As part of a two-week trip to Iceland, my girlfriend Tier and I planned a four-day/three-night backpacking excursion into the Hornstrandir Nature Reserve, some remote fjords in northwestern Iceland. The main draws to the reserve are the arctic foxes and stunning seaside cliffs, particularly The Horn.

The only way to and from the nature reserve is by boat, so we had to plan our itinerary with the company’s schedule and drop-off/pick-up locations in mind. We set a lofty goal of about ~50km for ourselves, while giving two or three alternative, shorter options, in case we ran into any trouble. And we sure did.

Day 1. Things got off to a rough start. The boat we were supposed to take from Isafjordur to Hornstrandir was out of commission, so we made the journey on a slower backup boat the company had rented.

We got to our drop-off three or four hours later than expected, so we had to scrap our first evening of hiking and just stay in the tiny village we arrived in. Our goal to see The Horn and make it to our drop-off point alrighty was looking pretty iffy. We still had our back-up plans, so we weren’t too bummed, and we still looked forward to seeing as much of the reserve as we could.

Day 2. We embarked on a 15km leg of our trek. A storm hit us about an hour into the hike, so we had to battle ~60km/h cold, rainy headwinds for the rest of the day over a mountain pass. We would have quit pretty early on and set up our tent, but there was no flat, grassy areas, and we were hoping the storm would be less severe once we made it down the other side to lower elevations.

Just like it is always darkest before the dawn, it is always steepest before the pass. We struggled on for what seemed like eternity, before we finally got to make our descent; nevertheless, we fell short of our goal (once again) and did not make it to the camp zone. We were too exhausted to continue, and our rain gear had long since been permeated, and we were soaked entirely through. We found a relatively flat patch of relatively grassy land behind a relatively protective rock and set up camp in the punishing wind and rain. The tent held up as we spent an hour or so wiping down the inside of the tent and getting our wet gear situated away from our (thankfully) dry sleeping bags. It was a very wet, cold night, and we were then over two full days behind schedule. By now we knew we would have to take the shortest alternative route we had charted to our pick-up point. Not exactly what we were hoping for out of this trip, but you don’t get to decide the weather.

Day 3. We woke to continued (albeit less intense) rain, wind, and fog. We hiked for a couple of hours to our first night’s scheduled campsite, where we knew we’d also find an emergency shelter. A notice was posted that staying in the shelter was reserved for emergencies, if a group cannot continue their hike, or in case of bad weather (“This is not a summer cabin!”).

We reasoned that we qualified under those conditions and hunkered down there for the night, knowing we needed the rest and to dry out a little before attempting the last 8km over another mountain pass. At this point, all we cared about was getting to our extraction point on schedule so we didn’t have to spend another day out there.

Day 4. We woke to better weather but some heavy fog hanging at about 100 meters. This made it difficult to see where we were shooting for, but our map showed a couple different paths leading off towards a pass, so we went off that way. We were just leaving our site as four backpackers were arriving. They had started the same day as we had, but from a different area. They hit the same storm on day two, set up camp near the top of their pass, and had to spend the entire next day in their tent, as the conditions up there had been so bad. So, I’m pretty happy we pushed through that day, even when we were dying to stop.

To make a long story short, the two trails on our map did not exist, and a few hours later we retreated back to the shelter after our route finding started to feel too unsafe and fruitless. I don’t quite understand why our map, sold at campsites, outdoors shops, and shops throughout the towns we visited is so different from the park’s map, but those green and yellow lines were definitely not “footpaths.”

We knew we would have to take go with our final option: return from whence we came. The only feeling stronger than defeat was dread. It was hard enough to do that hike the first time; now we’d be more tired, have less food in us, and be carrying extra weight in soaked clothing and gear.

We sat in the shelter, imagining the boat coming to pick us and finding nobody there, and we wondered what the consequences would be. Would they call in a rescue? Nah, no way after one day missing. Would we be charged extra for not sticking to the schedule and wasting the company’s fuel? When we got back to our original drop-off point, would there even be a boat scheduled for that day, or would we have to wait yet another day in this cold, wet, remote place?

Spirits were low, buoyed only by the certainty we had that we could make it back to “civilization” (~10 person village) the next day.

Day 5. We were blessed with the best weather of the trip so far: the wind was negligible; the rain was only a light mist; and the fog was hanging far higher than in previous days. It was a tough hike, but we made decent time and got to enjoy some of the scenery that had been obscured until that point.

We got back to the little village at which we had been dropped off to find about 100 people were there as part of a cruise ship side trip. One of the villagers ran out to us and asked if we were the missing hikers and that the boat service had radioed in an alert to keep an eye out for “two very lost looking walkers.” This was a pretty embarrassing moment, as many of the cruise-ship tourists looked on. We waited three hours for the boat to make its schedule stop at the village, and several villagers that passed us throughout the day asked if we were the missing walkers, and if anyone had been alerted yet.

Finally our boat arrived. The captain asked us what happened and informed us that he had alerted the police we were missing. We explained that we had weather and navigation issues, and felt it safer to be late than to try to force our way to keep on schedule. He called it in, and that was the end of that. We arrived back in Isafjordur, got a hostel, and rejoiced in warmth and dryness.

While we failed miserably at our goals to see The Horn and have a few pleasant days of backpacking, it was an unforgettable experience with some good lessons attached.

Never underestimate a hike.

Always have a backup plan (or two or three).

Pack food for an extra day.

Know when to turn around.

Prioritize safety over goals and pride.

Carry a beacon. We used to have one, and it used to be a great comfort, but we recently returned it, because we found it unreliable. I should have bought a new one before this trip.

Also, major shoutout to ICE-SAR. Thanks for establishing that shelter. It was a life saver!