I had forgotten how much I love to travel. Not for the sights, the tourist "traps" or the plane rides. I love to travel for the culture, the life lessons, and the stories. I suppose I had better start at the beginning:

At first, all that I knew was that I needed a vacation, and to be honest, I really didn't care where. I think that we all, at some point in our lives, fantasize about throwing a dart at a map, or spinning a globe and stopping it with our finger, and then just packing our bags and going. More or less, that is exactly what I did. Iceland. “Well, that could be fun,” I thought to myself, as my dart struck the southern part of the island. I know nothing about this country, other than the photos that I have seen (which are always incredible). A few weeks passed, and I slipped back into the normal routine. It wasn't until a month later, when I was visiting some friends in Portland, OR, and the idea of backpacking around Europe came up.

My Dart! My Adventure!

The very next night I booked tickets and turned in my vacation request at work. Knowing nothing about Iceland, other than I was about to spend a couple of weeks there, I did what every traveler does… I turned to Google. For the next few months, I planned, dwelled, second guessed myself, and then planned some more. I reached out to photographers, travel writers, authors, and locals. Basically, I contacted anyone that I could find an email address for. Wouldn’t you know it… they responded. My e-mail was chock full of lists, tips, and ideas. Before I knew it, I had more to do and see than I knew what to do with. I was officially overwhelmed. Nevertheless, I tracked all of this information and practically filled an entire notebook. The last person I contacted before my departure was Michael Levy, the author of A Photographers Guide to Iceland. He graciously mailed me a copy of his book, as well as his map, all the way from France.

I finally felt like I had everything planned out just the way I wanted. Or so I thought. From the moment I stepped off the plane, until the moment I arrived back in the US, I was treated as a guest. I wasn't herded around or talked down to in anyway. Locals were not afraid to take me by the hand and show me what made their country so magnificent. In fact, I felt like they genuinely wanted to show off their country. I never had to resort to pictionary, grunting and pointing or piecing together a 3rd language to find a common ground. Everyone I met was just as excited to show me something as I was to see it. This is what set the tone for my entire trip, and why this adventure was one that I will never forget.

What caught me off guard was the sense of being truly alone. I have never been the most outdoorsy person, which is why I think some of my co-workers, friends, and family members laughed and looked very concerned when I first told them I was going to backpack through Iceland. I had never pitched a tent, cooked anything on a camping set, or been in the position where I couldn't turn to someone else and ask for help. In Iceland, I had a crash course in wilderness survival. If I got hurt, no one would find me for days, weeks, or possibly months. The only training I had was what I saw on the Discovery Channel, or in movies. I was forced to face a few of my fears head on, including my fear of heights. I quickly realized how completely disconnected and alone I was. It was an eerie feeling, to say the least. However, it was also a feeling that I quickly began to love.

Spoiler alert: I survived

As Linnea, a woman from Sweden, told me, "when you leave, you may no longer be physically here, but a piece of your heart will always stay..." This is proving to be a very true statement. A part of my heart, mind, and a little blood remained buried deep in that violent, ever changing, and magnificent landscape.

But seriously, why Iceland? I have been asked this so many times and I still don't have a good answer. It was a trip more about fate than anything else.

A dart decided my destination, and being in the right places at the right times wrote this story.

I cannot give you a traditional day by day. My journal looks like a mad man wrote it. Notes, memories, and experiences fill its pages in no particular chronological order. Slips of papers are still being discovered. I slept when I couldn't keep my eyes open anymore and I ventured on seconds after they opened back up.

I honestly tried to write a moment-by-moment account of everything, which lasted about a day before I had to throw in the towel. Below what you will see is exactly what I was up to, put back together. Due to everything I managed to accomplish in such a short amount of time, I have broken this section down into six parts.

This was the only time I felt like I was really a true tourist. I explored the town and hit all of the tourist spots, big eyed and camera in hand. I talked to locals, hunted down the people I had met online. I even made it out to the Blue Lagoon. The Blue Lagoon is worth the hype, or so I thought at the time. If you are just in Iceland for the city, the Blue Lagoon is a must. The next morning I woke around 8am and got ready quickly. Like the morning before, I had a very European breakfast at a bakery nearby. After breakfast I set off to find Johnny, the GM of Go Car Rental. Johnny and I had been talking online for a little while now. His new rental company was located very close to where I was staying. After a 20 minute walk, I found his store. We sat and talked most of the morning about what I wanted to do, and how my trip had been so far. He helped me narrow my plan down to a manageable chunk. We checked road conditions, and maps. Kind of planned a route, or at least set a Day 1 game-plan. He looked out in his lot and asked what I thought about an American mini-van? If I can get everywhere I need to go, its great. As I filled out the paperwork, he ran outside and in a few minutes had transformed a family van into the perfect base camp, bed, and camping chair included. Although it wasn't a 4x4, the route I was planning on taking didn't actually require a 4x4. It was heavy enough to handle some gravel roads and hills, but not the monster that would be needed to climb mountains. In the end, this was the perfect car for my adventures. Johnny had the lowest prices and was one of the nicest people I have ever met. If you are going to visit Iceland, you have to met Johnny!

