About Floor
23,096 km
1320:46 h
Recent Activity
- TillyevansNovember 18, 2025
I hope when you get back to where ever you live,,that you write a book about your experience. 👌❄️
Floor and Anirudh Dagar went for a hike.
November 28, 2025
We began the day with breakfast in the airport cafeteria, a simple space that doubles as a communal meeting area. You pay 100 Danish crowns and eat as much as you want. It felt straightforward and almost modest, a quiet start before Greenland began revealing itself. Evelyn had arranged that we could join the Arctic Circle Albatross trip to Point 660 and the Russell Glacier without taking the full tour. We paid for a taxi — still cheaper at around 800 Danish crowns — though the reception was highly confused by this unusual setup. On the way, we passed the remains of an old plane crash. Volkswagen had once been in this area, building a road and planning to stay for ten years. They left after five because maintenance simply was too expensive. They used to race on the ice, but the ice retreated so quickly that continuing no longer made sense. It felt like a snapshot of a strange, half-forgotten era. We reached the ice cap and walked about 45 minutes to get onto the ice. Seeing the different layers up close was impressive, almost unreal. Afterwards, we returned to the Russell Glacier, where large pieces of ice calved off with deep rumbling crashes — small tsunamis rolling out at our feet. We saw it two or three times, each one just as striking as the last. That was also, quite abruptly, where we were dropped off to begin our hike. The trail itself began gently. We stopped at a half-circle bench with wide, open views. Later, we pitched our tents near the water. That evening, the Northern Lights appeared right above us. To the naked eye they looked like pale beams — almost like light smudges in the sky — but when you lifted your phone, the colours came alive. It felt like Greenland was brilliantly saying hello. Inside myself, though, I was nervous. My backpack felt heavy — painfully heavy — especially with all the food. Six kilos just in food alone. Even though some of it was meant for only two days, it was still a lot of weight. And I was a bit on edge about the group: the four of us together, not knowing each other very well yet, surrounded by people who had that particular style of outdoor experience. Instead of being curious about how they move through the world, I felt myself resist a little, like I had to prove something rather than simply observe. But slowly, beneath the nerves, excitement started to build. The sense of being on Greenlandic soil. The wilderness. The rawness of the landscape. The reality that this was the beginning of something big, something other worldly. I should probably start by saying how cool it all was — because it was cool. It was the kind of cool that lives in your chest rather than in your head. And that was Day 1: the first step into Greenland, a mix of nerves, awe and the quiet unfolding of what was to come.
05:07
10.8km
2.1km/h
370m
230m
Floor went for a hike.
November 26, 2025
I woke cold and wide awake after too little sleep. Frost glittered on the inside of my tent. First sunlight caught the snowy peaks and turned them gold. Matt was already outside with his camera, dropping by my tent flap to show frames, just like he had after last night’s sunset. I made breakfast from my sleeping bag. Freshdrip pour-over. Then packed. A tent is so much easier to tame than a crowded hut. We kept our morning ritual. Matt filled the hut book and read his new entry out loud. Brian had found us at first light, a bright yellow dot coming up the slope and added another drawing beside Matt’s words. We had a laugh over the very best illustration on the ACT bog, do check out the picture. Then packs on, west again..  The day made us work straight away. We lost the main line and ended up wrestling through hip-high willow and heather to refind the tread. Early going felt a little monotonous until the first waterfalls appeared and the whole valley woke up. Several easy fords at first, stones to hop and a quick bite of cold, before the real crossing later..  Climbs came steeper than the map suggests. Short hauls that put hands on thighs. Wind knife-cold on the saddles, so we dropped to eat out of the gusts. Lunch with waterfalls and lakes for company. Sharp peaks stood off to our left, all cut edges and pale stone. The kind Matt and Brian would go back to climb tomorrow. Fresh snow drifted in and out. Second day of snow on this trip..  My feet finally protested. I thought it was the two days without rinsing socks. Grit, plant bits, that constant wet. It felt like walking on raw skin, though when I checked there was nothing to see. I washed them in a lake, put them back on and carried on. For the first time all trail I took out my poles for support. A later ford went knee-deep and glacier-cold; the kind you feel in your ankles long after you are up the far bank..  Somewhere after the high point the mood softened. I fell in beside Brian and heard a thread of music. A Chinese song he plays at the end of big journeys, about carrying your memories with you. He played it again, and again when Matt joined us. It unlocked a lot. Gratitude. Missing Changes. The cost and the gift of a hard trip. I let the landscape hold it for a while..  The first signs of town arrived in pieces. A mast on a shoulder. A dirt line. Then dogs. Rows of Greenlandic sled dogs in their summer quarters at the edge of Sisimiut, pups loose and curious. We kept our distance and still got wagging tails and soft noses when the bold ones came to say hello. After so much quiet, the sound of a place being lived in felt huge..  We touched tarmac and went straight for food. A hotel restaurant. Negotiated a table. Reindeer steak for me, then pancakes with ice cream and chocolate sauce, and a ridiculous amount of fries. Laundry after. Showers. Hair washed. The glorious normal. Tiredness won. Back at the house we fed socks and shoes to the machines and I put my right foot up. Nerves angry from nine days of wet and balance work. Rest and soft shoes made the only sensible plan..  I remember the light most. The way the coast holds it. Blue on the harbour. Colour in the clouds. The feeling that the trail had wrung me out and then filled me back up. We walked from lake country to the sea. We earned every mouthful, every clean sleeve, every laugh.
