The last climb is a tough one. The path of black ash is weathered and there is an iron cable strung for those who find it scary to walk so close to an abyss. I don't need it, even where the eroded pad is only a shoe sole wide. If the path then goes up almost vertically, it is nice to be able to hoist yourself up by the chain, though. When I turn around, I look down at the clouds, but also underneath them, all the way to the campsite in Thórsmork which I left half a day ago. And when I finally reach the top, I am surrounded by raw nature. I am now well above the clouds, enjoying a warm sun and a view of the mosaic of mountains and snow all around. The snow is dirty, covered with a layer of black ash and sometimes with brown streaks of which I don’t know the origin. It does help keep the sun's glare in check. That much bright white could have hurt my eyes, but the ash works just as well as sunglasses. It is also wonderfully quiet, no wind or birds. Just my own breathing, the scratching of my trekking poles on a stone and the creak of my soles in the snow. A group of hikers has climbed a slightly higher summit for an unobstructed view in all directions, but the route runs underneath and I don't believe those few extra meters make that much of a difference. I've had enough of climbing for a while. Fortunately it remains level for the time being, although hiking is not getting any easier with that much snow. A few hills and snowfields further, two sets of way markers each go in different directions. Now what? One leads down, the other to a rocky outcrop where a bunch of hikers rest. The woman waves. We understand each other and I follow the markings to the red stones, which are surprisingly brittle. Then I continue to an information board at the base of Modi and Magni, the two main craters of the Eyjafjallajökull eruption in 2010. And while I find it hard to believe, seriously wondering if I don't see cloud shreds, I must admit: the ground is still steaming eight years later! The craters are a beautiful red and although I think I can see a path up, I eventually pass them without further inspection. The day is long enough and I'm not even halfway there yet. The Fimmvörðuhals pass is wide and consists of snow field after snow field. It is hard hiking, without a trail which has already been trampled on. In a valley there is a clear blue lake on top of the snow. A large number of footsteps run right through it, but now the way markings have been moved and we are neatly guided around the water. Every now and then I get a respite such as a heap of rock and ash forming  an island offering my feet solid ground. After struggling for miles I see a hut on the right, on a ridge against the sky. Ahead is a primitive hut right on the main route, an unmanned hut with a separate latrine. On the wooden terrace I rest briefly at the picnic table. The couple sits down and turns out to be Czech. They walk in trainers and their socks are soaking wet. How happy I am with my high Meindels and gaiters. Soon I want to continue and follow the blue posts to the road on which the hut  can be reached, although you wouldn’t want to venture out here with an ordinary passenger car, if you like your paint job. Although the kilometers now fly by under my feet, this is not what I expected from the Fimmvörðuhals. I even wonder if I’m still in the right place, but the many footprints and round pits of trekking poles leave nothing to be desired in clarity. A hiker who comes to meet me assures me it will get better. And then I start hearing water and see the first of more than twenty waterfalls in a gorge to my left.

Water from the two glaciers I walked in between, Mýrdalsjökull and Eyjafjallajökull, converge in a mighty river, the Skógá, which within a few kilometers drops no less than a thousand meters to the Atlantic Ocean. The road continues to follow the river and time and again I am drawn to the water. Every waterfall is different, but all are beautiful. I am now quite close to Skógar and meet more and more people. Packed hikers of whom I am amazed that they are still setting out this late in the afternoon, day trippers and runners, a vlogger filming himself at every waterfall.

Finally the path leaves the road and with good reason. Where the cars are allowed to brave a ford, we hikers are spoiled with a bridge. On the other side the road is nowhere to be seen and I follow a narrow path down the river. At a waterfall there is a snow bridge across the water and on it the ashes have grouped in beautiful dots. According to my guide, this is because the ash protects the underlying snow from the warm summer sun. This only melts the uncovered snow and leaves funny piles of ash. I keep taking pictures, but my body is giving none too subtle signs it’s had enough. Then clouds come rolling up and the gorge disappears into the fog. The falls are just visible, but now I finally have the excuse to leave my camera in its bag and keep going. A green sign indicates Skógar is still 4.8 km away. I am tired, but that’s doable. Hikers have left a deep scar on the landscape, sometimes three lanes wide. There are still some streams to stomp through and wash the mud off my shoes. Despite my fatigue, I keep looking at the water, as far as I can see it in the deep gorge.
Once underneath the clouds it clears again and my pace slows down. Forest actually grows on two huge rocks in the middle of the river. How extraordinary. Another 2.6 km and I am now really counting down the meters. Small groups of sheep in the hills. More day trippers, Japanese with large cameras and selfie sticks. The end is approaching. And then there is that last hill and I see a collection of buildings in the depths with the cars racing across the ring road in the background. Skógar. I'm here! It almost makes me emotional, but of course I can't say goodbye to the Fimmvörðuhals without taking a look at the last waterfall that surpasses all others: Skógafoss. More than 62 meters straight down. I descend the specially constructed stairs and a little later I find myself in the mist that this great giant raises. It's a worthy farewell to one of Iceland's toughest hikes. And I just did it!

View my pictures of this hike here.