Ice and is a land of stark contrast,
near the coast brightly coloured flowers sparkle in lush meadows but travel a little further
inland and the harsh realities of the Icelandic interior awake.
Almost completely devoid of life, Iceland's highlands are a barren and desert of place.
Here it rains heavily two or three times a week, here you walk for days and see no signs
of life, here gelfalls win to kick up giant dust on several times a month.
Iceland was one of the last countries to be settled when Norsemen first started migrating
there in 870 AD.
Now the country, which is only slightly smaller than England, is home to only 330,000 people.
Of these around 60% live in the capital Reykjavik, leaving vast areas of Iceland completely
untouched and perfect for wilderness expeditions.
We had quite a few stream crossings today, stream slash river something, which is interesting,
we've had our jumping technique some more successful than others.
I've had problems with my shoes the last few days so today I've just decided to give
up and wear my wetsuit socks to walk in.
So it's half past 11 now, we've been on the go for over 30 hours, I think it's all
good, we've had one swim, we've had quite a lot of good class 3 and class 4 white water
there which has been great, it's now, well, it's technically night, as you can see there
around, I think it's time to get the tent up and eat some food.
One of Iceland's greatest assets becomes its biggest curse for adventurism, 99% of the
country's electricity is generated from renewable sources, a percentage far higher than any
other nation.
However, winds whip the landscape and daily rains batter those who dare to venture into
the highlands.
In May 2017, Leanne and I set out to complete an unsupported pack-rafting expedition across
Iceland.
We've come to parts where the river seems to be, the river is actually ice, so we want
to go up and see the water, the snow's on the top of the form, the snow's mostly water
and then I was on the top, so having a break our way through the water.
So behind me you can see Birthel, that really marks the crux of our expedition.
From here, about 10 kilometers down the stream, over 150 metres in height I think.
We know we've got three waterfalls from 1991, talks of an unrunner from grade 560.
So, probably lots of portioning today, but hopefully some rapid paddle as well.
Yesterday I, on the flat section, managed to rip maybe a 7-inch tear of my boat, and
patched it in the field last night, but it's still leaking a little bit there, so fair
to say I'm pretty nervous.
After lots of planning and email-swapping our team of five finally set out on a rainy
afternoon from Arcarero, we would walk together for five days before splitting.
Leann and I would paddle the Pajorza south-west towards the Atlantic Ocean, whilst the others
continued south on foot to Vic.
For the first couple of days we made good progress trekking along a road from the coast.
The constant rain and warnings from the locals that the mountains were shut could do little
to dampen our high spirits.
I found that if you go by the guidelines it should be 11 minutes, but I found four minutes
of funny.
Just to make sure it's crispy, otherwise it's edible.
However, on our third day the smooth tarmac road ended and the path started to climb.
We were rising up towards Iceland's interior.
Horses and bogs blocked our path and the weight of our 35 kilo packs crashed on the
use of bent-out spine.
So we've got up onto Iceland's interior plateau.
As you can see there's snow everywhere, it's very soft and slushy, it's been slow progress
heading around.
The sweep you just saw is essentially a giant puddle, we've had to probably make a
kilometre long detour because we were just sinking up to our shins in icy snowmelt for
the entire way.
So we've come up now onto a ridge line, we're hoping to take that round on some rock and
then pick up our track again in a minute.
The team looked battered and bruised at the moment, we've done many, many kilometres
walking through snow and strange quicksandie mud.
So we've just come over the last rise before the soles of the Pajosa, much less snow around
on this side, which is good, about 40 kilometres an hour gusts though, straight in our faces,
so making any sort of progress is probably going to be quite tricky.
We left the track team behind a couple of moments ago, I don't know if you can see
it on the camera but they're currently making their way along the ridge behind me, now heading
south on their journey.
Finally on the sixth day, now alone and separated from the rest of the team, Leanne and I were
able to let gravity take over and start the kayaking.
So just behind us is the first major rapid of the river as we were paddling downstream
and the water was diving under a big snow cable, it's a snow bridge like you have on a
Bravas.
But here, under a water, just assumed it was echoes like in sea caves, we just come down
the stream, walking round it, come back up and there's maybe 4 metres of water in there.
So Leanne is now having to break his way through a layer of ice that's still maintaining here
on the river.
This should create a nice clear path for me.
So we're giving up on the pack grass then, we've been dragging our boats through the
shallow rocky river for a kilometre or so, sometimes having to carry them one at a time
where there wasn't enough water and it was too far to try and drag through the water,
cut off a corner.
We're very cold, we need to get moving.
We've had a fairly tough day today, we've just huddled up in the tent trying to warm
up to be honest.
Our first day of kayaking hadn't gone well, we were battered, beaten and bruised by the
harsh Icelandic conditions.
We doubted whether we could achieve what we'd set out here to do, whether we could continue
with our journey.
Although we had trained with the pack crops back in England, we were struggling and we'd
still not even come across a significant rapid.
Over the next 10 days we would kayak over 200 kilometres, completing the first four
Solsticee descent of Iceland's longest river.
During our journey we would paddle lakes, waterfalls, hard rapids and karma sections of the river.
We found it challenging, the horizon lines and nature of the river made it really difficult
to read.
Earlier in the year I had spent four months kayaking in the pool but nothing had prepared
me for the might of the producer.
Thank you very much.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you very much.
Thank you very much.
The best part of the expedition for me was without a doubt my little red pack graft.
Despite being popular in America and in other countries where vast wilderness areas necessitated
demand for fast and light techniques, the pack graft has yet to really catch on in the
UK.
I was amazed with how well they handled and surprised myself with the confidence with
which I was able to lead down big volume rivers in one.
However, love, hate is probably the best way to describe my relationship with the pack
graft.
My boat is so empty of air, this is unbelievable, really not particularly confident at the moment
and seeing me squeezing it.
Right, here we go.
So, I've encountered a minor issue mid-river.
I think it might be time to call it an end for today.
So, we're about to try and run this waterfall.
Luckily, we've seen a slide on the left that should get us down.
It's not that hard, but I'm absolutely terrified.
I think looking at stuff, when you know you're in a pack graft, you can't roll with this
giant weight strap to the front of the boat.
It just puts you off the game a little.
So, we're on the last major rapid of this river.
It's a two kilometre grade four mini gorge.
It's a little bit nerve-wracking as there's a giant waterfall at the bottom.
Float down to the rocks!
Okay, are you okay?
I'm going after your boat.
It's my first layer.
I hate midges.
My boots are dry.
So, my boat's definitely leaking air.
So, every 10 or 15 minutes or so, as we're going down the river,
I'm having to get Leanne to give me a bit of a pump-up.
It's not really the most reassuring thing with a big canyon coming up.
Finally, paddling out from under the beautiful mist of Eurydiphos, we started our final day.
So, we're just doing the final flat 20 kilometres down to the sea now.
There's an absolutely pouring upstream wind.
Looks like Iceland doesn't really want to give up its coastal boundary too easily.
But!
I think that's much of what we're planning to achieve there.
Det NZ
You had other plans to hang your hoes on
Every row they led you down, felt so wrong
So you found another way