When I saw Seljalandsfoss, the desire was too much. There was nothing that would keep me from stopping. What a magnificent waterfall. (I love waterfalls.) After exploring for a couple hours, I remembered I would be coming back through here in a few days, and had to keep going. I made only one other stop. Jökulsárlón. When you pass icebergs majestically floating in a crystal clear bay, with snow caped mountains surrounding you, you have to stop. Little did I know, this would become my home for the night. After exploring the bay and wandering around the area for a couple of hours, I realized it was very, very late. I still had three hours to reach where I wanted to be. I hopped back in my “base camp,” which I started calling my “white stallion,” and sped away. I hit Höfn late, or early, depending on how you want to look at it. I filled up on gas, talked to a local about the area, and continued east for about an hour before deciding that I should turn around. There wasn't a great place to park for the night in Höfn, so I continued to a small turnout past Jökulsárlón, hiked a small hill, and pitched my tent so I could watch the ice chunks float by.

Since it never truly becomes dark in Iceland this time of year, I had some difficulty falling asleep. My insomnia could also be due to my excitement to press on and see more, rather than the brightness of the sky. I’ll compromise and say it was a little of both. I finally dozed off for a few hours, only to wake to the sound of rain. Heavy rain. Rain was not going to stop me, I brought waterproofing for everything! I got out and snapped a few photos then continued to my first turn off. A small hidden sign marked an almost invisible road. The only thing I could see was an outline of a road, marked by carefully placed rocks. “Here goes nothing,” I thought, as I cranked the wheel. I slowly drove down a small embankment and then back up a small hill. I was told “no off-roading,” but this path had a sign, some road markings, and previous tire tracks. The woman at a gas station had told me about this spot. When I no longer felt comfortable driving, I parked and began walking. I crested the hill and the face of a glacier beamed back at me. I don’t know who’s smile was bigger. As chuck of ice broke off, and all I wanted to do was touch it! I got as close as I could, well, as close as I felt comfortable getting. Staring up at the face of a glacier is a surreal feeling. It was very unnerving listening to it crackle. After hiking around for a while, I returned to my car. The rain was still coming down in a constant drizzle.

I pressed on to Skaftafell for an all day hike up past Suartifoss, to Sjónarnípa, which promised an awesome view point of the surrounding glaciers and mountains. I hiked upward for about five kilometers. Through loose gravel, waist high shrubs, up hill sides and along steep drop offs. By the time I made it to the first overlook, the fog had became so thick I could barely see anything and rain started to come down. I was drenched long before I could dig my rain proofing out of my bag. Cold and a long way from the base, I continued up through the loose slate mountain side. After a few more hours of hiking I could no longer feel my hands or face. I changed my course and set off down the mountain to find a rebuilt historical farm. Despite the less than ideal conditions, this was an incredible hike and led to the exploration of a few massive waterfalls that I could explore from all angles. “Monday it will be clear,” the woman from the information center at the base reminded me when I finally found my way back dripping wet and incredibly muddy. Monday I will be so far west, I won’t have time to come back i laughed. If the conditions had been better, there are a number of different trails to take, each taking you higher and higher. The longest being a 16km hike to the tallest peak. Or deep down into the glaciers through the notorious blue ice caves. For your enjoyment, I did include some video footage of this hike with the additional content at the end -

