Reykjavík Grapevine - 02.08.2019, Side 48

The uninhabited sand island of Gam-
laeyri is a dangerous place to reach.
The name of this slender spit of land
translates as “Old Sand Bank” and
it’s only accessible at low tide when
the ocean between mainland and is-
land recedes to expose the sea floor.
In Icelandic, this geographic phe-
nomenon is called a kelda, a tempo-
rary estuary where sea and freshwa-
ter rivers snake across the exposed
seabed. The sea floor itself is soft
and difficult terrain, devoid of much
flora or fauna, save for thousands of
lugworms’ fecal-cast sand mounds
and the occasional kelp-covered rock
jutting from the damp sand.
It’s far from the tourist trail and
seldom visited by locals. However,
this obscure spot became the subject
of intense attention around July’s
full moon when a helicopter pilot
discovered 53 pilot whales stranded
on Gamlaeyri’s shore.
The first
attempt
We embark on the two-hour drive
from Reykjavík to Gamlaeyri a few
days later. At the nearby farm of
Stóra-Hraun, we stop to chat with
two girls in broken Icelandic and
English. Their grandfather, they
say, owns the farm. A puppy ambles
over and scrambles up into the front
seats. The girls gesture to their
grandfather, who walks towards us,
and we drive up to meet him, with
the puppy still in the car.
K r i st já n A r i l íu sson, h i s son
(and, today, translator) Arilíus, and
his granddaughters Anna Jóna and
Máney offer to accompany us to
Gamlaeyri as guides. Kristján will
bring his tractor in case we get stuck.
An Icelandic news agency bogged
their vehicle the day before, so he’s
had some recent experience.
Fast and fast
Sure enough, we get stuck. Kristján
pulls us out and determines that our
vehicle shouldn’t make the trek. He
strategises other ways we could get
there. An ATV crew is nearby, but
they have other plans; the rescue
team Björgunarsveit would share its
vehicle, for a fee—but not today. The
tractor wouldn’t make it.
Máney and Anna Jóna excitedly
combine Icelandic and English to
explain the minute unfoldings of
the plans. “You must go fast, fast,
or you get... fast,” they urge. “Fast”
in Icelandic means “stuck,” so it
takes time to parse the bilingual
explanation. The girls are fantastic
interpreters, though, and it’s soon
agreed to that we’ll return the next
day with a better ride to attempt the
kelda crossing.
Over the
sea floor
After a few phone calls it turns out
that Sigurjón “Síó” Fjeldsted from
Superjeep.is is up for the trip. An
experienced guide since the early
1980s, this will be his first journey
to Gamlaeyri.
We return to Stóra-Hraun in the
morning, receiving a warm welcome
from the family. Anna Jóna intro-
duces us to a four-week-old puppy,
and Kristján fortifies our coffee with
whisky. In high spirits, we climb into
the modified super jeep and trundle
down to the shoreline.
Low tide is a short window, as
the sea floor floods rapidly. Driving
at a brisk pace, the vehicle handles
the kelda nimbly, splashing through
rivers and jostling over washboard
sand. Once on the island, the jeep
careens over sand dunes. A sunning
of cormorants, 300 members strong,
takes wing from a distant point on
the island. As we drive, Kristján of-
fers Síó directions to navigate the
dunes and the shoreline’s quicksand.
The knowledge of our guide ensures
we cross the island fast, without get-
ting stuck.
Pregnant with
death
We arrive to the harrowing sight
of 53 whales perched atop sand
dunes, 200 m from the shoreline.
The first whale appears half-buried
in the sand on our left as we drive.
Then two more, to the right. The
remaining 50 whales extend in a
long line, tightly grouped together,
some bodies overlapping each other.
Either side of the group is flanked by
three male whales, with a grouping
of females in the centre. A few calves
lay farther inland, their small bodies
pushed away from the group by the
tide. Almost in the centre lies a
whale who was giving birth, her calf
half-emerged from the amniotic sac.
Having flown to Gamlaeyri with
lightweight planes, several Fisfélag
pilots and their guests walk solemn-
ly through the mass gravesite. A few
people on all-terrain motorcycles
arrive, followed by Gamlaeyri and
Litla-Hraun’s landowner, Þorgrímur
Leifsson, who has come to collect his
hvalreki.
Devoid of
life
Elsewhere on the island, birds
flock en masse—but not here. The
gravesite is eerily devoid of life. The
whales themselves are partly buried
under ribbed dunes, in early stages
of decomposition; their skins peel in
long rubber sheets, and some show
signs of internal gas build-up. Some
have already exploded.
If this occurred closer to human
habitats, authorities would bury or
Distance
from Reykjavík:
109 km
How to get there:
Route One North,
Route 54.
Note: Gamlaeyri
is extremely
hazardous, and
unreachable by
regular car or hiking
With thanks to:
superjeep.is
The Whale Wreck
The grim sight of a local extracting whale teeth
Travel
Fast-flooding ocean floor at low tide Regular cars won't cut it at Gamlaeyri
View this QR code
in your phone
camera to visit our
recommended
tour booking site
48The Reykjavík Grapevine
Issue 13— 2019
“The gravesite
is eerily
devoid of life.
The whales
are partly
buried under
long, ribbed
dunes, in early
stages of
decomposition.”
A difficult journey to the Gamlaeyri, the remote site of the
Snæfellsnes pilot whale stranding
Words: a rawlings Photos: Art Bicnick