One Day, I Hiked to Lake Sørvágsvatn

I’ll admit, the day didn’t start off in the most inspiring way. The weather was, in true Faroese fashion, moody.

Grey skies, a bit of drizzle, and that thick fog that wraps around the mountains like a heavy blanket. Honestly, if I didn’t know better, I might’ve just curled up in a cozy café and called it a day. But I was determined. I hadn’t flown all the way to the middle of the North Atlantic to let a little fog stop me.

I started the hike from Miðvágur, a small village on Vágar Island. The trail was relatively flat at first, which was nice because I had time to soak in the surroundings (and catch my breath without admitting I was already tired). I followed a worn path, winding between sheep fields and rocky outcrops.

Oh, and let me tell you about the sheep—there are more of them than people on these islands, and they give you this look like, “What are you doing here?” Every time I passed a group of them, I couldn't help but feel like a total outsider.

But despite the mist and the sheep's judgmental stares, I was excited. There was a quietness to the landscape that I hadn’t felt before. No people, no noise—just the sound of my boots crunching on the gravel, and the wind sweeping across the fields.

After about an hour of walking, the trail started to slope upwards, and that’s when I began to wonder, “Am I close yet?”

It was one of those hikes where the scenery was so wild and untamed that I kept stopping, convinced that I must be nearing the lake, only to find... more trail. But that’s part of the charm, right? It’s like nature is teasing you, making you work for it.

And then, just as I was starting to question all my life choices, the mist began to thin out, and I caught my first glimpse of Sørvágsvatn. At first, it didn’t seem like much—just a lake, nothing too special. But as I climbed higher, something incredible started to happen.

The lake, with the ocean stretching far beyond it, started to create that famous illusion. Suddenly, it looked like the lake was floating above the sea, a trick of the perspective that almost made me do a double-take.

I’m not going to lie—seeing it in person hit differently than any photo could. The way the cliffs drop off so sharply into the ocean, while the lake seems to hang in midair... it’s surreal. Standing there, looking down at this natural optical illusion, I felt like I was witnessing one of nature’s best magic tricks.

Once I reached the top, I sat on a rock near the edge of the cliffs and dangled my feet over the abyss.

My heart was racing a little—not because the drop was terrifying (okay, maybe that too), but because it was one of those moments where everything just clicked. The wind was howling, my legs were burning from the climb, but none of that mattered. I was staring at something completely unique, something that felt alive.

The ocean stretched endlessly in front of me, and the waves crashed violently against the cliffs below. And then there was the lake—calm, almost serene, like it hadn’t noticed it was defying gravity. It’s hard to explain, but it felt like I was at the edge of the world, where two completely different forces of nature were meeting in the most delicate way.

I sat there for what felt like hours, just taking it all in. The fog was rolling in again, thick and heavy, slowly swallowing the landscape back up. I knew I had to leave soon, but I wasn’t quite ready to let go of the moment.

The way back down was quieter. I think the reality that I’d just seen something so rare and extraordinary started to sink in.

The landscape around me—still wild and windswept—felt a little softer somehow, as if the island was letting me go gently. Even the sheep seemed less judgmental on the way back, or maybe I was just feeling more connected to the place.

There’s something about hiking in the Faroe Islands that changes you. It’s not just the scenery (though that’s obviously a huge part of it), but the way the islands make you slow down and really pay attention. Every step feels earned. Every view, a reward. And hiking to Lake Sørvágsvatn? That was the ultimate prize.

By the time I got back to Miðvágur, the fog had swallowed up most of the path behind me, like the island was tucking its secrets back in for the night. I had a sense of accomplishment, sure, but more than that, I felt like I’d just been let in on something special. Something only a place as wild as the Faroe Islands could offer.