Before I departed Seattle, one of the many people I was corresponding with mentioned an incredible canyon in the area I was currently at. Johnny helped me narrow my search, and a local farmer gave me directions. After a little while I found the road, marked “F-ROAD” in big, red letters. A farmer at the sign said I could make it to the bridge. So I pressed on. When a sign says F-Road, it means you better be freaking prepared for this. You are going to cross rivers, canyons, and drive through stuff that can only be found in Iceland. This road was not bad, definitely not the worst I had hit yet. I pulled up to a small parking lot on the rivers bed, right before a bridge. I got out of my vehicle, and ran into Antonio, a backpacker from Argentina that I had met while photographing a waterfall on the side of the road. “Ryan! You have to get up there! To the end!” He said in excitement as we shook hands “The man by the road told me about this spot.” It was a 2km long canyon that went 200m up or down depending which end you were at. It was amazing. As I hit the top of the canyon, the winds started howling. The path narrowed to a width of only a foot, with a 200m drop on either side. I thought about crawling to the little ledge, but the ground was super muddy. So I tightened my core, kept my center of gravity as low as I could and put one foot directly in front of the other; heal to toe. Within 20 minutes I had made it the two meters to the edge.

Wow! Jagged rock pillars jutted out and up while a waterfall glided over the edge. As the wind pushed me back and fourth, I snapped a few pics and then tried to figure out how on earth I was going to get back. There was no turning around, and no walking backwards. Thankfully someone had placed a tiny little plaque at my feet to remind me that falling was very likely. Almost an hour passed before I had made it back to the mainland.

As I walked down the canyon, I met a woman from Sweden who told me, “when you leave, you may no longer be physical here, by a piece of your heart will always stay. Trust me. I keep coming back.” Before we said our goodbyes, we both stood in silence and awe taking in what was before us. After what felt like only a few minutes, we continued on our separate paths. It was now super late.

I hit the small town of Vik late that night or early in the morning, depending how you define time, and swung into a little shop. Inside, there was a group of people around my age. One was dressed up as a Viking, scaring people as they walked in the door. After a good laugh, I pulled my map out of my pocket. I walked up to the girl with the sword (because, honestly, who else could I talk to?) and asked her what I should see around here. She grabbed my arm and led me over to the counter where the others were talking. The next thing I knew, they were circling locations on my map and jotting down notes and showing me pictures on Google. I told them I was in Iceland for a couple weeks, with an open road and no plans whatsoever. Wally and Viking (the names they gave me because I struggled to do their Icelandic names justice) were spot on with their recommendations. After about an hour or so, I took leave of my new friends, and continued West. I wanted to see Dyrhólaey peninsula. My grandmother loves puffins and this would be the spot for a perfect photograph. Puffins, arches, and the elephant rock were on tonight’s agenda. However, after about 45 min of driving I hit a “Road Closed” sign. “Birds Are Nesting,” the sign read. I pulled off the road the best I could, fell asleep immediately.

þórsmörk is one of the destinations I thought I wanted to see. However, I have been told to get to the top, a good backpacker needs four days in and four days out. I am not a good backpacker so I would need about five to six days in five days out. I hiked for the day, camped, and then hiked out. This is an incredible place. In this area are a few amazing hot springs. The typical directions are, make your third right, drive to the end of the road, walk a few meters to a mountain passage way and you are there. What they don’t tell you is the road end is not really an end, but just an unmarked drop off. The mountain passage is literally a mountain passage from The Hobbit, and the hill you have to walk over makes you wonder what they would call a mountain. It was an adventure, but well worth it. Luckily for me, I had convinced a local Icelandic girl I had met earlier that day to accompany me. We talked in great length about hidden places in Iceland before I convinced her to show me her favorite one. On the hike up I learned a lot about the area, growing up in Iceland and everyday life. The thing she said that stuck with me through my entire trip was about tourists.

"We can always tell who are tourists. They are the people with the big eyes, the cameras and dressed differently. Us locals see this stuff everyday and can pass by it without as second thought. I knew you were a tourist long before you opened your mouth, and I knew what you were going to ask me, long before you did."

I laughed. "I guess I am predictable." I replied. Overall it was an incredible experience. After a few hours of exploration and a hot spring, we set back off to the small town nearby. We exchanged contact information and said our temporary good byes. Another hot spring I found had almost exactly the same directions, but I fortunately had the help of some amazing Italian and French tourists, who were volunteering at a local farm. I came to learn that they wanted more of a traditional Icelandic experience, so instead of going through a tour operator or a personally planned trip for a few weeks, they found a company that places people in a work situation anywhere in the world. For them they picked to volunteer on an Icelandic farm for 6 months. This hot spring was cold, slimy and contained in concrete barrier, which are not entirely uncommon conditions. You had to cross a river, about ankle deep just to get to it. But it was fun to share the experience with some new found friends, watch water fall from the surrounding cliffs and listen to the sheep laugh at us. The final note-worthy stop I made during this stretch of my trip was to a historic cave. This is truly a hidden gem in Iceland, and has a very interesting story to it. The story goes that a woman fell in love with a much younger man. She was a widow, while he was just fifteen years old. In shame, she moved to a cave. One night, his friends convinced him that it would be very well received if he climbed to the cave to see her. And it was. So well received in fact, that they had a couple of kids together that had to live in the cave in shame as well. I hear it was a huge scandal. This cave was very well hidden, and since it is a hidden cave, it is super hard to find (go figure)! The cave is man-made, but the views from the mouth of the cave are incredible... if you can find it.

