Reykjavík Grapevine - ágú. 2019, Blaðsíða 15

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by zig-zagging up a steep hillside to
the top of a long, pebbled, jet-black
expanse. Before long, the cabins are
out of view, and my senses tingle
keenly, awakening to the feeling of
amplified nature in this vast empty
space.
I stride through fields of glisten-
ing pebbles, running down steep
slopes and labouring up the other
side. As the trail ascends higher,
bands of snow start to appear, and
I take the opportunity to cool down
by lying in the snow.
After a couple of hours, the wind
starts to carry the distinctive smell
of sulphur and the ground changes
from firm dirt to an orange clay that
clings to my boots heavily. I arrive,
panting, at a viewpoint overlooking
a deep chasm with several plumes
of steam jetting emphatically into
the air.
Dragon spine
Hveradalir turns out to be bigger
than I could have imagined. The
onward path leads gradually down
a long ridge into the valley, over
the course of an entire kilometre.
Steps have been hammered into the
sticky clay of the earth like stitches
in the ground, which changes col-
our through a spectrum of bright
yellow, earthy red, mouldy powder
blue and vivid bottle green. As the
colours change gradually beneath
my feet, it’s intensely stimulating,
and a sense of adrenalized awe
courses through me. The long de-
scent feels like so much as walking
down the spine of a dragon.
At the base of the valley, various
paths converge from different di-
rections, intersecting and splitting
off again. As a result, the bottom
of Hveradalir has become an im-
probable hiking junction, and a
mid-Highlands meeting point. A
long procession of silver-haired
hikers in brightly coloured rain-
coats stride purposefully past us,
heading back up the hill with bulg-
ing backpacks that hint at a mul-
ti-day route. A family of German
tourists disrobe and gamely jump
into the warm, burbling stream for
a soak. Through walls of steam, I
fleetingly glimpse figures wander-
ing the pathways in all directions,
taking in the otherworldly scene.
Suspended in time
It feels like the regular flow of
time has been suspended, and I
wander the trails, prolonging this
immersive moment. Steam pours
skywards from the countless hot-
spots, melting the lingering snow
into organically formed sculptures;
the hammered rungs of the various
trails look like lines drawn over the
earthy hills.
Eventually, I take an upwards
path that loops around the oth-
er lip of the valley. The bright,
unctuous mud gives way to firm
ground, and the trail leads through
broken lava outcrops and mossy,
boulder-strewn fields. Back at the
summit, I bang the mud from my
boots, still intensely present in the
moment. I take a long final look
back, and a broad smile steals over
my face. I start the return journey
with a spring in my step, brimming
with joy from this fantastical, sen-
sually overwhelming place.
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“My senses tingle keenly,
awakening to the feeling of
amplified nature in the vast
empty space.”