Four-Wheel Drive And Ready To Thrive

We took Midgard Adventure’s Super Jeep tour in Þórsmörk

I’m standing in the sun at 7:45 outside of Hagkaup as I’m picked up by Ragnar “Raggi” Jónsson. Today, we are headed to Þórsmörk for a Midgard Adventure Super Jeep tour, and Raggi is my guide. We hit the road and, with a brief stop in Selfoss for tebolla, kaffi, and our photographer, we’re heading to base camp.

Midgard Adventure was founded in Hvolsvöllur just a week before Eyjafjallajökull’s eruption (I’m told this as I gaze up at the peak) and is a family affair. I’m introduced to the CEO Björg, and then her daughter-in-law Hildur, the manager. The Midgard Base Camp is part-hotel and part-hostel, and hosts concerts, grows rhubarb, has (really fun) swings inside, and is a hub for travellers and locals alike.

Belly of the beast

“Here, everyone’s strangers in the morning, but buddies by the end,” Raggi says as we head into Þórsmörk. Just a few hours prior, I was in Reykjavík, and now I’m gazing out at glaciers, a valley, the shining sun and glistening rivers. “Everything here is so dramatic,” says Raggi, maybe noticing my scanning the nature. I learn there are two conflicting theories about how the valley of Þórsmörk was named: either it was created by Þór (Thor, if you didn’t catch that) dropping his hammer Mjölnir, or, the frequent thunder and lightning in the sheltered valley was deemed Þór’s handiwork.

We start with a two-hour excursion into a so-called “Dragon’s Lair,” where we crosshatch streams as we make our way into a cave. “Lots of stuff that happened in recent times feels like it’s been here forever,” he notes. A theme emerges that so much in Þórsmörk is ebbing and flowing all the time. Our tour is littered with moments where Raggi points out change, saying, “That wasn’t here this weekend,” or “That mountain was covered in snow!”

Grandma knows best

As we dangerously leap from stone to stone, and Raggi notes that the water wasn’t this high a few days ago, he imparts some wisdom. “As my grandmother says, ‘better wet feet than a bloody head!’,” he says, laughing. We all agree, and heed the advice by stepping off our rocks directly into the water, easily strolling the rest of the way.
“As my grandmother says, ‘better wet feet than a bloody head!’”

Then we make it into the “lair” itself. It’s a serene cave, mossy green against dark stone with a circle of bright blue sky high above. Raggi utters an awestruck “every time,” and I find myself jealous that he sees this weekly. I remember something he said earlier, about how he tells tourists from New York City to not just look but to listen. I centre myself and focus on the sound of birds, the rush of the waterfall in front of me, and drops of water falling on stone behind me.

On our way out, we fill our bottles with cool water, trek back to the Super Jeep, and head onwards.

Troubled taxi

We park at Skagfjörðsskáli and set up for a stereotypical (almost laughably so) Icelandic lunch: hot dogs, Appelsín, and Hraun. The charming owners of the spot are sunbathing, Raggi makes his rounds chatting with other guides, happy hikers pass as they take advantage of the best weather all year. Hiking here has been on my bucket list for a long time, and I learn that every Thursday this summer, Midgard Adventure will be taking a group for the full-day Fimmvörðuháls hike. “Maybe I’ll have to come back,” I think as I make my second hot dog.

As we eat, Raggi tells me a bit more about the way the company sets up tours. “There’s no standard tour,” he explains, “because sometimes you have a family in jeans, and sometimes you have Austrians in Gore-Tex.” We watch people arrive and leave, and watch an ambitious truck cross the river. Shockingly, I learn that the day before, a Tesla taxi dared to cross these waters. Raggi shows us a photo, laughing. Somehow, this taxi made it, but I’d venture to say that your odds are better joining an experienced driver in a prepared car than, well, that.

But even without comparing a Tesla to a Super Jeep, you’re missing another key aspect of what distinguishes these two: a guide. Having someone not just knowledgeable about the area (someone who can point out Hlíðarendi from Njáls saga, or tell a tale about a man “who lived on that farm over there” who — to make a long story very short — moved to Denmark after his life was ruined by huldufólk), but who is passionate about guiding people through this area. He tells me that he loves meeting people, hearing about their lives, and that “just by talking to people, the world gets smaller.”

“The tearjerker”

The last two stops on our tour are less active and more pensive. The first is a stop at Gígjökull. It’s almost summer, so the glacier is covered in ash. Here, it’s a bit colder than the previous parts we’ve been walking in. Raggi gives us a word later: “jökulkoss,” or glacier kiss, used to describe the feeling of glacially cooled wind on your cheek.
“With glaciers on one side, ocean on the other, and sand as far as you can see ahead, I might have gotten a little wispy-eyed too.”

After this, we drive a bit further to a beach. Raggi turns and says, “I call this ‘the tearjerker,’” explaining that almost always, a middle-aged (American) woman weeps at this part. He revs the car, cranks Sigur Rós’ “Untitled #3 – Samskeyti” and speeds along the black sand. To a middle-aged woman’s credit, it was wildly beautiful. With glaciers on one side, ocean on the other, and sand as far as you can see ahead, I might have gotten a little wispy-eyed too.

As the song fades out, and we drive off the beach onto the road, we pass farm after farm on our way back to base camp. Raggi mentioned at the beginning that folks often fall asleep at the end of the tour on this drive. So, I let my eyes drift shut as we drive back from a day well spent in Þórsmörk.

Midgard Adventure’s Base Camp is located in Hvolsvöllur, and you can book their Super Jeep tours at https://midgardbasecamp.is/