The trail fades and the footsteps diverge as if a herd of spooked gazelles passed by here. Hiking gets harder, because with every step I sink about two inches into the snow. Right at the cairn I chose as a landmark, I see marking again. More appear, about every fifty meters. That is not without reason, it soon turns out. Clouds come up and visibility diminishes, until I can barely make out the next way mark. And then suddenly there is a valley partly free of snow and where steam comes out: Stórihver. The steam spurts up from three holes under great pressure. Water sputters from one of them with a gurgling sound. A few hills later the route goes straight through the smoke smelling of rotten eggs. We also hike through the snow around a huge hole, where a warm stream flows below. The red posts lead me further and take me to Hrafntinnusker without fail, a single cabin in a bowl of mountains. Originally I wanted to camp here, but because there is at least two meters of snow, camping is not recommended. Even if it had been sunny I would still have hiked on. Other than the hut, there’s nothing here, no day hikes or anything else that could have persuaded me to stay overnight. I do take a break. The hut is still being cleaned, but we are allowed to warm up in the drying room. It gets very hot and quickly fills up with hikers. Outside it starts to rain and those who are not wearing rain pants yet dig it out of their backpacks.

Eventually, people who have actually booked the hut trickle in and we are kindly requested to skedaddle. It's gotten dry and I'm counting my blessings. A large group of hikers meets me, having started a few days ago in Skógar. I thought most hikers started in Landmannalaugar, but that turns out to be not the case. A good number of them walk in the opposite direction, either because of the prevailing wind direction or because transport to Skógar is easier.After a descent we climb again. I don't see any markings until I spot a red dot just above the snow. Then the clouds lift and I see more of the beautiful mountains around me. Because of my break in Hrafntinnusker, other walkers are now continuously in sight, but never so many and never so close that it’s  annoying. Every now and then I have a chat with someone who is resting or, like me, stops for a picture. There is a couple from Australia and a father and son from Great Britain. They are the ones who warn me when I get to the edge of a snow field. There is a fairly easy looking path down, but a row of stones blocks the way. For a reason, the father says, who is already down. That path is dangerously close to an overhang which could collapse at any moment. The other path looks no less risky. This is no longer steep, but straight down. A meter or two? But still… Again hikers have carved out steps and the man advises me to sit down and then descend carefully. I manage the ‘sitting down’-part. However, my rain pants are so slippery that I don't even get around to searching for the steps with my feet. I whiz down at a rapid pace and where the snow stops, I don't. Fortunately there is nothing but mud at the bottom of the slope and a few meters further than I intended, I still lie still. The men are shocked. "I'm down!" is my dry response. Fortunately, it’s my rain pants which are  brown with mud, but my right glove has also suffered and got uncomfortably wet. I give it a try, but photography is more important to me than warm fingers and the glove goes off. More hotspots, beautiful snow formations, my camera is satisfied. A little further on I see old tracks leading across the snow, underneath which nothing more than a fast-flowing stream lies now. The marked route leads neatly around it. We are well looked after by the Icelanders. I cross a stream and then there’s a final climb, after which we have a view of the green mountains around Álftavatn. A powerful river flows down through a narrow gorge, in the distance I see meandering brooks through a green plain. Behind it the lake from which the hamlet takes its name, because Álftvatn means ‘swan lake’. It is unearthly beautiful, but the clouds hide the tops of the most impressive giants and prevent me from taking the most beautiful pictures. As I descend further, the view gets clearer. I can see the lake and, very small, the cabin. You would not think that it is still almost five kilometers. The descent is not steep and with neat zigzags, but the surface is sand and gravel and slipping is a real danger. Slowly and carefully I get lower and lower to the roaring river Grashagakvisl. We have to cross it, but where? The hikers ahead of me choose a spot, but decide it is not feasible. A bit further on it looks better. They hop from stone to stone and are on the other side in no time. I follow them, first across a small stream to a gravel bank. From there, probably not coincidentally, there is a neat row of stones to the other side. They are just under the surface of the powerful water and again I consider myself lucky with my trekking poles and gaiters. The Australian couple grab their sandals, on the other side father and son put on their walking shoes again. I have it easy today. Now only the last three kilometers to the cabin and the campsite remain. I'm a bit tired of what turned out to be a long day. But my tiredness disappears immediately when I spot another building next to the cabin with 'Restaurant Bar' on the wall in large letters. They not only have a nice cola to end the day with, but also a sleeve emblem from this tour. A nice souvenir for my collection.

