Today is now the fifteenth consecutive day of N/NE winds. They've forced us off the water for seven of those days including hanging in Drangsnes and then Hólmavik where we were introduced to the concept of necropants. Then two more at Kelduvikurvik where we had landed on the eastern side the Skagi Peninsular; it blew a solid 25-35kns for the whole time we were there.
Sitting out the gales at Kelduvikurvik.
The abandoned farm, now Summerhouse, of Kelduvik, no longer keeps sheep, and with the end of grazing and pasture 'improvement', the profusion of wild flowers was astonishing - including Iceland's floral emblem.
Once on the water again we made excellent progress, crossing Skagafjordur via the impressive fortress like island of Drangey where Grettir The Strong - a bellicose Icelandic outlaw of Saga fame spent his last years.
The Saga is worth reading.
The island is also home to over a million birds - I (Lynne) was in seventh heaven!
The day's progress was marred by something I had heard happen to other paddlers but never to us - until now...
opening the rear hatch to discover it full of water.
The breakdown double has never been a very dry boat. I've searched for holes, fixed some, and I'm certain it's not the bulkhead joins leaking. In the end I'd more or less given up, resigned to sponging out a little water at the end of each day.
This was a bit different and could have very uncomfortable consequences. Having heard of this happening to others, for years now we have lined our roll top bags with a bin liner. However good your roll top bags, and Seal Line Baja bags are the best, if they are immersed for any length of time the water WILL seep in. A few cents worth of bin bag is very cheap insurance against ruined food, soaking wet spare clothes and sleeping bags.
A few critical things did get slightly wet but it was more of a hassle than anything. The biggest pain was my wellies, my dry onshore footwear, were full of water, so I was doomed to wet cold feet until they dried out.
To rephrase Keith Bontrager. Socks - dry, clean, warm. Pick two.
We had a quick overnight in Siglufjörður, nicknamed 'Siglo', at the very conveniently situated campsite right in the centre of town to recharge batteries, stock up on food and spend the morning at the award winning Herring Museum. It sounds about as interesting as watching paint dry but smellier, but the opposite was the case, it was brilliant. Informative, interesting and wonderfully presented.
We were tempted to dally in Siglo for another night but we knew if we didn't get around the next northerly point that day we'd be stuck in the fjord by the forecast, you guessed it, strong NE winds. Once out of the fjord and heading SE, we'd be sheltered from the worst of the wind giving us options for crossing the next major fjord, Eyafjordur.
Having escaped Siglo and camped the night on the northern shore of Olafsfjordur the best option was to head straight across from there before the wind strengthened about midday. A local had confirmed we could land at an emergency shelter on the eastern side of Eyafjordur so we were on the water before 7 for the 16km crossing.
Landings are few and far between all along this section of coast with either cliffs or the occasional steep bouldery beaches pummelled by the 2-3m NE swell. The wind strengthened quite a bit as we sat in the tent having breakfast. 'Here we go' we thought, another slow plod into the wind. As we'd hoped though, the conditions eased once out of the wind funnelling into Olafsfjordur.
Despite it seeming like really slow going 2 1/2hrs later we off the beach looking up at the 'emergency shelter' at Látur.
We'd had seen many of these around the coast, small basic shelters painted bright orange. This wasn't small or orange, it was large with an attic room, decking out the front and very new looking, just like one of the many summer houses (shacks) that we found in the remotest of places. Oh well, another day in the tent I thought resignedly as I wandered up to check it out.
Much to my surprise there was somebody there and I was about to ask if it was ok to camp nearby when again to my surprise the couple weren't locals, they were walkers. Even more to my surprise, gob smacked comes to mind, the 'summer house' turns out to be a public use cabin with gas heating, cooking, mattresses, tables, chairs, flush toilet and all pretty brand spanking new. All for AU$15 per person, an absolute bargain when many of the campgrounds have cost AU$10 per person for little more than a patch of grass.
So here we are, whiling away the day in luxury, as the wind builds and starts roaring around the house. Tonight will be our second night under a roof since leaving Reykjavik thirty nine days ago.
Látur our comfy abode for tonight.
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