True North: Circumnavigating Iceland

The sun at 11:00 p.m. in mid June.   You can enlarge any photo by clicking on it.

The golden sun rested upon the horizon, streaking purple, tangerine and scarlet across the wine-dark ocean...and it was eleven o'clock at night.  We motored out of Reykjavik, marveling at the sunset glistening off the Harpa Hall. It was still bright enough to read.  Welcome to summer in Iceland!

The skyline of Reykjavik.

I had flown in to join my friends Jens and Siggeir as the third crew member aboard Xena, a fast and nimble 11 meter racing sailboat, on a voyage to circumnavigate Iceland.

I was welcomed warmly by Jens and Maria at their home.  Over a lovely dinner of grilled salmon, the talk turned to warm clothes.  I described the technical base layers and fleece I had brought, and they shook their heads. "What you need is wool".  Maria lent me her traditional lopaseysa sweater and hand-knitted socks of Icelandic wool. She gave me a gift of hand-knitted traditional fisherman’s mittens. Each one has two thumbs; they can be worn on either hand and last for twice as long. I was glad to wear these warm woolies once we were out on the sea.

If you don't like the weather in Iceland, just wait a minute. We departed in calm conditions, with a forecast of light wind. We rounded the Reykjanes peninsula and the wind built rapidly to gale force, with choppy waves piling up. The boat heeled over at an alarming angle. We struggled to shorten sail and resolve some rigging problems, and bashed on. Suddenly the wind dropped to a light breeze and the sun shone again. Exhausted, I curled up on the deck, padded by my wooly layers, and fell fast asleep in the warm sun.

The volcanic island of Surtsey.

We passed Surtsey, Iceland’s youngest island, and entered Heimaey in the Vestmann Islands in brilliant sun, after 27 hours at sea.  Towering bird cliffs flank the channel.

One of the Vestmann Islands

In 1973, without warning, this in which Heimaey is nestled spewed a flow of klinker lava that buried the part of the town and threatened to seal off the port. 

 Though one man was killed, the local fleet of fishing boats evacuated the rest of the residents to safety, and American ships assisted by hosing the hot lava with icy sea water, preventing the harbor from filling in. The town is quietly prosperous, the port is filled with neatly painted fishing boats, and tourist ferries come and go.

The harbor at Heimaey, and the lava flow in the foreground.

We docked at 4:00 a.m. The fishing fleet was in port and festooned with flags.  It was a national holiday honoring Iceland's fishermen. Jens and Siggeir went swimming at the community pool. These pools, with hot tubs and saunas, are fixtures of Icelandic towns. Even the smallest villages have one, which visitors may use for a small fee. It’s a pleasure to shed those bulky layers and loll in the water. I explored the town and the imposing lava flow, now a park ribboned with foot paths.

 The azure sky accentuated the blue lupines blanketing the lava. A beautiful replica of a thousand-year old wooden church sits beside the channel. 

I browsed the impressive Volcano Museum, and enjoyed a hot cup of coffee and homemade rhubarb cake at a little café.

Local kids having fun with surgical gloves.

A great mural.

The ferry sounded his horn for us...move it!

Leaving the Vestmanneyur.

We needed to make the best of this fine weather.  After 18 hours, we departed for Eskifjörður on the east coast. Gradually a haze rose, misty clouds gathered and we sailed through pearly light over a silver sea. The volcano Hekla appeared above her cloudy veil on the distant mainland and we passed our first glacier.

Volcano Hekla, with the glacier flowing down toward the sea.

My gaze flickered over a black shape cutting the sea ahead. An orca, with its tall dorsal fin, swam lazily across our bow to have a look at us. Pewter skies descended with low-hanging rain clouds. 

The orca.  What a lucky shot.

We passed the towering sea stacks at Vik, legendary trolls who had been turned to stone by the light of the rising sun. We cruised near the mountainous Eastfjords, austere pyramids of black basalt blanketed with snow and ice.

The pyramidal peaks of the Eastfjords. You can see the summits best in early morning.

High bird cliffs in the Eastfjords.  The pale dots are thousands of sea birds.

 At last we turned and raised the blue and white spinnaker for a downwind run into the fjord. Xena danced joyfully into Eskifjörður after 49 hours at sea.

Jens family, the little boy and Uncle Jonas, the police chief, met us in Eskifjörður.  Siggeir on the right.

We were welcomed on the dock by Jen's relatives, who gave us a ride up to the community pool for a luxurious swim shower after two days underway. Afterward, the guys went visiting and I explored the town.

Fishermans' memorial , one of many we saw.

 

 Tidy houses sided with corrugated metal dotted the shore, and neatly painted fish sheds lined the quay. Delicate waterfalls splashed down the mossy cliffs to join the sea. I admired blooming red tulips, little roadside parks, and the stone break-wall which had been painted by the children.  

I stepped into the gas station cafe to enjoy one of Iceland's tasty hot dogs.  Made with lamb and topped with grainy mustard, ketchup, crunchy fried onions and remoulade sauce, it's a popular treat. 

Icelandic hotdog, called Pylsur.  At $6 USD, this is the best bargain around.
 A pound of bacon cost $27; a bowl of soup with slice of bread $18.  Good place to go on a diet.

My shipmates introduced me to more Icelandic foods, including harðfiskur, wind-dried fish fillets of cod and haddock, spread with sweet Icelandic butter. Siggeir declared he could happily live on this for days! 