Day 2: Álftavatn - Emstrur-Botnar 15 km + Markarfljótglúfur Canyon 2 km
After a lazy morning I go out again around 8 a.m. Today I have to ford three rivers and the calm stream around the campsite doesn't even count. The water reaches just above my ankles, but thanks to my gaiters I only get a few splashes. I look back at Álftavatn with its beautiful mountains, but despite the sun's brave attempts to break through, the peaks remain shrouded in clouds. I climb a hill and on the other side the first river, the Brattahalskvisl, awaits. Here I exchange my hiking boots for sandals and store my camera safely in a dry bag. I don't intend to get wetter than I have to in order to get to the other side, but I'm not taking any risks with my camera. I roll up my trouser legs above my knees and then I splash into the water. The bottom of the river consists of gravel and small round stones. My trekking poles give me that extra balance which other crossing hikers miss. One woman almost falls, but regains her balance in time. The water is chilly, but not extremely cold and I'm across in a jiffy. On the other bank, I dry my feet with the top of my socks and put on my walking shoes again, which I have not forgotten to bring this time. Then I continue my way, with a view of the photogenic volcano Storasula. I circle a mountain and almost immediately a collection of huts and a stockyard appears with hay bales ready for a group making the trek on horseback. The oldest hut from 1963 was for shepherds, but since 1995 tourists can also stay overnight in Hvannagil. The huts are busy with people taking one last look at the map or packing their tents. Today we can all take it easy, the distance to Emstrur-Botnar is short and the route is not difficult. Past the huts I pass through a lava field, but it’s nothing like Laugahraun at Landmannalaugar. Apart from a few huge flat gray stones, there are mainly round tubers. Basalt according to my guide written by a volcanologist. A few low flowers grow between the gray stones. On the other side of the lava field we walk on a road and then across rocks to a bridge. This is fortunate, because the Kaldaklofskvisl is not a river you wade through. Wild water with white foam heads spins across two low rapids. Very nice. Barely a kilometer further the next river awaits. Two walkers in front of me cross arm in arm and carefully and if they can do it there, so can I. It has almost become routine. Sandals, drybag, don’t forget my hiking boots and go. Blimey, that’s cold! No idea why the Blafjallakvisl is so much colder than the earlier river, but it’s almost painful. At the other bank the river gets a little deeper and I have to look for a place to get back ashore. My legs are certainly not grateful for those extra seconds in the icy water.
Once dry I continue through a gray plain surrounded by green mountains. The path is dusty and at times looks like a bridle path. It winds without end to the horizon. On my left I catch glimpses of an ice sheet between the mountains. That must be Mýrdalsjökull, the enormous glacier, each spur of which seems to have its own name. It is also the glacier under which the Katla lies, the volcano that is a few years overdue for another eruption. In the last thousand years Eyjafjallajökull has erupted three times and each time the eruption was followed shortly afterwards by an eruption of the Katla. Except in 2010. Both volcanoes are still closely monitored, but seem to be dormant for the time being.

The glacier is temptingly close and as I walk through the dust I wonder what's actually holding me back. Nothing right? I leave the marked route and head straight for the white plain. Then I climb a small wave in the landscape and see what was hidden from the Laugavegur. A river. Doable , I think. When I look back to the official route, I see a sturdy bridge in the distance. A bridge… that's a hint. As we say in our family, a quiet little hint with a sledge hammer. If the Icelanders found it necessary to bridge this river, I'm not even going to try to ford it. I walk back to the bridge and see that the Innri-Emstrua is indeed not to be trifled with. The river is wide, deep and fast. Just past the bridge, the water rushes across a waterfall with a thunderous roar. From the other bank, the glacier suddenly seems a lot further away and I have lost my desire to see it up close. Back up the Laugavegur. The path continues straight on across the bottom of the valley. As far as Iceland can be boring, this stretch is the least noteworthy yet. Still there is plenty to see if you pay attention. There are lava bombs with pieces of stone in them, a few striking green mountains and a distinctive brown rock. And that's about it. After one last crossing and a few kilometers of sandy ash, I climb a hill. On the other side, a side path shoots out from the main route to the road that has been accompanying us from a distance for a while. It's nothing more than a flat ribbon ash in an ash valley, but you can drive there. There are wooden signs where the path crosses the road, and although they are too far away to read, I know what they say. My guide advises me to take this trip and I happily oblige. I take the path marked with red posts. From a distance you would not suspect that there is anything special to be seen here and I impatiently follow the markings. Only when I get close does the incredible size of the Markarfljótglúfur become clear. This gorge is immense! All the rivers I have crossed since Hrafntinnusker flow into the Markarfljót and the water has cut through over 200 meters of lava deposits. In the walls of the gorge I see colors, red and black and brown. The impressive sounding river looks small between these great high cliffs. When I see a path to a rocky outcrop protruding into the gorge, I take off my backpack as a precaution. I plan to get very close to the edge and don't want to be thrown off balance at the wrong time. I hike the last meters to the abyss a lot lighter and look into the depth. There is only one word: wow. Several gulls are circling around in the canyon, but I do not recognize their dark wings. Every now and then they land somewhere on a ledge, unfortunately out of sight. On the other side of the gorge there’s a van and a group of tourists are gazing at this natural wonder just like me. Apart from them, I am alone. The other hikers pass the turn to the canyon by, although some hike the loop in the evening when they are rested and have pitched their tents. The hikers I tipped off about the gorge later tell me that in the evening the fog set in and they could only see half of it. For now, I have the area to myself and I follow the markers from highlight to highlight. Each vantage point offers a new view of the gorge, a special rock formation, a waterfall like a thin veil. Behind me it is now completely clear above the glacier and at this height I have a beautiful view of it. The sun has broken through and I enjoy myself tremendously. A little further on I hear birdsong, for the first time today. A ringed plover continues to pose nicely for a bunch of pictures. How nice! Eventually the markings take me back to the road and I pick up the Laugavegur again.And I have only taken a few steps before I see the hut appearing around the hill, which I had only suspected after a few kilometers. The sign says Emstrur, but the hut was long known as Botnar, meaning floor. Emstrur is the area in which we are located and that is how the name Emstrur-Botnar came into being. I pitch my tent next to a stream and it is so sunny that I wash my muddy gloves and also my first hiking pants, of which I only brought two. The stream water is so cold that I have to give my hands time to recover before I can wash the next garment. That's how this day ends when it began: wonderfully lazy.

