Beyond the Map: My epic trek to Straumnesviti. (Part 1/2)
In the midst of bustling routines and everyday demands, there are times when we yearn for a moment to breathe, a chance to escape the hustle and bustle and immerse ourselves in the serenity of natural expanses. Dear reader, it is time to join me on a journey far from the chaos of daily life—a journey to Straumnes Lighthouse, nestled in the wildest place in Iceland. As I reminisce about this unforgettable expedition, I invite you to step into a world of rugged landscapes, unpredictable encounters, and the exhilarating thrill of exploration.
Let's embark on this adventure together…
This is the moment I've been waiting for. After trekking 10km across that rugged mountain terrain, I find myself near the edge, facing the instant that will determine if I can safely descend to the shore where the lighthouse awaits. Peering ahead, I catch a glimpse of the ridge where I'll soon decide whether or not the slope is too treacherous to risk.
My mission? Straumnesviti—a lighthouse shrouded in remoteness, seldom touched by human footprints except for the yearly maintenance crew or the intrepid kayaker. Situated within the Hornstrandir Nature Reserve, a sanctuary in Iceland's wilderness, it's a place untouched by roads or cell signals, accessible only by boat. With my Garmin as my sole means of connection, I'm ready for whatever challenges lie ahead.
Weeks of meticulous planning led up to this moment, eagerly awaiting the perfect weather window to secure my ferry passage to this isolated place. But as any adventurer knows, no amount of preparation can fully anticipate the twists and turns of the journey. This expedition was about to prove me again the unpredictable nature of exploration.
Emergency shelter near the campsite at Aðalvík. Hornstrandir is a protected nature reserve and camping is only allowed at designated campsites.
Things got off to a good start, beginning with my arrival at the bay of Aðalvík without experiencing any seasickness—a remarkable luck considering my previous bout of nausea during my initial ferry journey to the region back in 2020.
Aðalvík isn't as popular drop-off point as Hornvík Bay, which is favored by hikers eager to explore the majestic cliffs of Hornbjarg. Consequently, I found myself the lone hiker disembarking among the Icelanders who own holiday cabins in the area.
After everyone had departed from the ferry and I had walked a few hundred meters to set up my tent at the campsite, the silence of this awe-inspiring place enveloped me. I was alone—or so I thought. In truth, I had already encountered my first Arctic fox on the way to the campsite, trotting in the opposite direction, seemingly undisturbed by my presence. I took it as a favorable omen.
Tent view in the evening, not bad…
The following day, equipped with only the essentials, I left my tent pitched at the campsite and started on a 25km round trip trek to reach the lighthouse. However, this journey was anything but straightforward. Standing between me and the lighthouse was Straumnesfjall, a mountain with an altitude of only 400 meters, yet its descent towards the lighthouse was absolutely uncertain.
In truth, hours were spent studying topographic maps, 3D maps, satellite images, attempting to assess whether I could navigate the mountain slope without any formal climbing skills. My evaluation yielded a daunting 50/50 chance of success. While the weather forecasts were favorable, the only obstacle standing in the way of my expedition was this precipitous descent. If it proved impassable, I would have no choice but to turn back.
The lighthouse at Straumnes wasn't the sole human-made structure in that area. Straumnesfjall has a remarkably flat summit, once home to a military air force surveillance radar station established by the United States in 1953. Abandoned since 1960, the station's ruins now sat perched atop the mountain, devoid of human activity and offering itself for exploration.
Dear reader, if you've been following my adventures for some time now, you can likely imagine just how exhilarating this prospect was for me. Exploring the remnants of a military base atop a mountain ?! Count on me!
Straumnesfjall is so flat that it doesn´t look like you are on top of a mountain.
The ascent to Straumnesfjall was manageable, as I followed the former road that once led to the military station. What began as a grey morning gradually gave way to patches of blue sky and fluffy white clouds dancing atop the mountain. In the rhythm of the walk, I felt completely in my element.
After covering eight kilometers, I came upon the first of the abandoned buildings and decided to take my lunch break there. It was a sight to behold: Most of the roof and all the windows had been stripped away by relentless winds, yet the main structure stood precariously, with signs of imminent collapse. I dared not step inside; I could only see piles of rusted metal and cracked concrete.
The thought of people enduring harsh winters within those concrete walls was staggering. This served as a mere appetizer for the main station, which lay slightly off my course to the lighthouse.
