Reykjavík Grapevine - 21.09.2018, Blaðsíða 46

For many Icelanders, the summer
isn't complete without a visit to the
vast, desolate heart of Iceland—
The Highlands. This region is dot-
ted with some of the most amazing
sights of the country. Landmanna-
laugar—the famous basecamp for
many beautiful hikes, and the des-
tination of the Laugavegur trail—is
a never-setting star amongst Ice-
land’s top attractions.
But in the shadow of its shine
there’s a place that’s usually skipped
by the masses—Landmannahellir.
The one corner of home comfort
in Fjallabak Nature Reserve, this
small campsite holds a handful of
well-equipped huts; some beautiful,
sparsely-trodden hiking trails; and
curious stories from its glory days
as a sheep farm.
Whatevs, Þór
We start out for this remote and haz-
ardous part of the country with—of
course—a storm warning. Planning
things by the book, we’ve gotten our-
selves a decent 4x4 car, some food,
a route map, and have—oh, thank
you, dear caution—made sleeping
arrangements at one of the the huts
of Landmannahellir. Throwing on
another layer of wool, we do a sassy
hair f lip at the darkening clouds.
Not too sassy, though. It’s not good
luck to piss Þór off before a journey.
The Highlands have a strange
draw to them. The nature in this
immense region, with its unique
features and surreal contrasts, is
astounding, but there’s more to the
Highlands’ appeal. It’s also the thrill
of driving car-wrecking roads and
rivers, the isolation, the bad weather,
and the lack of phone signal. It’s the
lure of the wilder side of wilderness.
Like a f lickering movie, I take
in the ever-changing scenery as we
approach Fjal labak, from serene
mountain giants with white-spot-
ted dusky slopes, to hillside fields
frosted with soft moss and sweep-
ing expanses of pitch black sand. In
the middle of this raw seclusion, a
row of colossal metal pylons emerge.
Like strange carcasses of the char-
acters, who inhabit Dali's paintings,
they underline the contrasts of the
region.
Woolly locals
Two river crossing lie between the
t urnoff and the campsite, mak-
ing the it feel like we’re invading
a medieval castle. After splashing
nervily through, we find ourselves
cradled between the mountains at
the grassy fields of Landmanna-
hel l ir. A s we drive towards the
cabins, we’re eyebal led by three
woolly locals. Deemed not interest-
ing enough, they return to chewing
grass.
In fact, sheep have a special sig-
nificance in these parts. Since old
times, this was the place where the
animals were gathered from the
surrounding regions each Septem-
ber. You can still see the remains
of stone enclosures used for this
purpose, and a whole fenced-in
mountain, which at times would
be a bleating, woolly sea. Even the
cabins have a connection to sheep.
The main house was originally an
upgrade from the comforts from
the nearby Landmannahellir cave
in 1907, and the former shepherd
shelter is still in use today.
The shepherd ghost
The cabin guard shows us around
and says we made a good accommo-
dation decision. Some strong gusts
tore down tents the previous night,
leaving some campers with no op-
tion but to hope for a free spot in one
of the cabins.
We settle into our cosy shelter
as the wind picks up, howling over
the plains. With the low hissing of
a gas heater in the background and
candles flickering below our faces,
we study a map of the area. It’s the
perfect moment for a ghost story,
and sure enough one is found in
the Landmannahellir information
booklet.
Not much is known about the
shepherd called Egill, who fell to his
death at a nearby mountain slope,
now known as Egilsgil. His remains
were stored there for a couple of days
in an old sheep cave before later be-
ing transported and buried at his
home. However Egill’s ghost is still
seen walking around the cave, the
huts, and the surrounding moun-
tains. According to the tales, he’s
Travel
Distance from
Reykjavík:
200km

Accomidation
provided by:
landmannahellir.is
Car provided by:
gocarrental.is
How to get there:
Route One past
Selfoss, then Routes
30, 32 and F208
46The Reykjavík Grapevine
Issue 17— 2018
The
Invisible
Canyon
A hike to the ghostly Egilsgil in the
windblown outback of Landmannahellir
Words: Signe Smala Photos: Art Bicnick
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