Reykjavík Grapevine - 25.08.2006, Qupperneq 26

FOREX_grapevine_MAR06.indd 1 2006-03-31 14:20:10
does not allow a firm grip, and the 17 kilos of my backpack
feel like an incumbent threat, ready to catapult me backwards
into a hopeless tumble. It is while I wonder why on earth the
masochist in me is so often prevailing, that I see a slight sliver
of hope: almost a natural stair, not so many metres away from
my post, leading up towards less steep ground. I start scram-
bling my way in that direction, partly sustaining my steps with
the trekking poles, partly with the help of my bare hands. I
find hold in a huge block of pumice, but the treacherous rock
breaks like clay under my grip, falling down the precipice into
the water with great roar.
The cigarette I smoke once on top again, finally out of that
nightmare, is among the best in many months. I have reached
the other side of the ravine, and I am at 1000 m ASL again.
The peaks of Kerlingarfjöll encircle a volcanic plateau,
which will astound any observer. Here, earth and water are
perennially at work on strange alchemies. For around 5 km it
is all an endless sequence of fumaroles, hot springs, bubbling
mud, steaming pools, green ice-cold lakes, gorges and ravines
continually carved by ever-running waters – painful scars of
the land. And the shades and the colours! Anything in the
range of orange, lava black, white, emerald green, pale yellow,
crimson red… There is a confusing and blurred boundary,
beyond which the beauty of nature suddenly becomes horrid. It
is a matter of proportion: at a certain stage, the creative powers
of the forces of the Earth feel so overwhelming, that the sense
of wonder gives way to dread and fear. In Kerlingarfjöll, that
subtle border seems often crossed.
There is an abundance of snow left up here – the most
in the last ten years, I found out later. I let myself go to an
exuberant sense of intoxication: I have just accomplished
something terribly dangerous (which – for honesty’s sake – I
should not even have dared), after three years of wait I am
about to finally defeat these mountains, and I am gazing at one
of the most impressive spectacles of Icelandic landscape in a
weather-blessed day. Nowhere else in Iceland – not even in the
much-celebrated Landmannalaugar – had I the possibility to
arrive this close to the heart of geothermal activity.
But the day and the trail are not over yet, and there is still
sweat and pain on the road to final achievement. The route I
drew from the map and stored in my GPS is proving accurate
and comfortable, except for the second massive gorge ploughed
by fast-streaming waters. And still more scrambling along
slopes of mud and fragile rock, and steep descents on snow
mantles suddenly collapsing into the void of a frightening
precipice.
It is a chain of challenges – especially to the nerves, as the
day is growing late – but that inebriating feeling that captured
me before has set loose my boldness and diluted my fears. I let
myself go through all this with strange confidence and serenity.
When I reach the pass at the west of Hveradalahnúkur, I
know that it is over. My past defeat is avenged: with the bless-
ing of the weather, I have conquered the mountains. The many
souls of the highlands seem captured in my smell: the stench
of swamp, dust, mud and sulphur have mixed with my own
sweat in an exotic blend – I reckon great potentialities for the
market. The rest of the trail is like a Wagnerian symphony in
footsteps: a swift nosedive towards the base camp of Ásgarður,
the sun still warm and high in the sky. Exaltation.
When I arrive at the hut – after 12 hours and 25 km of
walking – I find no dreadful “kerling” (frump, witch) greeting
me. Rather, it is three girls in their twenties, basically the same
age as me, one Polish and two Icelandic – a sign of the times.
“Yes, we run this thing” confirms Magnea, proudly point-
ing out that the hut is managed by the fairer sex.
Ruff led hair, muddy clothes, hands stained by black grease
– the signs of hard work in the outdoors, I am shown around.
The whole resort and its facilities (indoor accommodation in
different houses, restaurant, campsite, showers and wonderful
hot tubs) are powered by a small plant down the river: an old
crock from the 1930s.
travel
Icelandic
folksongs
presents
0
The Culture House - Þjóðmenningarhúsið
Hverfi sgata 15, 101 Reykjavík
s. +354 545 1400
The exhibit is on view from 29.06.2006 - 27.02.2007. Open daily from 11 am – 5 pm
Bus stop and parking close by on Hverfi sgata
Guided tours booking; tel. + 354 545 1406
ICELANDIC FASHION 2006
Nine of Iceland’s top fashion designers reveal
38 extraordinary pieces in Iceland’s fi rst exhibit
which focuses only on fashion in the new
Icelandic culture.
JÓ
N
S
S
O
N
&
L
E
’M
A
C
K
S
•
jl.is
•
S
ÍA
Photo: H
eim
o S
cm
idt / Spaksm
annsspjarir Curator: M
atthias W
agner K
>>> continues on page 52
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