As a photographer, Iceland has long been on my radar. But our usual annual climbing trips – when we seek out perfect ice – take us to reliable places like the Ecrins, Cogne, or Rjukan. That Colin, a friend not known for extravagance with money, would suggest Iceland came as something of a shock. He has been known – after a challenging route – to sit idly by with complimentary bread and a dejected energy bar whilst the rest of us eat somewhat more heartily. I booked the flights before he could pull out.

Despite the hopeful expectation young men on flights all secretly harbour – being seated next to an attractive, vivacious blonde, with whom a deep and empathic bond is forged – instead we found ourselves next to a guy wearing the sort of tight tee-shirt worn by guys with muscles. He tossed his case into the overhead locker like it was a matchbox and sat down. The Viking design carved into his scalp on the back of his bald head ought to have warned me off, but ice-climbers are not known for their discerning nature. After a while, I figured it was safe enough to strike up a conversation. It turned out he sold body-building supplements and had taken part in the Strongest Man in Iceland competition before he blew out a shoulder. Curious thing was that he’d done a fair bit of ice climbing and gave us some beta on where to go to get some conditions. Small world.

Iceland, as an ice climbing destination is a bit off-the-grid – there’s no helpful Rockfax guide, yet. In fact, no guide in English at all and the only intelligence we could gather before we left the UK was on a handful of blogs. Worryingly, the parsimonious Colin had been left to organise the accommodation and he seemed to be suggesting the cost of bed and breakfast, per night for each of us was just a tenner. Needless to say, we were sceptical. Even Iceland’s strongest man in the seat next to me seemed to think we should be worried – so, frankly, we were. But we needn’t have worried; our hostel was pleasant, cheap and laid out a decent breakfast for us. Ignore, for a moment, the drains reeking of sulphur and accept that hydrogen sulphide is a stench you get used to in Iceland; it’s part of the country’s geothermal nature that the smell of rotten eggs becomes an ever-present companion.