The woman next to me isn’t even looking out of the window. But then she probably does this all the time. You could easily delude yourself you are living the dream here. Helicopter travel is heavily subsidised in the Faroe Islands; people use them like buses. And in winter it’s the only way to get on and off some of these scattered islands. In fact it cost me less to fly from the capital Torshavn to the island of Mykines than it costs to get the bus to my nearest town at home.

“Look down there,” says my neighbour, who is suddenly paying attention. It’s lucky I’m good at lip reading because I can’t hear a word with the ear defenders on. But I follow her gaze; peering out onto the choppy white horses surrounding vast rocky silhouettes. The sun spotlights the bay behind us, while the North Atlantic is a carpet of deep blue; miles of ocean, with nothing between us and America. Except for Mykines. Mykines is home to just over ten people, and in the summer, many hundreds of thousands of puffins. It’s the most westerly island and possibly the loveliest of the eighteen, with its rich grass, steep cliff paths, and small settlement of colourful, wooden, turf roofed houses. We immediately stride off, holding our vertigo in check as we feel our way down slippery cliff side with the help of rope handrails. We crouch to watch the puffins fly from their burrows in search of food, and then crawl along a precipice to view a colony of gannets. We wind up at a lighthouse, where the world seems to stretch out before us. The helicopter is long gone and the only sounds come from the cry of the sea birds and the waves.

The Faroes, not the Pharoahs

I know what you’re thinking. Where on earth are the Faroes? And before you ask, they’re not in Egypt. “We get that a lot” one of the locals tells me when I meet him for dinner. In fact the Pharoahs and The Faroes couldn’t be more different for climate, culture, music, language, geography. The Faroese archipelago is located halfway between Scotland and Iceland. All but one of the islands are inhabited. While they are volcanic islands, they don’t have any of the weird landscape of Iceland. Compared to their Icelandic neighbour they are lush with pasture and follow the rhythm and pace of centuries past. They remind me of remote Scottish islands

But then, no Scotsman I know would be prepared to climb onto the roof of the Hotel Foroyar with a lawnmower unless there was alcohol involved. Around the capital, Torshavn, that’s where you’ll find the gardeners; tidying up the traditional grass roofs above your head. The grass roofs give the city charm, adding to the impression that Torshavn is more seaside town than metropolis.

There’s a tranquillity and simplicity here; the world turns slowly, with casually dressed workers having coffee in harbour side cafes and the fishermen chatting while they sell their catch of birds and fish on the front. Tourists can even wander around outside the government buildings in the old town; our kids peer through the windows of the nearby parliament building where if you are lucky you can literally see policy being decided. Yet the city manages to run an impressive ferry line across the North Atlantic, as well as an airline, radio and TV network. Not bad for a community of just under 50,000 people.

Connecting with itself

No matter how delightful the capital, it’s always a joy to leave the city behind and get out into the countryside. In The Faroes this involves a certain amount of island hopping; some islands are connected by scary one way tunnels where you find yourself playing chicken with the oncoming traffic. Connecting the islands up as the population has dwindled has been a priority of the Faroese for some time. No point on any of the islands is more than 3 miles from the sea and there are local ferries of all shapes and sizes; our boys were particularly delighted to find themselves returning from Mykines on a speedboat.

Unspoilt island life

We head off to the north of the island of Eysturoy, to Gjógv, a small village with no more than 30 inhabitants where we stay in Gjáargarður, a grass roofed bed and breakfast. It’s one of the most visited villages on the islands, due to its unusual harbour, tucked away into a cliff forming a unique and breathtaking viewpoint. When the mist lifts, we clamber around the rocks to find cubbyholes to shelter us from the wind, and then head out past the church to view the haunting statue of mother and children staring out to sea; marking the disaster in 1870 when half of the men of the village were lost. The sea is intimately connected with life and death here.

Part of the beauty here is that there’s nothing here

On the second day of our stay in Gjógv, we bike over the mountains from village to village. It’s dramatic riding up the hill and back down to the sea on the other side of the mountain. Unusually today there is no wind, but the hair pin bends provide enough thrills. In 2007 these islands were declared the best in the world by National Geographic Traveller Magazine. And it’s easy to see why.

The islands and villages are quiet, traditional and largely unspoilt by development. Sometimes there are only one or two families inhabiting the smaller villages. Some, like Mykines, don’t have roads or cars. Tourism here is about wandering the villages, looking at the sea and taking wild walks on cliff tops. It’s about watching local people do what they do, about enjoying unspoilt nature. It’s all pretty much how island life was and should be. Even the sheep are friendly. Too friendly perhaps; one of them attempts to join us in our car.

We finish our ride from Gjógv, with a 300 metre ride down into the village of Funningur; probably the oldest settlement in the Faroes.

“Where’s the coffee shop?” asks Matthew.

“There is no coffee shop.” I say.

That’s part of what makes this country so special. The big attraction is there are no big attractions. And adventure is entirely what you make it.

