We dragged the heavy heavy boat to the water's edge and into enough water to float it and us once we had settled into the comfy and oh so familiar cockpits.
I wondered what the bloody hell we had let ourselves in for the day we had arrived at Keflavik airport. 5° howling wind, low louring clouds and horizontal rain and there's me in sandals and shorts dressed for the hot English summers day we had left behind at Gatwick. For a horrible moment I thought we had to walk to the terminal across the tarmac and wondered whether I'd make it without succumbing to hypothermia.
There followed a very pleasant three days in Reykjavik, dry, warm and sunny. Warm being 15 degs. On Sunday we met up with three members of the local sea kayak club, Gisli, Gudni and Axel. Gisli had already been very helpful by email but it was great to pore over maps, hear stories of their paddling exploits and get the finer detail on the trickier bits of coast. However much remote research can be done there is just nothing as valuable, and pleasant, as meeting face to face with those with the same interest and soaking up as much of their experience as possible. I felt very aware that we were in the presence of Icelandic sea kayaking royalty as both Gisli and Gudni have circumnavigated Iceland solo.
There was nothing in particular that I could put my finger on, but that meeting added to my nervousness about what we had taken on. A certain amount of apprehension is healthy, it keeps you alive, but the changeable weather and the cold added another layer of worry. How far from the nearest landing would we be when the inevitable strong headwind picked up? How much had we just spent to experience days, maybe weeks, of 5° and driving rain? Oh well too late now.
Once afloat and cruising past the suburbs of Reykjavik, the paddling muscles began warming up and pretty much all those concerns disappeared in our wake. Back on the water, in our element, in a boat we've paddled thousands of kilometres.
The adventure begins.
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