Reykjavík Grapevine - 05.08.2005, Side 50

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We have three different maps in
the car, each with circles and notes
from Icelanders suggesting different
spots in Snæfellsnes that one should
never miss: or at least, that used to
be that way in the 1980s and 1990s.
We have received numerous lectures
on the north side versus south side
(the north shore of the peninsula
contains the larger picturesque
fishing villages, the south shore
contains the more ominous
historical points.)
As we leave the Reykjavík city
limits on a sunny July day, the
Snæfellsnes glacier seems to stay at
the exact same distance, the snow
glowing above the horizon like a
large steel cloud. For the first few
miles, I keep myself occupied with
the notion that the glacier isn’t
getting any bigger as we get closer.
Perhaps this is because it is pouring
into the ocean, causing desalination
that will immediately shift the Gulf
Stream, bringing about another
small ice age by the end of the day.
But then, coming out of
Borgarnes onto Iceland’s most
conventionally beautiful stretch
of highway in full sunlight, I am
distracted from the glacier by the
local mountains and waterfalls, and
by Eldborg, a massive crater that
provides the kind of landscape you
see photographed in New Mexico.
Sunlight and good scenery clear my
head of environmental concerns
as quickly as healthy campaign
contributions clear the heads of
elected officials around the world,
and suddenly I am right as rain. To
further clear my head and brighten
my mood, I take my friend on a
death hike.
The death hike is a short trek up
a creek located just off of highway
54 between Búðir and Arnarstapi.
At a specific location, which I can’t
name for reasons I’ll present later,
a crevice forms in a mountainside.
This crevice attracts large masses of
seagulls, who seem to thoroughly
enjoy the updraft against the cliff.
The problem: at one point, in
the back of this crevice, there is a
place for the seagulls to land where
there is no wind whatsoever. If the
seagulls land there, they cannot fly,
and they must descend a waterfall
to get out of the crevice. This being
against their nature, they tend to
starve to death or consume each
other.
If you are interested, you can
hike up this crevice, though it
requires some advanced climbing
and understanding of how to climb
with the aid of a rope—which
some noble sportsman has fastened
so that countless many can view
the slow death of seagulls. On an
earlier trip, I travelled with a group
of experienced hikers, including a
Norwegian teenager, who had his
heart completely broken by watching
the seagulls in such a state. On this
trip, I brought an inexperienced
hiker and realized that a good deal
more than your heart can get broken
if you climb an eight-foot waterfall
in a cave without proper precautions.
As it happened, all worked out fine:
my friend got to see dying seagulls
and various carcasses, but she was
not amused by her own near death
experiences. She suggested that I
not recommend the exact location
to beginner hikers, unless I wanted
their miserable, agonizing deaths on
my hands.
Following the cave of death, we
drove a small 1989 Toyota sedan up
the Snæfellsnes glacial road. The
glacier was large and icy and many
people were walking around the
base of it attempting to imbibe the
spiritual essence of it.
Imbibing the spiritual essence
of the mystic Snæfellsnes glacier
involves a special chant, which goes
like this: “Can you walk there? Yes,
I think so. But it said deep chasms.
And isn’t this protected. Look,
snowmobiles. Does anybody rent
them? Maybe if we wait… This is
really ancient.”
This is really ancient is the deep
moment that indicates you have
found a deeper state of being or that
you are ready to go back down the
hill and use the toilet.
Death Hikes, Berserker Lava
Fields, Hag Mountains and
Desolated Islands:
The Under-reported Joys of
Snæfellsnes
Given the heat of the sun and the rate of glacial melt
in today’s Arctic, we have about 2 hours to get to
Snæfellsnesjökul before it completely evaporates, I tell the
driver as we head out to Iceland’s most cherished peninsula
in a last second decision to flee the city of Reykjavík and
travel on a budget of 8000 ISK for two. We spend 4000
ISK immediately, filling our car with gas, and buying
bread, cheese, cappuccino yoghurt, juice and chocolate for our
entire trip at Hagkaup in Kringlan on the way out of town.
Snæfellsnes