Reykjavík Grapevine - 20.04.2018, Side 46

46 The Reykjavík Grapevine
Issue 06 — 2018
It was a sunny Maundy Thursday when
my family and I drove from Reykjavík
to Siglufjörður. We had almost four
hours of driving ahead of us and two
kids in the back seat, aged four and
nine. We were in Mosfellsbær–still ap-
proximately 375 kilometres away from
our destination–when the older one
first asked: “Are we there yet?” It was
going to be a long ride.
Sure enough, almost four hours
later when all our phones were dead,
the sky had turned grey, and every-
body was strung out from sloppy Ring
Road burgers, the only thing I could
think was, “Jesus got off easy.”
Extremities of Icelanders
Then we arrived in the beautiful old
town of Siglufjörður. It was once leg-
endary as a herring fishing boom
town, but that adventure didn’t end
well, and is now a cautionary tale that
tells of the extreme nature of Iceland-
ers. In the 1960s, Siglufjörður herring
made up 40% of all Iceland’s export
earnings but, in our greed, we over-
fished grotesquely until the herring
literally disappeared in one day. That’s
Iceland for you; one day, we’re king of
the hill, and the next... well, we’re not.
The town of Siglufjörður is sur-
rounded by brutal mountains that
block the sun out for part of the day.
On one side of the town there are ava-
lanche defences, reminding you of the
fleeting nature of life, and implying
that lives have been lost to the ele-
ments in this tiny town of 1,000 oc-
cupants.
Broken legs
After a cosy night at Siglunes Guest-
house, we decided to laugh in the face
of such snowy doom, and take the
family skiing as planned. I had some
morning coffee and tried to keep my
boys focused on the task of dressing
and getting in the car. It didn’t go well,
but they ended up in the car anyway,
after some very subtle threats. I tried
to comfort myself with that thought
that Jesus would have done the same
thing. Right?
It was Good Friday, the day when
Jesus underwent his torture, so I
didn’t really complain as I paid around
30,000 ISK for three skiing day passes,
some ski goggles, and some rented
gear for my girlfriend (we’d left hers at
home, of course).
In under an hour, we realised that
whilst the ski resort of Siglufjörður
is brilliant for experienced skiers, it’s
not so great for young beginners like
our sons. We had a complicated choice
to make—either to teach our kids to
ski on the steep slopes of Skarðsdal,
risking broken bones as they burned
down the hills without control, or to
head for the comfortable beginner’s
slopes of Hlíðarfjall, an hour-long
drive away in Akureyri. Of course, I
argued that as it was Good Friday, a
broken leg would be fitting to the oc-
casion. But my girlfriend disagreed.
More driving it was.
The beautiful north
On the way was the Héðinsfjarðargöng
tunnel. It’s the longest in Iceland, and
it shortens the drive considerably. It’s
also a lot safer than navigating the
unpredictable weather over the high
heath of some godforsaken mountain.
Next, we passed through the small
towns of Ólafsfjörður and Dalvík. We
drove beside the beautiful Eyjafjörður,
and we could see a small fishing boat
in the middle of the fjord. Sunbeams
broke through the thick grey clouds,
hitting the endless sea near the boat.
Hrísey was close by, the small island
in the huge fjord of Eyjafjörður with a
town of a few hundred people. It was a
dreamlike scene.
The Easter miracle
The boys picked up skiing before
noon, and by the afternoon we were
on our way down the beginner slopes
like seasoned pros. We felt like a prop-
er bourgeois family as we skied down
the slopes of Hlíðarfjall, laughing and
grinning like it was some ‘80s flick
about ski instructors. The weather
was sunny and the view over Akureyri
and Eyfjafjörður from the top of the
mountain was breathtaking. Nobody
broke their leg. We called it the Easter
miracle.
Everybody was tired in the eve-
ning, but Eyjafjörður didn’t lose it’s
incredible beauty on the drive back.
Two days later we were back to Reykja-
vík—tired, a little sunburnt, with the
mountains in our veins, still hearing
the sound of the skis cutting through
the perfect snow.
Distance from
Reykjavík:
383 km
Accommodation
provided by:
hotelsiglunes.is
How to get there:
Take Route One
North, then Routes
74, 744, 75 & 76
“There’s nothing
better than an early
morning adrenaline
rush and a stunning
view to wake you up.”
A well deserved rest
Jesus Was
A Skier
An Easter family getaway to the slopes of Siglufjörður
Words : Valur Grettisson Photos: Hanna Ólafsdóttir
The majestic mountains of the north, just waiting to be skied down
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