The guide for the Korean group had told us the night before that Day 3 of the Laugavegur would be much easier, so there was no need to rush in the morning.

The walk from Hvanngil to Emstrur was only around 12–13 km and would take barely three hours.

But after another rough night’s sleep, with people starting to wake around 6am, there wasn’t much reason to hang around.

Plus, the weather was supposed to get bad.

Jack set off first and I followed shortly afterwards.

Unfortunately, I should have thought things through a little better because that day’s river crossing wasn’t very far from the hut. I could have just started the morning in shorts and reef sandals and saved myself the effort of changing.

Instead, I reached the river, removed my boots, socks and pants and put on my reef shoes.

This time I decided not to bother with my rain pants.

Big mistake.

The water was absolutely freezing.

It was fast-flowing too, and just wide enough for the cold to really start hurting before I made it across.

But once it was done, it was done. And fortunately I didn’t have to do it in the rain, like the people who came after me.

I dried off, dressed again, pulled my boots back on and continued.

This section of the hike was extremely flat, crossing the enormous black-sand expanse of Mælifellssandur. It was a vast open space with seemingly nothing between me and the mountains in the distance.

Isolating, but beautiful.

About halfway across, the rain started. Then the wind.

I was well covered in rain gear – except for my merino gloves – and decided to treat it as part of the experience. It was bearable, although I was extremely grateful this was one of the shorter days.

I reached Emstrur pretty early.

Jack arrived too and we started chatting with a Finnish woman who was in the middle of an enormous trek through Iceland, camping as she went.

Her tent had finally broken the previous night.

She asked Jack and me about our camping arrangements.

We explained that we were staying in huts.

Then she asked how much the huts cost because she was thinking she might stay in one that night.

We had no idea. Someone else had booked everything for us. Both of us suddenly felt extremely useless and soft.

Markarfljót Canyon

After sheltering for a while and eating some food, the rain stopped, although the sky remained grey and it was still cold.

I got directions to nearby Markarfljót Canyon, which could be reached on a roughly hour-long loop from the huts.

The canyon was enormous.

Unbelievably enormous.

It was wide, deep and seemingly endless, the river far, far below us.

Summer arrived while I was gawping at it and we tentatively took photos of one another, neither of us wanting to get too close to the edge in case the ground crumbled or a gust of wind sent us over.

We continued around the loop, surrounded by glaciers in the distance, rivers, mountains and fields.

More Icelandic wonder.

I couldn’t believe it. After only a couple of days filled with spectacle, this was still one of the standouts.

Back at Emstrur, we moved into our hut.

This was by far the smallest accommodation of the trek. There were only two sleeping huts and the kitchen and eating areas were directly beside the beds rather than in separate rooms.

And when I say beds, I’m being generous.

There was essentially one giant bunk along two sides of the room, with four to six skinny mattresses laid side-by-side on both the top and bottom levels. Our hut slept 20 people.

Having arrived early, Jack, Summer and I picked the positions we thought would be best. I chose an edge mattress so I wouldn’t feel quite so enclosed.

Then, after lunch, a shower and some card games, a 16-person guided tour group walked in.

The reality of everyone having to sleep side-by-side with relative strangers suddenly kicked in. There was a little panic as they tried to work out where everyone was supposed to go. Eventually it all got sorted.

For a while, I thought I’d scored the spare mattress beside me. Later, one of the men took it, although the upside was that 22-year-old Summer got a little more distance between herself and a 60-year-old man.

(Almost) Total Eclipse of the Heart

That Wednesday also happened to be the day of the solar eclipse.

The Snæfellsnes Peninsula in western Iceland was in the path of totality, while where we were staying in the Highlands we were due to get very close to it.

Unfortunately, the weather had other ideas.

The clouds stayed throughout. When the eclipse began, we all went outside in the rain anyway. The world dimmed. People became quiet. Then the light returned. And people complained.

We hadn’t seen the classic unobstructed view of the Sun disappearing, but I still found it extraordinary. So much of the world’s light simply vanished. There was a strange gloom unlike anything you would ordinarily encounter in the middle of the day.

I was moved.

Another moment of amazement on a trek that was becoming full of them.

So much for the “worst” day.