You start to get real used to hearing “if you can find it” when given directions to places that are considered an Icelandic secret and soon discover how beneficial it is to ask locals to help you or even show you. As I comb through my journal, I am reminded of so much more from this area. Maybe they will show up in blog posts at a later date. But if you have questions, feel free to leave them in the comment section. I thought the sights and adventures couldn’t get any better than they were for these few days, but they certainly did!

By the time I hit the small town of Flúðir, I was sure I had seen it all. I had tested my fear of heights, hiked through caves, picked up hitch hikers, and even hitched hiked myself. It was getting late in the evening again, and my eyes were getting heavy. My rain gear was no longer its original black color, but instead a reddish brown. I had heard about a well-known (but secret) hot spring in the area and I was craving a warm bath. I stopped at the Icelandair hotel and went inside. I should not have been allowed in public. My hair was shooting out in all directions, my clothes beyond dirty, and mud still flinging from my boots with every step. As I had done so many times before, I walked up to people that appeared to be around my age and produced my map. I introduced myself, and explained that I was searching for this secret hot spring, as well as any other hidden gems that might be near by. Right away a couple of other guys walked up to offer up suggestions. Just like each time before, everyone began telling me stories, giving me flawless directions and circling locations and turns on my map. One of the waiters, Smari, produced a better detailed map of the area and the three continued.

These guys were awesome. I tracked down every spot on they gave me and each one was better then the last. Before I left for my relaxing hot spring, another waiter, Birgir, asked me if I had heard about the raiders. Puzzled, I asked, “The raiders?” Completely straight face, he replied "Yes, the Icelandic raiders. This is not the best area. We have raiders out here who will take everything you have.

Don’t pick up hitch hikers in this part of the world." “Great,” I thought to myself, “another experience like this all over again.” I hesitated to respond, but I guess my face said it all. The three of them started laughing hysterically.

"There are no raiders in Iceland. There is nothing bad here." “Phew,” I thought, “I had driven for the past two hours with a hitch hiker that I had picked up. He was a great guy. He had been traveling for the past three years, just hitch hiking around the world.” Feeling very relieved that my life was not in great peril, I left the hotel and set off to find another hot spring.

This one was amazing. It was clean, exactly 40*C, surrounded by hills and canyons and had an old hut that was built over a secondary and smaller hot spring decades ago.

Today remnants of the building still stand and is used as a place to change or for a more private hot spring experience. There wasn’t a strenuous hike to get to it, no tricks in the path, just a hard to find, but easy to get to place to relax. Relax is exactly what I did. I think I sat there for about 4 hours. A few locals came and left, as well as some wide eyed, camera toting tourists, that did not take advantage of this beautiful spring! This was the spot. Around one in the morning, I finally decided to hop out.

I slept overlooking one of the largest, most awe inspiring waterfalls I had ever seen. I found it especially interesting that most of the waterfalls in Iceland are privately owned. The land owners very graciously let people venture onto their land to see these magnificent beasts. Half of Gullfoss sits on someone’s land, the other is state owned. My passenger earlier that day had told me that up until ten days ago, the owner of this magnificent waterfall was asking people to pay 300kr to enter, about $3. A court ruled that this was not okay and the fee was abolished. Either way, I woke a couple hours later and began to explore. The size and power is greater than Niagara falls, and is one of two Icelandic waterfalls that are rated in the top ten waterfalls worldwide. It was truly amazing, and for a while, at least, I had it all to myself!

Long before I saw the first tour bus, I was in Geyser, watching some of the biggest geysers I had ever seen. Great Geysir blows every 5-10 minutes and is twice the size, and more consistent than Old Faithful. I stood over the giant hole in the ground and watched as a pool turquoise water rhythmically moved up and the down, as though the earth was breathing. With little to no warning the water disappeared for a split second before being shot straight up in the air. I spent the rest of the morning wandering around the steaming pools, watching geysers explode in all directions. When I started to see tour buses crest the hill, I knew it was time to go. I slowly walked back to my base camp and made some lunch before taking off. If I was going to make it to Westfjords, I had to get through this area in rapid fashion. As I looked at my map, I realized I still had a slew of places that Smari and other locals had given me. I decided that I could sacrifice a little sleep tonight, so that I could see everything as I drove to Þingvellir.

