Reykjavík Grapevine - 01.05.2018, Blaðsíða 49

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Demon slayer
After descending the mountain
pass into a long valley, we pull
over and crunch over a stretch
of wet, shining snow to the can-
yon of Ytra-Hvannagil. After
ten minutes of scrambling over
the pebbly slopes and boulders
that line the canyon’s river, we
emerge into a secluded basin
with towering basalt cliffs on
either side. It’s a pretty spot that
casts the massive mountains in
a human scale.
The final strait to Bakkagerði
rounds Njarðvíkurskriður, a
near-vertical scree slope with a
muddy, heavily potholed track
carved into it. One spot along
the way is marked by a large
standing crucifix called Nadda-
kross, which is alleged to stand
where a local farmer battled a
demon called Naddi in the 14th
Century, casting him into the
sea to live in a cave that later
collapsed. It’s good that he did:
the road is bad enough without
meddling from supernatural
beings.
The elf city
The rolling green fields of Bor-
garjörður Eystri comes as a
surprise as we cruise down
through verdant farmland into
the fjord’s sole settlement of
Bakkagerði. The largest build-
ing in town is the fish process-
ing factory, which is domi-
nated in turn by a curious and
distinctive circular hill named
Álfaborg—translated literally,
“elf city.”
Our curiosity piqued, we go
for a closer look. There are two
marked routes up the hill. The
first has large, colourful rocks
jammed into the mud acting
as flagstones, and leads up to
the summit. Various outcrops
dot the hilltop, and the warm
spring sunshine casts long
shadows, giving this place an al-
most fantastical feeling. Jagged
mountaintops surround Bakk-
agerði, looming high through a
soft white haze. We linger here
for half an hour without really
noticing the time pass. Elves or
not, it’s a magical spot.
The second route is marked
by poles that vanish into a copse
of skinny trees. It ’s a short,
pleasant walk that circles the
hill in a clockwise direction,
leading through flowering val-
leys and up through jutting
rock formations. As I follow the
bright blue trail markers over
snow banks and mossy rocks, I
realise it’s my first real walk of
the spring, and I crave the nat-
ural, therapeutic rhythm of a
longer hike.
Without twitching
The town’s harbour lies across
the fjord. Small boats bob in the
sheltered cove, where a group of
builders are working a new har-
bour house on the quayside.
A wooden staircase leads up
to the top of a tall, grassy sea
stack, connected to the main-
land via a strip of reclaimed
land. At the top, there’s a bird
hide that looks back over to
Bakkagerði. In summer, this
spot becomes a puffin colony,
but even in the early spring, we
see a variety of seabirds at very
close range, nesting in the rocks
and bobbing in the waves below.
Troubled town
Back in town, we check in at
the Blábjörg Guesthouse, where
we’re welcomed by a loca l
named Elísabet. We ask after a
grocery store. “There isn’t one,
I’m afraid,” she says. “It closed
down last year. Bakkagerði has
received a ‘troubled town’ sta-
tus, so we’ll be getting some
money from the government,
and that’s the first thing we’ll
use it for.” I get the feeling this
interaction is common—Elísa-
bet later brings us some lamb
chops and potatoes to tide us
over.
After a dip in Blábjörg’s sea-
side hotpot and a steam in the
sauna, I head back to my room.
The outlines of mountains are
still just visible over the fjord.
I open the window and drift off
to the sound of the crashing
waves, dreaming of discover-
ing a glowing doorway into Ál-
faborg that leads to a subterra-
nean feasting hall deep inside
the earth.