Reykjavík Grapevine - ágú. 2020, Blaðsíða 30

Rifts, Rain And Rebirth
Gettin! up close and (very) personal with the
'ríhnúka!í!ur volcano
Words: Poppy Askham Photos: Art Bicnick
Childhood adventure books led me
to believe that descending into a
volcano would be a far more fre-
quent occurrence than it has prov-
en to be in my life so far. Today,
with the help of the Inside The Vol-
cano tour at "ríhnúkagígur, I will
begin to right that wrong.
"ríhnúkagígur—which rough-
ly translates to “try to pronounce
that you English-speaking suck-
er” (or to be pedantic “three peak
volcano”)—is a geological odd-
ity. When magma cools after an
eruption, it solidifies and fills the
volcano’s cone. But after "ríh-
núkagígur erupted, the magma
simply disappeared as though
someone had pulled out the plug,
leaving a uniquely preserved cav-
ity, ready to be explored by wan-
nabe spelunkers like myself.
When it rains, it pours
Much to my dismay, on arrival at
Bláfjöll Nature Reserve, I discover
that a 3.5 kilometre hike lies be-
tween me and my childhood fan-
tasies.
“The Highlands are Iceland’s
wettest region,” our tour guide
announces as we set out into the
mossy lava field. As if to prove her
point, the heavens promptly open,
releasing that special kind of Ice-
landic rain that defies the laws of
physics to ensure you get soaked
from every angle.
Halfway through the trek we
cross a small wooden bridge over
an unassuming fissure in the lava
field. In fact, we learn, it’s the ar-
chitect of today’s escapade: the
Mid-Atlantic Ridge—a diverging
tectonic plate boundary that is
pulling Iceland in half at a rate of
roughly two centimetres a year,
thrilling geography nerds in the
process.
Journey Towards The
Centre Of The Earth
Eventually we reach base camp
and promptly don our unflattering
mustard-yellow helmets and har-
nesses, ready for the real adven-
ture. Sartorial concerns are soon
replaced with a giddy excitement
as we reach the crater. A metal
bridge juts out over the abyss,
leading to a souped-up window-
cleaner’s lift that will transport us
into the bowels of the earth.
It’s at this point that fear should
probably kick in. We are suspend-
ed in a tiny open-lift above a 198
metre drop—for reference that’s
the height of 666 puffins—but it
appears my self-preservation in-
stinct has momentarily stopped
functioning. There is in fact little
to be scared about; we are trussed
up in safety equipment and accom-
panied by a trained rescue worker.
What’s more, "ríhnúkagígur is
dormant; the most recent erup-
tion occurred some 4,000 years
ago. Somewhat disappointingly,
it seems the greatest threat to my
life throughout the trip is prob-
ably my own clumsy feet—a detail
I shall neglect to include in future
dramatic retellings of this adven-
ture.
After six minutes of steady
descent through the layers of the
earth’s surface, we are untethered
from the metal cage and can step
out into the chamber. Free to roam
the cavern’s rock-strewn paths, I
marvel at the shadowy lava tubes
and jewel-toned mineral deposits
daubed on the walls. It’s hard to
imagine the cathedral-like cavity
once filled with magma, especially
given the fact that the temperature
has dropped to just 2°C.
A turn for the hippier
“When you get to the lowest point,
look up at the vent, you might rec-
ognise the shape,” our guide says
with a mischievous twinkle in her
eye. “Well?,” she demands when
I return. My British prudishness
suddenly kicks in. What if I’d mis-
interpreted the long thin slit in
the ceiling surrounded by layers of
rock tinged red with oxidised iron?
I mumble something lame about a
certain anatomical likeness.
“Exactly!,” she enthuses. “I like
to think that we’re standing in
Mother Nature’s womb and that
when you emerge from the volcano
it’s like being reborn”.
It’s an image that is impossible
to dislodge from my brain as we
make our shuddering ascent back
to rain-soaked reality. Spiritual re-
birth was conspicuously missing
from the trip’s online itinerary. I
guess it’s just another one of those
thrilling unexpected extras—like
the bowl of steaming vegetable
soup that awaits us at base camp.
The best of Icelandic produce
with a nod to Japan and South
America. Modern Icelandic
flavours, share plates and award
winning cocktails.
Sushi Social
!ingholtsstræti 5 • 101 Reykjavík
Tel. 568 6600 • sushisocial.is
Our kitchen is open
17.00–23.00 sun.–thu.
17.00–24.00 fri.–sat.
SOCIALIZE
WITH THE
LOCALS
ICELANDIC
SEAFOOD
makes world’s best sushi
30The Reykjavík Grapevine
Issue 06— 2020
Once you've seen it, you'll never unsee
Guide
Just some spelunkers spelunking