Since it’s only two hours to drive from Skaftafell to Vík, I started lazily before suddenly deciding that as the glacier was visible beneath lifted cloud, I’d do the hike up Svartifoss. I had a little over two hours before I was due to leave the campsite or incur a second day of payment and although I wasn’t sure how long the hike would take, I’d chance it.
It turns out Svartifoss is a little under 2km from the campsite and the path happened to start right by my van, which was very handy. It was also 173m of elevation, according to Strava. I huffed and puffed my way up, paused to take lots of photos of the view and of the waterfall as it came into view, in a little bite out of the Heath. When I reached it, I checked my stats – 37 minutes so far and I’d taken half a dozen photos before thinking to check that. If I wanted to be out by 11, then leaving the waterfall by 10:15 would do it.
I waded out a little into the river for a better photo. In 2013, last time I was up here, it didn’t have any of these platforms and railings – someone took a photo of me grinning in the river almost directly below the waterfall, where it’s now railinged off. But the new platform means you get a good view of it from about halfway up, so that’s nice.

As I descended – probably quicker than I climbed – I did a quick survey of everyone else’s clothes. I was wearing a t-shirt, my thin hiking trousers rolled up to just below my knees to get them out of streams, sandals, a shirt tied around me in case it got chilly and instead of a backpack full of essentials, I was carrying nothing but an elderly film camera. Most people were wearing sensible hiking layers, serious trousers and boots. Many of them looked more like they planned to climb Iceland’s highest mountain, Oræfajökull, which was opposite us on the other side of Skaftafell, rather than do the gentle hike to Svartifoss. Purplish-red is definitely this season’s colour for women’s hiking gear.
I got back to the van around 10:20, so I walked up to the visitor centre to see what the whiteboard outside the door said about the Svartifoss hike. “45 minutes each way”. Well. I’d done it in an hour and a half more or less on the dot and I’d huffed and puffed my way up that hill. Very clever, Vatnajökulsþjóðgarður people.
My first stop for the day was Kirkjubæjarklaustur (the one Icelandic place name I have to look up still; I can never remember where there’s an unexpected y or j). I wanted to look at the pseudocraters but it had started to rain and by now the world was obliterated under a grey haze of water. Well, I’d still stop at Klaustur (even locals find it a bit of a mouthful) but instead of pseudocraters, I’d go to the pool. That’s the trouble with Skaftafell: the only hot water within an hour in either direction is the campsite shower block. They’re nice showers, as these things go, but they’re not hot pots. Klaustur is also famous for a waterfall, I was to learn later, and you get a lovely view from the hot pots. I didn’t swim – I’m not criticising my choice of hiking outfit but I got sweaty and then apparently I got cold without noticing until I stepped under my pre-swim shower. So I was too cold to get in a 29° pool. The hot pot, at 38-40°, was uncomfortably hot, so I spent most of the hour and a half in the kids’ pool, which was a pleasant 34-36°. See, when I say I have a preferred temperature in actual numbers, I know what it is because Iceland labels almost all its pools. 36-38° is best, the range Klaustur’s pool was missing.
I had lunch in the van in the car park and then onwards another hour to Vík. I could have gone on quite a way but I still have two days to cover the 240km to the airport and I’m hoping to do the interesting part in the dry tomorrow. Besides, Vík is nice and kind of civilised – big campsite, big supermarket, massive tourist shop. The campsite wasn’t so big today, though. The large open field that makes up half the space was a bit of a pond and even the dry patches had thick mud with deep tyre tracks in them. Parking in the gravelled areas is reserved for vehicles that need electricity and that meant precious little space elsewhere. I initially parked by the facilities building but the idea of people walking past day and night, lights on, hand dryers whirring audibly even from here – no, there had to be somewhere else. And when I walked over to the supermarket, I looked more closely. There, next to that hill. There’s space between the hill and the deep mud. I knew I could drive on the grass because I’d done it earlier, when I’d discovered that a digger had blocked off the opposite end of what should be a circle and had had to turn around and come back. If I reversed on, my door would be against the hill and no one could squeeze even a bike in that gap. Someone was sure to park on the other side but I can’t see them there.

Settled, I hurried off to the pool. It closes at 8pm and it was 5.30 by now. Walking, of course. Once you get a good spot, you hang onto it. Besides, Vík is a tiny town and even including getting lost where the service centre meets the residential area, it only took 15 minutes to get there.

I did swim. I noticed it was very similar to Klaustur’s pool – 1.05m at one end, 1.5m at the other and the same snake slide with the same scale colours. The hot pot is also a little too hot but an American was asking questions and before I knew it, I was half-talking to and entirely listening to an Icelander (from Egilsstaðir, working at Fjallsarlon and driving two hours to Vík for food shopping) and two Poles who work in Iceland in the summer. Klaustur is known for its farmed Arctic char and its waterfall. Iceland has three jokes. Winter is very quiet.
I swam 40 lengths (although I lost count twice – could be out by two in either direction) and then I thought I’d better get out and wash & condition my hair before it closes. I came back the slightly longer way via the beach to take photos of the pinnacles in the haze. I have hopes of a better day tomorrow – blue sky and sunshine we’re trying, although not very successfully, to peek through the cloud.

The campsite continued to fill up. I spent the evening watching vans drive past me to discover there’s no more room further down and no way to finish the circle. I guarantee I’ll wake up to one parked immediately in front of me rather than anyone braving the soggy field but we’ll deal with that tomorrow. Won’t be parked in front of anyone else – van drivers know how to infuriate me very specifically while annoying no one else.