Iceland review - 2019, Page 24

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Iceland Review
It’s easy to understand how people
become infatuated with glaciers. These
mystical white giants lie sprawling
over Iceland’s highest mountains, their
sublime beauty inspiring admiration
and awe. Very few, however, dare
to undergo the dangerous task of
travelling across them. For those
dedicated enough, there is the Iceland
Glaciological Society. Every spring,
the group goes on an expedition to
research Iceland’s glaciers. More than a
year after I first requested to tag along,
I finally get my chance to climb aboard
a massive jeep with experienced glacier
researchers, drive at a snail’s pace
over icy crevasse zones, jump between
icebergs on the Grímsvötn lakes, and
gaze out at the frozen top of Grímsfjall
mountain.
“Vatnajökull glacier has shrunk quickly over the past
25 years,” says Magnús Tumi Guðmundsson, profes-
sor of geophysics at the University of Iceland. “In the
past 130 years, almost all of the glacier’s edges have
receded, and it’s only sped up in recent years. More
and more glacial lagoons are appearing where the
glacier is retreating from valleys it has dug over the
course of centuries. The lagoons cause even more
melting, and the glaciers recede at an even faster
pace.”
Magnús Tumi heads the Glaciological Society,
which counts both scientists and passionate lay-
persons as its members. The organisation has been
conducting annual research trips to the glacier since
the middle of last century. This year, however, big
changes are afoot. The glacier has receded so far that
the route over Tungnaárjökull they’ve taken every
year since 1953 is no longer passable. Where once
there was a solid sheet of ice, lies a plain of muddy
sludge, impenetrable for most vehicles. Instead, the
group has to drive up Skálafellsjökull, considerably
farther away from Reykjavík, and a much longer route
over the dangerous glacier to their destination.
Grímsfjall mountain rises from the Vatnajökull
plateau. The sharply steep north side of the moun-
tain stretches down into the Grímsvötn lakes, most
of which are covered by a thick sheet of ice. Here and
there, geothermal heat has melted the ice off the
water – the lakes sit atop an active volcano. In the past
few decades, the volcano has erupted regularly, caus-
ing glacial melting, showers of ash, and glacial runoff
floods all the way down to the sea.
At the top of Grímsfjall, a stone’s throw from the
volcano, the Iceland Glaciological Society has built
three huts. They are our destination. We pile into our
fleet of vehicles: three super jeeps, a snowcat, and
several snowmobiles. They all follow the same GPS-
guided route. Visibility is limited, making the danger-
ous journey even riskier. As we arrive, the cold wind
and lack of visibility only bolster the group’s spirits.
The annual trip is always meticulously planned, with
its goals determined clearly in advance. Of course,
measurements, research, and equipment monitoring
in multiple locations across the glacier require long
hours. “It’s no holiday,” says Magnús Tumi, though
I see some of his company crack a smile as we carry
luggage and provisions into the largest hut.
Due to great demand, this year’s trip is split in
two so more people can participate. (Vehicles and
hut sizes limit the number of people who can work on
Grímsfjall at a time.) The Iceland Glaciological Society
has between 500-600 members. “They’re people
of all ages, professional geologists as well as glacier