For all the latest on our journey catch up with us on the Berghaus Family Adventure Project Punkt! Map, check out our blog, or chat with us on Facebook or Twitter.

Berghaus Store

For Berghaus kids products including outdoor clothing, jackets and more then please visit our online store.
You can find a wide range of gear for climbing, hill walking, mountain biking and other activities.

It’s raining. The sky is moody and so are the kids. Stuart is faffing around in the front of the car looking for a zoom lens. I tell him not to bother. What could there be in a car park on the ring road that would be worth capturing on camera? Maybe another waterfall? You get a bit blasé about enormous waterfalls when you’ve been here a month; there’s just so many of them. He assures me there is definitely something worth getting out of the car for. Just over the hill. I trudge up the steep muddy bank after him. What exciting attraction could possibly be up this sludgy slope that I haven’t read about in the guide book?

It fills my vision. A panorama of blue icebergs, streaked with colour and character, silently floating in a lake. And I’m not talking about a token iceberg; today I have stepped out of the Mondeo and into the ice age. A seal bobs up next to the tallest, bluest berg, creating a ripple of sound just above the water as a mist descends to muffle it. The furthest icebergs disappear, leaving us in silence. I’m choked up, unable to speak. I wander down to the edge of the lake, where smooth clear chunks of ice have been washed up. Inside them are intricate patterns and shapes; formed over hundreds of years? I run back down the slope to the car. To get the children. They can’t miss this.

Surprisingly, Jökulsárlón hasn’t been around for a thousand years, only since around 1935. But unsurprisingly, it is one of the major tourist attractions in Iceland. I had read about it in the guidebook, but assumed we’d driven past it, or that the icebergs were perhaps dependent on the seasons. In any case, I hadn’t quite envisioned the scale of it. Aside from Argentina’s Perito Moreno glacier, it’s probably one of the most spectacular sights I have ever set eyes on. And just around the corner, we discovered the tourist industry that’s built up around it. A coffee shop with room for standing only; cars parked up haphazardly in front of icebergs, people out on zodiacs and amphibious boats to get a better look. Crowds watching the seals playing about, as chunks of ice break off and flow quickly out to sea. Then further down the road, the point where the icebergs meet the ocean; waves smashing over them, sending spray flying onto the rocks.

That’s the thing about Iceland. It’s never over. The natural attractions keep coming at you until the moment you sail (or fly) away. And then they come back to you in your dreams.

Who needs TV on this island?

I can’t imagine why Icelandic people would ever bother going to the cinema. Because the drama is all around them. Entertaining the children is so easy here. You just empty them out into the outdoors. A short drive or bicycle ride will soon take you to a waterfall, river, volcano, glacier, ocean, or unidentifiable patch of something weird. Children don’t need to conquer a volcano or put a flag in an ice cap; they are happy pottering round at the edges. Lava fields are great for playing hide and seek or chipping away at strange rock formations. Flatlands devoid of grass or trees are interesting sketching projects. Rivers are perfect for stomping over wet boulders, sliding down muddy banks, making dams or having a shower.

Glaciers are ripe for crevasse making and water play. The children’s attention on the natural environment leaves us free to absorb, photograph or wonder at nature at her most creative. And sometimes we join the kids in their activities. I can never resist a game of volcanic catch.

Movie moments are delivered in many ways…

It’s cinematic here in more ways than one. There’s nothing like seeing a film of Eyjafjallajökull on a giant screen in a farm building just underneath the troublesome volcano itself. And the daughters of the farmer even sell you the tickets to watch the disaster unfold on screen. The film tells their story; from the sudden burst of fireworks to selling the ash to the tourists in an attempt to clean up afterwards. Over on the Westman Islands you can see the world’s newest island popping out of the sea in Surtsey.  And in the Sea Monster Museum at Bildudalur you can see watch eye witness footage of monsters doing the same.

But then, you don’t have to go back through history for great movie moments. We were denied entry into the lava tubes in Raufarhólshellir due to Emma Watson and Russell Crowe taking up residence there to film Noah. In the highlands we passed the rock where Tom Cruise recently filmed Oblivion, and in the south we wandered around the Viking set for the next Mel Gibson film. All good fun for movie mad kids.

Keeping a lid on the budget

Before coming to Iceland we heard rumours it would break the bank, that it was ‘full’ in the summer and we’d never find accommodation unless pre-booked.  That it was always raining or snowing. And that it was populated by elves and trolls. While the last part is probably true, the rest of the warnings were unfounded. We had only three days of rain. And if you choose your sleeping options wisely, Iceland is quite affordable for a family. There’s loads of sleeping bag accommodation in a vast range of hotels, hostels and houses and camping here is cheaper than the rest of Europe; partly because children are free. Eating out is affordable if you stick to the frequent petrol station grills and coffee bars, and while it isn’t gourmet food, there’s no chance of accidentally tucking into a plate of whale blubber. Or you can do what the locals do and catch your own fish for free. I hooked a mackerel at Holmavik without even trying.

The best camp showers you ever had

One of the down sides to camping for a month is camp site showers. But we never had to set foot in one, thanks to just about every village having a swimming pool or hot tub. Iceland’s geothermal heating means they are cheap and plentiful, and very different in location and character. From the luxury spa experience of the Blue Lagoon to more hidden places in sea walls, greenhouses and farmland, a swim here was always a delight. We even got to take a bath in a volcanic crater.

A constant action adventure

Unlike some countries where young children are forbidden from high adrenaline activities, Iceland’s adventure companies are more flexible about taking them on board. Children as young as ten can venture onto a glacier on crampons or a skiddoo; they can help sail a schooner and I’ll never forget the sight of Hannah clinging on to the side of a raft while hurtling down a glacial river. There’s also the joy of spotting whales, walking on high cliffs to view puffin colonies before they fly, climbing into the depths of the Atlantic Rift and viewing the bubbling, spitting, churning, steaming volatile earth at all kinds of unexpected places.

Saying goodbye is hard to do

Iceland is difficult to leave. And perhaps you never quite do. We’ve visited twice this year, and are already wondering how we can get ourselves back here. Why? Maybe it’s the intensity of the environment, scenery and weather. Maybe it’s the sense of something extraordinary happening around every corner, under ever stone and at the top of every mountain. Maybe it’s the magic pull of the elves. Maybe it’s the sense of being small, and human, and insignificant. Or maybe it’s the ice. I left Iceland a week ago and I’m still dreaming of those bergs.

For all the latest on our journey catch up with us on the Berghaus Family Adventure Project Punkt! Map, check out our blog, or chat with us on Facebook or Twitter.

Berghaus Store

For Berghaus kids products including outdoor clothing, jackets and more then please visit our online store.
You can find a wide range of gear for climbing, hill walking, mountain biking and other activities.

Nothing to fear but elves and ditches

“There is nothing to fear in the interior” reads the advice to drivers contemplating a visit to the highlands. Yet in Icelandic history and culture the interior was a place to be feared; the domain of trolls, elves and outlaws. And even today, travellers are warned to travel with their eyes wide open, to be ready for trouble, for the interior is not a place to be messed with. The roads are rough, the landscape unfamiliar and navigation challenging. There are few facilities, no garages and communications can be unreliable. There can be deep and changeable rivers to ford, the weather can change fast and if you get stuck you might have to wait a while for another vehicle to pass or to get help. And that’s what makes them such a great place for an adventure.

“If you want to cross a river, make sure to put it in first gear and drive slowly,” explains the guy from Go Iceland as he hands over the keys to a great big 4WD Dodge Durango. “Stick to the roads on the rental map and if you get stuck, give us a call.”

“Wow, it’s so high up here” say the kids as they climb up into the Dodge and spread themselves amongst the seven seats. After several weeks crammed into our trusty Ford Mondeo this is a luxury liner.

“The river would have to be really deep to get in here,” says Hannah. “Can we cross one?” For us adults it is less a treat, and more an inevitability; one of the routes we have chosen, the Fjallabak route, is pretty much one continuous river and neither of us are looking forward to being baptised.

From Atlantic Rift to Glacial Tongue

It’s a hell of a ride; bumpy, and crazy and leading into wild, wild places. We choose two classic routes, and the first, the Kjölur route, begins with the familiar – some sights we saw on a previous Golden Circle Tour. Thingvellir National Park is the home of the oldest parliamentary institution in the world. It also provides the chance to climb into an active rift between two continental plates. And who wouldn’t want to do that? Then it’s a quick visit to Geysir to see the geyser Strokkur do its stuff and to peer into geothermal pools before we start the real journey.

Thin single track roads, leading to even thinner single track roads, until eventually we can see the glacial tongues of the Langjökull glacier helter skeltering down the mountainside to Lake Hvitarvatn. In the cold evening light the glacier looks gritty and unwelcoming, and they feel even bleaker when Hannah trips and knocks out her front tooth. But she’s soothed by the promise of the tooth fairy (or elf?) appearing in the tent overnight, and we are reassured by the sight of Hvitarnes, the oldest Icelandic Touring Association hut in Iceland, appearing when we have almost lost all hope. We camp beside it, with several sheep for company, using the Dodge as an evening refuge from the wind.

And on into a strange rhyolite studded world

In the morning we steel ourselves for rivers, and accidentally end up crossing one when we take a wrong turning and end up at a remote farm. But it’s not until much later in the day when we find ourselves doing them for real. They are the final hurdles to cross to get to our campsite after a long day’s driving through a landscape that looks as though it could fuel the devil’s barbecue; mounds of blackened slag heap, occasionally streaked through with green.

Landmannalaugar campsite is a little like Glastonbury. And a lot like the end of the world. In the cold decaying night, people peg down tents with rocks, and huddle together on picnic benches, trying to find some warmth behind exposed wooden buildings housing a hostel that can only cater for a few. Iceland’s endless daylight is over, and a blend of dusk and mist has shrouded the landscape. Now and again you can pick out the bare legs of someone rushing to the natural hotpools that contain the eggy smell of sulphur and bright green weed that bears an uncanny resemblance to troll’s hair.

