Ingólfshöfði, Höfn og Lónsöræfi

Ingólfshöfði, Höfn og Lónsöræfi

I'd moved on to the Southeast coast of Iceland now, in order to visit several places along that coast, a thin strip of land between the vast Vatnajökull icecap and the sea, to be closer to several destinations that needed visiting.

Adventures from Ingólfshöfði northeast to Lónsöræfi

Ingólfshöfði is the cape on this southeast coast, a proper west end of that stretch of Iceland. There's no reason other than this to visit: I'm related to the Viking having landed there in Iceland in or around 871. Ingólfr used pagan magic to find what would be his permanent homestead in 874, which he named "Bay of Smokes", or "Reykjavík", after all the geothermal steam rising out of the earth. He's considered the first permanent Norse settler of Iceland, as that was his intent (unlike others who were explorers and stayed only temporarily). That cape is named after him, Ingólfshöfði, literally Cape Ingólfs.

I'm related in a very twisted impossible long branched back on itself but complicated and quite imaginative genealogy but I can write out my proper Icelandic patronymic as Benjamín Ingellsson, and with a light reworking the name into a proper/closest Icelandic spelling, it's Benjamín Ingólfsson. I can speak fluent Icelandic in my sleep with no detectable accent.

The main attraction of the headlands there is the huge colonies of birds on the cliffs, primarily puffins. I can say there were no puffins to be found on the cape headland that day. The sun wasn't out, it was calm and though cloudy, just overcast. Puffins like to fly and fish when it's windy and rainy. We saw enough birds to count on two hands or two person's two hands. The others on the trip were sorely disappointed, having only a few skua assault them with obscenities. Puffins are cute and colorful, but in all seriousness, I was looking for puffin on the menu somewhere (and was never successful with that, by the way).

These photographs of the sandur with this sheen of water mirroring the sky, I have dozens of photographs, each is so incredible to me, as there is no horizon, especially if I properly crop them.

The sandur we cross to Ingólfshöfði is a near perfect mirror.

It's impossible to get to the cape headland except by hay tractor and that must trek across several kilometers of sandur with the slightest sheen of water covering the black sand. I had visions that there must be quicksand pits somewhere in the vastness. Wish I'd askt. The basalt headland is a cliff rising vertically from the sea, but the lee side is a sand dune slope that we could hike up to the top of, green with grass, with a lighthouse and rescue hut. The cliff is classic basalt columns and some twisted about and curiously turned so that in some places, the cleavages seemed to be tiles on the face of the cliff. The sand is jet black and lots of flotsam and jetsam from fishing boats, both local and Gulf coast.

Three puffins hunting

I helpt our guide Matthildur with some geology points she could rely on (as some tourists could be difficult it seems), and she presented me with a few pumice stones from her farm nearby, which was really appreciated. Takk!!  

Ingólfshöfði from Hofsnes

Ingólfur took the land now called Ingólfshöfði and Benjamín took black basalt sand at Ingólfshöfði.

Ingólfur tók þar land er nú heitir Ingólfshöfði.  Landnámabók

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It's early dinner for me when I arrive in Höfn and I'm at the Pakkhús for their well-known special, the langoustine (a kind of lobster). Höfn is famous for it, and have a yearly festival to celebrate their being famous for it. It was an excellent meal, lots of good meat and butter sauce and plenty of bread to soak that all up.

Outside my window I could just see a bit of the fishing boat, the Sigurður Ólafsson, that brought the haul in.  Perhaps that day.  The beer was the locally popular (if only among tourists) Vatnajökull, brewed from trillion year old Vatnajökull icecap meltwater and the thyme that grows on the slopes of the mountains.  I forgot the exact age of the water actually.  But make no mistake, the meal was excellent and the restaurant staff sweet.  I promised myself to come back after a walk.

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I drive northeast, through a tunnel and over the very very wide Jökulsá í Lóni river plain to find Stafafell, its guesthouse and the beginning of what is truly a very beautiful hiking trail. It's still fairly cloudless, the sun is low but not so low; I have several hours before proper sunset. So I intend to take on the 14km trail up into the highlands above the Jökulsá, then down a valley at Krossgil and back on the road running along the east bank of the river and back to the guesthouse. The orange trail on this map. I wasn't too concerned about making the length of the trail to its furthest northwest point, I'd plenty of light to do that. If it got too dark by then, well, I'd be hiking back on the gravel road running alongside the Jökulsá in nothing worst than dusk.

It's not a difficult trail hiking up into the hills first toward Gildrufjall, not steep but rolling.  I'm hiking in a well-worn trail even if the grass and shrub were thick and sometimes hid the trail.  It was warm, full of sun, beautiful meadows.  The most wonderful part of this hike however, is that I'm walking directly north northwest and directly into the setting sun.  I spend a lot of time on the trail considering how amazing this experience is, walking into the sun setting into the north.  Also, the simple experience of walking into the sun at all.

By the time I'd reacht the summit of Gildrufjall, I had a great view of the mountains to the east, a white pink red rhyolite of extinct volcanoes, these massive naked stone edifices slowly eroding into these beautiful ranges.  Through the Hafradalur valley, snow on Fláatindur in the distance.

East into Hafradalur

Now, I'd come across a number of other well-worn trails and though I knew my direction, the one trail to take wasn't as clear to me now.  As I came down Gildrufjall, I took one well-worn trail that vanisht into nothingness.  Hmmm.  Not this way.  So I backtrack to where I took that turn and head down another path, only to find myself again in no man's land, the middle of a meadow.  Beautiful lush grass and shrubs and the warm sun.  It was all a great view wherever I stood.  But the proper path was now unknown to me.  Let's make this more heart thumping.  I had no idea now which path back was.  I thought, ok, twice I've been trickt by whomever.  Now's the time to head back.  Eh, head back what trail?  When I backtrack there isn't a trail to backtrack.  So I see a trail (one of many) that seems reasonable (whatever that means).  I'm now somewhat concerned about where I am, but I think, just be reasonable (whatever that means).  This path seems reasonable, generally in the direction I want to go.  Which I can see will turn out to be a sheep's path narrower and narrower and then into nothing along side this mountain slope.  With a beautiful view. 

Jökulsáraurar, looking north northwest

Firstly, you don't fall into some panic on my behalf, I'm not drawing you into some adventure story that goes bad. Let me do the panic thing. Which I don't. There's still plenty of sunlight left. I'm in a broad meadow rolling down from Gildrufjall, I can see the wide Jökulsá plain before me and its widely wild meandering. I can see that plain several hundred thousand meters down the mountainside I'm on. I can see that the slope of the mountainside becomes impossibly steep to climb down, it seems more vertical than sloping really. There's a gravel road down there! Roofs that I assume houses are underneath! The chance of a lifetime, to climb down this impossibly high and steeply sloped mountainside with only sheep's tracks on it. 

I have an orange pullover and a mobile phone will a full signal.  But I am determined not to be the victim of a Search and Rescue mission.  (Which frankly is far too common.)  Benjamin.  Let's just turn back.  You've plenty of sunlight left....

Where's the bloody trail back?  Well, twice trickt I'm not going any further north northwest, and since the direction I came from is the direction I want to go, I'm not fusst anymore about there not being a proper trail. I have excellent boots on.  There's a straightforward path in my mind, back to the start of this hike.  Due south southeast. As the crow flies.  I cross a number of well-worn paths, but I'm not stupid.  I've not taken them before.  Or I have...  (Are your hearts thumping? Mine was laughing.)

Only when I come across an old gravel road do I realize, well, this is ok to follow. It meanders along the mountainside in the general south direction it needed to if it wanted my company. It's a road to an electrical station of sorts or a broadcasting station of sorts, and then the road plunges down into a valley. That's good. And the road has obviously had recent company. That's good. I look across the stream cascading down in the valley, I've walkt along side you already, haven't I? On the other side of you is the path I want to take directly back to the guesthouse, right? Can I jump over you please? and keep my boots dry at the same time? Takk.

Jökulsár í Lóni, south the sea in the far distance.
The stream and path home in the near

Down the path, and I'm back and I visit the guesthouse to let the man there know I'm back.  Always a important courtesy to first inform someone where you're going and inform that same someone that you're back.  I laught and said that after I'd been trickt twice on the trail, I decided to turn back.  „It wasn't me!  I didn't trick you!“ he cried.  „No! no! you didn't! but someone else out there had their bit of fun....

I will find my way to Vötn someday, the lake at the far northwest end of this trail, the destination I truly intended.  With their help this time, not their tricks!

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I drive back into Höfn and it's just past 22:00 and past just closing at The Pakkhús, but I ask if I couldn't just have the lobster soup and another beer.  There were still enough people in the restaurant, and the menu request was easy so they did accommodate that.  Same table next to the window with the same view of the Sigurður Ólafsson tied fast to the docks.  I brought up the question about the brennivín schnapps that is this special Icelandic drink for special occasions, and askt if it was something I should try.  Actually I askt if they liked it, and I didn't get but these pulled down faces trying very hard not to show their distaste.  Ok, so it's vile then.  Let's get it over with.  She brings me a shot glass, pours one, says skál, my shot glass and her bottle of brennivín clink, and I down this clear liquid which turns out to be very complicated and with a nice finish of rye bread.  Ahh!  How vile you are.  Their faces didn't lie.

From Höfn, view northeast to Fláajökull