A camping trip to the ‘other Iceland’

A visit to the Central Highlands yields challenges and ‘chicken’ for a remarkable group outing

Michael Guilfoyle

Mon Nov 02 2026 - 05:39 • 4 MIN READ

Iceland might be well known for its spas and hot springs and glacial lakes near Reykjavik. But there’s a different version of Iceland that few tourists see. The Central Highlands is a region of Iceland where no one lives except campsite wardens and national parks staff, and then only in the more habitable summer months, from June to about September. Otherwise the Highlands is a place left to itself, a land of blizzards, dust, volcanoes and deserts.

For our group of adventurers – none of us spring chickens – it was a privilege for us to enter the Highlands one day in late summer. We had hired a jeep for €4,300 we were told could tackle the “F Roads”, the unpaved, gravel roads of these Central Highlands, and ford us safely across its rivers, which retreat in the warmer months.

Our lodgings plan was simple. We would camp, for the simple reason that there were no alternatives where we were going.

There were three iconic places that were firmly on our planned itinerary: Herdubreid (the “Queen of Icelandic Mountains”) and its environs; the sprawling massif of Askja; and Kverkfjoll Volcano on the edge of the vast Ice Age remnant of Vatnajokull, the third-largest ice cap in the world.

We had intended continuing southwest around Vatnajokull to the south coast but some of the F roads were still buried by unusually late spring snows, and river levels were perhaps too high for our jeep’s chassis clearance.

Indeed, the issue of clearance came early to us. Our first fright was after two hours on the F88, when we were faced with crossing the river Jokulsa a Fjollum. This is a wide river that flows south to north and is the main drainage outlet of the Vatnajokull Icecap.

We weren’t used to crossing rivers of indeterminate depth and so we stared at it for a full 10 minutes, engine idling. Meanwhile, another vehicle on the other side also paused and watched us, obviously keen to see how we would get on, in a game of chicken.

In the event our jeep made short work of the river, and we regained the far bank, and on we went. By now we were virtually on our own as our vehicle banked up and down and sideways over the rough, barely levelled piste. The land became a monochrome of lava fields and snow streaks, our conversation enlivened now and again by the sight of the dust trails of a distant approaching vehicle, like a scene from an old black-and-white thriller.

Herdubreid campsite was a lovely place, an oasis of tumbling streams, green sward-grass, a picturesque National Park chalet complete with excellent cooking facilities – for just €20. We spent two nights there, though of course there were no nights – there are 21 hours of daylight in the summer months. All the time we were there, our eyes were drawn to Herdubreid mountain, its dark crumbling buttresses capped by a high crown of snow and a tiny peak.

Then it was on to Askja, a vast volcanic massif fresh from violent eruptions of only decades ago. Our route to the campsite was littered with volcanic “bombs”, yellowy brown pumice fields and glinting shards of black obsidian. We were welcomed by the wardens and staff of the modern, well-equipped campsite. There was bunkhouse-type accommodation available but by now we were getting to enjoy camping, and the €80 price tag persuaded us to stick with it.

Our hikes (or more correctly, snow and lava excursions) up and around the ancient volcanic rim of Askja were the highlight of our trip. Under our boots, there was the sharp clink of black obsidian, the yielding crunch of gas-blown lava, and the even softer grind of yellow pumice.

Along the way we stopped and took in the vast partly frozen crater lake of Oskjuvatn. Then we plunged farther south into the active volcanic area of Kverkfjoll and the northern fringes of Vatnajokull. We settled in again to Sigurdskali campsite, where two volunteer wardens told us proudly of their Celtic origins. At ages ranging from 60-plus to 80, we felt privileged to be there and to be warmly welcomed.

Because our “road” to the south was still snowbound, we headed northeast out of the Central Highlands, regained the comfortable tarmac surface of the circum-Iceland Route 1, travelled south and then west to Keflavik, and completed our circuit of Iceland over the following four days.

The vast fiords and bays of the east coast thrilled us with their colourful fishing villages and pristine rivers. The south coast was a disappointment, perhaps because it rained or perhaps because of the crowds of tourists. A one-day trip to Haimaey on the Vestmann Islands, with its fascinating volcanic cones, was an impromptu decision, but a great one.

The rain and the traffic were back as we camped close to the airport at Keflavik, but a lovely meal and nice red wine, and reminiscing about the trip, made up for any discomfort. In any case, after 11 nights under canvas, we were sleeping like babies and wouldn’t swap it for the airport hotel – especially at more than €300 for the night compared with €20.

IN THIS SECTION