In the morning, the scene is unchanged, except for the arrival of the early tourist buses. We follow our noses and walk towards a puff of smoke in the next valley. It takes us over a lava field, where puffs of pock marked pumice make a great place to play hide and seek. We pick a path over the rock, to an area where the earth bubbles and spits, sending steam from various openings, and intensifying the whiff of bad egg. We breathe it in. This is essence of Iceland.

On the way back, we are rewarded for our efforts by lines of shiny black standing stones. The sun briefly comes out and the boulders reflect its shine. The children rush to find smaller pieces of rhyolite; to a six year old it must seem like a field of shimmering black jewels. I run my fingers over the smooth surface of a rock; and imagine the lava slowly cooling to produce this magical stuff.

Rivers, not rhyolite lie ahead

But there’s no time to hang around as the Dodge is needed in Reykjavik by morning. The Fjallabak route is famous for its rivers and there are many on our route. We mentally prepare ourselves to plough through in our 4WD. The rivers don’t disappoint. But then neither does the vehicle. The Mondeo is a dull pebble next to the rhyolite jewel we have handled on this rocky road over the last few days. Such a shame the Dodge has to go back, because there are plenty more roads like this in Iceland’s wild interior. And many more rivers to cross.

For all the latest on our journey catch up with us on the Berghaus Family Adventure Project Punkt! Map, check out our blog, or chat with us on Facebook or Twitter.

Berghaus Store

For outdoor clothing from Berghaus including men’s waterproof jackets, women’s rucksacks and more then please visit our online store.
You can find a wide range of gear for climbing, hill walking, mountain biking and other activities.

I’m not convinced my boys need a pick axe. They do quite enough damage to each other without giving them weapons. But I’m underestimating the novelty of their surroundings. Today they have a much more interesting target. An ice tongue coming from Vatnajökull; the biggest ice cap outside of the North and South Poles.

Demolishing a glacier with only two small axes requires concentration. They take a small hole and make it bigger. They take a ring of ice blue water and make space for more. They pick at a rift and push their weapons down to see how deep it goes. It becomes clear they don’t see a glacier at all; they see the potential for another crevasse.

An icy welcome

As if there aren’t enough crevasses round here. Drive three hours south of Reykjavik and without even veering off the ring road you are greeted with a parade of glacier tongues, slowly and imperceptibly creeping down from Vatnajökull. Today we are walking up one of its offshoots, Oaefajökull. The glacier isn’t quite falling off the mountain like it used to. “The path we are walking on used to be under the glacier only 40 or 50 years ago,” explains our guide Jón Heider Rúnarson. Global warming is of course, responsible for the change.

We’ve walked in some extraordinary places in our month in Iceland, through shining rhyolite boulderfield, through pock holed lava field, and desolate farmland with grass clinging on against the wind for dear life. But I thought it would be rude to leave Iceland without taking a hike on ice. And luckily Glacier Guides at Skaftafell, (part of the Arctic Adventures family) were happy to oblige, providing guide, crampons and an old school bus to take us there.

It feels strange to walk vertically on ice and it takes a bit of getting used to. But the kids strap on crampons as though they were born wearing them and throw the axes over their shoulders like they’re off on a play date with Snow White.

A moving classroom

We reach an ice tunnel which Matthew and Cameron desperately need to enlarge. Our guide seems fairly relaxed about this and looking around I begin to understand why. It’s not like these tiny humans with their little picks have any real impact on their environment. The glacier goes back tens of kilometres and down hundreds of metres. Lofty 10 -15 metre columns push up to the sun and deep crevasses make it a scary prospect for the uninitiated.

A glacier is constantly moving, forming and reforming, depending on the temperature around and within it. The access areas up to it are all shifting sands too; Jón spent the morning digging a new path up to the glacier as the old one deteriorated during the week. And although he has been head guide here for three years, he has never stepped foot in this ice tunnel before.  Ten days ago it was merely a hole in the ground.

A glacier is a geography lesson on the move. We learn about how the melt-water runs underneath, finding the easiest way many metres below the surface. We learn how the spiky columns come to be. We hear about the teams of international scientists monitoring it. We hold the strange mossy glacier mice that roll down slopes where even Arctic foxes fear to tread. And despite its enormity, we learn how the glacier we can see in front of us is only an ice cube compared to what lies above it on the ice cap.

The boys still have a crevasse to make and they only have half an hour left on the glacier. While they chip away at a pristine area of ice, Jón holds the rest of us in turn by the waist as we peer into a hole that nature made without an axe. Then the guide grabs a stone and lets it drop into the depths with a boom.

“I love the sound it makes. I managed to count to five seconds the other day before I heard that,” he says gleefully. While Jón answers questions about the history and movement of the glacier, and how the Grimsvötn Volcano turned the green valley on the south of the ring road into wasteland with a glacial flood in 1996, I have a different question.

