Personally, I’m not a huge fan of the tourist trail. I want to be able to do something different and unique, while also seeing parts of a country that the average person wouldn’t. Traversing Iceland fit that bill perfectly.

It was no easy feat. Our packs were stuffed to the brim with absolutely everything we would need for our 16-day yomp. No resupplies, no extras – what if you’ve forgotten something, then that’s just tough luck.

We could only carry the bare essentials needed for hiking – which, in my case, included only two pairs of underwear and the second were designated for the flight home in over two weeks’ time. You’d be surprised how far you can get on just one pair.

There was no rest from day one. We had our schedule, which included the approximate daily distance that we needed to cover to reach the end on time. We had allowed one day of contingency should we encounter any problems along the way, as we had already booked our return flight.

Thankfully, as it was June, we at least had the midnight sun to help with motivation throughout the journey – I certainly wouldn’t like to even think what an undertaking would be like in the cold harshness of winter.

Pavement pounding wasn’t exactly my idea of an expedition, but it was our only way to get to where we needed to be. We followed the main road from Akureyri, before diverting off road and heading up on to the plateau where we’d be for over a solid week.

This road offered us our last sights of civilization, passing farm after farm with sheep pens and inquisitive horse-filled fields. Little did we realize what lay ahead of us.

Even more annoying was the ‘sludge’, as I liked to call it – a combination of ash, silt, sand and stones. You would never know if your next step would sink or not, sapping precious energy from an already calorie-deprived body.

The ‘sludge’ was also annoying when it came to trying to find a spot to camp. Having a tent that relies on firm ground in order to have structural support was not ideal to say the least, and we found they would flap horrendously in the wind. Not fun.

The weather was certainly a treat, because it was simply unpredictable. One morning, we awoke to the patter of snow with two inches lying on the ground amongst a whiteout. This was in stark contrast to the previous night’s moody, cloudy skies.

It wouldn’t be uncommon to have all four seasons pass in the space of an hour either – we’d watch, then be engulfed by passing rain and snow showers, before it opened up to glaring sun.

Walking down off the plateau and in to the green surroundings was a lush sight. We had seen nothing but stones, rocks and ash for days, so to see such vivid colours, bushes and trees certainly put a smile on our faces.

It also meant a return to civilisation, as we began passing farms again and, soon, through small towns. It was surreal to have converted vans with 4×4 tyres and bus-loads of tourists pass us on their day trips, after being on the plateau with nothing but ourselves and our thoughts.

Our final day meant only one thing – the sea. We had dipped our boots into the sea on the north coast as a sign of starting our journey, which meant we could only finish if we did the same on the south.

Going around an old, run-down house at the end of the track and across a small grassy patch, we found our way on to the beach. Leaving our packs, slowly but surely, we wandered over to the pounding waves. After taking it all in and coming to realise what we had achieved, there was just one thing on our minds – beer!