Reykjavík Grapevine - 01.02.2013, Blaðsíða 27

27 TRAVEL
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“Welcome to the centre of the universe,” our
guide Stefnir Gíslason says as we drive along
a snow-covered, two-lane road surrounded by
barren, snow-covered cliffs. We are arriving at
the convergence zone of three massive glaciers,
including the famously unpronounceable Eyjaf-
jallajökull.
It’s almost 10:00 AM and the winter sun
casts soft purplish-pink shadows across the
landscape. The snow-covered horizon makes
it nearly impossible to distinguish where earth
meets sky. The still, desolate landscape hardly
seems like the centre of anything, let alone the
universe.
IF YOU’RE EVER FORDING A RIVER
Our group of six—three guides and three travel-
lers—are in the midst of the quiet solitude that
is Þórsmörk Canyon, located about two hours
southeast of Reykjavík. Named after the Norse
god Thor (Þór), the area is a popular hiking
spot for the more adventurous.
For now, we take the landscape in from the
comfort of our lifted Ford Expedition with mon-
ster truck-sized wheels. As we amble along
in the cradle of Mýrdalsjökull glacier, Stefnir
explains that the valley didn’t always look this
way. As chunks of ice and rock crunch under
our massive tires, he points to the vehicle’s
GPS, which suggests that the area is under-
water. After the 2010 Eyjafjalljökull eruption,
the Krossá River became choked with debris
and formed a large, ashy lagoon, which only
recently disappeared.
Stefnir winds the car through the landscape
before heading straight toward the river. He
slows down before crossing, looking over his
shoulder as if casually making a
right hand turn onto a city
street full of traffic. “Al-
ways cross at the widest
part of the river, it’s
shallower,” he says
gleefully as the mas-
sive vehicle barrels
through the ice and
water. He also notes
it’s always better to
drive with the river cur-
rent rather than against
it, and to watch the edges
of the river bank—the higher
the edge, the deeper the water. I
can’t help but think he would make an excel-
lent, if unconventional, driving instructor.
SORE FINGERS AND JELLY ARMS
We park the monster truck on the other side
and gear up for a trek. We trudge through
the crunchy snow for a good twenty minutes
before arriving at our destination: the mouth of
massive ice cave where the glacier has split the
rocky cliff in half.
Our guides warn us to not get too close
to the cave, as ice chunks could fall without
warning. Instead, I stand at the cavernous
opening and stare into the darkness, being
careful not to get my boots wet in the icy river
that flows from the cave.
To my right, our guides begin to rig a climb-
ing rope on a solid wall of ice just outside the
cave. Our second guide, Guðmundur Fannar
Markússon, gracefully swings the pick into the
ice to demonstrate and secures it on the first
try. One by one we try our hand at the task,
and we discover it isn’t so easy.
It takes me several tries to secure the first
pick, and even more tries to stab my crampons
into the ice. Halfway up, my arms are beginning
to feel like jelly. Panting and sweaty, I finally
reach the top and the guides lower me down.
As my feet touch the ground, I realise how
tightly I had been gripping the ice pick, and as
I release my grasp I feel the blood rushing back
into my now very sore fingers.
I am content to take a seat in the snow and
watch the others try their hand at climbing
before we all pile back into the Ford, our refuge
from the cold.
SOME THINGS ARE UNIVERSAL
Before returning to paved asphalt roads and ci-
vilisation, Stefnir once again veers our beastly
vehicle off the beaten trail, and we begin our
ascent up Hamragarðaheiði, a mountain path
that snakes up the Eyjafjöll mountains.
The sun begins to set, once again bathing
the glistening snow in purplish-pink evening
shadows. We reach a flat vantage point to stop,
and look out over the expansive wilder-
ness below. We even see the Westman
Islands floating in the distance, like
fantasy castles in the in the clear,
crisp sky.
Before heading back to the
black sand beaches at Landeyjarf-
jara, Einar Sigurðsson, our third
guide, asks where we’d like to have
dinner. I look at my fellow starving
travellers, but none of us have any
strong opinions. He suggests Gallery
Pizza in Hvolsvöllur, a favourite amongst
the guides. “I’ve never met anyone who
didn’t like their pizza,” he says.
Some things, it seems, are universal.
“
„
We reached a flat vantage
point to stop where we could
see the Westman Islands float-
ing in the distance, like fantasy
castles in the sky
The Reykjavík GrapevineIssue 2 — 2013
Answer to trivia question on page 2:
A Davíð Oddsson