Reykjavík Grapevine - 19.07.2019, Blaðsíða 46

We’re about an hour out of Ísafjörður
harbour when the horizon suddenly
tilts. As our tiny, crowded passenger
boat passes out of the sheltered fjord,
we’re beset by the high waves of the
North Atlantic and thrown violently
from side to side. The skyline pitches
to 45° one way, then the other; saltwa-
ter sloshes aboard through the flap-
ping awning, and several faces quickly
turn grey.
The captain remains stoic and
unphased, going about his business
as if piloting a pleasure cruise. Our
destination is Hornstrandir, the wild,
jagged peninsula perched atop the
Westfjords. Only reachable by boat
and lacking the most basic infrastruc-
ture, Hornstrandir was once home to
a small farming community of 500 or
so people, but they left in the 1950s.
Although some of their descendants
have since reconstructed old farm-
steads into summer houses, it has
been all-but uninhabited since.
When the people left, nature was
quick to fill the gap. The whole 580km²
area was protected as a Nature Re-
serve in 1975, and has become famous
as a remote hiking destination rich
with diverse flora, birdlife—and Arc-
tic foxes.
Bones and feathers
The sea calms down as we chug into
Jökulfirðir, the system of f jords
named after the nearby Westfjord-
ian glacier of Drangajökull. As our
curious eyes scan the vast, green,
flat-topped mountains jutting from
the choppy ocean, Eyjólfur—our
guide, who goes by the nickname
Eyjó—reports that the landing point
has changed due to the weather. We’ll
disembark by dinghy onto the stony
beach of Lónfjörður and hike to Kvíar,
the fox-spotting base camp.
We clamber out of the dinghy, fi-
nally setting foot in Hornstrandir.
The beach is littered with finds: bird
bones and feathers, neatly splayed
purple mussel shells bearing giant
barnacles, and mangled fish skele-
tons. All of this, says Eyjó, is evidence
of foxes. Natural scavengers, they of-
ten come down to the shoreline to feed
on the debris left by seals or birds.
As we begin the hike, the trail passes
plenty of bone piles and gnawed fish
carcasses that suggest they may have
had some recent success.
The undisturbed nature of Horn-
strandir is fascinating, and we spot
plenty of plants and wildlife along
the way. Without free-range sheep to
graze it away, the plantlife is flour-
ishing. We pass large patches of rose-
root, their distinctive upward-curved
leaves cradling gems of rainwater be-
neath yellow flowers; sprays of heath
spotted-orchids are in full bloom at
the peak of Icelandic summer, show-
ing their distinctive small, hooded
f lowers. A f light of swans passes
gracefully below us, effortlessly trac-
ing the shoreline and heading out to
sea.
The Hornstrandir exodus
As we hop over streams and pick
through patches of marsh, Kvíar final-
ly comes into view. It’s a lonely house
that crowns a verdant hill set against
a backdrop of steep coastal mountains
receding into the mist. The interior is
like a time capsule, and Eyjó tells the
story of the house’s former life, when
it was home to an extended family of
20. He fills us in on the saga of the
Hornstrandir exodus, which began
when the local doctor left, leading to
a fateful vote when the populace chose
to abandon the area, leaving behind
their houses and land.
After warming up with some hot
soup whipped up by Eyjó, we head
out to look for foxes. There’s a den in
the copse of trees by the house, and
we carefully circle the woods to find
Distance from
Reykjavík:
454 km
How to get there:
Route One North
then Routes 60 &
61 to Ísafjörður
Acommodation
provided by:
einarshusid.is
Trip provided by:
westtours.is
46The Reykjavík Grapevine
Issue 12— 2019
On The Trail Of
The Arctic Fox
A trip to Hornstrandir in search of Iceland’s only indigenous land mammal
Words: John Rogers Photos: John Rogers & a rawlings
Travel
“When I look
up, my heart
skips a beat.
Just a few
metres away,
my compan-
ion has star-
tled a sleep-
ing fox that
bounds past
her in two
high, arcing
jumps.”
The "choppy" crossing Wild roseroot plants Eyjó radios the base to check the weather
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