The Icelandic Canadian - 01.08.2001, Blaðsíða 37

Vol. 56 #3
THE ICELANDIC CANADIAN
I 19
der against the ocean spray and winds and
the enthusiastic reception invoking the
crew’s emotional response in Halifax put it
all in perspective. The Viking spirit had
survived the test of time.
To truly understand the accomplish-
ment of the crew of the Islendingur, it took
a modern disaster to put it in perspective.
Mayor Huskilsson pointed out when we
were at the approximate location of the
Swiss Air disaster. Where twentieth centu-
ry technology had failed, the Islendingur
persevered. I could not begin to imagine
what it would have been like in Leifur
Eriksson’s time.
I could not sleep that night. The crew
graciously offered me a bunk but the claus-
trophobic conditions made the deck an
attractive option. I huddled up on top of
the engine cover. The steady hum of the
engine and the warmth from its efforts
were a mild comfort. Wearing a fleece
pullover, shorts and sandals didn’t lend
well to sleep as the cold ocean mist, the
occasional rude splash of salt water, cou-
pled with a bone-chilling breeze did not
allow for REM to be achieved. I resigned to
look up at the stars, observing a meteor
shower and the distant lightning to the east.
Once again, I imagined the crew telling of
great adventures and praying to the Norse
gods for guidance as they spoke in
Icelandic. I have often jested that I know
only enough Icelandic to get into trouble
and this was one instance where my limit-
ed knowledge of the language was advanta-
geous as I vicariously continued my jour-
ney back in time.
The morning sun was a welcome sight as
the temperature was soon more befitting
my attire. I ate one more donut and
enjoyed a morning coffee when the engine
was shut down. We drifted quietly for two
hours as our arrival six nautical miles from
Lockeport was well ahead of schedule. The
crew unpacked their Viking costumes and
prepared for yet another reception. They
were looking forward to a five-day shore
leave before heading to the United States
and yet another five weeks of travel before
their final destination—New York City.
Under full sail, we entered Lockeport
harbour to the sounds of bagpipes and the
cheers of approximately 1000 people. The
crew once again acknowledged the cheer-
ing crowd the way they had at several ports
of call before. It was good to be back on
land. My sea legs would later attest to this
during an awkward moment when I was
introduced to a large crowd and I stumbled
somewhat as I rose. Reflecting on the expe-
rience, it is one I will never forget and am
eternally grateful to the captain and crew
for allowing me this opportunity to redis-
cover my Viking roots. D.J. Sigmundson
was on the dock receiving the ship and
summed up my experience quite succinct-
ly. When he was interviewed in the
Interlake Spectator he said I looked very
tired but I was smiling from ear to ear.
Considering the length of the voyage, this
prairie boy will have a lifetime of memo-
ries. I will never forget the splendors of
nature; the curious sea lion checking our
progress; the score of sea birds in our wake
or the meteor shower. Nor will I likely
have such an opportunity to experience
such a profound and personal awakening of
my Viking heritage. I was extremely fortu-
nate to be the Twelfth Warrior and cele-
brate 1000 years of Leifur Eriksson’s
Voyage of Discovery in a manner many can
only dream of—reliving our history.
My colleagues suggested I looked tired, but was
smiling from ear to ear.