It had been a grey cold day with poor visibility. Two crossings, of Arnafjordur and Dyrafjordur with nothing else but the compass to look at, and we hadn't stopped much either as once ashore even out of the wind we got cold too quickly.
The hut was a bit tatty. We'd passed over some sheets of tin from the porch in the shallows as we approached the beach and one of the windows had blown out but we soon made ourselves at home by stringing damp thermals all over the place and putting the billy on. There were beds too, with real mattresses!
The low cloud slowly cleared in the late afternoon/early evening, bathing everything in lovely sunshine though it was still cold in the wind.
It was a great spot, its remoteness demonstrated by the lack of entries in the hut log book. Only three entries in 2010, only one in 2011, two in 2012, only two again in 2013, one of which was Gudni, one of the paddlers we'd met in Reykjavik on his circumnavigation.
Gudni's entry in his solo paddle around Iceland.
There were no entries in 2014 and we were first in 2015.
The lee side of the Fjallaskagi headland was dotted with the remains of turf huts and boat storage shelters, the low stone walls now well overgrown but in its day it would have been quite a community of incredibly hardy folk.
The bright orange lighthouse on the point glowed in the low sunlight, so for a short time it became the most photographed lighthouse in Iceland.
We both sheltered in the lee of the tower looking back at the coastline we'd paddled, but hardly seen, earlier that day. I didn't even try the door, thinking of the signs on similar lights in Australia warning of dire consequences if you so much as think about touching Government property. Lynne did and it opened!
With a whoop of delighted surprise we were in and ascending the three flights of stairs to the small lantern room. Further flurries of photos were taken, of the view of course and the amazing polished glass prisms that magnify the tiny array of halogen globes into a light that according to the chart can be seen from 12 miles away.
It proved to be a busy night in the Fljallastagi hut - we were the first foreigners and visitors this summer, but only by a matter of hours. At about 3am the crunch of footsteps sounded on the rocks outside. I thought at first it was a dream, but no, there on the doorstep was a young couple who'd had to wait until low tide to get around the shore, 7km from the road end. It would have been bloody hard walking! They were from the Czech Republic and had only one big backpack between them. They started cooking a meal, and after packing away our laundry and drying maps, and gear spread over every surface, Lynne and I went back to bed, despite the glorious pinky orange glow on the snowy mountains in the distance from the low sunlight. I am sure we disturbed them in the morning as we had breakfast, packed up and left but they didn't move.
It has been heartening to hear from the locals that we aren't the only ones feeling the cold. Many people were telling us that summer was late, about month late. "Look at all the snow on the mountains" one women had exclaimed "there is not usually anywhere near that amount at this time of year." To be fair though it has been a lot milder the last couple of weeks, perhaps summer has now arrived. We've had some calm warm periods where we've even paddled without pogies, but usually not for long as the slightest of breeze on wet hands chills them very quickly. At times in the sun when there's little wind we've been getting a bit hot and we've started regretting the layers of thermals under the drysuits, then the wind picks up or as has happened now a few times the fog rolls in and all of a sudden we are most definitely not too hot any more.
The hut (at left), looking back where we'd paddled.
No comments:
Post a Comment