10:54
23.7km
2.2km/h
550m
630m
Floor and Anirudh Dagar went for a hike.
November 24, 2025
Bad hut night. Wide awake at one, out for aurora. Back on a narrow bunk that pinned me to the wall. Little sleep. Blue sky. Air fresh. Adventurous day ahead. The valley opened and we followed the river. Ground switched between clean tread and wet belts that soak you in minutes. Dense willow and heather forced high steps and stole rhythm. Feet wet, of course. At this point it felt like a running gag the trail keeps telling and we keep laughing at. The official notes aren’t kidding: soaked feet for days is normal. The announced four river crossings today turned out to be four. All cold enough to bite hard, never trivial though. We agreed to cross all of them together, the five of us. Ani’s youthful energy and enthusiasm had him go headlong into one before we were complete. He walked straight into the main flow. Stuck mid-channel. It took a while before he gave in and turned back. Evelyn scouted a few metres upstream and found a line. Ani came back to us grinning, buzzing from the lesson and the rush, and made all of us laugh. As always. Lunch on the riverbank with a white wall of mountain closing the view. When the wind dropped the midges found us and out came the head net. At least I used it once. Sun, then shade. Wet feet, less cold now that the dry patches stretched between the bogs. At the end of this stage there are two sites to choose from. We skipped the lakeside hut. It is a detour to the fjord, more exposed and damp at water level, and you have to climb back up to rejoin the ACT towards Sisimiut. The lower hut is also sometimes used by local fishers, which means you may find more activity and the occasional fishy ambience (read: stinky hut). The upper hut area sits nearer the onward trail and stays drier underfoot, so pitching made more sense for us. Beautiful either way, but inland, up on the hill, won the day. We reached early enough to settle. Evelyn and Ani took bunks. Matt and I pitched higher up and watched the ridges warm to late light. Night bit hard. Frost teased the guy lines and the air went sharp the moment we zipped the bags. Matt stayed out, in and out with the camera, tapping my tent to show frames as the sun bled slow colour across the mountains. Long, glorious light. Sub-zero nights are entirely possible here, even in the so-called summer window.
06:58
18.5km
2.7km/h
220m
230m
Floor and Anirudh Dagar went for a hike.
November 18, 2025
**If you dont feel like reading. Do swipe through the photos. There are many and this is only a tiny selection from such an exquisite day.** Poor sleep. Then a morning that made it irrelevant. Fresh snow on every ridge. Big, lazy flakes still drifting down. The world white and, somehow, a little blue. First our morning ritual. Matt fills the hut book at breakfast and reads it out to us. Today Brian is fully in it too. He sketches a scene to go with Matt’s words. He has no drawing background. I filmed a tiny timelapse as he drew, which I can unfortunately not upload, but you can see the splendid picture. Time to get out. Shouldered packs and stepped into the snow again. We threw snowballs, grinned like kids, and forgot about the cold until our socks reminded us. Yesterday it took hours to get feeling back into my feet; today the sun did part of the work. Once you’re on firm ground again, warmth returns faster than you expect. Wet feet are a constant. Manageable too. We set off along a clean line of rock and tundra stitched with water. One quick ford in the morning — knee deep, quick bite of cold — the kind that makes you laugh when you’re up the far bank skipping stones you should probably leave alone with a big pack on. The landscape here sits wide and high. Waterfalls pulled down the slopes in bright threads. We kept stopping simply to look, because the new snow turned everything to theatre. Ani flew the drone and the hut and mountains fell away beneath it, the whole day humming. Matt spotted another Arctic hare. White on white. Black-tipped ears. He froze behind the lens and we watched, quiet as stones. Like live telly. People, too. Three groups in all. Four hikers in ponchos, soaked to the bone and happy anyway. A young Danish couple at the start of their walk, his pack a monster that made us wince; worried we hadn’t packed enough because our bags looked small. A tight-lipped German duo who camped through the snow and were clearly not having their best day. We traded small talk, weather notes, food daydreams. Then we all went our own speeds. The miles themselves were simple rather than easy. Bog reappeared where you’d most like it not to, just long enough to make the good rock feel like a gift. By late light the valley gathered into a hush and Nerumaq appeared. We ate, compared the day’s favourite moments, and listened to the river. Brian, The Legend, stayed close all day — steady as a metronome — and the mood ran high. It had been that kind of day: snow, sun, a little rain, a lot of awe, and the sense of the coast reaching for us now. If you only want one tip from me today: don’t borrow other people’s solutions. Heavy boots get wet too. Waterproof socks work until they don’t. Good socks and breathable shoes are fine, if you accept the bog and keep moving. That — plus patience for the picture-stops when the light goes magic — was the whole trick.
