The Saga of Bavychlorskjevya boskjorB - Canto the Second

For those of you that have been waiting anxiously for the next installment in the Icelandic Saga of Bachelor boB (that's Bavychlorskjevya in Icelandic) here is the most recent post. Apparently he lives, but only by the skin of his teeth, and perhaps a few knuckles.

I should be dead.

Note that there is no humor in that statement.

I endured cold, rain, sleet, heat, non-existent trails, deep sand, sharp lava, impossible footing, quicksand (for real), bog, drought, sand storms, fog, impossible wind (tent was literally flattened, then dragged across the sands with me+gear inside = 250 lbs. *several* times in a night+day), etc. But all of that really means nothing.

My 20-day hike ended yesterday (Thursday), for on Wednesday afternoon (day 10 or 11; not sure) I was swept away during a river ford. Two rivers off of a glaciar have re-routed themselves into one. After hours of trying to travel upstream, through crumbling moraine, ice, and hidden mud pits, to get across or above the source, I went back downstream to the original jeep ford and headed across.

The current swept the very loose bottom from below my feet, a Leki hiking pole snapped, and I went under. Mind you, this river is ragging and barely above freezing, with a large floating ice content. I was tumbled, above and below the surface, for several minutes. A shoe was pulled off by the force of the current, but the gaitor kept it to me. Knowing that I would never make it out without both shoes, I gave up on stopping myself or standing up in order to secure the shoe and lost the broken Leki in the process. Somehow I managed to get my right wrist through the shoe´s laces.

At that point I was in fast and deep enough water to follow the advice I´ve read of getting yourself feet-first+head up going downstream. From that position, I dragged my hands to try to stop myself. They and my feet found bottom very abruptly soon after, but dragged for some time. Though stopped, I could not stand for the soaked pack, so I rolled over to face upstream. Trying to stand, I suddenly realized that my legs were so numb that they were failing, so I forced myself onto my knees using the Leki and both arms. Once up, I headed for the far shore only to be swept away again.

From there, I dog-paddled for the shore like my life was ending. (It was..) Thankfully, the current threw me to the bank and I dragged myself up it.. I could no longer feel legs or hands, which was good, as I dragged myself up the bank to behind a large boulder. (The wind was still gusting 40-60 kph.)

I have never even heard of someone shaking the way I did as I put on my rain jacket and pants. I was screaming to keep going and the blood was pouring from my hands and knees. The rain gear did what nothing else would of as I lay trembling behind the rock. Once I could stand, I headed for better cover, and noted that I had been swept downstream at least a mile.

My right hand was unusable, the shoe laces having constricted it in the current. I somehow managed to get my tent up with my left hand and right armpit. For the time, I thought my right wrist was broken. Though the howling wind quickly dried the pack, it had about 10 new lbs. of volcanic sand in it. My clothes were worthless (soaked + sand), but the waterproof sack and synthetic sleeping bag did their roll. That night was sleepless as the wind turned into a sandstorm. I sat up to support the tent "roof" for the worst part.

When morning came, I was coherent enough to know that no one was coming for me, no one would be coming by, and I was far enough away from the route to likely never be found. I did what it took to get walking again, having lost nothing except the one Leki.

My best way out was back across the same river. I cried at its edge.

Then I used my brain a little better than in the preceeding 24 hours. I followed the river for several kilometers downstream to the lake it entered. The area is currently in its seasonal drought and the lake is very low. Before reaching the lake, the river split into dozens of channels. I zigzagged my way across them, feet renumbed with ice water, until I was fully on the opposite shore.

This was still a very risky route, as the river *out* of the lake is impassable, which is why the trail takes the route it does. When I saw jeep tracks around the shore, I knew that it had recently been crossed and the tears now flowed from relief.

Around the very large lake´s shore, insane wind and deep sand still battered me, my hands and knees missing lots of skin and covered in cuts and blood blisters. My right hand was still about 50% too large and the fingers barely worked.

That´s when I saw 2 hikers, standing on the south shore, watching me approach. When I got to them, all I could say was, "I hope you guys are doing better than I am."

They had driven to the new dam (which removed the impassable drainage river) and hiked out to see if the river I was swept away in was fordable. They needed to know in preparation for doing a hike that covered some of my same route. I briefly told them my story, how to successfully cross it, and we 3 returned to their car. They were openly surprised by my route, being solo, and having survived. Icelanders don´t mince words.

An unimaginably different 24 hours later, I am back in Rekjavik (capital), showered, in twice laundered clothes, have about half my gear cleaned and dried, have the tent functioning again (it´s now died 3 times; I showered with it last night), have eaten a great pizza, cheese, fresh bread, and skyr (yogurt), it´s calm, bright sun, and quite warm, and I´m planning to fly to the north in order to do the end of my original hike. (That will skip the center section that virtually no one goes to/through, for very good reason.) I am covered in large, deep bruises, I´m almost certain that I have a damaged (not broken) right-front rib, my back hurts very badly in one spot, and I look like I fell off a mountain bike at full speed. But I´m not going to waste the next 12 days.

My fingers are very painful, so this has not been easy to write physically or emotionally. I´m not going back to check or correct. I just want everyone to know a few things:

I did something stupid. I should have known better. It almost cost me my life. Hikers die in that same river every 2-3 years and I knew that. I really should be dead. I´m not going to play the "What if...?" game and/or the "If only I had..." game. I´m just going to accept that what happened is what happened and continue to live accordingly, appreciating that I´m (mostly) okay and knowing that things can go from fine, to nightmarish, back to almost normal at dizzying speed. Life is perilous, tenuous, and precious.