As I watched canyons, fields, and waterfalls pass by, I laughed uncontrollably in spite of myself. When you start to think there could be the slightest possibility of boredom on your trip, Iceland seems to know what you’re thinking, and decides to do something incredible to remind you how wrong you are. It throws in a cliff and a waterfall, or a canyon that ends at a glacier, or really throws you for a loop and just puts a sheep in the middle of the road. As expletives flew from my mouth, I jumped on the breaks with all the force I could muster. I know that sheep family saw me, and I saw them. I swore we had an understanding with each other: I would maintain a constant speed, continue driving straight and they would just keep milling around the field below the road. We were good, or so I thought. 90km/h to 0, in the span of what felt like 100m. All of my gear flew forward, maps falling from the seat next to me, tires squealing, and my heart feeling like it was going to jump out of my chest. With a “bah,” mama sheep, who would have totally ruined my trip, and her two little lambs stood there, now in the middle of my lane, staring at me, looking quite pissed off. I stared back with a blank face. “You're lucky that Johnny would kill me if I totaled his car, and that you are technically not a free meal, little guy,” I mumbled as I glanced at the clock. I had been driving for quite some time! I almost felt like I was on autopilot, jamming to modern radio stations and watching the sights pass me by. I had missed almost everything I was supposed to do, and better yet…. I was officially mumbling to myself. Someone back home warned me about this. Had to be a co-worker. The best Ice cream in Iceland, ATVing, spelunking, and a hidden waterfall were on the agenda and I missed it all. With that I decided I had to turn around and headed back towards Gullfoss. The sheep still stood in the middle of the road bawing at me. With a laugh I threw my white stallion in reverse and backed up, what felt like a kilometer or so, before I found a place I could turn around. It had been almost a week since I ventured away from the city. I had listened to the same radio station for the past 4 days, while covering some serious ground. What I found interesting was that every time something truly incredible was about to happen, the same song inevitably was playing on the radio. Like clockwork, with no exceptions. Now if you know radio stations, they play the same 20 songs on repeat, just in different orders. That should give you an idea how often something amazing happened in Iceland. The song in question was "Am I Wrong" by Envy.

As I reversed the car to the first turn off, the song came on. I smiled and stepped on the gas. I glanced at my map and noticed a couple people had circled the Efsti-Dalur farm. “Ice-cream,” someone wrote. “Beef,” wrote another. I looked up and continued on for about 30 min. There it was, sitting on top of a hill, the Efsti-Dalur farm. I pulled in and sat down with Björg, the owner.

Kristin, her daughter, came out with some homemade ice-cream in an assortment of flavors. I had caramel-vanilla. Everything I was eating was made right there, and they spent some time explaining the entire process. They gave me the grand tour, let me watch the cows get manicures, and talked for a long time about the history of their farm and places in the area to see. It was amazing. Before I left they handed me a bottle of Whey. A traditional, refreshing drink. Full from the ice cream, I stashed the whey in my pocket and continued on. I had shown them a note one local gave me, it had the name of a hidden waterfall near their land. With their permission and blessing, I ventured a little deeper into the mountains behind their beautiful home. After several wrong turns, and directions from a few other locals, I found the right road.

This was reassuring to say the least.I have an incredible sense of direction and can almost always find my way. I found the small turn off, parked, and begin walking. There was no fence, no foot bridge no trail. After about 45 min walking in deep mud I could no longer hear the waterfall, and started to seriously second guess everything. I doubled back to the car and drove back down the gravel road a few hundred meters and saw a hidden turn off, which I took and parked. I started trekking into the field and saw a fence. It was a barbwire fence. Before long I was over, and had found the trail and foot bridge.

What I was not told was the path was submerged under a river that was a little deep. On either side of the river were thick bushes, which I opted to go through. After 20 minutes, and a few small wrong turns, I crested a hill and saw it. It was 5 or 6 rivers all flowing into one horseshoe waterfall. Holy cow. This topped everything I had seen so far. To be fair, I felt like I was using that expression on a daily basis.

