Ice, Fire and Mountains

“Land of Ice and Fire.” So goes the popular tagline for Iceland (particularly since the cultural phenomenon of Game of Thrones), referencing the contrast between the island’s active glaciers and volcanoes, snow-bound winters and perpetual geothermal heating. Even the human history here is one of extremes, being the last sizeable landmass settled by people in the northern hemisphere (when the Norwegian Vikings arrived only 1000 years ago), and yet conducting experiments in politics and law considered well before their time. For hundreds of years this island has been a peripheral backwater that boasts world-class literacy and literature, a rugged wilderness famous for its introduced sheep and horses, a fiercely independent nation appropriated by foreign powers, and now a tourist destination of exotic appeal yet populated in the summer largely by and for other tourists (the permanent population is 350,000, while the tourist numbers are in excess of 2 million a year).

 

 

We weren’t sure what to expect, except that if you love mountains and trekking, Iceland is firmly high in the list of places to visit. And as outdoor people, who as nerdy high schoolers who had binged on Icelandic sagas (or in my case based my high school novel of 100,000 words on them), it was a non-negotiable destination in Europe.

Our work colleague Nick had recommended the Laugavegur Trail, lauded as one of the best hikes in the world by National Geographic, Lonely Planet and the usual, which including the additional days of the Fimmvörðuháls pass is a 77km trip from Landmannalaugar (the highlands) to Skógar (on the south coast) via Þórsmörk.

The fantastical colours of the rhyolite mountains of Landmannalaugar, and the delightful natural hot springs, kept us there for an extra day. The Laugahraun lava field, from an eruption in 1477, formed half the skyline above the camp, and was a dominant visual reminder of the ongoing volcanic activity of the island.

Then we were off, taking 3 days to complete the first 55kms to Þórsmörk. The variation in the landscape was almost exhaustingly photogenic – the technicolours of Landmannalaugar, the mosses and springs between the glaciers at Storihver, the green Hvangil valley, the barren Emstrur.

 

 

We paused at Þórsmörk for a detour into Stakkholtsgjá canyon that our friend Kath had recommended to us (where in Game of Thrones season 7 episode 6 they capture a wight), before undertaking the bonus 22kms between glaciers Eyjafjallajökull and Mýrdalsjökull to reach the coast. Up to the Morinsheiði plateau, then onto the Kattarhyggir (Cat’s Spine) ridge, which we had heard was sketchy, but after Nick’s exposure therapy of knife-edged ridges in Norway we breezily crossed it.

 

 

 

Over the glacier at the top we passed the new twin craters Magni and Móði from a 2010 eruption. Then the next day it was down the Skoga river, the waterfalls dramatically plunging into ever larger clefts, until eventually the river collapsed down to near sea level in the famous Skogafoss. It was a strange contrast, walking out of glaciers and into mass tourism, but I guess that is part of the Icelandic summer experience!

Our other adventure in Iceland was much more spontaneous. Finding heavily discounted (hilariously, Aussie branded) wetsuits in Norway for our later canyoning in Spain meant that we now had wetsuits to cart around Iceland in the meantime. How to make the most of it? Well snorkeling in Silfra between the continental plates is 2 degrees, so needed a guide and dry suits, which we duly booked. But to really contrast this we wanted our own adventure, and I stumbled across mention of a lake where a geothermal fissure bubbles up underwater. We found the location by triangulating perspectives of the few available photos, and I thought that I read something about 17 degree water – easy. With the nastiest, cheapest snorkel kits in Norway (which we later gave away to the local lad from our car rental place), woolen socks and only one pair of gloves between us, we swam out… immediately on our backs to keep our faces and hands out of the cold water. Thankfully the fissure itself was comparatively warm, so we played around in what had been described as swimming in champagne – which turned out to probably be not far from the truth, as in writing this post the only mention of the lake temperature that I can find from diving companies is of 2-6 degrees and using drysuits – sorry Nick! But it was indeed a superb morning followed up by the clarity (and high density tourism bustle) of Silfra.

 

 

Along with fulfilling a childhood dream of riding the tölt gait of an Icelandic horse, these amazing adventures meant that Iceland had indeed lived up to its reputation as a destination. And between with signs warning of the dangers of flooding as the glacier catastrophically melted above a volcanic eruption, we felt suitably convinced that Iceland was indeed the land of ice and fire.