THREE DAYS IN A TENT IN LANDMANNALAUGAR: WHEN ICELAND SHOWS ITS HARSH SIDE
- Roman Pech
- 10. 7.
- Minut čtení: 7
When I was planning another trip to Iceland in 2009, I already had several places in mind that I knew from previous visits and wanted to return to for a longer stay. One of them was Landmannalaugar, often described as one of the most beautiful regions in Iceland.
This isn't a place you simply pass through. It's a landscape you need to experience. Colorful rhyolite mountains, vast lava fields, natural hot springs, and scenery that looks as if it belongs on another planet.
But Iceland had something entirely different in store for me.
The journey itself already suggested something was wrong
I travelled to Landmannalaugar by bus from Reykjavík. The journey alone was an adventure.
Slowly, civilization disappeared. The asphalt roads vanished, the landscape changed, and soon there was nothing around except lava fields, mountains, and river crossings.
But the closer we got to our destination, the clearer it became that the weather was far from ideal.
It was raining, strong winds were blowing, and water from the mountains was beginning to fill the riverbeds.
The Icelandic highlands are not a place where you can simply ignore bad weather. It is not only about getting wet. Weather can decide whether you can move at all.
When I arrived in Landmannalaugar, I headed toward the mountain hut and campsite. I expected to put up my tent, organize my gear, and start enjoying my first day in the mountains.
But for a moment, I seriously considered leaving.
There was water everywhere. Water, water, and more water… together with a fierce wind.
And then came the warning.
A young woman working at the national park looked at me and told me I should leave immediately.
“The weather is terrible. There is a storm up in the mountains, the rivers are rising, and everything is soaked. You cannot stay here right now. You need to get back on the bus and return to Reykjavík.”
It was advice from someone who knew this place.
It was not fear of a little rain. It was experience with a landscape where weather can completely change the situation within a few hours.
I still didn’t listen.
The last chance to change plans
Even before reaching Landmannalaugar, the bus driver stopped and offered passengers the option of continuing on another bus to Þórsmörk instead.
Landmannalaugar, he explained, was probably not a good choice under the current conditions.
Most people left.
Only three of us stayed: a young French couple and me.
Maybe it was stubbornness.
Maybe it was the feeling that after travelling such a long distance, I simply did not want to turn around after only a few minutes.
In my mind, I still imagined beautiful mountain trails and colorful hillsides.
But the view through the wet bus window did not inspire much optimism.
Today, I no longer remember exactly why I continued. But back then, even after the rather serious warning from the campsite staff, I simply decided to stay.
A CAMPSITE OR AN EMERGENCY SHELTER?
Putting up a tent in those conditions was not easy.
The rain was falling almost horizontally, and the wind hit the tent so hard that I had the feeling it could lift me off the ground at any moment.
When I first arrived, I also had the impression that there was almost nobody else at the campsite.
I only discovered where everyone was a little later.
When I entered the washroom for the first time, I was completely shocked.
Everywhere I looked, there were soaked sleeping mats, sleeping bags, tents, and pieces of clothing hanging to dry.
Around twenty people were desperately trying to save at least some of their equipment.
The washroom had turned into a kind of emergency shelter for travelers escaping the Icelandic weather.
Some visitors had even lost their tents completely. In one case, the wind tore a tent away while nobody was inside and carried it dozens of meters away — all the way into the river.
At that moment, I began to understand why the staff had advised me to leave.
But by then, it was too late.
Three days between the walls of a tent
The rain continued.
For the rest of the day. Through the entire night.
The next morning, we learned that the rivers had risen so much that they could no longer be crossed. Even the buses could not reach us.
We were trapped in the campsite until conditions improved.
And that is how it continued.
Day after day. Night after night.
For three days, I practically did not leave my tent.
After several hours, you stop noticing the rain itself. You simply listen to it drumming on the outer layer of the tent and wait to see whether the wind will become even stronger.
I only went outside when I absolutely had to — to use the showers or the toilets.
Otherwise, there was no reason to expose myself to the wind and water.
Being outside was bearable for only a few dozen seconds.
From inside my tent, I watched two desperate travelers trying to recover their damaged shelter.
In the pouring rain, they built a small wall from lava rocks around their tent, hoping it would reduce the force of the wind.
The rain was sometimes almost horizontal, and together with the storm it hit the tent walls with such force that it became genuinely frightening.
Especially at night.
Every few moments I expected the entire tent to be blown away and start rolling across the landscape with me inside.
The air inside was damp. My clothes were wet. And in my mind, there was always the same question:
When will this finally end?
Situations like this quickly change your priorities.
Suddenly, it does not matter where you will hike tomorrow or what else you might see.
What matters is that your sleeping bag stays dry.
What matters is that your tent survives.
And then another problem appeared.
I had never considered that a tent’s waterproofing is not something that lasts forever.
On the third night, I woke up with the feeling that something inside the tent was leaking.
Unfortunately, I was right.
The windward side of the tent could no longer handle the conditions and water began slowly coming through.
Another problem was food.
My supplies were not prepared for several days of being stuck.
I only had a piece of Icelandic Gouda cheese and half a package of corn toast bread.
My plan had been simple: if I needed anything, I could always buy supplies at the small mountain shop located inside an old bus that had been standing there for years and was usually well stocked.
But this time everything was different.
There was no way for new supplies to reach the campsite.
And the people who had been there longer than me had gradually bought almost everything that was available.
On the first day, toast bread and cheese were perfectly fine.
On the second day, much less so.
By the third day, I started thinking that under normal circumstances I would probably choose something else.
But at that moment, it was everything I had.
And everything I could possibly have.
Icelandic grass is a rare treasure
One day, when I returned to my tent, I immediately noticed that something was wrong.
The tent pegs had been pulled out, and the tent was standing only because my backpack inside was holding it down.
I went to the mountain hut to ask what had happened.
The answer surprised me.
My tent had been placed on a small patch of grass.
And grass is precious in Landmannalaugar.
The locals did not want visitors destroying it, so they asked me to move my tent somewhere else.
I moved it.
There was no other option but to put it on the volcanic gravel.
It was an understandable decision.
But it was not exactly good news for my tent.
The sharp volcanic rocks gradually damaged the bottom, and during the third night water started coming inside from underneath.
It was coming from everywhere.
From above, falling from the sky.
From below, pushing through the damaged floor.
From the sides, driven by the wind.
Eventually, it found its way even through places where I thought water could never enter.
And then Iceland showed me a completely different face
On the morning of the fourth day, something unexpected happened.
Suddenly, everything was quiet.
The tent was no longer fighting against the wind.
And the rain stopped as if someone had switched it off.
The clouds began to break apart, and sunlight appeared between them.
After three days of gray skies, water, and wind, Landmannalaugar completely transformed.
The colorful mountains emerged from the mist.
The lava fields regained their incredible textures.
And the surrounding landscape looked exactly as I remembered it from my previous visits — perhaps even more beautiful.
But this time, I had to earn it first.
The beautiful weather lasted until the end of my stay.
Suddenly, I could walk the surrounding trails, soak in the hot river, and finally enjoy the place I had travelled there to see.
What Landmannalaugar taught me
If I had listened to the advice and left that day, I would have seen only the bad weather.
I would have seen rain, wind, and a campsite that was impossible to reach.
But those three days eventually became one of my strongest memories of Iceland.
Landmannalaugar showed me that Iceland is not just a country of beautiful photographs.
It is a place with its own rules.
Sometimes it allows you to admire its beauty immediately.
Other times, it tests you first.
And maybe that is exactly why those moments, when the sun finally appears over Icelandic mountains after days of rain, feel so powerful.
Because you know what came before.
About the Author
Iceland has fascinated me for many years. Over the course of numerous journeys across the island, I have driven tens of thousands of kilometers, experienced storms that changed travel plans within minutes, and witnessed days when choosing the right route meant discovering places that most visitors never see. I documented many of these experiences in my documentary film Island in the North.
Through this website, I share practical travel advice, up-to-date information, and firsthand experiences from the field to help others explore Iceland more safely and gain a deeper understanding of its unique landscapes and ever-changing nature.
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