Smoked herring and salmon served on buttered molasses rye bread made a good snack.

"Love Balls", so named for the anatomical similarity, according to Jens.

 Jens found his bliss in ástarpungar, or “love balls”, fried pastries studded with raisins.

Sailing on, we rounded the Langanes peninsula, shaped like the head of a goose, in Iceland's northeast. 

The channel marker light is an aluminum sculpture shaped like a goose, like the peninsula.

After 37 hours at sea we passed the fish processing plant and tied up at Þórshöfn (pronounced "Thors-hop"), Siggeir’s home town.  I became a regular at the Baran Cafe for breakfast and internet. I strolled the village and surrounding countryside, fragrant with springtime grass and wildflowers. 

Siggeir’s wife Hrafngerður pampered us with a delicious breakfast of pancakes, fresh berries and cream, and a dinner of succulent roast leg of lamb. 

Daughter Svanhilde and I walked to the edge of town to see their horses, and she explained how people collect bird eggs and eider down from the nests along the shore.

We departed for the island of Grimsey with following wind and seas, which built during our 17 hours at sea.

As midsummer approaches, the mid-night sun stays brighter.

Jens and Siggeir, my shipmates.

At the helm when Xena sailed north of the Arctic Circle on the way to Grimsey .
Wearing my two-thumbed mittens.

  Xena surfed nimbly over the big rollers. After we came into the harbor, fishermen sauntered over to chat when we tied up at the village quay. It was late afternoon and we set off to hike above the Arctic Circle, the latitude at which the sun sets above the horizon on the summer solstice, which was today!  

A fisherman who had just caught his limit of  1200 lbs of halibut, and the harbor master.

We were dive-bombed by arctic terns nesting in the meadows. Ewes with twin lambs nestled among grassy tussocks, near bird cliffs where we spied upon puffins, petrels, skuas, and guillimots. 

A puffin and two guillemots, like flying penguins.

Puffins on the cliffs of Grimsey.

The GPS confirmed that we had crossed the Circle, N 66° 33.46'.  It was wild and lovely, with emerald pastures crowning austere black crags, and the eternal sea.

Above the Arctic Circle,...66° N 33.46’N latitude.

After a swim at Grimsey's community pool, we set sail for Siglufjörður by the light of the midnight sun, arriving after eight hours. 

Siglufjörður was once the world capital of herring production, and the large fish houses lining the waterfront are now an impressive museum of the fishing industry. The pretty church perched on a flowery hillside overlooks the town.  Here were more cafes and shops. 

A traditional house with a turf roof.

Girls played competitive beach volleyball in 50° F drizzle. Jens and Siggeir checked the weather; we should be able to reach Ísafjörður before the gale. We decided to make the run for Horn, the northernmost tip of the mainland. We must go in favorable conditions, as swells can build to great size there as they reflect off the cliffs.

Another fishermen's  memorial. This says it all.

As we left the dock, an engine belt broke, but it was quickly replaced. The wind rose and we set our sails. A steady rain began.  A humpback whale waved us on with a dignified flip of its tale. It rained for eighteen hours; we just hunkered down and steered. We were all on deck as we passed Horn, black and forbidding. 

Thousands of sea birds swirled around the cliffs and dove into the sea. Yellow-green moss garlanded the crags. Waterfalls trickled over the precipice to be swallowed by waves.  A rock called the Lady silently watched us pass.  At Straumnes, long swells from the Greenland Sea rebounded off the cliffs, creating alarmingly big waves as they merged with incoming rollers. We were soon past the rocky cape, in normal seas and turning south at last.

On to Ísafjörður in the Westfjords, a base for hiking, bird, and whale-watching excursions where we sheltered from the gale. I swam at the pool, enjoyed Icelandic bacalao for lunch, chatted with local people, and went shopping. 

Bacalao...saltfish with potatoes and cheese, with bread, salad and Gull Beer.

I was pleased and proud to meet the formidable captain of the British Adventure of Hornet ,
a robust 72 foot cutter used for sail training for the British  military.  Rebecca Walford
skippered in 2009 and 2017 in the prestigious and challenging Rolex Sydney to Hobart race! 

The wind was predicted to ease, so we prepared to depart around 6 p.m.  The engine started with an awful grinding sound; the alternator had failed. Jens ordered a new one, to arrive on tomorrow’s plane.  Forced to stay in port, the best thing to do was go for a beer and live music at Húsið Restaurant!

We left in mid-day sunshine, gliding past the splendid Westfjords mountains striped with snow. 

Local charter boats at Ísafjörður .

Ísafjörður street view.

Heading out of Ísafjörður 

A beautiful way to start the last leg of the voyage.

In the opal dawn we passed the Bjargtangar light, where a strong current pushed us south at over 9.3 knots. Powerful eddies swirled around us; fish jumped, pilot whales hunted, and birds dove into the living sea.

On to Snaefellsnes, where gray clouds closed in from the west, but the wind held steady as we turned at last toward Reykjavik. 

A wall of clouds advancing.

After 34 hours at sea, we ghosted into Reykjavik Old Harbor to the cheers of friends and family on the dock. We had sailed nearly 1000 miles in 15 days. Our circumnavigation was complete.

At the dock at the end of the voyage.

If it seems like it was a lot of sailing, it was!