Reykjavík Grapevine - 19.07.2019, Blaðsíða 48

It was quite pleasant inside the cre-
vasse, once I realised I wasn’t going
to die. The ice inside was smooth and
pale green, like sea glass, and gave
off an other-worldly glow. I looked
down—there was quite a lot of down
to look at—and figured it was prob-
ably time to start trying to get out.
Nice though, crevasses. Peaceful.
Certainly far more relaxing than try-
ing to climb a 2000 metre mountain.
It began, as many misadventures
begin, with a Facebook message from
a colleague. The writer about to em-
bark on a grand adventure had fallen
and damaged her knee. Could I fill in
and climb Hvannadalshnúkur—Ice-
land’s tallest mountain—tomorrow?
Sub
The next day, we set off towards
Hvannadalshnúkur, on the edge of
Skaftafell National Park in south-
east Iceland. In 2008, Skatafell was
combined with surrounding pro-
tected areas to create Vatnajökull
National Park. Recently designated
as a UNESCO World Heritage Site, it
is hoped that recognising the value
and importance of Vatnajökull on a
national and global scale will protect
the area for future generations—so
that they, too, can experience falling
into a crevasse.
We arrived at Skaftafell at 6pm
to meet our guides, Maja and Chris,
who made us feel immediately like
we were in safe hands. They talked
us through what to wear, eat and
bring, as well as providing us with
equipment—ice axes, crampons,
walking poles, and, in my case, stur-
dier boots.
By the end of the meeting, though,
I was terrified. Every year, hundreds
of tourists are injured or even killed
whilst experiencing Iceland’s na-
ture. But by going with qualified
guides, we were taking the best pre-
cautions we could against becoming
one of these sad statistics.
Breakfast rock
After half-sleeping through the
bright summer night, we congregat-
ed at 3am. The climbing group was
a seven-strong international bunch
aged from mid-twenties to mid-sev-
enties, of mixed ability and climbing
experience.
We started out down a rough and
gravelly path. At 350m, we stopped to
fill our water bottles, and in my case,
to apply copious plasters—whilst es-
sential for ankle support and cram-
pon use, my borrowed boots didn’t
make for pleasant walking.
The trail steepened until our next
stop—a 750m high point referred
to as ‘breakfast rock’. We strapped
on our crampons, and got roped up.
Taking in the already impressive
view, I bid farewell to the reassur-
ing path, and we continued onto the
snow.
Pure slog
The next 1,000 metres of the ascent
were a pure slog. No matter how far
we walked, the crest of the hill never
seemed to get closer. I hadn’t done
any serious snow hiking before and
was surprised by how quickly it ex-
hausted me. We also started to en-
counter crevasses. Chris, leading
the group, would stop us while he
poked at the snow bridges, sussing
out their reliability. When he found
a route he would scrape a cross onto
any dodgy areas with his walking
pole so we could follow safely.
The snow was fairly firm, so our
main challenge was the unrelent-
ing ascent. Although the gradient
wasn’t impossibly steep, pushing my
body upwards for hours on end was
unbelievably tiring. Finally, we hit
the edge of the plateau—essentially
the crater of the snow-capped vol-
cano—and started the trek towards
the base of the final summit.
Cleared to summit
We’d been waiting for a forecast up-
date to see whether we could attempt
to summit—bad weather had been
due in from the northeast—but at
8:30am we got the all-clear. South-
eastern Iceland is well known for
its good weather, but even in that
area conditions can change rapidly
in a moment. The fact that we were
blessed with clear skies and fairly
light winds for the full 12 hours is
not lost on me. In fact, despite regu-
larly slathering on SPF 50 sunscreen,
my pale, Celtic skin still turned the
colour of a nice ham by the end.
The last push for the summit was
tough, with the steep, wind-whipped
mound covered in thick snow. The
joy of reaching the top of the moun-
tain was eclipsed only by the joy of
being able to lie down for a moment.
But the winds at the top were strong
enough to not want to hang around,
and after a celebratory dram we
hoisted the Reykjavík Grapevine flag
(an extra-large t-shirt that I’ve slept
in ever since, cheers guys) and then
quickly headed off.
Muffled world
The difficulty of climbing is that
when you hit the top you’re techni-
cally only halfway done. For much
of the descent I was on auto-pilot,
trudging through the sun-softened
snow, knees buck ling ever y few
steps. As clichéd as it sounds, the
idea of ‘the mountain of the mind’
began to make perfect sense to me.
There’s the point at which your mind
thinks your body is done, and then
the point at which it can actually go
Distance
from Reykjavík:
326 km
How to get there:
Route One South,
meet at Skaftafell
Acommodation
provided by:
hof1.is
Tour provided by:
mountainguides.is
Car provided by:
gocarrental.is
Clothes provided by:
66north.is
The Top
Of Iceland
Vatnajökull covers 14% of Iceland
Travel
At 3:00am the team are fresh-faced and ready to go The hardest part of the hike was ascending the endless snow
View this QR code
in your phone
camera to visit our
recommended
tour booking site
48The Reykjavík Grapevine
Issue 12— 2019
“There’s the
point at which
your mind
thinks your
body is done,
and then the
point at which
it can actu-
ally go no fur-
ther. Between
those two
points is where
you climb the
mountain.”
Climbing Hvannadalshnúkur,
Iceland’s highest peak
Words: Josie Gaitens Photos: Art Bicnick