Lögberg-Heimskringla - 15.12.2007, Side 7
Lögberg-Heimskringla • 15. desember 2007 • 7
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Finding Icelandic ties
on a mountain climb
Adrienne Selbie
I came back from the Snorri Program in July this year with something that I hadn’t
expected: a genuine feeling
of connection to the country
and my relatives — and also a
bottle of brennivín in my lug-
gage...
I was skeptical of the idea
of “fi nding my roots” — it
seemed a bit artifi cial, and I
went to Iceland expecting that
the program would provide an
exceptional cultural and edu-
cational experience. But, as it
turned out, the people and the
land itself made my stay much
more signifi cant than that.
There are many stories I
could tell about my six weeks
in Iceland, but what really
crystallizes the experience for
me are the mountains of the
West Fjords, so I am going to
try to describe them and their
effect on me.
The mountains are big.
They have been here for a long
time. And they don’t need or
care about me at all. I don’t
quite know how to respond to
them. And they challenge me
too.
I do dumb things like clam-
ber up shifting slopes of rock
without stopping or thinking
until I reach a big boulder and
then I have to stop. And when
I do, I realize that the rocks are
sliding under the weight of my
wet feet. So I gather my breath
for a burst of scrambling up,
around and over.
I sit on the boulder, panting,
and vow not to do that again —
until the next time I fi nd my-
self, fi ngers and toes digging
into rocky crevices, realizing
that these are not crevices in a
single rock, but loosening spac-
es between many small rocks
that are held together only by a
rather thin layer of moss.
Again, as I pause I begin to
feel the sliding rocks under me.
And I shift. And the rocks shift.
It’s only by a scramble up, not
resting on any one precarious
collection of shifting shards,
that I burst out onto a moun-
taintop fi eld of sun and wind.
And I can see really far. Sit-
ting on the thickest, spongiest,
highest grass, I try to come up
with a word or a phrase or a
quote to say now — and also
to use later to describe this see-
ing. But everything is a cliché,
or at least I know it will seem
so later.
So I take a million pictures
and then rebuke myself for ru-
ining the moment by taking a
million pictures. I wander over
along the ridge, watching the
jagged shadows and the dark
shaped rocks and look at the
next town, which takes a while
to drive to but which, from
up here, I can see just as well
as Bergistanga, my frænka’s
house.
It’s 10 o’clock at night but
the sun is so bright. I pace a
bit and realize that what had
looked like the hard way up
here from the road is actually
the easy way up and even has
posts marking a path. I want to
stay longer, but not knowing
how to respond is unsettling
me. I’m full of something,
some feeling, so I can’t sit still
with the wind and sun and the
grass.
I look at the glacier again,
and at the dragon-teeth rocks
in the next fjord again, and the
mountains as far as I can see,
and the North Pole out from the
fjord across the ocean (okay,
so I can’t actually see it), and
my eyes rest on each mountain
point along the fjord, whose
names I have been told repeat-
edly but still can’t remember,
trying to burn it all into one im-
age.
I fi nally start to head down,
and immediately regret not
dangerously persevering out
to the very tip of the overhang-
ing top of the mountain. I feel
pretty sure that if I could just
sit there, right over the aching-
ly blue water, I would fi nally
be able to name whatever it is
I’ve been feeling. I hesitate, but
then the rocks start sliding un-
der my feet again (the path has
escaped me once more) and so
I jump from rock tuft to rock
tuft, hoping I don’t step in a
hole. Or in mud.
Suddenly, as I follow the
mountain down, fi nding my
roots isn’t so much a critical
effort of digging up bits of an-
cestors and holding on with a
tightly gripping willpower. In-
stead, it’s about me climbing,
and drinking tea with my rela-
tives Maddy and Gunnsteinn,
and baking bread, and going
fi shing, and being clueless in
the store, and digging down my
own roots here.
After all, these are the same
mountains my ancestors saw,
and they were old and big then,
too.
The deadline for applica-
tion for the 2008 Snorri Pro-
gram is 15 JANUARY 2008.
For more information or to ap-
ply, visit www.snorri.is.
PHOTO: ADRIENNE SELBIE
Originally from Toronto, ON, Adrienne took the opportunity
to climb a mountain in the West Fjords of Iceland and snap a
self-portrait while on the Snorri Program.
Brent Stefanson, C.A.
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