Horizontal Rain and a Lake above the Ocean: Hiking on the Faroe Islands.
October 13, 2024
It is always pouring rain here, it is always freezing cold, and hikers are constantly gooshing through mud while on the trails. I work in marketing for tourism as a freelance copywriter, where we always describe everything as “picturesque,” “incomparable,” or “vibrant.” But I would much rather write about how a place really is—and then tell people why they should come anyway. Because an area does not have to be dreamlike, scenic, culturally diverse, or the latest shit to offer a special and memorable experience.
That's why today I'm telling you about our trip to the Faroe Islands. A piece of land broken up into tiny islands in the middle of the North Atlantic. Just rocks protruding up from the sea with meadows on top—if you can see them through the foggy rain. While on the islands, you are constantly on the edge of a precipice, you can never leave the house without rain gear, you are always at risk of getting shat upon by a seagull, and you’re always surprised by something you didn't see coming.
Join us as we fight our way along the old postal route to a forgotten village, rumble fearfully through a tiny, pitch-black tunnel with only one lane, and stand on a lake overlooking the ocean: put away your sugar candy bar—let's get out!
The fail with the rental van
We were planning our trek along Iceland's Laugavegur long-distance hiking trail when it occurred to me that we could stop over on the Faroe Islands for a week on our way back to Germany.
Now we are here. With a rental van. We want to try out that mysterious van life
to see what it's all about. A crap idea. The camper van from campervans.fo is the absolute most basic conversion imaginable, which wasn't at all clear from the description and
photos on the internet. Zero insulation, an auxiliary heater that only works if you drive around all day to charge its tiny battery, no ventilation when parked,
and cooking must be done outside.
Outside, in a country where it is raining all the time. At 45°F. Inside the van, cold condensation drips from the tin ceiling at night. It's so romantic that I'd like to burn the
thing down on the spot. But I can’t. Because it's raining all the time.
Conclusion: We were in a poorly equipped van in a country that is generally not well suited to van life. Well, never mind. Luckily, we arrive at a campsite—you're not allowed to wild camp or free-stand on the Faroe Islands—where there is a warm, indoor, communal area with sofas, a large community kitchen, and a red cat. The cat makes it all worthwhile. As do the many great hikes on the islands.
Mulafossur and the isolated village behind the mountain
Our first hike takes us to the Mulafossur waterfall near the village of Gasadalur. A village with a very special and strange history. You will find a waterfall falling from a cliff into the sea, which is one of the most famous sights on the Faroe Islands. There has been a tunnel passing directly through a mountain to Gasadalur, and the waterfall parking lot, only since 2004. Ten minutes to drive there, ten minutes to look at it, ten minutes to drive back. Only watching the rise of yeast dough is more boring. Can't we hike there? We can!
Before the tunnel was built, everyone who lived in Gasadalur (spoiler: that’s less than 20 people) and everyone who wanted to get to Gasadalur or Mulafossur had to hike along the postal route. This trail is only about two miles long, but it leads over a steep mountain pass almost 1500 feet high. The postman used to walk this route three times a week to deliver letters to the isolated village. Ships cannot dock at the town because of the steep cliffs, and the wind is often too strong for helicopters. Until 2004, the residents were almost entirely self-sufficient. When I ask what happens in case of illness or a heart attack, I just get a Nordic shrug. Crazy. You might expect this to happen to a remote tribe in the jungle rainforest—but not in the middle of Europe in the 21st century.
After hearing this story, of course we don't drive through the yeast-dough tunnel in the shitty van, but we walk along the historic postal trail. The view overlooking the sea is wonderful, the climb is steep—and on the way back we are caught on the pass by a storm hurling horizontal, lashing rain stinging our faces like ice needles.
Oh yes, the waterfall. That was good, too. But the hike was better. And lest we forget: the cliffs are full of surprisingly aerobatic flying puffins!
Mudpons - how to avoid slipping in the mud on the Faroe Islands
A few days later, we want to see a real tourist hit: the Kallur lighthouse on the island of Kolsoy. According to the Internet, the path is totally muddy and overrun, and the lighthouse is not worth the hike.
I don't care, the hike cannot be listed as a highlight of the Faroe Islands for nothing, sometimes you just can't avoid the crowds of tourists (I'm one myself), and we came equipped for the muddy island paths: with mudpons.
