Reykjavík Grapevine - 21.04.2017, Blaðsíða 20

Surfing originated in the Polyne-
sian islands, and most famously, Ha-
waii—like Iceland, a volcanic, black-
sand island, isolated in the middle
of the ocean, albeit a much warmer
one. Through popular culture and
people’s insatiable lust for adrenaline,
this sport has ridden the waves from
California to Australia, Bali and now,
apparently, to Iceland. The surf scene
in Iceland is small, but enthusiastic—
there are no half-hearted, fair-weather
surfers here, perhaps because the is-
land itself has very little fair weather.
This isn’t the sort of place where you
can just rock up to a beach and give it a
go. You have to be patient; to watch the
surf reports and the weather forecasts,
and to spend half an hour trying to
prise a damp, inch-thick wetsuit over
your thighs. It’s hard graft.

SISTERHOOD OF
SURFING
Rut, along with her surfing friends,
Elín Kristjánsdóttir and Maríanna
Þórðardóttir, is part of an even small-
er group of female surfers who are
willing to put in the work to tame
Iceland’s violent waters. “It’s a close
community,” says Maríanna, “because
there are so few of us.” This becomes
obvious when you see them surf to-
gether—there’s a real sense of sister-
hood. These aren’t a bunch of surfer
bros showing off with their sweet-ass
bitchin’ tricks—these women respect
the ocean, look out for one another,
and cheer each other when they catch
a particularly good wave.
In Iceland, like most other places
in the world, surfing is a male-domi-
nated sport—something that Elín and
Maríanna find difficult to understand.
“I think it’s just not in our nature to
go surfing here,” says Maríanna. “It’s
something you have to develop on your
own. Surfing isn’t in our environment.
We’re not familiar with it, so we have
to go out and get it. Maybe there just
aren’t as many girls willing to do that.
Perhaps the boys are just more adren-
aline seekers, or danger seekers, and
girls are less into the danger.”
Elín, too, blames Iceland’s harsh
conditions for the lack of women in-
terested in surfing. “Many women
don’t realise it’s possible,” she ex-
plains. “They’re turned off by the cold.
If more women knew it was possible,
there would be more women involved,
I’m sure.”

THE SUB-ARCTIC
FREEZE
I am one of those women. I am not
just turned off by the idea of the cold,
I am terrified of it. I mean, I’m pretty
sure someone could set me on fire and
I’d still need to pop a cardigan on, so
I’m certain this sub-Arctic ocean will
freeze me solid. When Rut assures me
that my wetsuit will keep me warm, I
assume it’s her Viking blood talking.
But, to my delighted surprise, she’s
right. I walk slowly into the ocean,
wincing slightly as I wait for that
breathtaking chill to hit me, but it
simply… doesn’t.
Maríanna explains how much surf-
ing equipment has improved in the
past decades, “When I first started
out, my mum had this wetsuit from
when she was twenty,” she says. “I bor-
rowed it and went into the ocean and
I was freezing. I was only out there
for a minute, and just thought: ‘Oh
shit, I can’t do it!’” Although the thick
wetsuit makes me feel more neoprene
than human, it does the job, and I’m
grateful.
I wonder out loud if people are sur-
prised when they find out that these
women surf, keen to discover whether
they experience discriminatory or
sexist attitudes with regards to their
status as “female surfer.” “Well, most-
ly people are just surprised I surf in
Iceland, of all places,” says Rut. “Then
they’re surprised because I’m a blonde
woman with three kids.”
“When I am with my boyfriend at
the airport with my board, all the staff
assume it’s his board,” says Maríanna.
“I have to correct them.” But it washes
right over her. “That’s just how people
see it,” she says. Admittedly, though,
people with these attitudes seem few
and far between. As Elín puts it: “Peo-
ple usually react because I’m a surfer
in Iceland, not because I’m a woman.”

SAME JOY, DIFFERENT
WAVES
It’s a good point. This blisteringly cold,
ferocious water is a surprising home to
a sport associated with bikinis, beach
parties, coral reefs, and the warmth
of the Pacific. Both Elín and Maríanna
have surfed in these more tropical cli-
mates, from Bali to Ecuador, to Aus-
tralia and the Canary Islands. But how
does it compare?
“The quality of the waves [in Ice-
land] is pretty good,” says Marianna.
“You always get the same joy out of it,
just in a different way.” The harshness
of Iceland’s climate limits the num-
ber of people willing to learn to surf,
so for those that stick at it, there is a
real sense of accomplishment. “It’s
less crowded here,” she says. “It’s more
authentic somehow, because it’s not as
available to everyone. It’s more special.
Anyone can learn to surf in Bali, but in
Iceland you have to really work for it.”

THE DANGERS OF
ICELAND’S OCEAN
Iceland’s water is like nothing I’ve ever
experienced before. I consider myself
a strong swimmer; I have swum hap-
pily in many an ocean, lake or river,
and always felt in my element amongst
the waves. But this water is something
else entirely. This water is alive, and
it’s a monster. It could swallow you
up, spit you out, choke you, drag you.
It’s cruel and unrelenting. I’m baffled
that anyone would choose to go in this
water, no gun to their head, no hefty
payment, no reason other than the fun
of it.
When I ask about the real dangers
of Iceland’s ocean, Marianna recalls
a time when she and a friend found
themselves pulled out into an unpre-
dictable, angry sea by a riptide. “All
of the sudden we were so far from the
shore,” she says. “We didn’t realise we
were going with the rip. It was super
fast. Then we hit these huge waves,
and they didn’t throw us towards the
shore, they threw us straight down.
Every time we got back up to breathe,
we could take maybe two paddles, and
then the next wave came and threw us.
And it was like that for, I don’t know
how long, but it seemed like forever!
At that point I thought: ‘Shit, we’re not
going to get to shore.’ I was so scared,
but still having to control my fear—to
suppress it. Because if you’re afraid
out there, you’re screwed. If you panic,
you’re just dead.”
Of course, in a sport like surfing,
you need that fear and adrenaline
to push your limits and help you im-
prove. But too much of it can create,
quite literally, a sink or swim situa-
tion. If panic sets in, your thoughts be-
come illogical; you forget to time your
breathing with the waves, and waste
your energy. Do that for too long, and
you’re in real danger.
I find myself floundering out at sea.
I look back to the shore and wonder
how it got so small, and how I have got-
ten so small next to these impossibly
tall waves. My breathing becomes fast,
and for a moment I forget that I’m at-
tached to a large flotation device. With
my board trailing behind me, I try to
swim back to shore, going nowhere.
Waves crash down on me and my
breathing becomes quicker. “I’m pan-
icking,” I think—the one thing that
Rut told me not to do. I force myself to
20 The Reykjavík Grapevine
Issue 06 — 2017
Hovering precariously at the edge of the
incoming tide, surfboard tucked under
my arm, I watch as the grey waves crash
over one another. The devouring, foam-
ing, monstrous water that I’m about
to plunge into is terrifying. Rut Sig-
urðardóttir, one of my surf buddies for
the day, calls to me over the thundering
waves: “Whatever you do, don’t panic!”
Almost paralysed by fear, I can only nod.
I trot along behind her, into the rough
seas, looking longingly back to the safe-
ty of the shore and, as instructed, trying
my hardest not to panic.
Elín Kristjánsdóttir with
her colourful board
Rut Sigurðardóttir is all
smiles after a morning's surf