reykevik and in petrol stations around the country.

The Lonely Planet and Insight Guides are the best of the general guides. Both supply excellent historical and cultural information though both are sketchy and sometimes off the mark when it comes to detailed trekking information.

Here’s an outline of the kit we used and how it performed in real life situations.

What’s it All About...?

There are three big issues to brood over when planning a trek across Iceland; the fickleness of the weather, the lack of en-route food supply points and you’ve got to carry the bloody lot of it. There’s just no getting away from it, a trek across the interior means, pain.

When choosing kit your priorities are; daytime protection and comfort; a warm, dry set of clothes for overnight camps; tents capable of withstanding high winds which are roomy enough for you and your gear and light enough to carry without resorting to braying.

The Lowe Alpine Crossbow (75+10) was given a best buy recommendation when we tested trekking sacks last year and deservedly so. It’s a little heavier than most packs of a similar capacity but it gets ten out of ten for comfort when carrying the kitchen sink.

I’ve an old North Face bum bag which I wear in reverse and it’s great for packing stuff I need to access regularly. The main compartment is big enough for a camera and a couple of snacks. The bottle pouches are an ideal, accessible place to carry water, in bottles.

We expected periods of cool, wet weather with little or no opportunity for drying clothes overnight. This meant packing one wet set for trekking and one dry set for overnight camps.

I used the basic layering system with a Keela mid weight base layer offering insulation, wicking performance and excellent quick dry features. As a mid layer I used The North Face Salathe fleece jacket. It’s a Polartec 100 weight fleece and has gained a regular place in my pack for its fit and balance in providing just enough insulation to keep me comfortable whilst not overheating. As an outer protective shell I packed the Keela Munro Jacket which proved faultless at keeping out the elements. Much to my surprise it also dried out overnight in conditions it shouldn’t have - it’s a great jacket though a little on the heavy side.

A pair of bomb proof North Face Tibetan Trekking Pants and lightweight Berghaus Paclite over trousers sorted the leg department.

Mountain Equipment fleece pants, a Snugpak reversible fleece jacket, Lowe Alpine Dry-flo base layer and a spare set of socks kept me warm and comfy around camp

We reckon most manufacturers have gone too far in cutting down the useable space within tents (in order to reduce weight) making it almost impossible to find a two man trekking tent that will actually accommodate two people and two expedition size sacks with any degree of comfort. So, to hell with the extra weight, we packed one lightweight two man tent and a large three man tent (there was 4 of us).

The two-man Phoenix Ascent is basically a very stable and lightweight three pole mountaineering tent which will sleep two people in reasonable comfort and has enough headroom for a couple of six footers to sit upright. However, throw in a couple of 70+L rucksacks and your in for a very intimate night. In contrast the Vango Force Ten has enough floor space to seat the entire population of Iceland and enough headroom to practice pole vaulting. Packing both these tents was a good decision, the Vango comfortably took two people and four sacks leaving the Phoenix occupants with enough room for an argument.

The hard ground made me thankful I’d packed aThermarest sleeping mat and my trusty old Coleman Birch sleeping bag can’t be faulted.

With an eye on weight, one on convenience and another (don’t ask) on food that actually tastes good we packed an assortment of quick cook rice, noodles, smash, dried fruit, breakfast cereal, packet soups, dried milk, tea bags, coffee, sweeteners, beanfeasts, tuna, spam, sardines and loads of ‘fun’ size Mars Bars.

The Mars Bars were a great success but what is this ‘fun size’ marketing crap, small Mars Bars are not fun, they’re small, painfully small. Beanfeast and tuna nights resembled lavish banquets and the noodles made us depressed and suicidal.

Coleman fuel, we were told, was available in Iceland. So we packed two lightweight Coleman stoves and ... couldn’t find any Coleman butane/propane cartridges. Never mind, the Primus cartridges we did find worked just fine and the Coleman Micro and Backpacker stoves simmered, boiled and enjoyed every moment of they’re Icelandic saga as did theTefal Bivouac Camping Set consisting of two pots, lid, detachable handle and a pan which I used as a plate. Liquors were served in my ultra lightweight MSR Titanium Mug.

Straight out of the box, a walk of 300k’s and no blisters - I’m seriously thinking of proposing to my Scarpa Concordia boots and taking 2 pairs of unbranded liner socks and 2 pairs of Bridgedale GTX Summit socks as mistresses.

A pair of gaiters were on standby for any above the ankle snow and an old pair of Hi-Tech sandals had me fording rivers like a pro.

A Tilly Hat saw off showers and the sun, a Buff helped when it cooled down and a Windstopper hat was spot on for cold starts and when the wind turned mental. I like my hats.

Petzl head torch - didn’t use it, 24 hour daylight. I just carried it for fun.

Leatherman Wave pocket knife set - don’t leave Blonduos without one.

Mountain King trekking poles - superb performance, 300k’s of mostly hard, rocky ground and the tips are still intact, that’s a record as far as I’m concerned.

Rucksack liners - I packed four budget priced Gelert liners and abused them constantly. The result; excellent. Kept everything dry and no rips or tears.

First aid kit - the usual stuff

Compeed blister plasters - millions of them and they all got used by the other three.

Water purification tablets - the water in the interior is said to be clean, but they would say that.

Orange flavoured vitamin C tablets - to take away the disgusting taste of the water purification tablets, a success story that needs to be told.

Insect repellent - take gallons of the stuff and a flame thrower, the little bastards are everywhere.

Sunglasses - to hide bags under the eyes after an all night runtur in Rekjavk, crossing all year round snow slopes and for the occasional sunny day of which we had more than the occasional.

Wide Mouthed Nalgene Water Bottle - the easy fill bottle everyone used at streams where narrow necked bottles were useless..

Sigg Water Bottle - lightweight and indestructible - so far. I pack the Sigg as a matter of principle, it’s been with me all over the world and the more dents it gets the cooler it looks.

Cardiff City Lapel Badge - the ultimate travel accessory and passport to mountain huts worldwide.

And that's about it. Now, it's time to read Iceland Part Two.