Solo Expedition to Iceland's Hornstrandir Nature Reserve

Whispers of the Wild

Today was a day where the landscape spoke louder than any words ever could. I ventured to Drangaskörð, a place where the raw, untamed beauty of Iceland’s Hornstrandir Nature Reserve is on full display. It was a day of windswept vistas, dramatic cliffs, and the kind of solitude that feeds the soul. It's days like these that remind me why I traded the comforts of Kongsvinger for a life chasing light and shadows in the wildest corners of the world.

My morning began with a hearty breakfast at Thai Tawee in Ísafjörður. The familiar flavors were comforting, a little piece of home before diving into the day's adventure. I grabbed a quick lunch at Húsið, knowing I'd need the fuel for the hike ahead. After my meal I decided to visit Geðræktarmiðstöðin Vesturafl - Nytjamarkaður. It was more than just a shop; it was a community hub with a mission for sustainability, filled with unique clothing and vintage finds. I am always looking for unique items to add to my wardrobe that doesn't impact the environment. I picked up a cozy, pre-loved Icelandic wool sweater that I know will keep me warm on future expeditions. It's these little finds that add character to my travels and connect me to the local culture.

The drive to Drangaskörð was an experience in itself. Leaving Ísafjörður, I followed Route 61 south, the landscape morphing into a tapestry of rugged coastline and imposing mountains. Turning onto Route 63 at Þingeyri, the road narrowed, winding its way through valleys still dusted with snow. I could feel the anticipation building with every kilometer. The final stretch was a gravel road, a rough track leading to the base of the cliffs. It was a stark reminder that I was entering a world where nature reigned supreme.

As I approached Drangaskörð, the cliffs rose before me like the jagged teeth of some ancient sea monster. Seven rocky peaks jutted out into the ocean, defying the relentless waves. The wind was fierce, whipping at my clothes and carrying the cries of seabirds overhead. I parked the car and took a moment to simply breathe, to let the immensity of the place sink in. May in Iceland is a dance between seasons. Patches of snow clung to the higher elevations, while the lower slopes were slowly awakening with the promise of spring. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of salt and earth. I double-checked my camera gear, making sure everything was secure. The weather can change in an instant here, and I wanted to be ready for anything.

I started my hike, following a faint trail that wound along the coastline. The ground was uneven, a mix of rock, grass, and patches of stubborn ice. With each step, the views became more breathtaking. The cliffs plunged dramatically into the sea, the waves crashing against their base in a symphony of foam and fury. I could see seals basking on the rocks below, their sleek bodies glistening in the intermittent sunlight. The air was alive with the sounds of nesting birds. Arctic terns swooped and dived, their calls echoing across the landscape. I spotted a few puffins as well, their colorful beaks a cheerful contrast to the somber cliffs.

I found a spot to set up my camera, carefully positioning the tripod to withstand the wind. The light was constantly shifting, clouds racing across the sky, creating moments of dramatic contrast. I experimented with different lenses, trying to capture the scale and grandeur of the landscape. It was a challenge, trying to convey the feeling of being so small in the face of such immense power. I spent hours simply observing, watching the interplay of light and shadow, the ceaseless motion of the sea. I felt a sense of peace, a connection to something larger than myself. It was a feeling I often experienced in nature, a sense of belonging to the wild.

In the heart of Iceland's wilderness, I found a symphony of solitude and scenery, where the cliffs whispered ancient tales and the wind carried the songs of the sea.

As the afternoon wore on, the weather began to change. The wind picked up, and the sky grew heavy with clouds. A light rain started to fall, turning the rocks slick and treacherous. I knew it was time to head back. I packed up my gear, taking one last look at the cliffs. They seemed even more imposing in the fading light, their silhouettes stark against the stormy sky.

The hike back was challenging, the wind and rain making it difficult to see. I moved slowly and carefully, mindful of my footing. I reached the car soaked and chilled, but exhilarated. I cranked up the heat and started the engine, grateful for the warmth. As I drove away, I glanced back at Drangaskörð. The cliffs were shrouded in mist, disappearing into the gloom. They seemed to be receding back into the realm of myth and legend, waiting for the next traveler to discover their secrets.

Back in Ísafjörður, I treated myself to a well-deserved dinner at Siver kebab. The warm, spicy flavors were a welcome contrast to the cold and dampness of the day. As I ate, I reflected on my experience at Drangaskörð. It was more than just a beautiful place; it was a reminder of the power and resilience of nature. It was a place where I felt truly alive, connected to the wild and untamed spirit of Iceland.

Hornstrandir in May is a land in transition. The weather is unpredictable, the landscape is raw, and the trails can be challenging. But for those willing to embrace the elements, it offers an experience unlike any other. It's a place where you can find solitude, challenge yourself, and connect with the natural world on a deeper level.

Before heading back to my tent for the night, I checked the forecast for tomorrow. My itinerary has me heading to Drangajökull útsýnisstaður, which I am hoping will give me a great shot of the glacier. I will grab breakfast at Víkurskálin Bolungarvík, lunch at Stúkuhúsið and dinner at Hópið. I am also planning on stopping by Verbudin bar. I am hoping for clearer skies, but whatever the weather, I know it will be another day filled with adventure.

As I drifted off to sleep, I thought about Liam back in Banff. I missed his warmth and his laughter, but I knew he understood my need for these solo adventures. He knew that these journeys fueled my creativity and brought me closer to the wild places that inspired my work. I smiled, thinking of the stories I would have to share with him when I returned. The tales of towering cliffs, mischievous foxes, and the endless dance of light and shadow in Iceland's Hornstrandir.

Even though I am camping and trying to embrace the true essence of the wild, I definitely wish I had remembered to bring insect repellent and a portable water filter.

Hornstrandir has a short visitor season, with ferries running between June and August. The unpredictable weather means the best time to visit is July. If you are planning a trip to Hornstrandir, remember to notify the Environment Agency electronically between March 1st and June 15th to minimize impact on the environment.

The rules of the Hornstrandir Nature Reserve require visitors to report to the agency if traveling between April 15th and June 15th. The snow is melting, the ground is wet and frozen, and the weather is cold. It is important to respect the flora and fauna, camp within marked areas, and remove all rubbish.

Remember that there is limited cellular coverage in the area. Radios can be found in emergency shelters. If you notice a polar bear, report it and keep your distance. Be aware that travel in the nature reserve involves risks and requires 4-season equipment.