Day 3: Emstrur-Botnar - Thórsmörk 15 km
This time it’s the rain that keeps me in my cozy sleeping bag until late in the morning. When I finally go out around 08.30, it is dry, but the clouds float low and promise more wetness. From the campsite I cross the cheerful babbling brook and start a short climb through a thick layer of black ash. Once at the top there is a sign and there are no names of mountain peaks on it, as I expected. It is a warning sign: what to do in the event of a volcanic eruption. It may seem like a theoretical hazard, but today the route passes through areas that in case of a Katla eruption could have to deal with a sudden tidal wave and not just any one. Molten glacial water carries ash, stones and even rocks on its way down and is more like liquid cement than water. The Icelanders call it Jökulhlaup and jökulhlaups after the Katla eruption in 1918 expanded Iceland's coastline by as much as three kilometers. A coast that’s 40 kilometers away. So I take the information sign seriously, without expecting any real problems. A little further on a bridge has been made over a large brook. It is a simple thing, but it is still nice not to have to wade through the icy water. On the right side, the Markarfljótsgljúfur gorge reappears and I recognize the veil waterfall that I admired yesterday. I have already seen the most spectacular part of the gorge, it soon turns out. How quickly are you spoiled here! A new hill and a steep descent. I put my heels in the sand as if it were a dune and easily walk down to two bridges across the Sydri-Emstrua, a powerful river that flows into a deep gorge. The first bridge helps us cross the water, the second is glued to the wall of the gorge where erosion has washed away the rocks. A rope has been drawn, more for reassurance than necessity. Once out of the gorge, I take off my sweater and rain pants and enjoy the view of Entujökull, the spur of the Myrdalsjökull glacier that stretches to Botnar for one last time. I climb out of the valley and put on my rain pants again, because it has been drizzling for more than fifteen minutes and this time it doesn't seem like a short shower. Looking back, I see the path in the middle of the green plain, the gorge, a distant waterfall that joins its forces with those of the river. The route continues across a sandy layer of ash and ends against a cliff where I think I recognize the basalt columns described in my guide book. These arise when thick lava flows of basalt cool. The basalt contracts in hexagonal columns, although octagonal variants are also known. The landscape continues to captivate, with Mount Einhyrningur on the horizon, resembling a rhinoceros, although Icelanders believe they recognize a unicorn. There is a small loop off the official route, but just a bit more interesting along the edge of a gorge. Then on. I come across a huge lava bomb, bigger than myself. Grass and shrubs appear almost casually. A little later even trees, small at first, later man-sized. Thórsmörk is coming closer. The ground becomes overgrown with heather with deep purple flowers. Next to it grows something red, while other flowers are modest soft pink. At the bridge over the Ljosa, the vegetation is so dense that I can barely see the river in its gorge. On the other side we are allowed to climb again and this time I am delighted. The hill offers a magnificent view of the glacier, where the blue shimmers through the snow. After the hill the descent inevitably follows and I see a river, the only one today that we really have to ford. With this rain it’s a challenge, but as always preparation is the most work. While three sheep watch from the hill, I get ready. The river flows strongly, thanks to my poles I stay on my feet up and quickly reach the other side. From here there’s a wonderful winding path through a real forest, full of grass and flowers and with trees bigger than myself. Outside of Reykjavik I have never seen trees before, barely 1% of Iceland is forested. The fact that it used to be as much as 25% is also reflected in the place names, because Thórsmörk means Thor’s Forest. Eventually I end up on a road, or what counts as one in Iceland. Asphalt is hard to find here and therefore it doesn’t feel annoying. Then I reach the signpost  which indicates I am in Thórsmörk. Here I have a choice of three campsites, but one is not an option  anyway. It’s in the wrong direction if you want to continue to Skógar. No, I choose Langidalur, from the Ferdafelág Islands, the Icelandic tourist association. They also run the Laugavegur, maintain the markers, and built and man the huts along the way. Moreover, with this rain I don't feel like walking to Basar, two kilometers further. This is where it ends for me. I have  completed the Laugavegur and it was indeed one of the most beautiful hikes in the world.

View my pictures of this hike here.