For hiking on ice, you can get crampons that strap spikes around your shoes to give you a better grip. So, I wondered if there was such a thing for mud. There is! The company Cnoc Outdoors makes them (as of October 2024) and the shoe additions are a hit. They look like rubbery outdoor socks. Not even my boyfriend slips and falls on our Faroe Islands hikes and he's usually really good at that—even without mud. If he reads this, I'm sure he'll be happy because he always says he loves my sense of humor.
Kallur lighthouse and the dark tunnels of Kolsoy Island
We find that many of the Faroe Islands are connected by tunnels and bridges, some of which are charge tolls. Unfortunately, the island of Kolsoy is not one of those islands. You get there only via a small ferry. A maximum of 12 cars fit on the boat, less with large vans. The scuttlebutt on the web says it is worth booking in advance. Because I'm so ultra-German, of course we book in advance. Unfortunately, I put myself down as the main driver. I've never driven a van before and I feel like I'm sitting in a 30-ton truck, 300 feet long. And now I'm supposed to drive it onto a ferry the size of a doormat in a flea circus. Ahoy.
Thanks to a calm Nordic briefing without any emotional facial expressions from the crew, we and the van are placed at the front of the ferry shortly afterwards. I try to get over my parking sweat before I get too nauseous from the swell. Hopefully this crazy lighthouse is worth it more than the internet people say.
After landing on Kolsoy, I find the mother of all sweats still lies ahead. There is only one road with a single lane on the whole island—and the lighthouse is, of course, at the far end of the island. In between are four dark grotto tunnels, one almost a mile long. Single lane. Every now and then, they have put obscure pullouts that are carved into the rock.
Fortunately, we are driving in a kind of convoy, as all the cars are streaming off the ferry in the same direction at the same time. But did I mention that we were the lead vehicle? Lead the way, Sulu.
In the first tunnel, I frantically slam on the brakes. Isn't that a huge rock in the middle of the road in the dark?
Just a shadow, an optical illusion. Phew. I feel like a Neanderthal who has traveled through time and is racing through his cave on a futuristic hoverboard.
When we finally have all four tunnels behind us and are ready to start the hike to the lighthouse, I want to sing Hosanna—and take a shower.
We discover the hike to the Kallur lighthouse is worth the trip! Of course, we're not on the trail by ourselves, and yes, the path is in terribly muddy condition (although it is supposed to be repaired soon). And it is not just the lighthouse, but the view is totally worth the trip! High rock faces drop down into the ocean, green cliffs rise above the path, blue islands lie in the water, foaming waves lash the bluffs, and seabirds fly everywhere in the wind. Anyone coming here should leave their fear of heights at home. But once you've driven through the tunnels, you won't be afraid of anything. Oh yes, on the hike back to the van, it was, of course, pouring with rain again.
The lake above the Ocean and the power of nature up close
After another hike from the quaint village of Saksun (little houses with meadows on the roof!) over a mountain saddle in the direction of Tjørnuvik, we pay a visit to the small National Gallery of the Faroe Islands. This small art museum is well worth seeing, and we still have a visit to a floating lake ahead of us.
What?
Yes, there is a lake above the ocean on the Faroe Islands. A lake that, from a certain point of view, gives the impression of floating hundreds of feet above the sea, although it is only a 100-foot drop.
The hike is easy, almost completely flat, not too muddy at the beginning, and you will find the lake flowing into the ocean through a waterfall at the end. To be honest, the waterfall knocked my socks off more than the suspended lake.
Yes, viewing from the upper edge of the cliffs, the lake really does seem to lie like a layer of cloud over the sea—but in my opinion, the hike only gets ultra-cool when you make the effort to climb down over lava rocks to the mouth of the lake, away from the classic viewpoint. Like milk pouring out of the narrow spout of an old porcelain pot, the lake flows into the sea via the waterfall Bøsdalafossur, while thunderous waves surge towards the falling water, breaking on the cliffs below. A spectacle like a wild dance of the forces of nature. For quite a while, we just sit on the rocks and watch. You can find my video here.
The Faroe Islands is a place you can love and hate at the same time. Quirky solitude and muddy tourist trails come together here. Views and places you look at with bated breath while the rain never ends. Sudden moments of sun, storm, and vastness in a tiny little country where even the ferries and tunnels are no bigger than the eye of a needle. If you're ever on your way north: stop by! You won’t regret it.
Here you can find further hiking adventure and trips to the north:
