Aurora Borealis

"Half the confusion in the world comes from not knowing how little we need."

- Richard E. Byrd

We finally had a clear day so we drove out to Vatnajokull National Park on the south coast to see the Skaftafell glacier.  It took us 4 hours to get there from Reykjavik.  There’s really no rush when you’re driving endlessly on one road with no cars in sight for miles.  When we felt like stopping, we stopped; when we felt like going, we went.  That was our formula.  It seemed to work.

Unlike the Golden Circle, the ring road on Iceland’s south coast is not “touristy”.  Sure, some adventurous tourists find their way out there, but not in the swarms like around Reykjavik.  It pleased me very much.  I appreciated the silence of Iceland’s vast and foreign landscape.  I don’t know the exact number, but I read somewhere that the percentage of Icelanders who believe in elves, gnomes, and trolls was as high as 65%.  Grown adults polled, mind you.  I thought they were nuts until we drove through the lowlands of Iceland.  Everywhere was one outlandish scene of volcanic rock, waterfalls, and tundra after another.  We didn’t have to try hard to imagine a little creepy thing in a pointy hat singing a high pitched  ballad as he jumped from rock to rock just out of view.  I’ve camped in the Grand Tetons among grizzly bears and the Mojave Desert among rattlesnakes but there’s no place I would be more scared to tent camp than in Iceland.  Just one gnome in the middle of the night and I would never recover, I think.

 

Seljalandsfoss and Skogafoss are two of the seemingly thousands of waterfalls that contribute to Iceland’s magic.  Just off the ring road you see them falling from the lush green hillsides, spraying mist that occasionally creates small rainbows.  The water collects then runs into braided channels that flow towards the ocean.  One day if I ever come back to Iceland, it will be in the Summer time with my fly rod.  We walked to Seljalandsfoss and spent some time appreciating it up close.  There’s a path that goes beneath the falls but it was iced over and looked dangerous so we didn’t try it.  One woman tried it and kept falling over.  Every time it looked like she had her balance, over again she fell.  She could have used a pair of microspikes I think, like the ones that were sitting in the trunk of our Suzuki 4x4 unused. 

We didn’t drive down a back road to Skogafoss because we needed to cover some distance before nightfall so instead we kept making stops to take pictures, see sites, and relish in the Icelandic countryside.  There’s no other drive I’ve ever done quite like the ring road, and considering we at last had good weather, we were going to take advantage of it.  Skogafoss looked brilliant from the road, and if we’d have seen it up close I’m sure it would have been brilliant all the same.

I’m not sure I’d call the Icelandic horse a horse at all.  When I think of a horse I think of a mustang or

a Clydesdale, something with shining fur and rippling muscles; a statuesque symbol of purity.  The Icelandic horse is more of a furry pony; still technically a horse according to taxonomy, but doesn’t pass the eye test.  Let’s put it this way, I shouldn’t be taller than a horse.  If I am taller than a horse, that horse is not a horse.  Simple.  New rule.

We had that rare sunshine and so we stopped along the side of a pasture where we saw some grazing ponies.  I’d say there were at least 15 of them.  Some were shy but a few came over to us as we took their pictures, I would assume to pose.  They were friendly and docile.  They allowed us to pet them which made me miss my dog back

home.  I couldn’t believe how soft their fur was for a wild animal, and how clean.  It was as if they’d been using conditioner all winter.  Some of them were brown, some white, some white and brown, but they all had that mane of hair that blew in the Icelandic wind like Fabio’s in a perfume commercial.  A few of them had blue eyes.  These ones looked fake, like puppets.  Certainly the Icelandic horse is an odd creature.  We couldn’t stay too long with them, so we said our goodbyes, laughed at how weird they looked, and drove off to the next attraction.

Reynisfjara Beach (aka the black sand beach) is another quick stop just outside the town of Vik on the south coast.  It’s known for a lot of things: the basalt columns which create caves under the cliff faces, the swarms of birds that nest above those cliff faces, the rock formations in the surf said to be two trolls frozen solid by the sun, and of course the massive coastal waves.  This last one I’ll focus on because it gave us an event that was both horrifying and hilarious at the same time.  My guess is it will be more entertaining than hearing about geologic formations or the life cycle of Puffins. 

Before you walk onto the beach there are several signs as clear as day warning tourists about the dangers of the surf.  “Beware of Dangerous Waves”, “Strong Current – Be Aware, “Keep Your Eyes on the Ocean” – signs like that, mostly in cautioning yellows and alarming reds.  They even go as far as blowing up pictures of tourists in the past that have been caught by “sneaker waves” and dragged out toward the unrelenting North Atlantic Ocean.  Tourists being tourists - pleasure seekers by definition, oblivious by nature – pay no mind to those signs and elect to believe the world is one giant backdrop for their pictures.  Praise the Lord for Reynisfjara Beach!  At last Mother Nature sets the record straight. 

On our way back to the car, after exploring the area ourselves, we noticed an aggressive wave breaking just behind us.  It was one of the most violent waves forming out of one of the most violent surfs I had ever seen, and it came out of nowhere.  Luckily we had paid attention to the signs and kept our distance from the ocean.  We were safe.  The same thing can’t be said for a few middle aged Chinese tourists that were on the beach with us.  Not only were they too close to the ocean, they had their backs turned to it while they snapped away at the cliffs with their expensive cameras atop expensive tripods.  I wouldn’t say the wave hit them as much as I would say it absorbed them; camera gear every which way - other tourists laughing, some screaming, no one doing anything.  My initial thought was that if the wave pulled them back into the ocean there wouldn’t be a lifeguard on Earth that could save them.  Michael Phelps would have been rolled around like dirty laundry had he gone in himself.  I debated quickly whether to do something and realized I was no Michael Phelps, so I watched in horror as I imagined the wave brutally drowning them a few hundred feet from where I stood.  Luckily they were able to find footing and get out as the wave receded.  After that it was simple fun.  Once the adrenaline went down I don’t think I’ve ever had to try so hard not to break into uncontrollable laughter.

We didn’t make it all the way to Skaftafell before nightfall.  This meant it was time again to search for the northern lights.  Thus far we hadn’t any luck, but we gave ourselves a 30% chance of seeing them out in the dark wash plains of southern Iceland, parked on some side road that we were barely able to access in our Suzuki 4x4.  Clouds rolled in, clouds rolled out, stars appeared and disappeared, the whole time we had our eyes on the sky.  As each hour passed our hopes waned like the crescent moon that we thought might be responsible for reflecting too much light to see the Aurora.  We kept track of the Kp index.  It was shifting between 2 and a 3, just high enough to see the lights, but still no luck.  Finally, after 3 hours of waiting, reading by red headlamp light in order to keep our night vision, taking turns looking at the sky from inside the car and outside, there they were.  A streak of out-of-place light we’d never seen before.  It grew brighter and brighter until we were sure it was them.  The northern lights!  They stayed a constant streak across the sky until finally they broke into S-shape curves.  The arctic display lasted on and off for a half hour or so, and though we were on a windy plain of ice in the middle of the dark, we were happy.

The next day we drove to the Skaftafell Glacier but didn’t stay long.  We heard the weather would take a turn for the worse, so we turned around and made our way back to Reykjavik as soon as we saw the glacier’s nose.  No doubt it was a spectacular phenomenon that would have been even more spectacular if we’d stuck around and explored it up close, but we favored staying safe and limiting our chances of being caught on the ring road during an ice storm.  It was the right choice.  The next couple of days we leisurely walked around Reykjavik to museums, shops, restaurants, and art galleries while the grey weather continued to blanket Iceland. 

On our last night in Iceland we drove out to the Blue Lagoon.  It was $60.00 per ticket to enter.  After we came out of the lockers rooms dressed in our bathing suits we melted into the smooth silica rich waters like walruses into the sea.  The air was cold and so we tried to stay submerged with just our heads exposed.  Every now and then we’d stand up and instantly freeze.  The water is super-heated sea water that’s guided into what amounts to an adult size lazy river.  Here there’s a waterfall to shower in, there a bridge to swim under.  A spa where visitors lather their faces in silica mud to exfoliate their pores lies in the middle, and a sauna for those who aren’t hot enough in the water just outside that.  There’s even a bar serving drinks, albeit priced as if they were being sold on the moon.  Steam rising off the surface of the water and into the dark Icelandic night lends the lagoon a mysterious aura as if you were on the set of Blade Runner.  Dim lights glow on the surrounding walls and in the various tunnels.  As we lounged about we noticed people from all over the world doing the same.  Europeans, Asians, Americans, Australians, all enjoying the relaxing lagoon a short drive from the Keflavik International Airport.  Every now and then I like being a tourist, I thought.

North of the Wall

"The best way out is always through."

- Robert Frost

The Golden Circle is not actually a circle, and it’s not actually golden.  It’s probably the worst nickname in the world come to think of it.  It’s more of a series of roads that lead to a few of Iceland’s most popular attractions.  There’s the original Geysir from which all other geysers in the world have been named, there’s Gulfoss which is one of the greatest waterfalls in the world, and then there’s Thingvellir National Park which is where you can see the North American plate separating from the Eurasian plate.  We saw all of them including a few other attractions along the way.

Kerid Crater

Our first stop was unplanned.  We pulled into a parking lot to take some pictures, have a snack, and maybe go to the bathroom.  There was a sign that said “Kerid” with an arrow.  Then I remembered the Kerid Crater from some of the research I had done and felt stupid that I’d forgotten about it.  We’d have missed it altogether if it wasn’t for how fast the red bull had gone through my system since the last gas station.  There’s not too much to say about the crater, only that it’s not from a meteorite but from a caved in magma chamber.  Basically the magma underneath the Earth was swelling the surface up into a bulge until it drained and the surface collapsed into a crater.  Very much like a sinkhole in the southern United States, except here it was magma and not water.  Anyways, it took us 20 minutes to walk around the rim and take pictures before we continued on.  When we had arrived the sun was breaking through the clouds and when we left it was a full on blizzard.  That’s Iceland in February.  We would get very used to it.

Geysir

The original “Geysir” is not very active anymore.  From what we were told, it used to go off regularly, kind of like Old Faithful in Yellowstone.  Now it goes off at random intervals that are hard to predict and pointless to wait for.  Its sister geyser is named “Sokkur” and she is more predictable.  Nowadays Stokkur goes off once or twice every ten minutes and steals the show.  We saw her go off at least ten times as we walked through the geothermal fields on our second stop of the Golden Circle.  Old Faithful is more impressive but Stokkur is more frequent.  I recommend it for the impatient geyser hunter.

Gulfoss

So we came to Gulfoss (meaning the Golden Waterfall).  I read somewhere that it’s debated as the greatest waterfall in the world.  I don’t know who has the time to debate a waterfall’s greatness compared to another’s but I will agree this one was great.  Unlike some other great waterfalls I’ve seen, this one has formed from a fracture in the Earth’s crust and its subsequent flooding.  There are a few different drop offs that lead down into a final canyon where the Olfusa river continues.  “Olfusa” is actually spelled with a bunch of dots above the O and slashes above the A, but I don’t have the motivation to find those characters on my computer.  Call me American.

Being winter, it was surrounded by sheets of snow and ice, giving it a dangerous but beautiful feel.  Every time I see a waterfall like Gulfoss I can’t help but wonder how painful it would be to kayak down it, and how scary.  Just the deafening sound of the rapids would be enough to give most people a heart attack.  The power of nature is unfathomable.  We had a nice British man with obvious photography skills take our picture above the falls and then we left over the icy walkways.

