A Tale of Three Glaciers : Iceland, July 2017

After sailing around Iceland, I invited my friend Ron to join in Iceland to do some land touring around the Ring Road.  It took ten days of driving and we went through some spectacular territory.  Here is a story from that road trip.

A tongue of the Vatna glacier.  You can enlarge any photo by clicking on it.

A map of Iceland showing the approximate location of the glaciers in Red.

The snowy crown of the Vatna Glacier gleamed from her mountain throne, and I caught my breath at the first sight.  As we drove further south from Egilsstađir on the Ring Road, we glimpsed many tongues of mighty Vatna, rivers of ice which flow from the snowcap down into different valleys, carving their names in stone, heaving up islands of glacial sand, and melting away into milky jade-colored rivers.  I hoped to be able to have a close look, maybe even to get right up to the ice face of a glacier.  Perhaps there would be an opportunity.

One:  The Late-Night Glacier

Our day’s journey south along the Ring Road ended in the mid-afternoon at the Smyrlabjörg Hotel near Höfn.  The accommodations for our ten-day visit had been efficiently and cheerfully arranged by Sandra Björk SigϷόrsdόttir at Hey Iceland tours, and had been a delightful mix of small guesthouses and farm stays. The spacious Smyrlabjörg Hotel was a nice surprise, with its airy dining room, lounges, bar and abundant buffet.

The Smyrlabjörg Hotel , southwest of Höfn.

After settling into my room, I asked the receptionist if there was anywhere nearby where I could have access to a glacier.  She told me to drive a few miles back north, the way we had come, to find Guesthouse Skálafell. I could walk to the glacier from there.

The Skálafell Guesthouse and working sheep farm.
The glacier is over the mountain just behind it.

I parked in front of the guesthouse, and knocked on the door to see if it was OK where I had parked my little Toyota Yaris.  The hostess assured me it was fine, and directed me to the national park trail, which started just on the other side of their sheep pen. I let her know I was walking alone, just in case.  A tall wooden gate was topped with reindeer antlers and a sign reading “Hjallanes Area & Skálafellsjökull”.

I entered the sheep pen, wended my way among the placid animals, and made sure to latch the gate securely as I exited the pen. From there I could easily follow the trail, which was well marked with blazes.

The path wound ahead over grassy pastures interspersed with low bushes and stone outcrops.  It wound upward, climbing along a ridge and zigzagging back and forth up the steepening grade.  It was midsummer, and the sun was still shining high above the horizon at 8 pm.  The fresh sweetness of the air energized me, and the silence was unbroken except for my footsteps and the distant sound of an ewe calling to her lambs.

Looking back at the Skalafell Guesthouse. The trail is blazed, this was easy going here

Grass gave way to thick pillows of moss, soft and easy underfoot.  I came to a steep rocky incline, and used my hands as well as my feet to climb past a striking rock formation which reminded me of the Iron Throne.

The Iron Throne (from the side...). You can see the trail below it, steep.

At the top, the blazed trail continued and there were occasional plaques explaining geologic features along the way.  At last I sighted the glacier, carving its way down the valley surrounded by majestic peaks. The trail became rockier and more primitive, deeply cut in one place by a some-time watercourse. On a plaque, a map printed in 2010 showed the path leading down directly to the face of the glacier. 

My first glacier.

Now, ten years later, the glacier had retreated further, and to reach it I must cross a broad delta of wet sand, veined with streams running out of the lagoon at the ice face.

The map showing the areas which were covered by the glacier in the past.

 I debated going further; it was now almost 10 pm and the temperature was falling. Clouds were lowering over the mountains. If it rained I might lose the trail, and would risk hypothermia in spite of my Gortex coat and boots. I paused to savor the endless music of running water flowing under the mighty glacier, the primal rush of water back to Mother Ocean.  I turned back.

Turning back before the rain came.

Two:  The Two-Track-of-Death Glacier

Over coffee the next morning, I chatted with a server who told me of another place to see a glacier. He said the staff go there to swim in the lake, it’s easy to find, no problem.  Great!   Just down the main road from Smyrlabjörg I easily found Jökasel Road leading past the power plant.

