Tuesday, 25th July, 2000:
Fourteen years before, as a 20 year old between university and my first job, I spent three weeks touring Iceland by bus. The highlight of the trip was the Askja Lunar Tour from Reykjhlið to the volcanic caldera of Askja - a full day's trip along extremely rough roads into the vast uninhabited interior of Iceland. On the way we stopped at Herðubreiðarlindir. "This is the place where people set off to climb the Queen of Icelandic mountains, the broad-shouldered Herðubreið. It's an 11 hour trek because the only place to scale the summit cliffs is right round the other side." I imagined people setting off on this great adventure. "What would it be like to stand on the summit of such a beautiful looking mountain, right in the middle of such a vast plain? The view must be fantastic," I thought. "I must climb this mountain one day!"
After the disappointment of not crossing the Old Gæsavatnaleið route, suddenly we had time for me to realise my 14-year long ambition. So on Tuesday 25th July, we set off at 4am - the sun was just rising and casting a golden light onto the great Queen, and there was not a cloud in the sky. It took us three hours to walk across the rough lava field to the base of the mountain and then half way round to its right, into its shadow to reach the base of the ascent path.
It was a long climb to the summit on extremely loose rocky scree most of the way. It became incredibly steep at times. This was no place for anyone unsure of their footing or frightened of heights. Finally we emerged into the sunlight again as we reached the top of the "shoulders" and could now see the summit cone. What a view! Things were much easier going up the cone, clambering over large boulders.
Finally, there we were, standing in T-shirts and shorts on the summit under a cloudless sky, able to see at least 100km in all directions. We must have stayed on the summit for over half an hour, and only left as we knew we had to get back to Herðubreiðarlindir for 5:30pm if we were going to catch the Askja tour bus back to Reykjhlið. I must have taken loads of photos from the top, but I don't need the photos - I can close my eyes now and see the view. And feel the feeling of isolation. We saw no one on our ascent, nor on our descent. What a good job, as one slight touch from our boots sent rocks cascading many hundreds of metres below. "BELOW!" we kept shouting into the void every time a rock set of on its long tumble, but no one was there to hear us. Thankfully, as if anyone had been hit by those rocks they would surely have been killed. Herðubreið may look beautiful but could be deadly. We met a group of Icelanders walking around the base on our way back. They asked if it was OK to go up. They had young children with them. I hope we put them off attempting the summit as any more than a group of two would have been quite dangerous.
We rounded the mountain and headed back across the Odaðahraun or "evil deeds lava field". Another two hours later we reached the tent at Herðubreiðarlindir again. Peter had gone ahead and I arrived just as the kettle was boiling for some hot soup. We showered and then waited for the bus. "There it is!", Peter said. I looked and sure enough there was the bus in the far distance lurching over the lava. "Another cup of tea?", he asked, and I smiled and nodded. We knew it would be at least half an hour before the bus made it here, so rough was the road!
On the bus there were two Italian cyclists, looking immaculate of course. Had they come across the Old Gæsavatnaleið? They got off when we met the main road and headed east. Surely no one having crossed that vast black desert would look so smart? Not even Italians? We later found out they'd gone on the bus that morning from Reykjahlið, and had only taken their bikes with them so that they could be dropped off at the main road to continue eastwards. Our pride was restored.
That evening, back in the Gamli Bærinn pub in Reykjahlið, I got chatting to one of the waitresses. "Are you the two guys who read a book when you were young and from it decided to cycle across the desert?", she asked. "Yes!", I replied incredulously, wondering how on earth she knew. Then she really flummoxed me by asking, "So did you get to the top of Herðubreið then?" Well, news really travels fast here, I thought. Everyone knows everything! It turned out she'd been on the Askja Tour the day before and had been talking to the warden at Dreki hut who told her about us.