07:05
18.9km
2.7km/h
270m
400m
Floor and Anirudh Dagar went for a hike.
November 16, 2025
We began with laughter. Matt read out his Day-5 hut-book: the Crocs rescue, the sticky marsh, Ani’s makeshift tripod, the bridge, the perfect hut above the lake, and signed it off with a rallying cry for today. It set the mood. Wet, cold, keen. Out of Eqalugaarniarfik the line kicked up hard. Slick rock. Careful feet. Then the country opened into a high basin of linked lakes and dark, clean slabs. Fresh snow traced the skyline. We kept stopping just to look in a total state of awe. Waterfalls ran in thin silver chains off the stone. Between the rock plates the ground was still a sponge. One sharp ford. Mid-calf. So cold it bit. The scale here toys with you. You walk and nothing seems to move. Then, all at once, there it is. The Lake House. Red against the grey. Windows on water. Inside was empty. Somewhat warmed by stoves and bodies soon after. We peeled off socks and thawed for hours; toes, then arches, then the rest of us catching up. I was too cold. I had to tuck deep into my sleeping bag for a long stretch to defrost before I felt like myself again. Cards came out. UNO. Evelyn took her first win. Ani stayed ruthless. Brian, The Legend, chose a bunk for the first time this trip. Snow and cold had done their work. Coffee tip. I carried Freshdrip pour-over sachets (https://www.freshdrip.com/en/). Filter coffee. Kept me human. One at breakfast. One on the way. They pack flat and weigh little. No mess. If the wind gives you a calm minute with the stove, they turn a wet hour around. Tip to future me: always keep one extra for the worst weather lull. The weather never settled. Drizzle. A brighter minute. A gust through the door. Back to drizzle. We ate early. Laid out a parade of damp socks. Listened to the hut go quiet. Slept deep with the lake right there outside the glass. Good climb. Bone-cold crossing. A long stare at fresh snow. A red room as a shelter.
07:11
20.3km
2.8km/h
480m
320m
Floor and Anirudh Dagar went for a hike.
November 12, 2025
We started the day with Matt’s Ikkattooq story. As of now his hut-book entries become a ritual. He’d twist the previous day into his sideways version, would make a small drawing and then read it out loud. A tale about long glorious landscapes. The tiny red hut as salvation. Brian The Legend for pitching in the lee. Narrow bunks as a contact sport. We were doubled over. Probably one of those things you had to be there for. But it set the tone in high spirits: wet day ahead, bridge to find. Sisimiut bound. Leaving Ikkattooq, the route went straight into work. Almost on all fours over slick rock, water running down the slabs so the path briefly felt like a small waterfall. After all that climbing Matt realised he’d left his Crocs at the hut. Camp shoes, river shoes, small comfort with big value. He turned back. We continued on the rocky plains that eventually turned into a steep descent, careful steps on wet stone and mud, until the valley finally opened up. I slipped twice. Shoulder, ankle, pride. Nothing dramatic, just the taxing effect of hours on uneven, saturated ground with a full pack and no clean line to follow. We stopped in a rare wind-sheltered spot waiting for Matt, lunch and were instantly surrounded by stubborn mosquitoes. From there the “trail” across the moor is no trail. Compass leads the way through saturated ground, clay mud, knee-high plants, hidden holes. Slow, uneven going. Eventually the new bridge appeared. Fresh wood. Bridging the river. We’d heard the horror stories about the old Itinneq crossing. People chest-deep, almost neck-deep, packs overhead, all wet and cold. Standing there now, I didn’t buy every dramatic version, but I could see how deep, fast and brutally cold this river could be. The bridge did not feel like cheating. It felt like a very good idea. On the far side it was shorter than expected. A last stretch along water and then Eqalugaarniarfik hut exactly where you wanted it to be. We arrived early enough to wash, eat in peace, spread out socks and shoes. We sat on the grass in the sun. Ate, talked, laughed. What a splendid afternoon.
