Kerlingarfjöll Circuit (2018)
Literally off the beaten track in Iceland’s Central Highlands

One of the lesser known hikes in Iceland runs 50 kilometers around a mountain range, starting and ending in Ásgarður. The way markings are not that great and you don't meet many people, but the nature is beautiful. Glaciers, volcanic ash and as icing on the cake: the steaming waters of Hveravellir.

Day 1: Asgardur - Kisubotnar, 17 km
Kerlingarfjöll is located in the middle of Iceland, far beyond the point where route 37 from Reykjavik to Akureyi is covered with asphalt. The mountain region in Iceland's Central Highlands is still relatively unknown to hikers and the crowds of the Laugavegur you will not find here. In the Ásgarðurs Gljúfur, the Ásgarður valley, there are eight holiday cottages, a campsite and a restaurant on both sides of the narrow Asgardsa River. Here begins a three-day hiking trail which has different names: the Kerlingarfjöll Circuit, the Circle Route or Hringbrautin, the Ring Road in Icelandic. When the bus drops me off at 1:30 pm after a long and slow journey, I first quietly use the public cabin with its kitchenette and toilet. I also talk to three French hikers who have just finished the trek. They tell me there are quite a few rivers to cross, but the water nowhere reaches up to your knees. After a late lunch I put on my backpack and hit the road. For this route I kept my GPS and all those rechargeable batteries. And it's a good thing I did, because although there are way markings along four huts down the valley, there’s no signpost to indicate where they are going. But then you shouldn't be so cocky as to ignore your GPS. I do and soon regret it. After the short climb out of the valley, the posts on the other side of the road continue up a hill. I know I should actually follow the road, but the narrow path up is much more fun and I bet the two paths will meet again later on. That is not the case. When the markings disappear across the top of the hill, I acknowledge my mistake and return to the road. It is not boring to walk, to my right a beautiful gorge has appeared with a river in the deep, the Asgardsa gorge. The road is unexpectedly eagerly used and I have to step aside for a jeep with a small house on the cargo bed once or twice. After two kilometers, way markings reappear to the left of the road, again without any indication of where they lead. But according to my GPS I have to follow them and this time I listen obediently to the device in my hand. Initially there is a cart track, but then the wooden posts turn off and head straight through the landscape. In recent hikes, I have learned to spare the vulnerable Icelandic landscape and cause as little erosion as possible by going off the trails. Here I stomp with my clumsy feet across fragile green and gray moss and I cannot always avoid the flowers. As a nature enthusiast I feel uncomfortable and I seek out the rocks as much as possible. In the distance, the sun shines down on the immense Langjökull glacier, while to my right there’s an impressive mountain range with snowfields from the valley all the way to the top. Two rocks have left tracks and now rest halfway up the slope. A striking mountain sticks out, Keis and I cannot imagine people used to ski here. Despite the single layer of stones, the ground underneath is soft and my feet sink in by at least 5 centimeters. There is no path, not even a trail drawn by hikers. Hringbrautin opened in 2010, but apparently isn't much hiked. I could not find any trail journals of it online. I hike from pole to pole, sometimes searching because they hardly stand out in the landscape. They do not have a fixed color, but are green or brown or made of bare wood which has turned gray due to the weather. A golden plover makes a nervous alarm call and flies around me panicked. Then for the first time I also see a youngster walking, a fluffy ball which hurries towards daddy on its short legs. A little further on I see the mother, inconspicuously walking away with her head low to the ground. Eventually I come to a cart track that I follow for a few kilometers. Every now and then there is a stream to cross, but every time I can walk or jump to the other bank without taking my shoes off. At a slightly larger river I misjudge the depth and it causes me a wet foot, but my gaiters keep the discomfort to a minimum. Every now and then I check the route  on my GPS and that's how I notice the route is to the right of the jeep track I'm walking on. I cross the lava field Illahraun, but am stopped by a steep descent. In the depth I see what could be a path, but no markings.A snow field is too far away to distinguish whether footprints are crossing it. I decide to follow the road as long as it and the route are approximately the same. Some snowfields across the cart track confirm that this is not the official route: no hiker has preceded me. Then my GPS track goes into one valley and the cart track into another. I keep to the GPS route, encouraged by the sight of a tent in the distance. I thought a green tent would be less noticeable in nature, but no matter how far away, I immediately recognize the shape. The valley is very soggy and I stick to its edges, where moss competes with stone for space. There’s no one to seen at the tent and I pass it by. For a moment I am jealous, what a wonderful place to wake up in the morning. Then I see footsteps in the snow at the end of the valley and way markings. I have found the route again and it feels. With a GPS in your hand it is not so easy to hike if you also have two trekking poles. I follow the markers up a mountain and down again, ash and moss under my feet. A narrow creek becomes a river, the Kisa. Just on the other side on a high plateau is the Kisubotnar hut. This then is a river that I cannot simply cross. It’s simply too deep and too wide. I put on my sandals and put my camera in a drybag. It has never gone wrong yet and I don't want this to be the first time. But it does not go wrong. After so many wide, deep and cold rivers, I can call myself experienced. I know how to cross and that I can do so with confidence. On the other side I climb the plateau and pitch my tent next to three Germans who are walking the trail the other way around. It’s equally sunny as it is windless, which means that the flies are celebrating. Not as bad as in Rjúpnavellir, but it's amazing how few flies it takes to be annoying. After I have cooked and eaten my pasta, I quickly hide behind the mesh of my inner tent.