WHY WE TREK|HIKE

I didn’t come out here chasing enlightenment. I came for the wind that slaps you sideways, the rain that sneaks into every seam, and the silence between storms that makes you forget the rest of the world exists.

But somewhere along the way, the noise from back home fades. The trail stops being just a trail. Step after step, something shifts,  and what’s left feels an awful lot like clarity.

Iceland doesn’t hand out easy miles. Every path is a negotiation with mud, rock, snow, or weather that couldn’t care less about your plans. Out here, the gear matters because it has to. Boots, jackets, packs,  they stop being things you bought and start feeling like extensions of you. When the wind’s howling at 250/kph, “waterproof” isn’t a luxury. It’s the line between finishing the hike and becoming tomorrow’s search-and-rescue story.

And yet, beyond the struggle, there’s something else. The quiet. The space to listen. Sometimes it’s just the crunch of your boots on volcanic soil, sometimes it’s the pause at the river before you cross, sometimes it’s sitting alone on a ridge watching clouds roll over a glacier. Those are the moments that stick with me.

I don’t pretend it’s spiritual for everyone. For me, it’s more practical: the trail doesn’t care who you are, but it will show you what you’re made of. And if you’re stubborn enough to keep putting one foot in front of the other, it’ll give you something back, a story, a lesson, maybe even a little peace.

That’s why I keep going.

Welcome to the #trek*.