A Love Letter to Layering

I’ve often heard the phrase ‘be bold and start cold’ in my experiences backpacking. Here in Iceland, you usually have to start pretty dang cold! As soon as you get moving though, you generate far more body heat than is comfortable. By that same token, as soon as you stop moving you also lose all that heat. It’s a fine line to balance.

Our first backpack gave me a hearty helping of appreciation for layering. Having a couple articles easily accessible really makes all the difference, especially with the weather being so capricious. The people that inhabit this island have a joke: if you don’t like Icelandic weather, just wait five minutes!

That’s the thing about weather here, or really anywhere – it’s pretty inescapable when you spend all your time outside. Sometimes all you can do is wait.

Thankfully for this journey the sun held out. We followed the Fimmvörðuhàls trail, with a grand cascade greeting us at the trailhead. It was a gorgeous day with clear, blue skies. After slathering myself in sunscreen and donning my shades, we took a group photo in front of the waterfall and off we went.

Wildlands team in front of Skögafoss at the trailhead. Fun fact: in Icelandic, ‘foss’ means waterfall, which makes deciphering the geography a tad bit easier. It’s like a sort of onomatopoeia!

I worked up a sweat in no time at all. Carrying all those extra layers seems like a burden when you don’t need them, but you know you will be grateful for them later. As we climbed the long, winding staircase next to the waterfall, I thought about any possible way that I could have shaved off a couple grams from my pack. Carrying only the essentials, it was really as good as it would get. I found some relief in knowing that the more water I drank, the less weight I would have to carry.

Even after reaching the top of the staircase, it was all uphill from there. That first day was solely about gaining elevation, following the river as we made our way to the highlands. The water exhibited our progression with displays of gravity; that is to say, waterfalls, waterfalls waterfalls! The trail was host to a whole slew of them. Around each corner another torrent roared as it poured, projecting the spray high into the air. The sun caught the droplets, suspending rainbows in the mist.

I cannot tell you how many waterfalls we passed on the way up. To be quite honest, I lost count. Each one was unique and beautiful, but after a certain point they started to blend together. I wish I could tell you that I was just as excited about the sixteenth waterfall as I was for the first fifteen, but the reality of the matter is that I gradually stopped less and less to stand and marvel. What started with an ecstatic enthusiasm slowly dulled to a mild impression. That is not to say I wasn’t still happy to see them though!

That really bothered me though, like my contingent valuation of the hike diminished as the journey progressed. The same principle can be applied in other ways: the first slice of pizza is infinitely more enjoyable than the second or the fourth. But maybe pizza is not comparable to waterfalls.

I have seen so many waterfalls in Iceland that I have actually been making a compilation of them all:

Waterfall TV. Iceland has a LOT of waterfalls!

After 5 miles we unknowingly passed the last waterfall, crossing a narrow bridge over the river to enter the plateau. Any water past this point we would need to pack in ourselves. We paused for a bit to study the maps, don some layers and fill our bottles.

Drinking that clear, ice cold glacial melt has been a highlight of my trip so far. I could literally see the glaciers from which the river is fed! I have never felt more confident in drinking water directly from a stream. This close to the source, you really can’t go wrong. We had water filters of course, but in my opinion using them would spoil the novelty of the experience, so I didn’t. Besides, all water in Iceland is quite potable as is.

After loading up with water, our weight renewed, we trekked on for the last half of the journey through the highlands over rock and heathland. When we finally reached camp, it was well into the evening and my feet were screaming. Having braved the plateau even through fair weather, we were all wiped.

Setting up tents can be a hassle when you are tired, but it is exponentially more aggravating with strong wind. Up here, there is nothing to stop the gales. The environment reflects this everywhere you look – virtually devoid of vegetation, the area is all but barren save for the hardy little shrubs that hug the ground in miserable little clusters, like they have to huddle to stay warm and protected. In a way, they do; what little shelter they find can only come from each other.

By the time I established my shelter, guy lines and all, my fingers were frozen, my nose leaking like an old faucet. The wind pierced through all my layers, making me shiver if I stood still for too long. Wiping the dust from my eyes and looking around, I had a sudden realization. All the discomfort from the elements paled in comparison to how utterly cool the place were we were camping in was.

Camp in the highlands. Though the sun is up, it is just before midnight. Our tents were clustered together just the same as the shrubs, trying to break the wind.

This is what it is all about. Not the trips to REI, not the hours spent pouring over reviews online nor the legwork put into strategizing what gear to bring. Here I stood between two glaciers, up on the plateau in the highlands. To either side in the distance the behemoths loomed, rivers of ice, giants in flesh and blood. Out on the horizon I could see the sky extend all the way out to the ocean. Through the fog of my exhaustion a single thought occupied my mind, that it was all leading up to this.

I cooked my couscous and beans with glacier water, boiling a little extra to fill my bottle, bringing it to bed with me stuffed in a spare wool sock to stay warm through the night. Retreating to my sanctuary and taking off my boots after hiking 9 miles was something to savor, peeling off my old socks and putting on the fresh pair that lives in my sleeping bag, my sacred socks. That night I slept through the cacophony of the wind threatening to rip my tent apart.

Dismantling tents in strong winds

We broke camp and had an early start in the morning to avoid more inclement weather – One person had already snapped a tent pole in the night. Taking down my tent was just as difficult as setting it up, trying to figure out some way to dismantle it without having it fly away. Despite the challenges, I can say with confidence that this is the only time I put away my tent while it was dry.

We made our way out of the highlands and down into þórsmörk valley. The rest of the journey I watched as the vegetation changed from moss and lichen back to shrubs and flowers. At the bottom of the valley lay our campsite and the first honest Icelandic forest we had seen.

The people of this country also have a joke about their forests – ‘if you get lost in an Icelandic forest, just stand up!’

From waterfalls and green pastures to glaciers in the highlands to trees down in the valley, we had hiked 16 miles up and down 4200 feet of elevation. It was undoubtedly one of the most rewarding and challenging backpacks of my life to date.

This past week marked the halfway point in the program. As I continue to experience the outdoor classroom with lectures in the rain and doing my homework in tents, I hang in the balance between looking forward to the next adventure and looking back at all I have accomplished so far.

As a passing cloud covers the sun, I shudder a bit and put on another layer. In this moment, I will just enjoy being here now.

Bless bless,

Owen

Non-SU Program - Wildland Studies-Artic Ecosystems - Iceland - Summer 2022