JULY 2023 · ADVENTURE
Canyons - Iceland Highlands trek, day four
Southern Highlands, Iceland
There was no path. What had been a path had been taken by the canyon — washed out or collapsed, it didn't matter which. The route on the map pointed through; the terrain had other ideas. So the group moved as a unit, reading the canyon walls for weaknesses, finding the passages by trial.

The walls were steep and moss-covered, dark volcanic rock dressed in green that looked stable until you weighted it. Geothermal steam lifted off the glacier-fed river below, mixing with the mist so you couldn't always tell where the air ended and the water began. Somewhere to the east, a cone mountain sat clear above the valley floor, the kind of shape that seems placed deliberately.
We crossed the creek at a narrow point — five people, one after another, picking the same line. The creek was cold and fast and thigh-deep. Nobody said much. Downstream, the canyon opened briefly into a wide tundra valley, volcanic craters scattered across it, snow-capped peaks at the far edge. Then it closed again.
The canyon demanded navigation in a way the open highlands don't.
Icelandic Highlands canyons — July 2023

By late afternoon the terrain had changed. Cotton grass on a ridge — white seed-heads, sparse volcanic rocks, the first soft thing all day. Further down, a geothermally-tinted pool, the water a faint pink from dissolved minerals, sitting incongruously among the black lava. You'd be grinding through basalt for hours and then find that: warm water, the colour of diluted watercolour.


The canyon demanded navigation in a way the open highlands don't. Every crossing had to be scouted. Every descent had to be committed to. The lava columns near the exit were tall and moss-carpeted, furred with the same green as the walls — columns that had been standing since the eruption cooled, completely indifferent to the five people picking their way past them.

The braided glacial rivers at the valley floor marked the end of it. Wide, silver, cold.







