A Do-Over Decades In The Making: A Music Writer Treks The Laugavegur Trail

The Laugavegur trail is so good I tackled it twice

The noises were unlike anything I had heard before. An inhuman blend of wailing and whimpering, growling and grunting, mixed in with some incoherent yelps and trumpeting farts — the kind of thing you might expect if you spent a night in a zoo. But this was no menagerie. This was a shared-dorm in a hiking hut and these were not hippos, zebras or elephants but fellow human beings.

Chinese tourists, to be precise. And before anyone accuses me of screaming racism, I should note that during waking hours they were the friendliest, most cheerful group on the whole hiking trail. One gentleman was even courteous enough to advise everyone in the room to wear ear-plugs because of — he gestured broadly and apologetically — “the noise.” Not that mere earplugs could have ever blocked such a thundering cacophony, but hey, it’s the thought that counts.

“In any case, the first time I did the hike, I was clueless about a) hiking and b) Icelandic mountains — two things it’s admittedly wise to know something about before embarking on an Iceland mountain hike.”

That relatively sleepless night was pretty much the biggest challenge of what was otherwise a stunning five-day trek along the Laugavegur Trail, one of Iceland’s most popular hikes that is also regularly voted one of the world’s most scenic. So life-affirming is the experience that this was my second time traversing it, the first being undertaken back in the early 2000s while I was in Reykjavik to write a book about the music scene. (What do mountains have to do with Icelandic music, you might justifiably ask? Everything, if you’re one of those tedious music journalists who loves to describe Sigur Ros’s music as “glacial” and revels romantically in Björk’s professed paganism. Ahem).

In any case, the first time I did the hike, I was clueless about a) hiking and b) Icelandic mountains — two things it’s admittedly wise to know something about before embarking on an Iceland mountain hike. I walked it in the clothes I had been wearing around Reykjavik — jeans, regular tee-shirts and jumpers and a non-waterproof army jacket that got drenched the first day. I borrowed some hiking boots that immediately gave me blisters and brought a backpack that I filled with heavy jars of pasta sauce and tinned fish. I also brought a camera tripod I didn’t need. “Idiot” doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Somehow I survived, but this time I vowed to do it better. I invested in technically suitable clothing, purchased dehydrated food, and actually did some training. As the bus rumbled and bumped its way from Reykjavik up to the Landmannalaugar basecamp, my hiking partner and I felt more than ready, albeit a little nervous about the mid-September weather.

On arrival, everything was pretty much as I remembered it, except for the presence of a well-stocked supply wagon — the only one on the whole trail — called the Mountain Mall. We didn’t need anything but took a look anyway and that was when we spotted the small bottle of whisky. Hm. “How much is it?” We asked. “A lot,” beamed the shopkeeper. And it was. But, seduced by the idea of drawing on its comfort and warmth while battling a freak blizzard or finding ourselves trapped in a ravine with no escape in sight, we took it, and wound up adding a small splash into our hot chocolate each night as we lay exhausted in our dorm beds, reading our books and scrolling through the photos from that day on the trail.

“It’s difficult to avoid superlatives when you’re walking through a dynamic and diverse landscape that spans pastel-hued rhyolite mountains, twinkling fields of obsidian, occasional geothermal springs, snow-capped glaciers and stretches of black sand.”

And what scenery! Otherworldly. Stunning. Breathtaking. It’s difficult to avoid superlatives when you’re walking through a dynamic and diverse landscape that spans pastel-hued rhyolite mountains, twinkling fields of obsidian, occasional geothermal springs, snow-capped glaciers and stretches of black sand. Despite it being right at the end of the season, we got sunshine every day — as well as some very testing and occasionally unnerving winds — plus a bonus night of fairy-tale snowfall…and no rain at all.

The trail itself does require some reasonable fitness. The four main sections comprise two days of 12km with constant and steep climbs (especially the first day from Landmannalaugar up to Hrafntinnusker; an overall altitude gain of some 500 metres), plus two 16km days along slightly flatter terrain. But although the trek was tough-going in my memory, this time it wasn’t such a struggle; partly because the weather was better but also because I wasn’t dressed like a clown.

We completed most of the days in around 3-5 hours and although we were certainly tired and delighted to see the sleeping huts each time, we found ourselves heading back out for some additional side-hikes after a quick nap. The huts themselves are maintained — as is the trail itself — by the wonderful folk at Ferðafélag Íslands (the Iceland Touring Association). They’re basic but have everything one needs (hot water, heating, toilets) and there are camping grounds if you prefer to tent.

Did I say the group snoring frenzy was the only challenge? I should add that although the huts at Hrafntinnusker look like cute toys set amidst the sprawling mountain scenery, the compost toilets there do require a great deal of courage (or a nose peg) to spend any reasonable time in. And you should also know about the rivers. Despite bringing some sexy wading shoes this time — last time I crossed them with blister-covered bare feet and the screams are still audible in my traumatised mind — they’re still painfully cold and can coax a whimper out of even the toughest soul.

“After the final river crossing we emerged into the leafy embrace of the Langidalur valley in Þórsmörk.”

But hey, there are hot showers at Álftavatn that more than compensate for smelly toilets, and after the final river crossing we emerged into the leafy embrace of the Langidalur valley in Þórsmörk.

In retrospect, do we wish we had booked the Fimmvörðuháls Trail, an additional 25 kilometre section via Skógar that can be done in one long, or two shorter days? Yes. But we certainly did not regret our decision to book a room with Midgard Basecamp, whose driver welcomed us at Þórsmörk with a pylsur (hot dog) barbecue, which we rounded off with the last of our whisky before being whisked off to a hot shower and a comfortable bed… and not a single loud snorer within earshot.

Although the Laugavegur Trail is located deep in the Icelandic highlands, it’s easy to get to and from during the hiking season (roughly between late-April and mid-September). Reykjavik Excursions, for one, runs services direct to Landmannalaugar and shuttles hikers back to the capital from Þórsmörk.