Dateline: Isafjördur

I flew to this small city (+/- 3,000) in the northwestern part of Iceland yesterday morning. Isafjördur is a lovely little town and is set, as its name suggests, in the bottom of a fjord, so steep walls tower over the settlement on three sides. The mountains are, like much of Iceland’s topography, flat-topped and are made up of dark rock with small, bright green plant life streaking about three-quarters of the way up. At the bottom of the fjord it’s Ireland green formed by grasses and fields — but no real trees. There are scattered groves that have been planted by the residents, but no forests.

At the head of the fjord, to the west, there’s a road that leads to the rest of this region of Iceland which is known as the Westfjords. The region comprises a peninsula jutting out of the northwest corner of the island, and its fjord-pocked coast is one continuous series of undulations. But it’s remote out here: since fjords ultimately end in a high wall, that road out of town tunnels into the mountain to reach the next fjord. The tunnel was built in 1996 — which means that up until 15 years ago, travel from town to town around here was via the rough, dirt tracks over the mountaintops. And that’s just in the summer. In the winter? Whole other ball game. Now I know why everyone here has beefy four-by-four vehicles despite the high cost of fuel. It’s out there here in the Westfjords, that’s for sure.

On the east side of Isafjördur there’s a huge dike running diagonally up the hillside between the town and the slopes. It was built to protect a residential area from avalanches; in years past, slides have wiped out houses and ski lifts (they moved the lifts farther up the valley as a result; houses were a little tougher to move). The dike is 25 or 30 feet high and a good quarter-mile long, and there are also a series of man-made conical hills, also 25 or 30 feet, upstream from the dike. That’s how big the avalanches get around here. A couple of fjords over, there’s the village of Flateyri which was buried by a slide in 1995 that wiped out a bunch of houses and killed 20 people. So yeah, it’s out there here in the Wesfjords.

And yet there’s a reportedly good hospital here in Isafjördur and a university too. There’s also a pro or semi-pro soccer team: a Reykjavik team was on my flight yesterday, coming up here for a match. Cruise ships call regularly and there have been steady stream of European and North American tourists wandering town. The houses here are charming and brightly colored, with beautiful flower gardens out front and in windowsills. And the town is home to several high-profile music festivals annually.

So the combination of out-there and civilization makes Isafjördur a pretty neat place. And on a summer day like today — brilliant blue sky with not a cloud in sight, temps in the mid 60s — it’s not only charming but quite idyllic here. I suspect winter is a different matter but for now it’s wonderful.

Which is good because the Polar Bear soap opera is ongoing. Boogie and Marlies offloaded a group of Russian photographers the day before I arrived. They were unable to get through the ice to Greenland (a couple of hundred miles away) and this week’s scheduled group wasn’t interested in NOT getting to Greenland so they canceled. As a result, Boogie and Marlies and I are staying here, watching the weather and ice forecasts, and waiting for Saturday when a couple of friends and Boy Wonder will arrive and we’ll give Greenland another go. Boogie was hoping to head west to Akureyri or Husavik in the next day or two in order to give us a more westerly track to Scoresby Sund but Boy Wonder emailed today saying the ice report indicates that we’ll have a better shot running straight north from here rather than from farther east. So…we’ll see.

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Another Dose of Humility, Please

Sitting in the lobby of the City Centre Hotel in Reykjavik. It’s midnight on a Friday and the scene up and down the street outside is, to put it bluntly, rockin’. Alas, I have an 8am flight to catch so I’m behaving: a couple of pints of Guinness and now I’m getting ready to turn in.

This town really is incredible: small enough to be digested in short order; interesting enough to keep someone busy for a very long time. I did the culture/history thing today: museums. Under an overcast sky that occasionally spit a few raindrops, I hit the Culture House and the National Museum. In the latter, I got a detailed rundown on the history of this island, this nation, this people. It was fascinating and very well presented, and I quite enjoyed myself. To be honest, I don’t think I gave myself enough time for the National Museum — there was just so much to digest.

The Culture House, on the other hand, was spectacular in an understated manner…especially if you’re into the written word. The emphasis at the Culture House is just that: the written word. So the focus is on the published versions of the Icelandic Sagas and Eddas and other national treasures that set this small island’s culture apart from more mainstream European history/culture.

