Reykjavík Grapevine - 06.08.2008, Blaðsíða 34

34 | REYKJAVÍK GRAPEVINE | ISSUE 11—2008
DESTINATIONS By hauKur s Magnússon — photo By JuLia stapLes
Mountains, Fjords and Gods
go there.
NATURE IS THE ADVENTURE!
www.adventures.is | info@adventures.is
Meet us at Laugarvegi 11
Booking hot-line: +354-562-7000
SNORKELING
FROM 7.990 ISK
The Hornstrandir Nature reserve – “Strandir”, for short – is
unique in every sense, and it is no wonder that the area is a
favourite amongst international tourists as well as domestic
ones. The Grapevine confirmed this during a short visit last
month, and is already planning an extended hike through
the area, for while our daytrip was jaw-
dropping in its own right, it only served to
whet our appetite for Hornstrandir.
Fabled for its scenic views and se-
rene atmosphere as well as its flora and
fauna, the Strandir reserve has for long
been regarded a hiker’s paradise. This
is for good reason, as the reserve has a
plethora of paths and trails that can be
mapped out and planned to suit even the
most discerning hiker’s tastes.
As an out of shape part-time jour-
nalist, I believed the Hornstrandir hiking
experience way over my head in terms of
sheer difficulty. A brief visit to the Ísafjörður
tourist office convinced me otherwise, as
I learned that one of their most popular
trips was a day hike through the nature re-
serve area deemed suitable for persons of
most shapes and sizes, or as the brochure
describes it: “A moderate hike for people
in good shape. 14 kilometres, elevation of
about 400 metres on rough ground.” Figur-
ing that “[...] a moderate hike for people
in good shape” could translate to a good
hike for people in moderate shape, I signed up.
SO fUCKING PEACEfUL
“What an awesome place,” I thought as our small group dis-
embarked the rubber dingy that had brought us the final me-
tres to the abandoned hamlet of Sæból in Aðalvík, the start-
ing point for our hike. We commenced our journey, hiking
our way into Staðardalur Valley whilst taking in the history of
Sæból and its former inhabitants as told by our apt guide, Íris.
Stopping by the valley’s church, beautifully positioned by a
calm lake, we learned that it is currently undergoing reno-
vations (impressive for a building that’s been abandoned
for over half a century) and that the lake is believed to be a
nesting place for Nykur (more on those fearsome creatures
elsewhere in this issue).
The clouds parted just as we continued our trip, and
I started sweating. Removing several items of clothing, I
hobbled after the group, relishing every breath of fresh air
the day brought. We slowly ascended a mountain pass, our
sweaty heads greedily eyeing the preceding winter’s last left-
over snow heap. Every stream we passed an opportunity to
fill our flasks with chilled mountain water; we greedily re-
plenished every drop of perspiration lost.
On the middle of Sléttuheiði moor, a burning sun
loomed over; we took in the vast ensemble of peaks and val-
leys, fjords and gods surrounding us. The group fell silent for
a minute.
WORDS WON’T DESCRIbE IT
Our group of twelve was a mix of Americans, Icelanders and
Europeans, ages ranging from eleven to sixty four, with se-
verely differing hiking abilities. A Colorado couple had obvi-
ously far surpassed the group’s collective abilities, but they
seemed happy to trail along our amateur
pace, perhaps lavishing more attention on
the surroundings than the rest of us could
spare. But I doubt it.
We had been told that the 14 km hike
should take around five hours at best, but
our scheduled pickup time left a couple of
hours to spare, so no one was in hurry. We
thus opted for a prolonged lunch break af-
ter crossing a cold stream barefoot, lying
in the grass wondering why life shouldn’t
always be like this (a quick examination of
any philosophical system will reveal that
it simply can not. In fact the Hornstrandir
reserve is extremely inhospitable for ten
out of every twelve months).
One liberating aspect of undertaking
tasks like this hike is that past a certain
point you are forced to cede any bit of con-
trol over the circumstances. You are past
the point of no return, no matter how tired
or beat-up you get, you simply must finish.
This is good.
“I can’t believe this fucking place,” I
thought as we descended down Hestey-
rarfjörður, our final destination and place of pick up. We
walked a shiny beach towards the Hesteyri summer settle-
ment, counting stranded jellyfish and picking up seashells
along the way. “Eight hours is nowhere near enough,” I con-
cluded as we finally boarded an hour later.
As a day’s hike reveals, the Hornstrandir
nature reserve leaves little to be desired,
and a lot to be discovered.
one LiBerating aspeCt of unDertaKing
tasKs LiKe this hiKe is that past a Cer-
tain point you are forCeD to CeDe any
Bit of ControL over the CirCuMstanCes.
you are past the point of no return, no
Matter how tireD or Beat-up you get,
you siMpLy Must finish. this is gooD.
Maybe this is what life was supposed to be
HORNSTRANDIR
Strandir reportedly once
resembled the rest of the
West Fjords to which the
region belongs, its fjords and
inlets inhabited for centuries
by farmers and fishermen
that lived in harmony with
their beautiful, unforgiving
surroundings. A massive
shift in values, among
other things, left the area
completely uninhabited
by the early 1950s, and it
was subsequently named a
nature reserve in 1974. The
former inhabitants and their
descendants have strong ties
to the region, and many of
them keep frequently visited
summerhouses there.