“Do all ten year old boys do this to your glacier?” We look at the boys, wiping sweat from their brows as they continue to chip away.

“All of them. All the time.” he replies. “But then I love doing it myself. And everyone has to throw stones.” He picks up another rock and chucks it into the hole. His smile says “Did you hear that?”

For all the latest on our journey catch up with us on the Berghaus Family Adventure Project Punkt! Map, check out our blog, or chat with us on Facebook or Twitter.

Berghaus Store

For Berghaus kids products including outdoor clothing, jackets and more then please visit our online store.
You can find a wide range of gear for climbing, hill walking, mountain biking and other activities.

Cycling ‘The Dream Road’
Cameron and Hannah are flirting with the sea; squealing and dashing for cover when it gets extra playful. Matthew stays near the tide line and lets the spray wash over him. It’s a mixed blessing because he’s sweating from the effort of biking the rough track, while freezing from the knees down. He opted for haphazardly pedalling through the rivers in his shoes and socks while the rest of us dithered about in bare feet on the slippery stones.

I can’t stop to play; I have to carry the tandem over the rocky beach. I hurry on, slightly nervous that the friendly sea will have a change of mood. At certain tides, the road becomes impassable, and the only option is to sit it out.

You see, this is the ‘Dream Road,’ where anything can happen. Known as The Svalvogar Circuit, it’s thought to be Iceland’s most popular biking route. Lord knows why – it’s one of the toughest roads we’ve ever cycled. The 49 kilometre rough track slowly (very slowly in our case) winds around a peninsular in the Western Fjords. It scoops around mountain ridges, transporting the rider over rocky outcrops, past lighthouse and farm, through puddles and rivers and alongside the ocean and its famous volcanic black sands.

A marathon takes place annually here which in 2010 expanded to include cyclists. The winner  made it home by bike in under three hours and the record has since been broken. By the time we hit the beach we have already been cycling the route for one and a half days; with no sign of the finishing line at Pingeyri. It’s lucky we brought the tent.

A dream that can tip into nightmare
As the name suggests, the road carves through the dreamy bay for miles and miles. At one point we are followed by a rainbow. At another, a seal pops up to say hello and there are plenty of sheep to count for those of us who have trouble sleeping. But interspersed with the idyllic landscapes are nightmare blocks of mountainside, where the road deteriorates so there is barely a path, or spits you out onto the side of a cliff with only a steep drop between you and an icy swim. We pitch the tent in fierce winds on the site of an abandoned farm, which is only slightly less spooky than the abandoned house that provides a junction marker further on into the journey.

It’s a lonely and wild route, and we are glad of each others’ company. But we also have the company of some extraordinary natural features. As we move around the tip of the peninsular Arnarfjordur throws up a line of mountains resembling nature’s army. A line of glacially formed tanks, born in an icy rage but now helping keep the peace of this stunning corner of the Western Fjords. I count twelve, thirteen, fourteen, and there are more beyond the limits of my vision.

One more river to cross
Two thirds of the way round, the Svalvogar Circuit veers off into the Kirkjubolsdalur Valley; ending its dalliance with the fjords. The mountain bikers (not that we’ve seen any) follow this route. But there is no road, barely even a track, and we have three tired kids and a dwindling picnic. We decide to move further around the peninsular and pick up the main road. Unfortunately this involves more river crossings.

He ain’t heavy- he’s my brother
Cameron is tired of getting his feet wet and goes on strike. After crossing on the bike, his brother wades back through and gives him a piggy back across the water. Now we know we are definitely on The Dream Road.

That would never, ever, happen in real life.

For all the latest on our journey catch up with us on the Berghaus Family Adventure Project Punkt! Map, check out our blog, or chat with us on Facebook or Twitter.

Berghaus Store

For outdoor clothing from Berghaus including men’s waterproof jackets, women’s rucksacks and more then please visit our online store.
You can find a wide range of gear for climbing, hill walking, mountain biking and other activities.

“You two at the front. You have a very important job. You need to watch out for rocks. Ok?”

“Ok!” Big thumbs up from Matthew and Cameron.

Seconds later the raft grounds on a boulder.

“What happened? You were supposed to be the lookouts. Are you still asleep?” laughs Chris Doyle-Kelly, General Manager of Arctic Rafting and our guide for the day.

Not much chance of that. It’s barely 11am and we have already downed several coffees, squeezed into rubber suits and boots, put on helmets, driven twenty for twenty minutes in a bus, listened to a safety briefing, climbed into a raft, figured out how to paddle and stranded ourselves on a rock. Not bad for a family of total beginners. I feel proud.

We celebrate with the most natural elevenses I have ever had; hot chocolate made with water straight from a hot pool. No eggy smell either. These guys at Arctic Rafting have clearly done it before.

