From the mossy field below, the waterfalls peeking over the ledges of the broken cliffs ahead tempt a closer look. As the morning fog reluctantly lifts and makes a relaxing hike tenable, a fine mist from the rushing water chases it upward promising to make quick work of any dry socks worn hither. Narrow foot paths wind up the slopes, suggesting I’m not the first to be drawn inward.
These falls ring with a siren call every time I find myself in Iceland. Out in the Eastfjords, requiring a trip through steep mountain passes on gravel and bare dirt roads frequently closed due to storms and snow for several months each year, they’re an idyllic escape. From the moment the nearest paved road is left to begin the trek out to the fjord, all traces of civilization fade away. The last sign is the one reminding drivers it is unlawful for anything less than a four wheel drive truck to proceed any further.
But if the winter snow isn’t too high or the spring and summer mud too deep, cresting the mountain pass and winding down the disorienting series of switchbacks along the bare dirt road yields the reward of a small patch of rock and dirt next to the road and a small wooden picnic table. The pull off right at a tight downhill corner is easy to miss and barely large enough for one vehicle. That’s never been a concern on any of my visits as I’ve never seen another soul at this spot in any season.
Surely this location isn’t my own private, secret hideaway. Those walking paths, barely wide enough for a single shoe, may guide my steps but they’ve been formed by others. The rest of the fjord has perhaps five or six homes dotted about it, but aside from the lighthouse at the literal end of the road and one waterfront home at the head of a pier, none have an occupied look to them.
My covetous side hopes the one road here remains daunting forever, and the isolated peace of these falls never violated by the crowds. Though perhaps whoever may live at the one home visible further down the road lets out a sorrowful sigh whenever they see my vehicle approach; a signal that another has found their refuge.