Thingvellir National Park

Last stop on the golden circle.  This is where you can actually see where North America is separating from Europe.  Having been a geology major in college this was like standing on holy ground.  The fissures that open up along the boundary are craggy and deep, some of which you can actually walk through.  Out of all the places that have looked like mars in Iceland this was the most marsy.  We got there as darkness approached and so there weren’t many people there besides us.  Looking out on all the nothingness that surrounds the national park was humbling especially in the dark blue light that blankets Iceland in winter.  We stayed for awhile after it became completely dark hunting for the Northern Lights, but as our luck would have it, clouds pushed in and it began to snow.  Again, we’d missed them.  The weather so far in Iceland has not cooperated one bit.  We’re beginning to think the country doesn’t like us being here.

Iceland

"Some people feel the rain, others just get wet."
- Bob Dylan

After a long week of waiting and packing, and an even longer time planning, north we go to Iceland.  The forecast looks ominous this week, but we've been told that the weather in Iceland is never a sure thing, and a 10 day forecast is unreliable.  Here's to hoping that's true!  Our plan is to see the northern lights and overcast skies don't play into those plans.

The lady at the rent-a-car place was informative and nice enough for 7 in the morning, but I could have done without all the scare tactics of driving in Iceland (clearly a ploy to get you to buy additional insurance).  She tried to sell me theft protection.  I read somewhere that Iceland has one of the lowest crime rates of any country in the world.  If I never got my car stolen in Quincy, MA, I think I'm all set in Reykjavik.

Driving in Iceland is surprisingly similar to driving in New England.  You drive on the right side of the road, pass on the left, and street signs and lights are similar.  It's a universal understanding that anything with a red circle with a slash across it is no good.  Yield signs are mostly the same, too, which is helpful through the numerous roundabouts.  Getting used to yellow street lights notifying you of a coming green light was new, but I kind of liked it.  I got driving down pretty quickly in our little 4x4 Suzuki.

After a long nap at our guesthouse we explored Reykjavik.  It was overcast and windy, but we did our best not to let that stop us.  We were happy there was a warm booth to eat hot dogs in.  I think my toppings (and there were many) would have flown off into the Atlantic Ocean had we eaten outside.  Hallgrimskirkja is the famous church at the apex of the city (the one designed to look like a basaltic lava column) and getting to it was like walking on the observation deck at the Mount Washington observatory.  Inside, we sat in a pew and prayed not to be blown into the Atlantic on our way down like hot dog toppings.

My first impressions of Reykjavik were good.  So many places don't feel like they should, but Reykjavik felt like a cold sub arctic European capital.  Most of the buildings are short to protect against high winds, and colorful to protect against depression in the winter, where daylight can be limited to 3 hours.  The people were nice, but standoffish, and everything was outlandishly expensive.  In fact, I would compare Iceland to Switzerland in that respect.  I think they're secretly having a competition to see who can get away with charging the most for a standard main course. 

After exploring the city, we went back to the guesthouse and finished the night off with some Brennivin vodka; also known as "Black Death" to Icelanders, and fell asleep.  Naturally we slept in.  When we woke up we took a drive to Reykjaladur Valley.  Here we took a hike to a geothermal river where the water was flowing at the temperature of a warm bath.  That was all well and good.  The river felt like Heaven on Earth, it was the hike in and out that gave our duo some trouble.  Though it was only a 5 mile round trip, the conditions weren't ideal.  Ice particles were blowing hard in our direction on the way up and against us on the way down; very similar to a day above treeline in the White Mountains.  In between we got wet bathing in the river and had to do our best to dry off quickly and put our clothes back on before freezing to the Iceland ground like trolls caught in the sun.  Anybody from the outside looking in would have found that part particularly amusing.  On the trail, we were surrounded by snow, ice, and steaming water, an unusual combination.  Around the time we got back to the car it was dark.  We took advantage and tried to find a place where the sky was clear so we could see the Northern Lights.  No luck.  The sky was either too cloudy or was too close to Reykjavik for us to see anything.  The Golden Circle awaits us...