Upon entering the main display at the Culture House, I got a little upset: everything was just a reproduction of the books that contain these amazing stories dating back more than a thousand years. BUT…in the back corner of the main room there was a little sign saying: “This way.” And for those who followed…wow. Real, live, actual books that were almost a thousand years old (from the 1200s in some cases), under glass, protected from ultraviolet light and humidity and other degrading impacts. Stories that were written down so they’d survive from generation to generation — and all gloriously crafted, with beautiful calligraphy and gorgeous illustrations. It was truly awe-inspiring, especially to one who bitches about how writing with pen-and-paper is just sooooo trying…how he writes more easily on a keyboard. Boy, did I feel like a big wuss. It was a truly humbling experience.

It was a fitting send-off. Tomorrow morning I’ll jump a flight to the northwest part of Iceland, to Isafjördur, where I’ll rejoin Polar Bear and we’ll head to Greenland. Maybe. Yesterday, on the flight over the southern cape of that mystical land, I saw quite a bit of ice so we’ll see what happens (last week, Polar Bear was turned back by the ice). I’m hopeful of reaching Greenland via boat but again: it’s not up to me. Either way, we’ll give it a shot. And assuming we get through, I’ll be incommunicado for the three week-long trips on the schedule. My next connection to the modern world will come upon our return to Iceland in late August.

So enjoy the rest of your summer. I lived in Alaska, but even I’ve been shocked in the change in the light at this latitude in just two weeks: it’s pitch dark out now whereas when I was here last, it was a pleasant surprise to see the moon in an otherwise daylight sky. The lesson is clear: light and summer (and a few other things…) are fleeting. They are to be savored, made the most of. Because it’s a long time till they come ’round again…

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Summer Solstice…and Back to the Mainland

Time for another anchor watch.

Upon leaving Trollfjord, we retraced our steps toward Lillemolla but kept right on going…for another 70 miles or so back across the open water to the mainland. With gale warnings in the forecast, Boogie wanted to get back to within striking distance of Bodø in case things got really nasty. So we’re now anchored at the head of a fjord near a tiny settlement named Eidet. It’s not far (as the crow flies) from Mannbåer, our anchorage last Saturday, but this time we’re on the other side of the mountains from the open water, the fjord we’re in having snaked east and south and back around west.

And as if in response to yesterday’s observation regarding wildlife, once into this fjord we were surrounded by a pod of pilot whales, some of whom swam quite close to the boat. And after they’d wandered off, a couple of otters could be seen on shore along the waterline. Boy Wonder says there are several stands for hunting moose in the canyon above our anchorage, so I’m hoping a hike might reveal one of those critters.

That might happen. We’re not heading anywhere later this morning. Instead, we’ll stay on the hook here and people will kayak and fish in the protected waters, or hike on shore, while up along the ridges and out in the open water, the storm rages. You can see the low clouds racing over the mountaintops above, and yesterday’s sail including a raucous stretch near suppertime when we bounced and rolled beneath low skies and cold rain while running under yankee sail alone. Poor Marlies was cooking a huge pot of noodles with peanut sauce while Polar Bear rocked from side to side through 90 degrees or more.

Given the crappy weather and a change in the watch, I adjourned to my bunk around 6pm and observed the solstice all snug in my sleeping bag with the lee cloth securely fastened to keep me in my bunk rather than on the cabin floor. I plugged in the iPad and noise-canceling headphones, listened to some music and, shortly after the 6:16pm solstice, nodded off for an hour’s nap. Then it was up for the remainder of the run to this anchorage, which we made at about 1am this morning. A long day, to be sure.

But later today is all about having fun, so once this watch is over (in 10 minutes) I’ll head back to bed knowing that I won’t have to get up again in less than an hour to shove off. Instead, I’ll tuck in and sleep as long as my body (and the noise of 15 other passengers) allows.

I just poked my head out of the hatch to check our position (all good) and noticed a couple of tiny spots of blue sky scattered in among the scudding clouds. A waterfall can be heard from the thick, green woods on shore. And the broad, rocky cirque that forms the headwall above the canyon is littered with gossamer waterfalls as well; it’s all quite lovely (yet again), so, yes: I’m thinking a hike will be in order today. Who knows? Maybe I’ll even conjure some more haiku.

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