Ramblings - Over the Mountain

Let's start out right off by saying that what I did was stupid. There's a fine line between being stubborn and being stupid. With this hike, I crossed that line, and walked firmly on the stupid side for a couple of days.

What was this hike? I walked from Skogar, a little town on the south-coast of Iceland, up a mountain pass between two glaciers, down to the valley on the other side. I'd spend the night at Fimmvorthuhals, a hut on top of the mountains. I was going by myself.

I already said I was stupid, right?

The first day started out fine. It was actually ideal hiking weather. Overcast, slight wind, not too hot, not too cold. There are two routes from Skogar. One is a road that is only passable using 4WD vehicles. The other is a trail that goes up next to the waterfall Skogarfoss. I'd been told by more than one person that walking along the trail next to the water, by myself, was dangerous, that I shouldn't do it. So I didn't. I hiked up the road. According to the guidebook, it was the less-scenic of the two routes. But it was safer, so I went.

I don't always set out to be stupid.

The trail was pleasant enough. It wasn't gorgeous, but it was scenic, with some pretty parts. The hike itself was difficult for me. I wasn't in as good of shape as I should have been. The trail went up, most of the time. It was about 18 kilometers (10 miles?), and I went from sea level to 1060 meters (3500 feet?) I could have walked it without hesitation. However, I was carrying a 30 pound pack on my back, and I wasn't used to hiking with that kind of weight. By the time I was within two kilometers of my evening resting place, I was completely exhausted. I could see the hut. I couldn't believe it was that far away. It was. In addition, I was walking through snow and mud, and the wind had picked up. I feel like I made it to the hut that afternoon through sheer willpower. I had gone far past my physical endurance limit. But I was going to make it to that hut, god damn it. I swore a lot at that point.

When I arrived at the hut, I found out that the doors were locked from the inside. I could undo the lock on the top part of the door, but I wasn't tall enough, and I didn't have long enough arms, to undo the lock on the bottom part of the door. I ended up using the loop band from my fanny pack to loop through the top of the bottom lock. It was frustrating to be denied entrance after having worked so hard, and feeling so exhausted.

First things I did were unpack my sleeping bag, take out dry socks, and try to get my pour, tired, chapped feet warm. It took some time. I sat up for a while, away from my sleeping bag, up at the table. I managed to get myself quite chilled, and had to retire to the bag soon.

My guide book had promised running water at the hut. I believe that when it's warmer, the water really does run. The water is provided by a water barrel that sits outside, just next to the door. The barrel was plastic, sitting on rocks. I turned the spigot, I tried pumping, getting nicely warm in the process, but to no avail. I couldn't get the water running. Maybe the pump needed to be primed. Maybe only the top of the barrel had liquid water, and the bottom, where it flowed into the hut, was solid ice. I don't know.

I needed water. To stay up in the mountains, or to try to walk down the next day without water would be suicidal.

There was a small opening at the top of the barrel. I grabbed a soup spoon, a cup, and a large cooking pot. I spooned the water from the barrel into the cup, then when the cup was full, poured the cup into the pot. It took about 40 spoonfulls of water to fill a cup. The problem was the wind. It would blow all the water out of the spoon before I could get it to the cup. It kept trying to blow me over too. But I managed to get 10 cups worth of water.

I boiled the water for 10 minutes before I used some of it for my dinner (I had dehydrated beef stroganoff.) It was lovely. The warmth was the best part of it I think.

I tried sitting up for a while at the table after dinner, but it was too cold. I got really chilled. I curled up in my sleeping bag, under two blankets, and got warm. Then I sat up and wrote for a while.

That's when the storm started. The wind was much worse than it had been. I went out once when I had to get up to go to the bathroom. The wind nearly knocked me down, and I wasn't wearing a pack. It was bad.

The fog was worse. I couldn't see two feet in front of me. It was a complete white-out.

This is when I got scared for the first time. I couldn't hike in conditions like this. I could handle the sleet. I could handle the wind, maybe, if it didn't blow consistently, if it only gusted to gale-force every now and again. But I couldn't hike in such thick fog. The trail was just marked with long yellow sticks. In that fog, I'd get lost, maybe fall off the mountain.

I tried to do Tai Chi that night. I found it difficult to do. I finally realized I only do Tai Chi in places where I feel somewhat safe. I didn't feel safe there. I knew I was. I knew everything would be okay. I kept telling myself that everything would be okay. But I was scared.

I went to sleep, and actually slept really well, even though all my muscles ached. The next morning, the wind had died down. It still gusted some, but it wasn't blowing at gale force all the time. Plus, the fog had cleared out some. It wasn't clear, but I could see part way down the trail. I could make it out.

Much cheered by this prospect, I packed up, and continued on.

Going back to the trail was easy. It might have taken me 15 minutes. It was all downhill after all. I cheered when I got there. I figured if this part was this easy, then the rest of the day was going to be a snap, right?

Didn't I mention sometime before this that I was stupid?

