Reykjavík Grapevine - 04.04.2008, Blaðsíða 20

20 | Reykjavík Grapevine | Issue 04 2008 | Article
Last summer, Fabrizio Frascaroli spent 40 days
walking across Iceland from East to West. This is
the final segment of his story.
I spent part of two days walking along the outlaws’
trails that cross the plains and lavas of Kjölur, un-
der variable weather, swinging moods, and the
gloomy vigilance of the Hrútfell Mountain, the sole
landmark of the area. I began to feel the savour
of the passing hours changing as the end drew
near. The fluttering fog banks and sudden waves
of chilled air reminded me that in wraith-infested
Kjölur, one is never alone. The sporadic sunbeams
left my clothing damp with cold sweat under the
darkening sky. The sharp icefalls of Hrútfell grew
grim and painfully close, piercing the view with
their pale blue radiance as warnings of the up-
coming challenges, as anticipations of the bite of
the ice in the days ahead. I steered westward and
shivered as I approached the glacier.
A more intense feeling of uneasiness and
contemplation caught me while I was fetching
fresh water from one of the rare springs – a gush-
ing and clear stream running amidst thick moss
and an unusual patch of greenness surrounded
by barren land. I felt fear for the imminent glacial
traverse, bitterness and regret for the conclusion
of my trip coming so swiftly, and the sore grip of
loneliness even harder in this menacing and for-
saken place. I got cold and sat still.
I don’t know how long I sat there, nor where
the music came from. And really I cannot guess
by what twisted unconscious path a long-buried
sliver of conscience re-emerged from the farthest
depths of memory. All I can say is that it was the
voices of Simon & Garfunkel that finally rescued
me from that sorrowful silence. It echoed in my
head and rang with sounds of healing and relief,
and wiped the lingering shadows of Kjölur away.
I felt warmth again: I rose just in time to meet a
full, yellow sun tearing the clouds apart and paint-
ing a glorious day all around me. I picked the trail
again, saturated by a sensation of renewal, as
someone who has just shaken off an unpleasant
dream. Only one question kept bugging me: why
on earth Simon & Garfunkel?
The Mountain Church
The rest of the day brought no answers – only
more wonder. Soon, Fjallkirkja appeared before
me with all the might and violence of an epiph-
any. Just a few days before, I had heard about a
well-documented attempt to seek the Holy Grail
in the vicinity of Kerlingarfjöll. If I were to dedi-
cate myself to pseudo-archaeology and vaguely
esoteric quests, Fjallkirkja – the Mountain Church
on the edge of the Glacier – is surely the place I
would begin to dig. It surfaced from the horizon
abruptly, without warning, as soon as the south-
ern slopes of Hrútfell were behind me – a mas-
sive bulk of black rock rising from the whiteness
of the ice, symmetrical in its shape, imposing in
size, surmounted by a thick and rounded pinnacle
spiking from the midst of its solid shoulders. In
another country, or another place, it could have
easily been mistaken for a man-made artefact, a
forbidding Templars’ fortress maybe, erected on
the hilltop to guard over some secret treasure, to
mark the threshold to the glacial wasteland.
I reached the summit of Fjallkirkja late in
the evening, after a 500 m ascent – like a path of
penitence to prepare the pilgrim for admittance to
the sanctuary on top. A desert of dark-brown rock
surrounded the solitary tower, slab-shaped as if
to form a natural stairway. I took my place in the
small hut at the southern edge of the mountain:
a very basic but properly tended cabin brought
there by members of the Icelandic Glaciological
Society some three decades ago, devoid of servic-
es and facilities except for a few beds. After dark-
ness came and the first late summer stars were
lit, the wind rose, vomited by Langjökull in all its
wrath and anger. The howling hit and slammed
the cabin’s thin walls zealously. As I lay down to
rest, I felt the wooden structure faltering and shak-
ing under the violence of each blow, and began
to fear that the time had come for that untamed
shelter – which had already endured some thirty
winters at the doorstep of the glacier – to be wiped
out by the geography of the mountains, and me
with it. I fell into a troubled sleep, wondering what
I would be waking up to.
A veil of thick mist cast its dull uniformity
on ice and rock alike when I woke. The wind must
have ceased during the night, the air was still, qui-
et, humid and relatively warm, but visibility was
reduced to a matter of metres. Even the “watch-
tower” of Fjallkirkja was concealed from sight,
buried in the fog, reappearing every now and then
as a twisted and ghostly sculpture of stone.
I ventured out for a short reconnaissance
trip onto the glacier. The danger of several cre-
vasses – a couple of which were treacherously
hidden under thin snow – made all decisions
easier: I would wait another day, and not dare
cross Langjökull unless under far more favourable
conditions. I killed the remainder of that day in a
timeless laze, melting snow to replenish my water
reserves, thinking of possible alternatives to the
original route, currently denied, and simply sleep-
ing the hours away. I repeatedly browsed through
the pages of the hut’s guestbook, pondering over
the low number of visitors that seemed to have
come across that enchanted place over the years
– evidently neglected, and yet the most intriguing
surprise in my whole journey.
The cloak of fog did not lift the next morning.
I left Fjallkirkja behind in a slow and sombre stum-
ble down the slopes, resigned and overwhelmed
by a sensation of defeat and regret. I made for the
nearby Ferðafélag Íslands hut in Þverbrekkumúli.
Shortly after my arrival, three Germans also hit the
cabin. They offered me rum and spoke all night
of the joys of such things as biting salami in the
middle of a carefree hike. I left in higher spirits
early the following morning. I walked due south
Across the Country in 40 Days
“I have been in the wild
for thirty-three days,
caressed places of for-
gotten beauty, lived in
uninterrupted proximity
to dazzling landscapes,
experienced the awe and
sometimes the horror of
Nature, and perhaps prov-
en something to myself. I
wonder what will remain
of all this.”