I stood above this waterfall for about an hour and just watched as turquoise water glided through the black volcano laid rocks. This is truly amazing, and to think that it is something very, very few people actually see. I was beaming from ear to ear. I can find anything. I pulled my camera out and began taking photos. “I have to get closer,” I thought, as I began climbing down the rock walls and out on to the little ledge before the drop.

There is no way my photos can do this country justice. Yes, incredible photos come out of here, but when you are standing on something like this, looking at your image previews, it just doesn’t do it. As much as I wanted to share this moment with everyone, the sense of accomplishment, the sense of being, the realization of how insignificant I am in the bigger picture, I was simply unable to capture everything that comes bundled with the visual. I had no way to share this with anyone. I sat on that waterfall for a while, and just watched vibrant turquoise water rush under my legs and over the drop. After a while I finally stood up and snapped a selfie; something I had been mastering over the past few days. One in each spot. I now have a years’ worth of profile pictures for Facebook.

Kristin had given me one other stop that I had to make. She gave me the name of two families that sell hand-knitted, Icelandic sweaters. However, these women lived near Gullfoss, which was going to require a few hours of backtracking. It was mid-afternoon now, I was about a day behind, but I was in Iceland. I jumped back in the car and sped off. I was going to visit these two families and potentially purchase an icelandic sweater, before returning to my new friends in Flúðir for the fastest way back to Þingvellir. I stopped at both farms Kristin had told me about, as well as a few others that these families sent me to. Each farm sold their neighbors hand-knitted sweaters, but none of them fit me. Although they were “traditionally a male clothing item, we rarely get men in here looking at these,” a girl at one of the farms told me, as I held up a pink and white sweater three sizes too small. “They are all knitted by feel, so without a body, there is no template.” I must have looked disappointed, even though I wasn’t. She pulled me aside and gave me a name, and directions on how to get to their knitter’s house. She told me that the woman is difficult to find, but that if I found her, she would undoubtedly have one that would fit me. I set out with the names of two knitters to try my luck with. I stopped by the first, but she only knit part-time, and didn’t have one that would fit me either. “I just knit until I feel like it’s done, and then I send them to my neighbors,” she told me, apologetically. We sat and talked for a while about how the wool is made, how she colors everything, and her general process. It was truly fascinating.

It was almost too late for me to feel comfortable going to another house, but I ventured on and found the unmarked gate. I slowly pushed the rusty metal gate along the wet gravel driveway as dogs came running up to greet me. After a few pleasantries and a good pet, I and slowly drove down the long windy driveway. By the time I got to the house, it was too late to turn back. I got out of my car, still dressed in muddy, wet rain gear, and walked to the door. Now keep in mind, going to peoples’ doors was not something new for me, as I had done this many times, and each time had turned out well. A woman, dressed in an incredible hand woven sweater opened the door, looking very confused. I introduced myself and told her why I was in the area. Wish a smile, she invited me in. We spent the next couple hours touring her property, and talking about everything from growing up on this farm, the economy, how to knit, and her exact methods of wool coloration. I was in awe. Here I was, in Iceland, with the woman who knits a lot of the sweaters I see on the locals in this area. After an unbelievably good meal of smoked lamb, I realized it was time to continue on.

The day had grown late, and I still had a long way to go. I drove through Flúðir, and saw my friends at the Icelandair hotel. They helped me find a quick way to get back on track… as well as a shot of Brennivin, a schnnaps which is a signature beverage in Iceland. The toast was bitter sweet, for I knew this would be the last time I saw my new friends on this trip. I made a couple of stops on my way to Þingvellir. The first was to explore a volcano, and the other was to watch bread being made in the sand. Both were amazing sights to witness. It was around one in the morning by the time I reached Þingvellir, and I quickly turned off the road to the lake. I met a local fisherman, who told me, “take it slow, and enjoy this area. A few kilometers ahead is where you can actually see the ground pull apart.” Þingvellir was incredible. I was planning on just flying through the area in the middle of the night, so that I could hit the ice, fjords, and mountains again for one last, major backpacking adventure. However, I was told this was a must-see, and it had been circled multiple times on my map. According to everyone that I talked to, there was nothing to really see here, but somehow everything to see here. Iceland rests on two very active tectonic plates, that are pulling apart at a rate of 2cm a year. Massive, endless canyons run parallel to the road. Canyons that you could very easily fall into. So, naturally, I stopped to do some exploring. I climbed down canyon walls and through shrubs, snapping photos as I went. The area was empty. The tour buses had left for the day, and most of the solo adventurers had returned to their hotels or camp sites. I walked down the easily navigable paved path in the middle of the canyon and up to Öxarárfoss. The light from the sky was blue, the water was turquoise, the air was clean, and there was not a sound to be heard, save the thunder of the waterfall. This was absolutely amazing. Before I found a place to sleep for the night, I wandered into a WC (water closet or bathroom) and had a hot shower. Afterward, I enjoyed one of the thick porters that I had picked up days earlier. What an incredible couple of days. I had gotten in the habit of telling everyone I met, “Oh, I have about a week left,” since day one of my trip. To be honest, this was mainly because I had no idea what day it was, how many days I had been exploring, or how many I had left. However, I did have two timers on my cellphone. One timer was set for 48 hours before I needed to be at the airport, the other was set for twelve hours prior. I decided that a shower would be a good idea before a seven hour flight. I also had to return my car, and thought it would probably be a good idea to check in with the world, on the off chance that my parents had begun to worry about me and my survival skills in a literally uncharted country.