My apprehension about the impending mountain descent intensified. I was only hoping I would not have to abandon my quest for the lighthouse so early. Just a couple more kilometers, and I would discover if my mission would come to an abrupt halt.
As I journeyed onward, the main buildings of the station came into view on my right. The cliffs surrounding the station appeared daunting, with jagged rocks resembling a line of teeth, rendering them obviously impassable. It was time to depart from the road and veer off to the left, where I anticipated the mountain slope to be more forgiving.
It was at that moment that I spotted it: a cairn—a stone monument known as Steinvarðar in Icelandic, traditionally used to mark trails and aid navigation before the advent of GPS. This discovery was a promising sign, suggesting that I was on the right path.
Drawing nearer to the slope I intended to descend, it to seem less daunting than anticipated. Adrenaline surged through my veins, and excitement coursed through every limb. Descending to the first plateau, I finally gained a clear view of what lay ahead. Spotting another cairn, I paused to prepare my ice axe and helmet.
All my past hikes to various lighthouses converged at this moment, each one preparing me for the next, gradually escalating in difficulty. Assessing the slope, I realized it was manageable, not as steep as the descent to Glettinganesviti, for instance. Carrying an ice axe, a lesson from Andres during our hike to Kögurviti, provided me with a way to stop my fall should I slip in loose scree. These collected insights had shaped the hiker I am today and had prepared me for this challenge.
The decision was made: I was going down.
Carefully descending, I meticulously evaluated each step, navigating the rocky terrain while seeking the easiest route. Suddenly, amidst the rugged landscape, a rusted pole caught my eye, followed by another one a few meters down.
But that’s when I saw the remnants of an ancient rope that my suspicion was confirmed: I was tracing the footsteps of the lighthouse keeper who once journeyed from the other side of Straumnesfjall to Straumnesviti to tend the light. These cairns, poles, and ropes were the echoes of their path, evoking a mix of emotions and hope as I followed in their wake: I did not had to figure out the path on my own, I just had to follow these relics.
Found an ancient rope that might have been used by the former lighthouse keeper.
An hour later, I found myself on more forgiving terrain, nearing the valley floor. Successfully navigating the descent filled me with euphoria. With the sight of clouds dancing atop the mountain I had just descended and the warmth of the sun on my skin, pure happiness and relief washed over me—I was certain I would reach Straumnesviti and capture it in my painting today.
I allowed myself a well-deserved break in the sunshine, retrieving snacks and binoculars from my backpack. I scanned the slopes I had just descended, then turned my gaze toward the imposing cliffs under the former radar station. Giant boulders that had tumbled down the mountain were gathered in the heart of the valley: I felt suddenly the urge to go take a closer look, because I had spotted shapes amidst the rocks that seemed out of place.
However, as I'd already emphasized, my primary goal was the lighthouse. I made a mental note to investigate the boulders on my way back. For now, my focus was on navigating the shoreline: not a straightforward task. Instead of a leisurely stroll along a sandy beach, I encountered a labyrinth of boulders demanding my full attention to avoid injury. The adrenaline from the descent had faded, leaving my muscles fatigued and my body sore.
As I caught the first glimpse of the peculiar pyramidal tower, it marked my second reward of the day: Straumnesviti!
Here it stood before me, bathed in a ray of sunshine as I arrived at its foot, the bright orange hue glowing. I couldn't help but feel overwhelmed with happiness.
Though not the most picturesque lighthouse in Iceland, its unique proportions demand attention. Imagine a tower with a triangular metal structure topped by a lantern, yet filled with concrete to reinforce its structure. The relentless elements were eating away at its metal, prompting the construction of concrete walls around the tower. Despite these efforts, rust still seeped through, staining the walls with streaks resembling blood.
A sign on the door warned of the dangers of entering this weathered lighthouse. But having already taken many risks to reach this point, I was not about to pass up the opportunity to at least take a look inside…
Just when I thought I'd faced the toughest challenges of my journey, little did I know this was only the beginning of what lay ahead!
Head over to the blog post of the Part 2 of this journey, here, where I'll dive into the following chapters of this adventure: the most enchanting encounter with arctic foxes, the mystery behind the peculiar shapes in the boulder-strewn valley, and my eerie exploration of the abandoned military station—a setting straight out of a horror movie.
And that's not all—I'll also reveal how my return to civilization did not go as planned!
Thank you for reading all the way,
keep on shining your light…