05:21
12.7km
2.4km/h
210m
410m
Floor and Anirudh Dagar went for a hike.
November 10, 2025
**If you read nothing else: flip through the photos. They tell the story too.** Grey from the first step. Fine drizzle that crept into everything. Clouds banded round the hills like pencilled contour lines. I’d pictured Greenland flatter; instead the path today kept tilting up in pulls that raised my heartbeat. Underfoot it was a living bog again. Peat that sighed, heather that grabbed, black seams under moss. My shoes squelched and stayed that way. Not a mishap, just the state of things. The first snowy tops rose from the clouds, a fresh dusting that made the ridges look newly minted. A reindeer with just one antler watched us pass, lopsided crown against the grey. We stepped into Aasivissuit–Nipisat, the old Inuit hunting ground between ice and sea. Its long history of human settlement shows in winter turf houses, colonial ruins, ancient graves, cairns, trails, hunting features and summer camps such as Aasivissuit. The area is still used as a traditional hunting ground, shaped by seasonal migrations between coast and inland over thousands of years. By late afternoon a small red dot on a hill appeared in the distance. Small and red in a lot of weather. Inside, with our gear spread out to dry, tugged deep into our sleeping bags on bunks so narrow you turned carefully in your sleep, we slowly defrosted (especially our feet). Food was made. Laughter loud. Outside, Brian shifted his tent into the hut’s lee and rode out the gusts like a pro. What a day. P.S. If you haven’t yet, swipe through the photos. So worth it.
07:26
23.4km
3.2km/h
520m
360m
Floor went cycling.
November 9, 2025
Eigenlijk zou ik aan mijn ACT (Arctic Circle Trail) dagen verder moeten werken. En dat komt. Maar eerst was het tijd voor het zondagse Koppel rondje. In de zon. In de herfstpracht. Heerlijk. Klein maar fijn rondje.
02:02
46.7km
23.0km/h
80m
70m
Floor and Anirudh Dagar went for a hike.
October 30, 2025
We woke to a lake the colour of pewter and made a small, practical deal with the wind. Ani and Evelyn would take a canoe with the tail behind them; Matt and I would walk the north shore*. We split the kit so the boat carried the tent and some food and promised to meet where the valley opened again. The walking felt honest (and wet of course). Glacier-smoothed gneiss underfoot, low hummocks of heather and dwarf willow, crowberry and lichens stitched between rock. The path kept slipping in and out, sometimes a sure tread, sometimes nothing but wet moss that moved like memory. Reindeer lifted their heads and went back to grazing. The lake lay long and silver to the horizon, a U-shaped corridor carved by ice and now busy with small weather of its own. For once, “boring” tried to have a say. Twenty kilometres of lakeside is a long conversation with yourself. The pack didn’t feel lighter, not really. But the day softened around the edges. We fell into a rhythm of small, deliberate things: choosing rock over sponge, skirting trickles, letting the wind keep us cool. Across the water a bright yellow dot moved just as steadily. Later we would learn his name was Brian. The rendezvous worked perfectly. Canoe and walkers arrived within minutes of each other, when tail became head wind. The Canoe Centre sits like a barn of stories — big, simple, social. I got my own dark little room as a joke christened the princess suite, played my first ever game of UNO and even won the very first round. Outside it sounded like a storm. Step beyond the door and the air was calm as sleep. Practical whisper. Canoes on Amitsorsuaq are community maintained. They can’t be reserved and aren’t guaranteed; use what’s there, keep close to shore, and always leave them racked at the Canoe Centre or Katiffik. We treated the canoe as a bonus, not a plan. That worked. * The route is theirs; it combines the canoe and the hike. Matt and I hiked. The trail is easy to follow as you simply follow the lake.
07:54
21.3km
2.7km/h
70m
70m
And you still don't have to prove anything. Remember our little chat on the way to Santiago? You can do it. Power woman.
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