It should take two days to walk to Grunnavík according to my math.
But I still have three extra days because until now I've used the extra days that emerged due to earlier leaving from the boat and the original extra days are still intact. Also I have ideas for only two of those extra days when the weather is nice. So I decide to divide the distance into three parts and read a book half the day.
Long sleep, there’s November outside. From the direction where I'm heading some blue eventually appears, no wind and quite warm. Strolling along the beach, no need to climb anywhere. Ducks with young ones, seashells, some rivers to wade, mountains on the horizon like gates to the ocean. Some quiet rain every now and then. Behind my back snow-patched Hattarfjall glows. And there's a fox.
Turning into Kjós bay I suddenly have the feeling that someone is watching me from the water. A seal, a herd of them. Some lay on rocks. After I've finished taking pictures of seals a fox jumps out of the grass just next to me and runs off. A wild place. Lupine fields begin.
The plan is to camp before crossing the river-delta that flows from the glacier and if tomorrow is nice weather then walk towards the glacier and if not then try to cross as soon as possible. There's also an option of wading through the fjord but that doesn't seem appealing to me because in the beginning of summer there might be quicksand.
At the bay's end are two houses. And a bridge over the first part of the river. Doesn't seem very likely that there's a bridge that leads nowhere so it should be possible to cross starting from here and arrive on the next shore alive. Most of the water should be on the other side though. It is not polite to camp near a house. And it doesn't look like there might be horizontal ground on the other side. I go and knock to ask where I may camp and how is the crossing best done. No-one is home. So I put the tent up behind a hill and hope that nobody sees me, or if sees then doesn't mind.
Make soup, read, look out. Even sun shines for a brief moment. Glacier seems interesting but far away. They get smaller with each year as well. Maybe I'm less ready for adventure because Hornstrandir is actually over. Flies.
Long sleep, there’s November outside. From the direction where I'm heading some blue eventually appears, no wind and quite warm. Strolling along the beach, no need to climb anywhere. Ducks with young ones, seashells, some rivers to wade, mountains on the horizon like gates to the ocean. Some quiet rain every now and then. Behind my back snow-patched Hattarfjall glows. And there's a fox.
Turning into Kjós bay I suddenly have the feeling that someone is watching me from the water. A seal, a herd of them. Some lay on rocks. After I've finished taking pictures of seals a fox jumps out of the grass just next to me and runs off. A wild place. Lupine fields begin.
The plan is to camp before crossing the river-delta that flows from the glacier and if tomorrow is nice weather then walk towards the glacier and if not then try to cross as soon as possible. There's also an option of wading through the fjord but that doesn't seem appealing to me because in the beginning of summer there might be quicksand.
At the bay's end are two houses. And a bridge over the first part of the river. Doesn't seem very likely that there's a bridge that leads nowhere so it should be possible to cross starting from here and arrive on the next shore alive. Most of the water should be on the other side though. It is not polite to camp near a house. And it doesn't look like there might be horizontal ground on the other side. I go and knock to ask where I may camp and how is the crossing best done. No-one is home. So I put the tent up behind a hill and hope that nobody sees me, or if sees then doesn't mind.
Make soup, read, look out. Even sun shines for a brief moment. Glacier seems interesting but far away. They get smaller with each year as well. Maybe I'm less ready for adventure because Hornstrandir is actually over. Flies.
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