Think about that and be happy.

boB Goes to Iceland

In 1996 I walked from Georgia to Maine on the Appalachian Trail. People are often amazed at this as if walking was a difficult thing to do. Once you get the hang of it, it's pretty easy actually.

I spent much of my time on that stroll with Paul Palm aka Bachelor boB. After completing the AT, boB did a stint playing the trombone for the U.S. Navy. Apparently during his hitch working for Uncle Sam he saved up all his pay and spent none of it, except to go hiking in various places around the Pacific Rim. He has been out for several years now (probably a good thing for the the Navy and for boB). Last year he spent some time walking in Patagonia (in South America, not the clothing company). This year he is apparently going to Iceland. I got this email yesterday.

I'm still packing when my departure is less than 12 hours away, as usual. This is just a test/first mass e-mail. If you're getting this it's because, a) I think you'll probably want to hear about my 4-week hike across Iceland, b) you already know of my hike and want to hear about it in order to confirm that I'm still alive, or c) you already know of my hike and want to know as soon as I croak so you can come collect some of my goodies.
Having survived my 6 weeks in Patagonia last Xmas, including the solo (and nearly gearless) crossing of Viedma Glacier and the crazed/failed attempt to hike around Tierra del Fuego, I think I'll be fine in Iceland. All I really need is for nothing to erupt during my time there. Famous last words?
Anyway, e-mail will either be far more rare or more frequent than from Argentina/Chile, depending on whether I truly head across the island (coast to coast) or opt to ring the coast (flatter, greener, populated areas). I'm more itinerary-free than I've ever been on a trip, so I don't really know which it will be yet. Reading guidebooks on the flights and seeing what others at the first hostel are headed for will point me in a direction. It's an island, so any direction will ultimately work.

I'm glad to see the boB is learning to live spontaneously. Of course, he made plans when he hiked together as well, but usually chucked them about 2 minutes into the day. It looks like he has rather given up the practice altogether in favor of just striking out. Interesting enough when the trail is all blazed for you. Should yield some interesting results when there is not trail.

Today I get a follow up:

Not very auspicious beginnings. The flight from NC to Philadelphia was delayed for hours, which would have caused cascading flight misses. So I flew to Charlotte, NC instead, then Charlotte to Boston. The Boston arrival was later than my original from Philadelphia, but my tension was unwarranted, since check-in took about 1 minute and the departure was later than my foggy brain recalled.
The problem was Boston to Iceland. A five hour flight that covered 4 timezones. We landed when my brain felt 2am, but the sun here says 6am. (Of course, it gets light here around 2:30am.) PLUS, never underestimate the endurance of a 2 year old. They can bounce on a seat, yelling in excitement for 2 hours, then scream in misery for the next 2. All while they should be dead asleep, since it was 9:30pm-2:30am to their brains. I searched, but couldn,t locate the eject button for their seats.
So, my initial idea was to leave directly from the Int,l airport and walk straight across Iceland (west to east), with no resupply, for nearly 4 weeks.. After reading books, maps, and websites, even I decided that that wasn,t a workable plan. (Still no set plan; that,s today,s to-do.) Well, guess what the guy sitting right next to me on the flight is doing?!
Exactly that. He walked away from the airport with 26 days of food, which fills *two* packs: a full pack on his back and a day pack worn backwards on his chest.
My pack, with 21 days of food, but no water, weighed in at 48 lbs. I then added my camera bag and the bag of clothes I will wear. Not counting the shirt, pants, and shoes I was wearing, the scale said 60.5 lbs. I,m gonna die. Oh, the 48 lbs. is about 22 kg. This guys, pack was 26 kg. He really may die. And he,s well smaller than me. We swapped contact info to see what happens. For once I have firsthand knowledge of someone doing something nuttier than me. I,m feeling both unprecedented relief and envy/rivalry.
So, while some of you are just waking up and others not yet up, I,m trying to defeat jet-lag by just skipping a night (which the flight abbreviated to 5 hours anyway). I,ll buy maps, fuel, etc., set-up camp in Reykjavik,s campsite, and try to come up with a 4-week plan. Something not too strenuous, since my 21 days of food is only 1,150 kcal/day and I,m already feeling hungry.

You may have deduced that boB is single, and has no children of his own, thus little sympathy for either the parent or the child on the plane. Also, that he is a first class and very artful complainer of a high order, but never lets any of that stop him from doing anything. In fact, half of the fun of walking with him was just listening to the sheer erudition of his complaints. I'm not sure what the other half of the fun was.

Of course, for most hikers, complaining about pack weight and lack of food are the two mainstays of existance. Of course, if you think about it, they generally run in inverse proportion to one another, so that a skilled hiker NEVER runs out of something to complain about.

Then later today, this:

Oh, I forgot to mention. Iceland looks like the Moon, but with moss, lichen, and flowers. Not very foot friendly. Those 12-15 km/day estimates may be more accurate than I thought. Looks like slow-going terrain.

As far as I know, he has never been to the moon, but who knows...

And just for reference, 60 lbs is a lot of weight. Soldiers do that and more, but nobody claims it to be easy. I currently carry about 30 lbs for a 5-6 day trip. If I spent some money on lighter gear I would be at about 20 lbs. But still, with 4 weeks worth of food at one shot? It would be hard to get away with less than 40-50 lbs. I think a sled, a travois, or even a wheeled cart might be a good option. Don't think boB hasn't thought of that.

He usually takes lots of pictures. It used to be ONLY 35mm slide film, but that was back then. Goodness knows what he uses now. If I can get some, I'll keep you posted.