That night would have been much more terrifying in the dark.
I woke up from a strange dream. Back in reality with my mind still cloudy, I can’t make sense of what I am hearing in the house: footsteps. There is someone in this house even though I am supposed to be alone, and I had locked the entrance door! How can that be? The footsteps are getting closer, I can even guess that this person is barefoot because of the obnoxious sticky sound of bare skin on the linoleum floor, coming closer to my bed.
How had I ended up in this situation? Woken up by a presence in a house in the middle of nowhere where I had fallen asleep alone? I was seven kilometers and a mountain pass away from civilization, with no cellphone reception, and yet I wasn’t alone?
When I tell people about the adventures that the Viti Project has led me to experience, mostly on my own, I often get asked if I am not afraid to be alone.
The truth is, at that time, my only fear was to not be alone.
The lighthouse of Göltur, or Galtarviti, is the place I got to experience that fear. This was one of my earliest missions in the project, in the summer of 2019 when I started my journey in the Westfjords.
There is no road to this lighthouse. It is only accessible by boat or by hiking about seven kilometers with a steep mountain pass to cross on the way. Built in 1959, Galtarviti is automated since 1994 and no one lives full-time at the lightkeeper's house anymore.
I had successfully reached and painted a few lighthouses before that one, so my confidence was pumped up when the owner of the land where this lighthouse is built asked me if I was a good hiker and I replied yes without flinching.
But I wasn’t.
Seven kilometers is not so much, but in the Icelandic terrain and without any cellphone reception, it is a serious hike, not a pleasant stroll. After I got permission from the landowner to go there and spend a night in the former lightkeeper’s house on my own, I embarked on what turned out to be the most difficult hike I had ever done at that time.
While the beginning of the hike went smoothly - I was fortunate with the weather which gave me clear visibility of the mountain pass I had to reach - things became dodgy when I started climbing up the pass. There was a rope to hold onto, but it looked so old that I thought it was going to snap at any moment.
This took me forty painful minutes. Forty minutes thinking “is this the moment I fall and crack my skull on these boulders?” every time my foot would lose grip in the slippery scree, intermittently interrupted by this other thought: “what the f- am I doing?”
Then when I thought I had reached my peak level of panic, the rope ended. Before more panic rose in me, I realized that it was the top I had reached.
I had made it to the top! I had done it!!
I melted in a wave of joy and relief, tears starting to fill up my eyes, but those feelings were quickly interrupted by a question: How was I going to make it back down again tomorrow on the return? I wasn't very experienced but I knew at least that climbing down was more tricky for me.
Also, this was the last place I would have a phone signal. As soon as I would start going down in the valley I would lose the possibility to call anyone for help. From that point onwards the only person I could rely on was myself.
The view up the mountain pass.
But I had to keep going to reach my goal, and the struggle of going up was replaced by the reward of going down. It was a bit snowy at the top and the snow gave birth to a river I followed down until I caught a glimpse of an orange tower by the shore: the lighthouse.
This view gave me a feeling I had not had in a while: I was proud of myself, I had reached one more beacon of light and not the easiest! I was exhausted but my curiosity was stronger so I started to explore my surroundings and went to the top of the lighthouse.
That is when I fully felt the remoteness of that place. Mountains to the north, east, and south, and the vastness of the Atlantic Ocean to the west. I was all alone in this raw environment and I loved it.
The hike had made me so tired that I decided to paint the lighthouse the next day and I went to sleep early.
If only I had known what that night was going to be like! But there was one thing I got lucky about: this was in June, which is the midnight sun season in Iceland, meaning that the night wouldn't be dark.
And what I experienced that night would have been much more terrifying in the dark...
Even if I knew that I was all alone in the middle of nowhere I still took the precaution to lock the door of that house before going to sleep.
It started with a strange dream where I was hearing the voice of a woman calling my name on the radio in the house. She was calling my name repeatedly, but it was the wrong name. She was calling me “Nathalie” instead of “Mathilde”.
But then I woke up and I didn’t even have time to dwell on this strange dream, because I started hearing something that immediately gave me cold sweat: footsteps.
Footsteps inside the house. There was someone in this house with me and while all the impossible reasons for that to happen were racing in my head the footsteps were getting closer and closer to my bed.
When I wanted to move to look at who - or what - was right by my bedside, I was paralyzed.
I now look at the watercolor painting I have made of Galtarviti. It is a peaceful view; you wouldn’t suspect all the challenges I had to go through to make it. Back in my car in the valley of Skálavík, in a safe familiar place, I start to process what had happened.
So, what was in that house with me? An intruder? An elf? A ghost?
It was none of that.
After being paralyzed for what felt like an eternity, I finally sprung off my bed, only to realize that there was nobody in that room with me. I was all alone.
I had just experienced for the first time in my life what is called sleep paralysis. This terrifying sleep disorder had to happen to me when I was in the middle of nowhere?! Seriously?!
Suspicious of every noise I would hear, the remainder of my night wasn’t restful. So, when I woke up at nine, I decided to pack up and get the hell out of that house, out in the open. I had a quick breakfast outside, then found the point of view I wanted to paint the lighthouse from, made my watercolor, and started my hike back to civilization.
Going down the mountain pass took me a very long time, but I managed, and I was beyond relieved to retrieve the safe space of my camperized car. I had overcome the challenge.
But, don’t get me wrong: Galtarviti is a place I would love to return to, especially now as a more experienced hiker. I would go back because now I know that there is only one thing I should be scared of out there: myself - or the tricks that my unconscious can play on me because of my lack of confidence.
I feel so grateful for this adventure because going through such challenges always makes me stronger, mentally and physically. This was my start as a beginner adventurer and I have since undertaken much bigger challenges, raising the bar slightly higher after each experience.
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