The first hour, maybe hour and a half, of hiking was fine. I skirted the lake that was there (old tracks had gone through the center of it - where there was now blue water). The wind had picked up, but at least it was at my back. It was sleeting most of the time, but I had a raincoat on. I actually had to remove layers of clothing because I was too warm at the start of the hike.

Then there was that last little bit of climbing that I had to do. The hut had been at 1060 meters, the trail was at 980 meters or so. The top of the peak was 1170 meters. So I climbed straight up. The path was now mud and ice and slippery rocks. I fell a couple of times, not too bad. I crossed between the two glaciers. The wind had really picked up now, blowing through that pass. I wished it had been sunnier. I might have tried to take a picture. I also wish it had been clearer. I could see one of the glaciers, the one to my right. The other was covered with fog.

Then I started the down bits. Down is good, right? Well, down is good when it isn't pure ice. Down is good when it isn't rocks that are slippery with new ice. Down is actually good when it's semi-crunchy snow, that I can dig my heels into.

At one point, the trail turned. The markers were very visible. I had to turn east for a while (I had been going almost straight north.) I had to go down this ice and snow covered hill, and across a thin rocky bit. I didn't see any markers after that. They disappeared. Where was I supposed to go?

Trust the markers, I told myself. They hadn't led me wrong yet.

So I walked down the hill. And I fell again. Hard enough to strain my right wrist. I could see bits of fog, and sleet, blowing across this thin slice of rock that I was supposed to walk over. I was a scared. I got more frightened when I got there. I couldn't walk in a straight line. The wind was blowing too hard. I had to walk with one foot crossing the other.

Had I mentioned this pass was only about 3 feet, maybe a meter, wide? I walked like a drunk across it. It took will power to keep going.

But where would I go after that? At the last marker, I saw a chain connected between some metal posts stuck into the ground, half-buried with snow.

I'd found the way. I followed the other footprints. The relief I felt once I was out of the wind was profound. I hadn't realized how hard I'd been fighting it until I was around the corner, below the cliff, out of the wind. I could suddenly hear myself again. I could hear the waterfall to my right. I could hear the wind blowing, but it wasn't the only sound any more.

I still had to keep going. There was a very small trail, about a foot wide, back in the wind, between rocks, that led to a large, flat plateau. It was only 15 feet long. I had to walk that next. I had to put one foot in front of the other, trust that the wind couldn't blow me off the mountain, though it felt like it was trying. I forced my way through, knowing that the next part was a plateau, wide and flat. I'd still be battling the wind, but the path would be so much wider.

So I made it. The wide flat place was mostly okay, though there were parts that were flooded. My poor feet, already encased in their already wet boots. Nothing I could do about it though.

The far side of the plateau, there was another down bit. I could see green valley, just beyond this part. I would be out of the snow and the wet. I was going to be okay.

This was a mistake on my part. I got so excited that I didn't watch my step as carefully as I should have, going from the snow to the rocks.

I fell.

I'm sure I only slid a couple of feet. But it really shook me up. More than the other falls had. I think in part it was because I couldn't stop myself, I had nothing to break my fall on. I just slid.

I could have really hurt myself. I could have been in real trouble. I don't know how I stopped. But I did.

For the first time I really thought about what I was doing. That I might not make it down. There wasn't another soul on the path, and because of the bad weather, there might not be another person for days. If I'd really hurt myself, I could have died up there.

It finally occurred to me just how stupid I was, doing this hike alone.

I vowed at that point that while I might go hiking along treacherous mountain paths again (I mean, I like to do this kind of thing) I would NEVER do it alone again. Period. It just wasn't smart. I'd firmly crossed the line from stubborn to stupid.

The fall wasn't the last of my deadly moments for the day. The trail led me up some beautiful ridges. I could easily imagine fey folk lived there. They had that feeling to them. Fantastic sculpted rocks and blooming trees and white moths. The scent was unique, pungent, almost acidic.

Beautiful, but perilous. The trail was barely a foot wide at the top of this ridge. It was still sleeting. And the wind would pick up at the most inopportune moments. I don't know who is in charge of the winds, but I need to have a serious talk with him or her at some point.

Finally I made it down. I was in one piece. I threw my arms wide and said, "Thank you."

Thinking back on it, I still think it was stupid for me to go alone. Mind you, another person wouldn't make the trail safe. That trail isn't safe. But another person would have made the whole journey safer. Less stupid.

As I said, I won't do this again, not like I did it.

Was the trip worth it? It gave me a lot to think about. Though I was near the end of my physical endurance, I was no where near the end of my will. I don't want to think what it would take to get me at the end of my will power. A lot more than a stupid hike through the mountains.

I'm going to use some of this experience in my next novel. This conflict with the elements. I'm going to use these aching muscles as well. And the fear. Method acting form of writing.

Normally when I travel, I push other limits. I push my mind, I push my social contacts, I push through the travel parts. This was the first time in a long time that I really pushed my physical limits, as well as my will. I wish I'd been in better shape for the hike. I was in great mental shape for the hike though. I wasn't about to be conquered. I was going to live. Not just that I wasn't going to die. I was going to live.

And I'm going to keep living. And try not to be so stupid next time.