Thorsmork: Wednesday
If we had just driven down to Vik in the drizzly south-easterly, where we were to stay the next night, we could have been in the bar by lunchtime. Instead, we decided to go to Thorsmork, which all the guidebooks said was one of the best places in Iceland, with its own climate, and trees. So, having read about the dangers of the rivers en-route, which we would have to ford, (and which the book said should only be done in convoy with ropes and full rescue crew) we took some advice from the hotelier, who told us on no account to cross the Krossa river, and made a start, having shopped for lunch and staples at the supermarket by the hotel and topped up the tank with IKr 2700 worth of petrol. (This was looking like 20p per Km, which seemed a bit heavy, but then we were hauling quite a big 4x4 around without the benefits of diesel, which was 1/3 the price of petrol) We made a bit of a false start by following the map. This did not take account of the bridge over the large river which was barricaded closed, so we had to retreat and come at it from another angle, on the 249 passing Seljandsfoss waterfall as we did so, and noticing how the half-gale was blowing the water off at 30° from the vertical. The road went along the right hand side of the valley with all the rivers on the left, except for those flowing off the mountain on the right. We soon were off the tarmac and onto the gravel F249, with the sun now coming out as we began to put mountains and glaciers between us and the coastal wind. The first few miles and minor fords were nothing too exciting, with the exhaust clear of the water behind us, and only a few yards to go to the dry land ahead. However, soon we came to a glacier on the right called Gigjokull, with a lake in front of it which overflowed across our path in a brown river, which a few yards downstream became a torrent, crossed by a footbridge. No tyretracks were visible on the far side, so we parked on the stony beach and went for a walk to the glacial moraine. This was essentially a series of ash heaps which could have been slag from any decent blast furnace in the world. Gritty, black and uninteresting in the extreme, unless it gets into your camera or shoes. However, some of the heaps turned out to have ice inside them, which made things more interesting, and bits kept breaking off and floating away on the muddy stream issuing from beneath the heaps. We decided that a circular walk across the glacier would be not only too far, but also too dangerous, so started back, when I saw two more vehicles arrive at the beach half a mile away. People got out, looked at the river, talked, looked some more, and then while I was behind a slag heap, the vehicles disappeared. When we got back to the beach, there were no wet tyre tracks on the far side, so we guessed they must have gone back. I went and had a walk over the footbridge, looking back along the track for the red jeeps on the road back, but could only see a long green vehicle, which seemed to be coming our way. Yes, it was the number 9 bus, and a quick run back to the car allowed us to see the way they took the stream and how deep it was - not above the hubcaps of the coach, but up to our door sills when we tried it. Anyway, we were across this river, and stopped to have a chat to the driver, who had let his passengers out to take some photos of the glacier. How bad were the rivers to come? “Well, OK for us”, he said. “Go with the stream” he said, “not across it”. So we decided to follow him and see where he went - but R decided to change her trousers before we got going again, which meant that by the time we got to the next and rather larger and faster river, the bus had already gone! So we took his advice and took the route that went upstream in the middle of the river and lasted about 50 yards. Well, I remember the test track at Solihull, but I don’t think the water ever came over the bonnet as it now did for us. And the Terrano has a pretty high bonnet! In low ratio 2nd, I kept the revs quite high so as not to stall the engine with the exhaust under water, and I don’t expect it was really as bad as it seemed, but it was quite exciting enough at the time, and I was very glad the engine didn’t drown in the deep fast bit in the middle! After this, we caught up with the bus before the next deep ford, but by now we could see there was only one river from the glacier on the right, plus the Krossa to cross. And there was a footbridge over to Thorsmork hut which meant we didn’t have to cross either of them with the car. When the buses back wheel went in up to the top of the tyre (2ft or more?) I thought this was too much for a vehicle with insurance void for river crossings, and we took the footbridge over the rapidly flowing 30-yard wide river which looked at least 3ft deep. On the other bank was a delightful path winding between grassy nooks with purple and yellow wild flowers and leafy birch shrubs on either side. The path twisted around huge boulders, down near the river at one moment and up on the hillside the next. Eventually we arrived at a grassy area and made our way towards the proudly flying Icelandic flag at the front of the hut, which was a large log cabin, big enough, according to the guidebook, to hold large numbers of Reykjavik citizens on summer weekends, who would all be quite drunk. We purchased a mug of coffee for 100 Kr and had a look at the photo album, which was packed with shots of coaches on their sides in the river, Land Rovers submerged up to their bonnets, lorries being hauled out of the river by other lorries and various other horrific scenes of water overcoming technology with ease. Glad we had not put japanese engineering too much to the test, we bade goodbye to the 2 staff of the hut, and had a chat to a group of young tough-looking Brits, the only other people around, who had already hiked for 6 hours today and were planning to do another 6 hours before stopping at the next mountain refuge for the night. Quite tired out by listening to their plans, we struggled the mile back to the car and started on the return journey to metalled roads and hotel beds. We traversed the fords more confidently on the return journey, even though the water was rather higher due to the warm sunny weather melting the glacier more rapidly and even overtook our friends in the green bus, who had stopped for the passengers to have a walk up a canyon. Eventually we had all the hazards behind us, and stopped at the high waterfall of Seljafoss, now perfectly lit by the late afternoon sun. The spray still billowed, and you could see rainbows which formed a complete circle when it blew your way. From behind the falls, under the overhang, the curtain of water wasn’t that impressive, but it was quite exciting being there. We motored on on Route 1 and paused at the next tourist attraction which was the 60m high Skogarfoss, which had a much more impressive flow and whacked down into a lovely pool directly from the river above. The evening sun was beginning to weaken as we took the road again and arrived at Vik just before 7pm, checking in to the modern Hotel Vik across the road from the Esso station. Where could we eat dinner? Well, the choice was between the cafe at the Esso station, or not. So R had a burger and chips and J had soup and a herring smorebrod, and we counted it a cheap meal at £27 including one beer and a coke. Before returning to the hotel we took a short walk to look at the beach and catch a glimpse of the rock stacks at the end of the 400ft cliff which signified the western end of Vik. The stacks were there, still well lit at 11:30pm but the sand surprised us since it was completely black, with no sign of shells or lighter coloured areas. The sea looked the normal colour where a light surf broke on the beach, so it was simply that the sand was black and volcanic in origin - there were no fine sediments in it that coloured the water.