Ever since I first heard of Þakgil, it has been on my list. A campsite in a secluded canyon? In the highlands, yet so close to the Ring Road? Wait — did you say they have a dining area inside a cave?

Somehow, for years, I kept putting off a trip there, convinced the area was only accessible in a 4×4, required river crossings, and was only reachable during a short weather window in the summer. The last part is true: Þakgil is accessible from mid-July to the end of September — everything else takes a bit more explanation.

Lush oasis

Þakgil is both the name of the canyon and the campsite located within it, about three and a half hours from Reykjavík. To get there, you turn inland shortly after Vík onto Kerlingardalvegur, or Road 214. While the road isn’t technically marked as an F-road, it’s a bumpy gravel track that requires a decent vehicle and an experienced driver. The surface is rough and dotted with potholes, so you’ll be hoping for good weather to keep it dry.

You drive the 16-kilometre stretch of gravel slowly and carefully, but the landscape takes your breath away immediately. Just moments ago, you were passing through Vík — once a peaceful small town, now transformed into a stinky tourist outpost (quite literally; as we reported earlier this summer, the town’s septic system can’t keep up with the crowds). In no time, you’re surrounded by dramatic hills, cut through by mountain rivers winding through the valley.

“A campsite in a secluded valley? In the highlands, yet so close to the Ring Road? Wait — did you say they have a dining area inside a cave?”

According to the campsite’s website, the name Þakgil means a roofed canyon (from “þak,” meaning “roof,” and “gil,” meaning “canyon”), so “as the name suggests, the weather is usually good,” the website reads. When we arrive one July evening, however, the weather has other plans — a warm rain drifts in and out at least a dozen times, but Þakgil still feels cosy.

Surrounded by rocky, moss-covered hills, the campsite is sheltered from the highland’s often unpredictable weather. It feels as if someone has intentionally turned up the saturation of the greenery — a shade I’ve rarely seen in Iceland. Rather than harsh or unwelcoming, it’s lush, almost emerald green. It’s hard to explain; let’s just say it’s the kind of green you picture when you think of Ireland.

Photo by Atli Freyr Steinsson

Photo by Atli Freyr Steinsson

Thank you, sir

The campsite offers both regular camping facilities — a place to pitch a tent or park a car — and a few wooden cabins nestled just beneath the hillside. Rates are 2.800 ISK per person, per night (one shower included) for camping, and 28.000 ISK for cabins, which can fit four people on double bunk beds. Each cabin has a gas stove, a fridge, and a toilet. Showers and taps with warm water are available only in a separate building. The bathroom-shower area is clean, with a tacky sign that reads: “Welcome to the Þakgil shitshow. Please remain seated for the entire performance.”

As someone who absolutely loves camping, I’m perfectly happy with a patch of grass. In just a few minutes, my tent is pitched and the grill is heating up for my corn on the cob, generously coated with butter. Just as I settle into a camping chair, ignoring the drizzle, a neighbour wanders over and, in a distinctly British accent, says, “Excuse me, would you like to use my awning? I feel sorry for you sitting in the rain.” (If you haven’t read this in Benedict Cumberbatch’s voice, go back and try again.)

Confused about which rain he was referring to (by Icelandic standards, the weather was simply decent) and, frankly, what an awning even was, I felt guilty refusing help. Moments later, the British man — who had ferried his car all the way to Iceland and even branded it for the trip, a giant “Iceland Trip” sticker giving it away — was setting up a fabric canopy so I could enjoy my corn in relative dryness.

“It’s hard to explain; let’s just say it’s the kind of green you picture when you think of Ireland.”

Unlike other campsites I’ve stayed at recently, this one feels particularly homey and family-friendly — I see kids in their waterproofs playing in a nearby stream, head to toe in mud and water, before moving on to a sandpit filled with black sand, which, fun fact, is fairly common in Iceland.

The campsite’s dining area inside a cave deserves a separate mention. Equipped with several grills and a fireplace, it’s warm and cosy, even candlelit at dusk. As I enjoy my morning coffee, a bunch of probably five-year-old boys try to make small talk with me as they debate whether to venture deeper into the cave with lanterns almost as big as they are.

It’s getting dramatic

Þakgil is also a great starting point for several hikes in the area, all conveniently marked on a map right next to the campsite’s showers. First — and an absolute must — is the red trail to the waterfall, which is more of a walk than a hike. As you walk deeper into what I can only call a canyon within a canyon, the greenery thickens, and the landscape grows wilder; looking back at the photos to revive my memory of the trip, the scale feels almost unreal. Here and there, bursts of yellow daffodils or the purple of arctic thyme contrast with the endless green.

During our stay, we also did the Reykjandargil trail. Normally a 12-kilometre hike, there’s a shortcut: you can drive from Þakgil to the Reykjandargil canyon, then continue up to the viewpoint overlooking the Kötlujökull glacier before turning back the same way — which is exactly what we did. As we hiked, mist settled on the textured mountains, giving everything an almost otherworldly vibe. At the top, the view was stunning — and a little alarming. You don’t need exact statistics on glacier melting to know the situation is dire; in a decade or two, standing at this very spot, you might not see the glacier at all. Best to soak it in while we still can.

To get to Þakgil, take Route 1 south to Vík, then turn onto Route 214. Visit thakgil.is for more information about the campsite.