Reykjavík Grapevine - júl. 2020, Blaðsíða 29

29The Reykjavík Grapevine
Issue 05— 2020
Seven Peaks
In Seven Days
How an almost 40-year-old man and his trusty
do# climbed over 3,200 meters in a week
Seven peaks in seven days, I decided.
Why? Mostly to prove to myself that I
could still beat the mountains which I
had traversed so easily in my youth. In
a way, I was looking to remind myself
of who I once was. I missed the feel-
ing of freedom one gets in the brisk air.
(And I also had to get in shape before
hiking Laugavegur, which you can read
about on page 10.)
Helgafell
338 m.
“We should just head for the bar,
right?“#I suggested to Poll$, my odd but
lovely border collie/dachshund mix. She
looked back at me with a blank stare.
Maybe she was right; we were there,
in front of the steep hills of my child-
hood mountain, Helgafell, we had to at
least make an honest attempt at a hike.
The necklace
Helgafell directly translates to the
“Holy Mountain” and was the first one
I ever climbed as a child. I was ten,
looking for some beautiful palagonite
to turn into a necklace. I found one and
gave it to my grandmother, Ólafía. She
never wore it.
Today, although it was 15º C and
sunny in the city, a slight rain fell on
the mountain. Mountains have a way
of bending the skies to their will, I
thought as we began up.
In just a minute up the steep hills,
I was out of breath. Truly, I was in bad
shape. Poll$, meanwhile, promptly ran
up it before coming back down to check
on me a few minutes later. “What was
the holdup?” she asked with her wide
brown eyes.
“Yeah, I know, my two legs aren’t as
good as they used to be,“#I almost whis-
pered to spare my breath. She ventured
back up.
Palagonite finds a new
owner
In almost an hour, we reached the top.
At 21:00, there was a grey sky above me,
but in the west, the red sun lingering
over the ocean. I gave Poll$ water from
my bottle and drank the rest myself. I
was spent.
“Only six mountains left,“#I said to
Poll$, still trying to catch my breath.
On the way down, I saw a relatively
clean palagonite stone on the path. I
picked it up and gave it to my younger
son in the morning. He loved it.
Móskar!shnúkar
807 m.
Móskar!shnúkar is a part of Esjan,
which you could perhaps, in good faith,
call a mountain chain. Furthest to the
east, there is an odd, almost mysteri-
ously bright top, a little bit lower than
the rest of the chain. The brightness
is not due to any mysterious godly
light—as some might say—but actu-
ally because the stones up there are
bright coloured schist.
The system
At first, I felt energetic, but it quickly
dawned on me that I was in over my
head. To survive, I made a system: for-
ty steps, then rest for five seconds. So
I counted. One, two, 35, oh my god kill
me now! Forty! Rest. Now—keep on go-
ing you idiot.
And so I repeated myself until I got
to the top of a flat hill—not the sum-
mit—sweaty as a mule. From there I
could see white clouds starting to form
around the light brown top. Just sec-
onds later, and the clouds had engulfed
the summit. It looked ominous, but
Poll$ didn’t mind. She just hiked on. So
I followed her in good faith.
It’s okay to be scared
The top was so steep and covered with
such thick clouds that Poll$ decided to
hike behind me for the first time in our
adventures.
“It’s okay,“#I told her out loud as I
treaded the narrow path, only seeing
at most 50 metres around me. “It’s okay
to be scared,” I added, perhaps more to
reassure myself than her. When we got
to the top, I took a selfie and sent it to
my girlfriend. She insisted on calling
the rescue team.
Esjan
900 m. ish
I was quite tired when I convinced
Reykjavík Grapevine’s resident super-
human, Art Bicnick, and our brilliant
intern, Poppy Askham, to climb Esjan,
cook a meal on the top and film it all.
Keep in mind that some Icelanders run
up and down this mountain—literal-
ly—so I thought, how hard could it be?
I had, of course, climbed Esjan several
times, so I did know that summiting
the iconic Reykjavík landmark was a
bit harder than it looked. But when it
started to rain hail near the top, well, I
thought, perhaps this was a bit harder
than I thought.
The bad eye
We did manage to climb to the top with
the help of chains and Art Bicnick. Pol-
l$—not to be confused with the human
Poppy—who was soaked by the rain,
didn’t like it when I had to lift her and
almost throw her onto a higher ledge.
She gave me a dirty look afterwards.
“You looked like you needed a
hand,“# I told her apologetically. She
didn’t respond.
Yet, we made it. And we cooked a
ridiculous meal out of baked beans,
bread and cheese. You can see the video
on our Youtube channel, if you dare.
Úlfarsfell
211 m.
I was in surprisingly good shape after
Esjan and immediately felt the need to
climb something—the mountain bug,
eh? I had climbed over 2,000 meters in
three days at this point, so I decided to
hike Úlfarsfell, the big odd mountain
in Mosfellsbær, which looks like a sub-
marine when viewed from the north.
Direction or life choices?
I had hiked Úlfarsfell a couple of times
before, but never really enjoyed it. It
was too small, with too many joggers,
sports idiots on mountain bikes, and
Karens with walking sticks. That said,
it was a site small enough to give me a
break from the intensity of the other
mountains on my list, so it was a good
choice for day four.
Poll$ and I found a sign in the
small woods, just minutes after we
started hiking, explaining that there
were three options at Úlfarsfell: Not
to climb the mountain and just linger
in the woods, take the South “Easy”
Path, or the Northern “Hard” Path. I
stood there for a few seconds, feeling
like this was about more than simple
directions—it was a life choice.
Going in, hard!
“We’re going hard, aren’t we?“#I asked
Poll$. She wagged her tail and showed
me her teeth; her odd way of smiling
and being friendly, often confused
with aggressiveness.
The hill was steep but short. I didn’t
even feel my heartbeat rising. In but a
few days, I was getting into good shape.
There isn’t really a mountain top to
speak of on Úlfarsfell. Only a flat hill
mostly covered with the highly con-
troversial Alaska Lupins. I threw some
balls for Poll$ into the purple fields,
and she disappeared in the flowers
briefly before returning with the ball
for another round of fetch.
That said, the weather was beauti-
ful and together, Poll$ and I sat on a
bench on the south side of the moun-
tain watching the sunset.
“We’re getting good at this,“#I told
her with a pat.
Vífilsfell
655 m.
Vífilsfell is a tricky one. It was formed
thousands of years ago in two different
eruptions, which explain the odd shape
of the mountain. The first half is just
a merciless hike straight up the grav-
elly north side. My calves and thighs
were in constant pain for half an hour,
bringing me so close to despair that I
restarted my counting system. I start-
ed with 40, but was soon down to just
20 steps between short pauses. Even
Poll$ had trouble finding solid ground
as we were sliding a little bit down-
wards with every step.
Slave's mountain
The mountain is named for a famous
Icelandic slave, Vífill, who came to the
island with the first Icelandic settler,
Ingólfur Arnarson. The story goes that
Vífill would climb this mountain every
day to check on the weather. Later on,
he became a free man and settled there
at the now-named Vífilssta!ir, which
lies in Gar!abær, where Iceland’s 1%
live today.
Continues Á
Words:
Valur Grettisson
Photos:
Valur Grettisson
Guide