Reykjavík Grapevine - 06.12.2013, Page 30

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30The Reykjavík Grapevine Issue 18 — 2013
Crossing The Volcanic Wasteland With
A Camera And Polished Shoes
Words by Helgi Hrafn Guðmundsson
Photos by Horace Dall
Lemúrinn is an Icelandic web magazine (Icelandic for the native primate of Madagascar). A winner of the 2012
Icelandic Web Awards, Lemurinn.is covers all things strange and interesting! Go check it out at www.lemurinn.is.
Horace Dall (1901–1986) lived on a hill in Luton,
England. He pointed telescopes towards the
stars and photographed the planets of the outer
region of the solar system. He was an optician
and an innovator of scientific instruments.
But he was also interested in this
planet and travelled all around the world with
a camera. In the summer 1933, he made an
impressive bicycle trip around Iceland. Travel-
ling in Iceland was a different experience in the
1930s. Roads were bad and there was almost no
infrastructure for tourists. A cyclist had to cross
very difficult terrain practically everywhere, and
especially in the mountainous regions.
Dall made a remarkable crossing of
Sprengisandur on his three-speed Raleigh road-
ster. The photographer and cycler Ben Searle
wrote about Dall’s trip: “Sprengisandur is the vir-
tually trackless volcanic and glacial wasteland of
central Iceland and probably the bleakest area of
Europe. Dall made the first crossing of the Spren-
gisandur wilderness by any wheeled vehicle.”
As is evident, Dall was a gifted pho-
tographer and in his captions, written in the
form of a travelogue on the backs of his pho-
tos, provide wonderful descriptions and im-
pressions of this strange country.
The two Icelanders whom I persuaded to get me across the
Tugnaá river are resting here a few moments on a small gravel plain
under the northern slopes of Hekla. These were the last human be-
ings I saw until reaching Mýri farm in the north five days later.
The "road" to Reyk-
holt goes through much
wild and barren country.
The "road" to Reyk-
holt goes through much
wild and barren country.
I took this photo at the memorable moment when two white
specks—unmistakably farmhouses—came into sight after topping
a hill. Still 8 miles away and several bad rivers and gullies to cross,
but I was in great spirits, and very touched at the success of my
navigation across the wilderness.
The beautiful ponies have
crossed an overgrown lava field
and the crater is only 1/4 mile
away.
I spent the fourth
night in the wilderness
on a ledge in sight
of the river with the
unpronounceable name
(Skjálfandafljót) which
runs into the Arctic.