Many times before. Hafgrimsstadir has been their base and glacially fed playground for three years and twice a day they take a crowd of adrenaline seekers down one of two rivers. Families and the nervous get to ride the Western Glacial River,  which despite its swirling white foam is tame as a kitten next to the ‘big one,’ fondly nicknamed The Beast of the East. “The Eastern Glacial River is getting the reputation for being one of the best rivers in Europe” says Chris, who will take a braver group out onto its rapids after lunch.

People have a lot to say about The Beast on the guest board of the Arctic Rafting hang-out lounge; I guess it’s a form of post rafting therapy. My favourite quote is “Looked around and my wife was gone,” but I’m sincerely hoping the same thing doesn’t happen to me.

The guides park the rafts in an eddy. Our next challenge is to jump into the river from a tall rock, get our bearings in the water and swim against the current back to the rest of the group. The guides are ready; one moored nearby in a safety boat and two holding ropes for anyone who forgets to doggy paddle for their life. It’s hard not to feel anxious about Cameron who is small for his ten years and not a particularly strong swimmer. But he deposits himself back, dripping and exhilarated.

We bounce and forge our way down a dramatic gorge, capturing a prisoner from another raft on the way. My daughter sits on the side of the boat with a paddle twice her size, confidently pushing it through the glacial flow. I’m beginning to revise my belief (handed down from my mother) that white water rafting is only for teenagers and the insane.

“Get down,” shouts Chris, and we dive into the boat.  This time it’s not a boulder, but a wall of water in our path. I look around and Stuart and the kids are still on board, climbing back onto the side of the raft, with Hannah there first.

“That was epic,” she says.

The wet and the wildlife

And then, white water turns to white horses and we are afloat on the ocean; powered only by the wind. We have moved on to Husavik; the whale watching capital of Iceland. Here the adrenaline rush also comes from a surge of water, but this time it’s from the spout of a whale. Whales and puffins gather in Skjálfandi Bay in the summer to splash (the whales) to nest (the puffins) and to feed (whales, puffins and tourists.) At the moment there’s a 98 per cent chance of seeing a whale on one of the many tours running from Husavik. We are seeing them the old fashioned way, on a ‘Whales, Puffins and Sails tour.’

Our schooner ‘Hauker,’ is owned by North Sailing; a family run company with a fleet of elegant salvaged oak vessels. It feels like the Armada when a whale is spotted and the crews bring their unique boats together to view it. But when a humpback curls its back, no one pays any attention to our sails; it’s all about the tail now. It’s a moment you don’t forget; that spray painted smash of black and white as the tail hits the water then disappears.

But like the family rafting, there’s no slacking on this boat. There are jobs to be done; and we are part of the crew. Dressed in a one piece boiler suit we never thought we’d need until we hit the cold ocean winds, we haul and rig and gyb. The captain puts Matthew in charge of the steering wheel and we pray that he’ll be a better lookout than before. Because Puffin Island, complete with its summer population of nesting puffins is the boulder in the way today. And 200,000 puffins in a huff is not an appealing prospect.

For all the latest on our journey catch up with us on the Berghaus Family Adventure Project Punkt! Map, check out our blog, or chat with us on Facebook or Twitter.

Berghaus Store

For Berghaus kids products including outdoor clothing, jackets and more then please visit our online store.
You can find a wide range of gear for climbing, hill walking, mountain biking and other activities.

Our day begins at Mödrudalar; the highest inhabited farm in Iceland, where we meet ‘the black stud.’ Not a man, or even an Icelandic horse, but a Land Rover with pit bull tyres. Ironically it’s not black but blue, following an accident and a respray. But then, it isn’t unusual for a vehicle to take a bashing out here. The road is nothing short of unreal.

Did I say road? Well sometimes there’s a road. But our guide for the day, Elisabet Kristjansdottir, who runs the Fjalladryd Travel Service, regularly takes a short cut or two when she’s transporting tourists from her home to the remote Askja Caldera. It shaves precious minutes off the two and a half hour drive so people like us can have extra time playing volcanic catch with pumice stone, making black castles in the sand, or bathing in the geothermal Viti Crater.

There’s no chance of getting lost; the family sheep graze here, and she used to roam it herself in her day job as park warden. But while this is just a drive in the back yard for Elisabet, we start to feel like we are pushing over the unchartered hump of a whale. And further on we could have world’s biggest pedicure with all the pumice that surrounds us, spewed with some force from the Askja eruption in the latter half of the nineteenth century.

Tom Cruise got dumped by his wife recently while filming Oblivion near here, and there is an end of the world feel about the place, with its barren rock face and bleached colour. The Queen of the Mountains Herdubreid presides over the area, with her ethereal crown of cloud. Elisabet says it’s partly this Icelandic favourite that makes the drive so special, “There’s always a different light and different weather surrounding her.” But apart from this birthday cake shaped mountain, only the subtle pinks of the Arctic Riverbeauty flower brighten up miles of volcanic litter. And that only dares show its face here for three weeks of the year.