It'll be easy, they said.

Winding gently up through green meadows, the well-graded road passed by one pretty lake and then another, tempting me to stop for a dip.

The two track in the easy part.  So pretty.

 The road wound higher and grew narrower, higher and narrower.  It became a two-track, and was surfaced with jagged scree which bounced noisily off the bottom of the car.  My little Toyota Yaris climbed doggedly on. At last I came to a down-hill grade so steep that I could not see the road ahead over the hood of the car.  Anxiously, I got out and looked, then decided to go for it.  Over the brink I went, and down the straight, steep two-track. It turned sharply at the bottom and rose steeply again.  My heart was pounding. What if Little Yaris can’t make it back up that hill?  What if another car is coming down when I am coming up?  What if I get a flat tire?  What if a rock pierces the gas tank?What if I slide off the cliff?! The road got narrower and  rougher and hairpin curves became the norm.   Finding a wide spot where I could pull over,  I got out and breathed evenly to calm my fraying nerves. Along came a big 4x4 truck, down rolled the window, and a German man asked me “How on earth did you get that car up here?”  I asked him “How on earth am I going to get it down!?”  He said, “Steady on, see you at the top”.  I continued on, my heart my throat.  At last the road leveled out and I saw the Snowmobile Adventures building at the end.  As I approached, I saw the German man changing a flat tire on his all-terrain truck.

Snowmobile Adventures equipment was a reassuring sign of humanity.

Grateful for arriving safely, I headed out toward the glacier where could walk off my anxiety.  The glacier was frosted with snow and marbled with veins of slate-colored silt.

It was farther than it looks.

Here was no melt water, but the snow of centuries hard-frozen and compacted into super-dense blue ice. Black mountains watched silently. All sense of time and scale was lost. The world was black and white, with dabs of glacial aqua and the radiant blue sky over all.

I was too afraid to stop and photograph the worst stretches of road.

I walked through the snow, crunching my footprints into the pristine snowfield, in awe of the unblemished beauty and primeval power of this place. It might be unwise to go further toward the glacier by myself (or maybe my nerves were frazzled). It would have been better to go with the Snowmobile Adventure tour, but today  it was not an option.

A view from on high of the glacial watershed and the sea.  And the Two-Track of Death.

Retracing the my precarious path down, I stopped at an overlook to survey the steep hill which worried me so. No other car was in sight. At the bottom of the hill I stepped on the gas, and  Little Yaris scrabbled up and over the top of the hill like a champion.  I had survived, and Little Yaris too. I celebrated with hot breakfast back at the Smyrlabjörg Hotel.   I should have had a four-wheel drive vehicle for this escapade. Lesson learned!

Next time!

Three :  The Drive-In Glacier

Heading south along the Ring Road,  we stopped to admire the spectacular natural ice sculptures and black pebble beach at Jökullsarlon, then continued south.

A calm day. You could hear the ice grinding from time to time.

Beautiful bergy bits at Jokulsarlon.

 Not far ahead, another tongue of the glacier came into view, and a large parking area was conspicuous just off the Ring Road.  We turned into the car park.  A well-trodden footpath ribboned over gently rolling heath, leading inland toward the glacier.

So easy!  Especially after the last two days.

It was an easy walk. Eventually the path grew narrower and passed over loose scree which made it slower going.  I hiked to within a half-mile of the glacier, to the soggy, sandy lagoon which was scattered with silty chunks of ice melted into dimpled shapes.

 My friend was waiting back at the car, and I had to decide whether to pick my way along for another easy, but slow, half-mile to reach the actual ice face, or keep him waiting for another hour.  In the end, consideration won out over exploration, and I turned back.  Once again I had ventured tantalizingly close to the glacier’s frozen face without quite reaching it.   Nevertheless, I was grateful for this remarkable experience of nature, to almost have touched three of Vatna’s frosty fingers with my own.

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!