📍 ///indirect.highlighted.detrimental
After a few stops to drop off and pick up hikers—or exhausted guides—we finally arrive at Hornvík, the main camp of Hornstrandir.
While Gabrielle sketches the captain on the boat, I disembark to set up camp. Once the bags are unpacked, we're already on our way again: the forecast storm pushes us to continue directly with the Horn hike.
Seven hours of walking later, after crossing an icy river twice and climbing a fog-shrouded peak, we savor a beef axoa with Espelette pepper. The perfect contrast between ruggedness and comfort.
(The Horn, this immense 534-meter cliff, is one of the most spectacular points in Iceland. It is home to one of the largest colonies of seabirds in Europe, with puffins, guillemots and fulmars constantly circling. Standing there is like being literally at the end of the world.)
The camp is spartan, but compared to others, almost luxurious: two water toilets, a latrine, a drinking water tap and even an emergency shelter.
At night, the wind picks up, the rain intensifies, and sleep becomes a succession of micro-awakenings. I'm reminded of the story of those French people whose tent was raided by arctic foxes: bags ripped open, food scattered, socks taken away (yes, even that). A nice touch, certainly, but here you absolutely have to chase them away—they sniff out everything.
Getting out or into the tent becomes a freezing, wet exercise.
Tomorrow, we will still have to face these elements.
#Inkavik #11August2025 #Hornstrandir #Hornvík #ArcticFox #RhikingIceland #Iceland2025 #WildCamping #AdventureIllustrated #SlowTravel