There is a camp at Dreki, with a range of white tents making it resemble an Arctic field hospital. And later on, a car park, where we dump the Land Rover for a forty five minute walk across black desert, and then a slip slide down a steep muddy bank into Viti’s bright heart. The pale, aqua blue hue is contrasted only by the man in a bright green Borat style swimming costume splashing about in the water.

But it’s not the kind of pool you mess about in. It’s more of a float on your back kind of experience while contemplating the clouds as the sun beats down from the sky, or (more commonly) the winds howl around you. Viti is an oasis of warmth in an often hostile environment, and was born, like much of Iceland, from the earth’s fire and fury. The surrounding 50 km square Askja Caldera came first in the last glaciations. Then a further eruption and magma chamber collapse helped create a caldera within the caldera which became the sapphire coloured lake below the rim. (The deepest lake in Iceland.) The same year the Viti explosion crater was formed, and subsequently filled with geothermal water. And that’s the one to swim in.

And what does taking a bath in a volcanic crater feel like? A slightly muddy, murky heaven. Warm and cold, vast and small, bubbly and light to your fingertips yet dense underneath. It feels like nothing I’ve ever done before. And probably like nothing I’ll ever do again. It feels accessible and yet unearthly, all at the same time.

And for me, that lies at the root of what Iceland is about. It makes otherworldly landscapes accessible, and even normal. Want a trip to Mars? Then hire a 4 x 4 and take off into the Highlands and watch the landscape change as the rock becomes laden with iron. Or feel like being in the Arctic? Grab a guide and some crampons and stomp up the whiter than white Vatnajökull. In Iceland you can take the family for a bath in a volcano. You can wreck the tyres of the Chelsea Tractor on a lava field. You can walk behind waterfalls with the little ones or swim down into a rift with the teenagers. There are many things here that won’t be on your bucket list either. Until you come.

For all the latest on our journey catch up with us on the Berghaus Family Adventure Project Punkt! Map, check out our blog, or chat with us on Facebook or Twitter.

Berghaus Store

For outdoor clothing from Berghaus including men’s waterproof jackets, women’s rucksacks and more then please visit our online store.
You can find a wide range of gear for climbing, hill walking, mountain biking and other activities.

You can keep up to date with their progress through videos and photos on their very own location tracking map. Visit the site for an exclusive Berghaus offer.

Stuart has gone for a shower. We can hear his strangled call for a towel. But no one is brave enough to pass him one as it would undoubtedly involve crawling over slippery, mossy rock, and enduring the splash of freezing water as we hand it over. Because Stuart has gone for a shower in a waterfall.

If you’re wondering which waterfall, it’s not the famous watery icons of Gullfoss, Godfoss or Dettifoss.  It’s not Hengifoss either; we already spent last night hiking and scrambling amongst the red and brown striped basalt columns surrounding Iceland’s second highest waterfall. (Check out the Punkt!) If we were in England right now, today’s waterfall would have a name and probably an ice cream van to go with it. But in Iceland, it’s just another gush of spring water making its way down a gash in the mountainside to join the glacial flows from the Vatnajökull ice cap, heading out to the Arctic ocean.

Still, it’s good for a shower after two days of dusty, hot riding. Although not everyone wants one. Hannah prefers to knot wild flowers together to decorate our handlebars while Cameron is busy with a pencil, sketching the ebb and flow of water over pebbles in the river bed. Matthew is sleeping. It wasn’t clambering into the waterfall for a shower that drained his energy, but two days riding from Egilsstadir. What we thought would be a short ride as a warm up, searching for the  legendary worm in Lake Lagarfljót, has turned into a bit more of an expedition than we anticipated. But you get the sense that happens a lot here.

On the map, Iceland looks easy for the summer wilderness traveller. There’s only one proper road around the whole island so you can’t get lost. You’ve got as much light as you could possibly need. You get warning for troublesome volcanoes (mostly) and you won’t stumble across tricky lava and ice fields unless you turn off onto one of the F roads (mountain roads) for which you need a serious 4 x 4, not a Ford Mondeo. There are no nasty insects, most people speak good English, the sun doesn’t hang round long enough to burn and you can stock up on Heinz beans in Netto before heading off into the wild.

But in the East and West fjords, and over much of the interior, it would be dangerous to underestimate this bewitching scenery when tackling it by bike or foot. Settlements are isolated and sometimes deserted. That little dirt track? Looks easy enough on a bike, but the washboard surface, loose gravel and hidden hills can really slow you down. And it seems whichever way you go in Iceland, the wind is in your face. An afternoon’s riding can easily spill into the evening and beyond, and the gentle valley floor can suddenly become a wind tunnel when the sun beats a retreat. The transition from tarmac into gravel can also exhaust you quickly if you are eleven years old and your bike is fully loaded with tent, food and water.