Perhaps I had forgotten what my outdoor skill-set had looked like prior to this trip... That was the old Ryan. Today, here, in Iceland, I was going to hike Glymur. I had already completed a couple of hikes that tested my perseverance and mental strength, but this one topped them all. It wasn’t necessarily a difficult hike. Glymur is the tallest waterfall in Iceland, standing at a recorded 200m tall, falling into a canyon substantially deeper. To get to it, you must walk through a cave, hike down a hill, cross an ice cold river about shin high, and then ascend the canyon walls.

As you round the last bend on the way up, Glymur literally glimmers at you. Wind was blowing at the top, and once again I inched closer to the edge and peered down. I was finally getting a hang of this whole “heights” thing. Although I was still terrified, and the canyon appeared to be three or four times as deep as the one I walked to the edge of almost a week ago, the walk did have one safe side, and not a drastic drop off on both. The views. My word, the views were breathtaking. It was the final major accomplishment of my trip, and I did it all before ten in the morning.

Glymur is described by travel writers and guide books as “strenuous” and “potentially hazardous.” A place where “you will pass along the edges of steep drop-offs.”

While I was photographing the horse and admiring the scenery, a young Icelandic girl came riding up and we began talking. She finally asked if I had ever ridden a horse before. I responded, “In Iceland? Nope!” She replied with a grin, “Well, it is a must! Wait here.” She sped away, and returned moments later with a saddle, or at least what she called a saddle. It was more of a large pad, that she rested on top of the horse.

Now keep in mind, I have never ridden a horse in my life. I had no plans on ever doing this, but “when in Rome,” or in this case, Iceland… After what honestly felt like only a couple of minutes of a “slow” trot, she yelled something in Icelandic and we took off. My arms flung around the horses neck as it raced towards a towering sheet of rock. I was yelling at the top of my lungs when she rode up beside me, laughing, of course. “I am glad one of us is having fun,” I thought. In hindsight, I was having a blast. Not everyone gets an impromptu, crash horseback riding course while in a foreign country. Despite all of that, I was terrified. I will take that precarious canyon wall over this any day of the week. Before long, we reached a canyon and she hopped off, while I, well... I flopped off. We walked down to the river bed of the towering canyon, to the foot of a picturesque waterfall. Her family had been on the same spot for generations. Mountains, cliffs, and a waterfall, all in her family’s name. “I wish I had a camera,” I told her. She laughed, “You could barely stay on your horse, how would you manage to take pictures?” She had a point, and did have the decency to tell me to empty my pockets, and leave valuables in the car before we took off horseback riding. This was probably a good idea, but I would have sure loved to photograph this amazing and hidden place. After an equally adventurous ride back to my other steed, “white stallion”, I was on my way again. I was getting closer to my last day in the country. To say that my last 36 hours in Iceland was a whirlwind does not do it justice. I had ten hours of road to cover. With stops, it was closer to thirteen or fourteen hours. It was 2pm at this point, and I knew that I wanted to sleep near a waterfall outside Reykjavik on my last night there. However, at this moment, the main goal was to explore the…

It was truly an incredible place. It wasn’t full of glaciers and canyons, but it had its own beauty. Black beaches and land that was created by lava, that has centuries of history. Amazing rock formations, light houses, and some of the most picturesque churches I had ever seen. I did the entire loop in about thirteen hours ("they" recommend a few days). I hiked into caves, along a black beach and a yellow sand beach. The locals were proud of their yellow sand, but to me it looked like what we have just down the street of my house in Seattle. Other then the obvious of being in Iceland, the only major difference was lava rocks stuck out of this one, and well, pine trees out of the ones we have back home. I hiked through a lava field, and into the mountains one last time. I stood on top of the black cliffs, under the watchful eye of Snæfellsjökulll, an incredible 700,000 year old subglacial strato-volcano. You may recognize the name, as it is the volcano that Jules Verne used in his novel Journey to the Center of the Earth.

