The Icelandic Canadian - 01.08.2006, Qupperneq 30

72
THE ICELANDIC CANADIAN
Vol. 60 #2
Our destination, Hornbjarg.
at breakfast, over several cups of splendid
Icelandic coffee, strong but never bitter,
remind ourselves why we are here. The
town, spectacularly set between mountains
and sea, will be the base for not the focus of
our exploration.
Our objective is nothing less than to
arrange a trip which will take us down the
long broad fjord known as Isafjardardjup
out into the North Atlantic, and along the
coast of Iceland’s most northerly shore, an
area known as Hornstrandir. For it was,
after all, the forlorn yet exotic loveliness of
that place which had so impressed us in the
closing scenes of Children of Nature.
Moreover, the travel brochures had fed my
fantasies.
“Hornstrandir”, one began, “is the
most magnificent the country has to offer.
The absolute silence that reigns on the now
uninhabited coast is something most visi-
tors will never have experienced before and
will certainly never forget. There perhaps,
the contrasts are sharper than ever; in the
harsh outpost overlooking the Artctic
Circle, flowers bloom around the ruins of
old turf farmhouses while plants and
wildlife flourish in this reserve where man
has not lived and sheep have not grazed for
decades.”
Recently, I had heard of a boat that
might take us for the day to the film’s
locale, one of the bays at the base of the
cliffs and mountains forming the
Hornstrandir coast. Adalvik was purported
to be a sandy beach fringed with wild-
flower meadows and still containing the
ruins of a once vital village abandoned by
its inhabitants in 1952.
“There’s a trip to Adalvik today,”
offers the helpful young man in the Tourist
Office, “ but unfortunately it has just left.”
“Wait a minute, though. You can take an
even better tour tomorrow. You’ll see
Adalvik from the boat, but then go even
further, right to the nature reserve on the
north coast. It’s a brand new cruise. The
best yet.”
It’s also an expensive proposition, we
discover, but when will we ever be this
close to something so unfamiliar again? 66
degrees North. The edge of the Arctic
Circle. The latitude compels us so that we
don’t really hesitate, or ask many ques-
tions, or even look at a detailed map.
All we know definitely is that at nine
o’clock tomorrow morning we will walk
from our hotel to the harbour to board a
boat called the Gudny. All we need bring is
lunch, rain gear and a camera. Then, during
the next twelve hours, we should have
some unforgettable experiences.
Keen to be underway, we are up early
the next morning, scanning the sky, which
while not the cloudless bright blue of the
previous day, still appears to promise a fair
voyage. It is with a sense that is at once
carefree and excited that we make our way
to the harbour and the dock where the
Gudny will be waiting.
Looking back on that day, what strikes
me first is that I think I expected something
grander of the boat itself, but there she was,
a forty-five foot aluminum cabin cruiser.
Still, she looked fresh and seaworthy, and
the sight of several trim and energetic
young men loading on gear and goods in an
efficient manner, inspired confidence,
On board we discover seats much like
those in the van, comfortable but definitely
not luxurious. Observing my fellow pas-
sengers, I wonder what has brought each of
them here in the early morning of the last
day of June, We are eight in all, excluding
the crew of three, and a quiet and pretty
local girl who, I learn, is to be our guide.
An attractive young German couple exude
fitness and have apparently come with the
purpose of camping for a week. Otherwise,
we seem to be daytrippers - a jovial middle-