We had initially scheduled double the time and double the distance for this trip. After tracking down the Lagarfljötsmurinn (a giant worm a bit like the Loch Ness monster) we intended to head into the wild interior, via the controversial Kárahnjùkar Hydroelectric Power Station and Dam, and out towards the Askja volcanic crater and the Vatnajökoll National Park, with spiky black lava field and more pumice than you could use in a lifetime of baths. It would be possible, if unusual, for a family with young children to do this ride. We’ve done wilderness riding like it before in Spain, Chile and New Zealand. But it would have eaten up a week of our stay, and as we only have five weeks to take in the whole country, with its unfolding quirks, canyons and craters, it may have been a waste. Two days into our first bike expedition, we are sure we made the right decision. We are also increasingly sure that even four weeks here is only enough to scrape the thin mantle that is Iceland.

So we will see the interior of the island by four wheel drive instead, after another bike ride to the eastern fishing town of Eskifjördur. There, in the tradition of the whalers, shark hunters and herring fisherman, we’ll be swapping bikes for a boat to catch our own supper. Unless it’s like this gravelly road. In which case it might take till breakfast.

For all the latest on our journey catch up with us on the Berghaus Family Adventure Project Punkt! Map, check out our blog, or chat with us on Facebook or Twitter.

Berghaus Store

For outdoor clothing from Berghaus including men’s waterproof jackets, women’s rucksacks and more then please visit our online store.
You can find a wide range of gear for climbing, hill walking, mountain biking and other activities.

“This summer Mum’s going to Iceland. And she’s taking the family….”

As a family, we’ve biked over 12,000 thousand miles in more than 20 countries. That’s what we call a holiday! We have journeyed across mountains, around coast, through city and countryside. We’ve followed rivers, canals, lakes and the sea. But few landscapes have been as wild, remote and full of possibilities for adventure as those we’ll be exploring in Iceland and The Faroe Islands during August.

And as well as blogging in depth about this journey on our own site, we’re excited to be able to share something of the experience with you, here, and on the Berghaus Family Adventure Project Punkt map. Check that out for video updates and pictures from the field, and to see our progress on a map.

As a family we love an adventure. We think it’s important. It’s a great stimulus for learning, for understanding the world in all its diversity, for developing your own sense of character and resilience and for developing strong family bonds. Life is a journey, essentially unpredictable, full of twists and turns, highs and lows, persistence and change. And what better way to prepare yourself or kids for dealing with that than through adventure? And this will be one summer of adventure.

Our aim is to explore the options for outdoor adventure, not for the elite athlete, but for everyday people like us who want to inject a little challenge and excitement into their summer holiday.

In our month in Iceland we’ll be exploring all four points of the compass:

- Expedition biking in the Eastern Fjords

- Getting wet in the North with some whale watching and rafting

- Going eco in the West, exploring the fishing industry and cycling the Dream Road

- Things should be more explosive in the South with a three day jeep adventure, glacier hiking, lava tubing, and various other volcanic activities.

Of course the real challenge will be learning to pronounce the name of the troublesome Eyjafjallajokull volcano.

As we noisily make our way around this remote place, 11 year old Matthew and 10 year old Cameron will be seeking out the thrills while 6 year old Hannah peers under rocks in search of the elves.

After all that we’re heading to The Faroes for a bit of R and R, and of course some new adventures and a taste of small island life.

Please join us for the month of August, to find out what an everyday family can do with a school summer holiday, two Adventure Islands, and the Berghaus blog. And if you want to join our journey virtually you can chat with us on Facebook, Twitter or through comments on our blog.

Berghaus Store

To help them along on their adventure we’ve kitted the family out in waterproof jackets to make sure they are ready to tackle any weather. The kit they chose is below:

Stuart – Men’s Velum Jacket
Kirstie – Women’s Velum Jacket
Cameron – Boy’s Lamprey Jacket
Matthew – Boy’s Lamprey Jacket
Hannah – Girl’s Binsey 3-in-1 Jacket

For more outdoor clothing from Berghaus including waterproof jackets and women’s rucksacks please visit our online store.
You can find a wide range of gear for climbing, hill walking, mountain biking and other activities.

Stuart and Kirstie are no strangers to adventure travel; on their honeymoon they cycled across South America, when their children were toddlers they biked them the length of New Zealand and they run a successful blog called The Family Adventure Project.

And now they’re up for a fresh challenge; exploring two of the world’s Adventure Islands and we’ll follow them throughout August….

You can keep up to date with their progress through videos and photos on their very own location tracking map.  Visit the site for an exclusive Berghaus offer!

We’ll have blogs from The Family Adventure Project throughout the month here.

Berghaus Store

For outdoor clothing from Berghaus including waterproof jackets, women’s rucksacks and more then please visit our online store.
You can find a wide range of gear for climbing, hill walking, mountain biking and other activities.

Visit Berghaus Online Store

For outdoor clothing from Berghaus including men’s waterproof jackets, men’s rucksacks and more then please visit our online store.

You can find a wide range of gear for climbing, hill walking, mountain biking and other activities.

Choose from a range of cutting edge waterproof jackets, fleeces, trousers & more from Berghaus.