I woke up early and almost woke my bro because I could feel rain on the way. But I was tired so I figured he needed sleep too. I just scuttled into my tent before the rain started, sure enough. One can hear so much more when you’re not in a tent.
In the rain I saw a line of swans come slowly down the hill to the pond, chattering away. It was hard to kept count as they navigated the bushes, but there were possibly 9 little white S-curves behind the big capital S mama swan.
We got a break in the rain to break camp, and then we climbed the east mouth of the fjord valley, skirting the pond. We expected it to be very marshy but it wasn’t bad at all. It rained most of our climb up the other side. Already tired, it was a dreary and challenging trudge. There was no view, because it was socked in, and there was no visual reference for our destination, because it was socked in.
Over and over there were “false summits”, where it appeared we’d finally hit the plateau at the top, but after walking a little farther more hill would loom out of the mist.
We had one Arctic fox sighting, one little brown furball dashing away from our intrusion.
Everywhere there were swans. Usually there was one bright white couple in each small pond we came upon, but there were two pairs of swans in Teislavatn (sp?). At the next lake, far up the hill in a pond surrounded by rock, there was another pair of swans. In their rugged environment and the stinging rain, we dubbed them “back to the land” swans.
Today was hard going and plodding. Over the top, there was a very long, long flat, on the rocky plain, marked with cairns. In weather more inclement, they would be nearly useless, but from each cairn we could see the next; the visibility wasn’t that limited.
Our route drifted down towards sea level again after we saw the lighthouse at ? from above. The rain lifted but the greyness didn’t. Derek went blazing ahead because bugs suddenly appeared, swarming us like adoring fans. Most unpleasant was sucking a bunch in on an inhale, something that fortunately doesn’t happen to Justin Beiber.
Over and over we crossed little streams, and the going was very up and down, although overall down. Here trails began again, and it was very nice to have a trail to follow. Pathfinding is kind of mentally tiring.
Finally we reached the beach and followed that to the attraction of Hesteyri, an “abandoned” town.
We trekked around, checking out the houses, and were disappointed. Nothing seemed abandoned nor neglected. Everything was locked up, well-secured and maintained. Peering into windows revealed some very attractively appointed houses, that looked so much like they were locked up and walked away from yesterday it was discomfiting. There was even a guesthouse, clearly equipped to entertain large groups. There were coats hanging inside doors, boots in the tray, dropped gloves and tools, and food and dishes in evidence.
If this is a place abandoned in the 70’s, then the gnomes run an impressive maid service.
We cooked in the shelter of an old ruined foundation a little way from the “town”, barefoot. My feet were cold and soaked white and they needed a break from the sopping boots. A 100% hot meal, with soup to start, tortellini for main, hot chocolate to finish was just the ticket. I got into dry clothes and we were off to bed at 6pm. My legs were twitching as I drifted off, achingly tired. I could feel them healing as I slept, trying to keep up with what I was asking of them awake.
I woke up again at 9, but the fjord was all locked up in fog, so there was nothing to get up for.
For just a few more pictures of this day, click Extra Photos
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