A few years ago, when the Hunter Jumper barn I’ve ridden at for over a decade—Huntington Ridge—came up for sale, my husband and I bought it to save it from becoming just another subdivision. Recently, my barn friends and I decided to take a once-in-a-lifetime equestrian trip, trading our home arena for the wild, breathtaking landscapes of Iceland. As an author of 18th-century-inspired fantasy adventure novels, I am always seeking new inspiration for the legendary empire in my stories. Our journey with Islandshestar proved to be exactly the kind of awe-inspiring adventure I was looking for.
We traveled 112 miles over the course of six days, riding the Kjölur trail. This ancient passage is steeped in Icelandic lore; for centuries, travelers used this route to cross between regions, braving extreme weather and the ever-present risk of outlaws who had been banished to the wilds. Some even say the highlands are still haunted by these restless spirits! Navigating the steep river banks—which one friend aptly dubbed a "horse rollercoaster"—we felt a deep connection to Iceland's past, sharing the same mix of awe and adventure as those early Viking travelers. It was a true equestrian challenge designed for experienced riders, filled with the thrill of open landscapes and long, exhilarating tölting stretches.
The absolute privilege of the trip was riding these fluffy, unstoppable Icelandic horses alongside a free-running herd, experiencing their traditions in the purest form. Over the trip, I rode twelve different mounts, changing horses once or twice a day, depending on the distance. Our second day was the longest of the journey, covering a massive 35 miles across the highlands.
One standout horse was List, a mare with massive muscles who didn't think much of me holding her back when she realized we were heading toward her home farm! Another was Nasi, a very sure-footed but initially impatient horse, and the only one I was lucky enough to ride twice. I was continually amazed by their hardiness. Unlike my own horse, Dragon, these sturdy, stocky mounts ate absolutely no grain. We simply paused to graze them along the trail, and at night, they were given the freshest, most hearty, sweet-smelling hay I’ve ever encountered. Iceland truly is a whole different world.
The landscape offered breathtaking contrasts, allowing us to ride between mighty glaciers and cross volcanic expanses. We enjoyed moments of deep relaxation, such as soaking in a natural hot spring at Húnavatnshreppur on our third day. However, later in the trip—the fifth day, I think—the wild landscape unexpectedly tested our endurance once more. What was supposed to be a short, easy ride turned into the second-longest day of the trip, nearly rivaling our 35-mile trek. After stopping to eat lunch in a valley, a dense, cold fog set in. The guides' GPS stopped working, and we lost our way in the mist, forced to navigate steep, ancient horse trails to find our way to the next farm. It was a stark reminder of the raw, untamed nature of the highlands.
One evening happened to be my friend Jen's birthday. To celebrate, our guides played "Á Sprengisandi" (also known as "Ríðum, ríðum") for us. It is one of Iceland's most famous folk songs, written by the poet Grímur Thomsen in 1880. The song tells the story of a traveler racing across Sprengisandur, a desolate, black-sand highland plateau. The lyrics perfectly capture the harshness of the landscape we were riding through. The name "Sprengisandur" actually comes from the word sprengja, meaning to ride a horse so hard it might "burst" or be exhausted to death—highlighting the rider's desperate race against time to cross the desolate expanse before dark to find grass and water. It also touches on supernatural fear; as the sun sets behind Arnarfell, the rider becomes paranoid, fearing the "unclean spirits" and outlaws rumored to haunt the desert. Hearing this played in the very highlands it described was a chilling and beautiful experience.
By our very last day, the weather had turned beautifully clear. The sun was shining, the horses were happy, and as I sat in the grass watching Nasi graze, I felt a profound sense of peace. I never wanted to leave.
Because my novels feature a great deal of horseback travel, I draw directly from these real-world equestrian experiences to breathe life into my writing. The grueling distances we covered across the highlands and the unexpected difficulties we faced—like losing our way in the dense fog—serve as direct inspiration for the trials my characters must overcome in their own stories. Riding through Iceland was the adventure of a lifetime, and the memories of those unstoppable horses will continue to shape the epic journeys within my books for years to come.
Thanks for reading,
Audra