Reykjavík Grapevine - ágú. 2021, Blaðsíða 30

As if the Icelandic landscapes al-
ready famous on social media weren’t
enough, Mother Nature added a
freshly blazing volcano to the roster
of awe-inspiring scenery. However,
the recent eruption in Geldingadalur
isn’t the only reason to visit the Reyk-
janes Peninsula. If you can’t manage a
multi-day venture into the Highlands
during your drive around the country,
we have a hidden gem for you only 30
minutes away from Reykjavík.
A little Landmannalaugar
The Reykjanes Nature Reserve—part
of the UNESCO Global Geopark—is
home to Sogin, an area that resembles
a mini Landmannalaugar, one of the
highlights of the Highlands. Nearby,
there’s also Lambfellsgjá, an aston-
ishing lava canyon in the midst of the
peninsula’s seemingly endless lava
fields. Both mystical treasures prom-
ise an escape from the masses, as only
sheep accompanied us on our journey
through the reserve.
Dancing in a Duster
Journeying around Iceland, it’s easy
to question which century you’re in.
Paved roads can be a treasure to come
by and hidden gems are no exception.
Travelling to less popular spots like
the Reykjanes Nature Reserve cer-
tainly doesn't promise to be the most
comfortable, but we didn’t come for
comfort. There’s nothing quite like
bouncing around in a Dacia Duster on
the pitted, gravel road to the reserve—
it almost feels like a dance. Be sure the
vehicle you’re traveling in is a 4x4 with
high clearance because the rocks show
no mercy.
But with palms sweating and tires
crawling, we eventually made it to
the end of the path. While there were
previous (unsuccessful) attempts to
harness the area’s geothermal ener-
gy, there’s now a gravel lot at the end
of the road, Vígdísarvellir, featuring
the abandoned drilling area. If you’ve
made it this far, give some kudos to
that Duster that everyone picks on—
no one said it would be easy.
Winding through the
valley
Stepping out of the car, the bright
green scenery astonished us with
sharp mountain tops. Compared to
other Icelandic landscapes though,
it was nothing unusual—or so we
thought. We set off and after hiking
around the edge of a luscious green
hill and following a couple of munch-
ing sheep, a steamy geothermal patch
blessed us with that beloved sulfur
smell, which can’t help but make one
wonder what slumbers below the
earthly surface under your feet. Mak-
ing our way through the narrow val-
ley, following a small rippling water
stream—quite an atypical occurrence
on the peninsula—we were met by
colourful clay patches covering the
ground as we moved towards Sogin.
The clay shone in numerous daz-
zling shades of orange, whites and
blues at the entrance of the natural
depression of Sogin. It’s, to put it sim-
ply, otherworldly. The vibrant natural
coloring of the ridges surrounding the
landmark stands in stark contrast to
the typical green grasses and deso-
late lava fields lying beyond the site.
But apart from some grazing sheep
leaving their trails around the area,
not a single human soul lied in sight,
emphasising just how lonesome and
remote are the wilds we stood in the
midst of.
Putting the ice in Iceland
Iceland hasn’t always been as warm
and cozy as it is today—it actually
used to be cold, believe it or not. Or
well, it used to be cold-er.
The last ice age began around 2.6
million years ago, ending just 10,000
years ago. During that time, much of
the island was covered in an ice sheet,
but there were a lot of eruptions going
boom beneath the vast glaciers. The
diverse hues of Sogin, a depression in
hyaloclastite ridges, were developed
from such a subglacial eruption. As
magma met ice, it led to a thermal
shock and cacophony of colour.
After exploring “Little Landma-
nnalaugar,” we drove back down the
pitted road to Eldborg crater and set
out on another hike as a storm began
to roll in—how typically Icelandic.
Disappearing into the
depths of lava
As rain began to fall, we reached
Lambafellsgjá, an open fissure in
an oval hyaloclastite mount named
Lambafell, literally meaning “lamb’s
mountain.” Luckily, the gorge offered
us some refuge from the typically Ice-
landic weather (“skítave!ur”).
Weirdly enough, the opening to
Lambafellsgjá is at ground level—the
same as the rest of the endless lava
fields shaping the scenery. But once
in the canyon, the pure height of the
lava rock walls dwarfs you into breath-
lessness. Approximately 20 metres of
rock stood beside us, framing a nar-
row path through the hazy gorge. Gen-
tle mist falling down on us made the
whole place even more mystical.
While essentially showering inside
the basaltic canyon, we explored the
unique formations of its walls. The
sides of the canyon are dotted with
basaltic pillows—basically blobs of
lava that cooled underwater during
an eruption. The shadows and sheer
size of the gorge make the hike even
more eerie on a rainy, hazy day. Since
the canyon is quite shallow, we decid-
ed it was time to face the storm that
awaited us beyond its protection.
As you’re tagging along on the pil-
grimage to the Reykjanes’s newest at-
traction—yes, the volcano—consider
stopping at Sogin and Lambafellsgjá.
Often skipped by the tourist crowds,
you’re likely to be joined only by sheep.
Like the rest of the country, this area
is truly a gem and must be treated as
such. So take your trash and never
leave more than footprints—the elves
will thank you!
Travel distance
from Reykjavík:
37 km
Findin! Paradise
The hidden Hi!hlands of the Reykjanes Peninsula
Words: Brittnee Kiner & Alina Maurer Photos: Art Bicnick
Travel
Not a soul in sight (unless you count plants and lichen)
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Alina & Brittnee, acting natural in nature
“Apart from some grazing
sheep leaving their trails
around the site, not a single
human soul is in sight, em-
phasizing the lonesome
wilds we are in the midst of.”