Reykjavík Grapevine - 16.07.2018, Blaðsíða 20

20 The Reykjavík GrapevineIssue 16— 2018
It was full and there was no place to
sleep, so we decided to keep going
and walked to the next hut. There’s
no guard, and a trust box to pay. I’m
attracted to these things, and it makes
it easier to work here.”
Sölvi recalls some Highland adven-
tures from his youth that gave him an
early taste for this wild environment.
“For me, it’s a matter of reconnecting
to it,” he says. “I used to come up here
with my dad as a kid. He has a big truck,
and is into mountain driving. Once
we had to stay in the car for 19 hours
because there was a snowstorm. It was
so crazy, we couldn’t get anywhere. I
remember not being able to leave the
cabin because you couldn’t see a metre
in front of you, things like that. I want
to stay up here for a few months in the
winter, and see what it’s like.”
In the morning, after a dip in
Hveravellir’s blissful riverside hot
pot, we meander around the path-
ways surrounding the area, wander-
ing through crags of broken lava and
steaming fields rich with Arctic thyme.
The visit is short, and as we continue
on our way it’s hard not to envy Sölvi’s
slow-paced Highland life.
DODGING
CIVILISATION
An hour north of Hveravellir, the gravel
road reverts to asphalt, passing a series
of lakes that have been harnessed to
create hydroelectric power. We speed
past the dangling power lines, eager to
round the short stretch of Route One
that marks the northernmost point of
our trip.
After a brief gas stop in the village
of Varmahlið, we plunge back into
the Highlands. The road soon turns
to gravel once again and we buzz over
cattle grids and through farm gates
before crunching slowly up a steep zig-
zagging slope.
At the top, a black desert stretches
off to the horizon. After dodging civili-
sation as quickly as possible, we’ve
re-entered the northern edge of the
Highlands, and I breathe a sigh of relief
to be back in the wilderness.
HIGH AND WILD
The trail progresses across a strik-
ingly barren stretch of land. Road
F752 is unserviced, crossing a pebbled
plain that undulates gently into the
distance like a black ocean. Up close,
however, there’s nothing gentle about
it. The road is heavily potholed and
the car bounces, labours and shakes as
we climb sudden hills and round wide,
pale pools.
We cross several rivers along the
way, including the deepest crossing
yet. Each time, we pause at length to
survey the water. Once, an unexpected
boulder on the river bottom makes the
car judder suddenly: a stray splash of
water goes into the engine, turning
into steam—a reminder of the need to
stay constantly alert.
Sometimes there’s a smooth,
sandy stretch. We accelerate across
the plains with the stereo blasting.
At these moments, speeding through
the wilderness is a joyful, liberating,
almost euphoric experience.
WILD CAMPING
The next campsite is Laugarfell, located
in a shallow, featureless basin in the
lunar landscape. After a brief soak
in the neatly paved geothermal pool,
we decide to press on, but reaching
Dreki feels like a step too far. Instead,
we head south, stopping briefly for a
barbecued dinner in a river valley full
of purple wildflowers.
The Nýidalur campsite seems
within reach as the daylight wanes.
Clouds creep over the sky as the night
draws in. It’s close to midnight by the
time we reach the gushing river that
lies between us and Nýidalur. Decid-
ing not to risk it, we backtrack, pull-
ing over in a layby that overlooks the
western edge of Vatnajökull to spend a
night sleeping in the camper, with the
heater running.
NEW DALE
In the morning, we cross the wide river
and meet Inga Martel, one of Nýidalur’s
two wardens. She seems suspicious of
us arriving so early, and as we try to
explain our thought process, she chas-
tises us for not reaching Nýidalur the
night before. Wild camping, as it turns
out, is illegal when within reach of a
formal campsite, and there are desig-
nated areas to sleep if the river is too
high to cross. However, thinking back
to the tumultuous river at midnight, I
remain certain that our decision was
the safest one.
The issue resolved, we sit down for
a chat. Inga has been a warden for six
years. “There have been two of us work-
ing here for a few years. It was possible
to work alone before, when there were
100 guests a day, but now we have 400
or more passing through in the high
season.”
Inga enjoys greeting the guests and
experiencing their outlooks, adven-
tures and stories. “I like to welcome
people here when they’ve been out for
days and haven’t spoken to anyone,”
she says. “I’ve hiked and camped for
months up here, and you get very
lonely. When you get back to the city
you can barely even speak to anyone.
But it’s such a different experience to
drive through here, when you’re always
looking through the window—you
don’t feel the wind and the rain in your
skin. When you have been throughout
in the wilds for months, you come out
of here reborn.”
NEW EARTH
It’s at this moment that we’re joined
by Ingibjörg “Ibe” Eiriksdóttir, a
ranger working in the area. A practi-
cal, no-nonsense character, she’s been
working seasonally as a ranger since
2011. “It’s usually been a seasonal job,
starting in June,” she says, “but for the
last years we have such a lot of tour-
ism that there’s a need for rangers
for the whole year. Earlier this year,
from February, I worked down in the
lowlands at Breiðamerkursandur. The
duties are different down there—you
can’t compare it to what we’re doing
up here. Here, we give information
and advice to travellers, watch the
river levels, and put in sticks where it’s
safest to cross. We look after the infra-
structure and the hiking trails, collect
trash and take care of the nature, birds
and wildlife.”
Ibe grew up in an outdoorsy family
and drifted naturally towards the job
of ranger. “I wait for this time through
all the other months, that’s just how it
is,” she says. “I like the space, the free-
dom, the interesting people travelling
around. It’s beautiful to see the vegeta-
tion and birds surviving so far up here,
in this really rough environment.”
“The geology is also quite amaz-
ing,” she continues. “We get researcher
groups finding cracks and sinkholes,
measuring earthquakes and the move-
ment of the earth and so forth. The
earth produces new land—life is start-
ing up here. It’s so different from one
day to the next—it’s so alive. When
people call asking about the rivers, I
can say how they were yesterday, or
how they are now, or what is likely
according to the forecast, but really, I
can’t say what they’ll be like tomorrow,
or even in an hour.”
MOUNTAIN OUTBACK
From Nyídalur the Sprengisandur
road gradually descends towards the
south coast, passing between Hofs-
“I REMEMBER GETTING INTO SOME HIGHLAND ADVENTURES WHEN I
WAS A KID. ONCE WE HAD TO STAY IN THE CAR FOR 19 HOURS BECAUSE
THERE WAS A SNOW STORM AND IT WAS SO CRAZY WE COULDN’T GET
ANYWHERE.”
Inga Martel and Ingibjörg "Ibe" Eiríksdóttir
Into the steam at Hveradalir