Ironically, there were many times during this part of my trip that I truly felt like a misstep could send me falling to the center of the earth. Iceland, in general, is a beautiful country.

I completed my circle, and drove two extra hours to Barnafoss, known as “The Children’s Waterfall,” and the final spot circled on my map. The final morning of my trip, I awoke over a waterfall that holds a tragic story. It is a story of how Barnafoss, translated to “Children’s Waterfall,” got its name. It is said that there were two children who were told to stay home while their parents attended Christmas Mass. When the parents returned from mass, they discovered that the children had disappeared. They followed the children’s tracks to this waterfall, and at the natural stone bridge, the tracks disappeared. Coming to the conclusion that the kids fell into the river and drowned, the mother had the bridge destroyed. Today you can still see remnants of the arch and hear variations of the story from the locals. Multi-rung, metal railings now keep onlookers from the same fate as these children. Just down stream is another waterfall, which is equally as magnificent. Much like the hidden one that I managed to find, this waterfall is very wide, and is created by various rivers that flow out to sea. A sense of sorrow suddenly came over me. My trip was now at an end. I had 12 hours to go before I was boarding a plane and returning home to Seattle. I raced through the mountains on a winding gravel road. The sun was still shining, and overall I was still extremely happy. The drive back to the city was exhilarating.

I drove through canyons and over mountains. Much like my experience leaving the city, when I rounded the first bend on my return, I was taken aback. The size of the city, and the number of people was a shock to my system. I had gone days without seeing another soul. I had experienced all four seasons, and pushed myself to the max. Mother Nature hadn’t conquered me, and my desire to return to harmony with her was more then I could handle. It was about five at “night” when I arrived at the hostel, dropped off my bags, and returned the car to Johnny. I just can’t say enough about Go Car Rental. They gave me a lift back to the city after I parted ways with “white stallion.”

As soon as they dropped me off, i immediately went on an eating tour. I started with a hot dog at the famous hot dog stand in the farmers market, followed by a hamburger, shake, french-fries, and beer at The Lebowski Bar. Looking back, that was a lot of food. Did that stop me from grabbing a large pizza from a hidden gem of a local pizza parlor? Nope! Oh, and then there was the two lamb tacos.

I devoured it all. I don’t think I have ever eaten that much food in my entire life. Although, I suppose that after living off of freeze-dried food and water for two weeks, while hiking for over 10 kilometers per day, you can develop a bit of an appetite. I began to notice that with my new-found (albeit rudimentary) knowledge of the local culture, an authentic Icelandic hoodie, and no camera in my hands, people started talking to me in Icelandic! They looked a little surprised when I said, “Excuse me?” I did try out a few of the Icelandic phrases that I had picked up along the way, before giving in and speaking English. A couple of tourists asked me some questions, which surprisingly I knew the answers to. I was actually beginning to "fit in".

I felt at peace. I felt home. I am definitely someone that tries to avoid returning to the same destinations when I have the time to travel. There is just too much of the world that I want to explore. However, there was something mysteriously addicting about Iceland, and I feel a calling to return to. With Iceland, I know in my heart that I would not be returning to a destination. I would be returning to a journey, and I know that my journey there is not done. This is truly a first for me.

continue your journey below:

Tidbits + Video + Map.

Have Questions? Ask away!

limited Prints

WHat I packed:

(Camera & Survival Gear + Amazon links)

By now, you probably realize that I had no idea what I was doing at the start of this trip. I am the furthest thing from a minimalist you will meet. I usually take the biggest bag that I can find with me on trips, and inevitably over-pack. I had never been backpacking, never pitched a tent, and the extent of my survival skills was limited to anything I could pick up from Bear Grylls on the Discovery Channel. As ridiculous as it may sound, I can honestly say this saved my life on multiple occasions. Thanks Bear Grylls!

If you are looking to build a backpack for a trip like this, below you will find everything that I packed along with me. I am an amazon associate, so if you purchase an item via a provided amazon link, I will make a very small % off of the sale, which helps me keep this site going. Gear is not listed in any particular order - for gear discontinued since 2014, so i have linked the closest item i could find.

Video from the field: