Looks like it's smoking or at least steamin'
Occasionally, someone might ask which has been your best hiking experience. In fact, it happens so seldom that the subject should be declared null and avoid. However, because I qualify as a somebody or at least, a person and I ask the question of myself frequently, it’s valid. How do you like that bit of rationalization? Should you empathize with it, continue reading as there's more coming down the pike. I also have a few things to do in life so I decided not to write this piece to fill space or perhaps more accurately, not just to fill a screen. Rather, I was intrigued about a particular hike we underwent in Iceland that began slowly, picked up the pace and then went onto a chilling climax followed by a long conclusion in near-whiteout conditions with a steady rain to keep things cool. Actually, in Iceland, conditions are mostly cool during summer so the rain is superfluous as a cooling agent.
We spent the previous evening in our tent, packed in the morning at a leisurely hour and made our way to the eastern part of the island, traveling along the southern side. We were headed towards the National Park, Skaftafell. Upon reaching about twenty or so miles of its boundary, the mountains rear up and display themselves proudly. Some are covered in glaciers while others are a harsh rock partly covered with snow. In places, it looks as if they are showing off to passing motorists. Whatever the case, the distinctive tinge of blue and in some cases, much more than just a hint of azure, the glaciers provide remarkable sights. The closer one approaches, secrets of these amazing formations reveal themselves. The patterns of the surface-frozen rivers become clearer. They are in fact dirty, often covered in mud, rocks, stones and debris. From a distance, it looks most attractive because it forms interesting patterns with the bright white and hints of blue dominating clearly. Upfront, almost like an aging actress who is only attractive because of the application of make-up, these phenomena look a little different, still attractive but less so than from distance.
The National Park of Skaftafell.
Approaching the national park.
Walking on glaciers is never easy and in fact, uncomfortable. Not everyone feels that way, but for us, terra firma is more satisfactory. Nevertheless, the sight of these vast fields of snow and ice sitting on and above water never fails to fill us with awe.
By the time we arrived at Skaftafell National Park, midday had come and gone. We checked into another campground, chose our plot and decided to pitch tent. Our thinking was twofold. Should it rain later, we would not have to perform the task in the wet—a good idea. The second reason is that we preferred to set up while we had energy. We anticipated being tired after the hike. With this in mind, all preliminary tasks completed, we set off for the trailhead, a short distance from our tent. Unfortunately, the name of the hike was not on the board. We were sure we had the correct position but decided to make certain. Back to the tent, collect the hiking book and we set off again. Whenever we do something like that, we are proved correct. When we don’t and take a chance, we are usually wrong. You’ve got to love it.
By the time we hit the trail, we met up with a number of people who were doing the easy loops about the campground. Most of the hikes commence from the same position but branch off in different directions. When we began the rather sharp incline, we were a little weary. We generally find that we have more energy in the early morning so it pays to set out soon after sunrise. Of course, it requires one of us to motivate the other to leave the comfort of bed. Perhaps sleeping on the ground is good motivation for early risers. The strange thing was that the more we slept close to the earth, the more comfortable we became. So the apparent incentive to wake early and get off the hard surface diminished so that there was hardly a difference. This is a long way of mentioning that we did not have a high energy level. Meantime, the gradient was steady and quite steep, showing very little mercy for two below-peak hikers. However, another type of phenomenon tends to occur—the hump. If one just keeps pushing, refrains from giving up, a second wind blows in. Together with a sweat and renewed energy, one becomes energized and is able to recapture the equivalent of the early morning energy level. Well, we did just that and lo and behold, our pace improved and we began to eat up the trail. I suppose it helps if one is hungry and not fussy what one eats, too.
Finally, a break in the clouds.
The trail thinned, people wise, after a few hundred yards until there were only a handful of hikers towards the end. The first part was an incline through thick vegetation on a good trail. Thereafter, we walked between two massive glaciers, rising with them towards where their tongues joined with, I suppose, their mouths. We had the pleasure of keeping an eye on the trail while the other focused on the glaciers as well as the spectacular, snow and ice covered peaks. Alongside the glaciers, the land displayed strong and bright colors of brown, green, yellow and orange. The contrast was remarkable. The eyes could rest on the blues and whites or the more earthy tones. Whichever way we turned, we feasted on the various shapes and ‘scapes in all sizes and of course, colors.
By then, we were chugging along, enjoying the hike and wondering where and when the crescendo would occur. We knew it was a long hike—some twelve miles with elevation gain of 3,700 feet should we make it to the peak of Mount Kristinartindar. Well, why not? What’s happened to our self-confidence, you might wonder. It varies from time-to-time. However, hold that thought until we approach the final ascent. Onwards we kept going, always rising. We came across a group that was being guided by a professional. We asked for some directions; we could no longer see a trail. It appears that it becomes a bit of a hit-or-miss in places, over the passes. We continued along the path, fortunately, getting more hits than misses. When I’m hiking with my wife, which is most of the time, I’m trained to avoid both types of misses. We ploughed up higher and noticed a sign indicating that we had only 1.5 kilometers to go. ‘See, Jen, our perseverance is rewarded,” I mentioned to Jenni, trudging a few feet behind. “We need to complete the climb around that mountain face and we’re probably going to reach the end before we know it.” Famous last words.
Coming down the very steep slope, we noticed a young man. We stopped to greet each other. I recognized him from a meeting a few days earlier. We had both camped at the same ground. This fellow, a German, was searching for coins so that he could take a shower at the campground, not on the mountain. The camp was one of those that had that sort of requirement—painful, to say the least. It was fortunate that we were able to assist him and then coincidentally, met him on a rather steep trail. He gave us a quick rundown and concluded that the last few hundred meters were ‘a bit steep’. Okay, we can deal with that. He seemed quite proficient in English but we soon developed doubts.
We came over the second pass and thought we had reached somewhere close to the end. After all, we had just negotiated a very steep section. We looked up and noticed an even steeper section. We put our heads down and continued. However, by that time, the sunshine we had enjoyed earlier for a couple of hours, disappeared. This is a frequent occurrence in Iceland. One cannot tie the sun down to a routine—it’s rather temperamental in that part of the world. Onward Christian…Jewish soldiers, up we go. We made the turn which was the final bend, something one discovers only after completing it. Confronting us stood this ridiculously high and vertical rock peak. The Americans tend to use a phrase, ‘in your face’. Perfect! The last time we felt lacking in confidence was the first time we confronted Angels Landing in Zion. Both then and at Mount Kristinartindar, it did not seem possible that one could scale what looked like a cliff. That’s when the rationalizing process kicks into top-gear. Every excuse, many of them quite good, surface and make a lot of sense. I was adamant that I would not be going further. It had been a good hike and we were effectively complete—except we weren’t. After testing all the reasons why we should turn around there and then, I decided to ‘man’ up. That, I think, means something like quit whining and crying and get up that cliff. It had been a while since I felt that intimidated by a mountain.
Just then, we were stopped by a Dutchman and his American wife. We talked briefly and he decided to join me on the last section but not before deciding against it and reversing his decision again. For sensible reasons, Jenni had decided to wait at the base, braving the cold and wondering whether I was about to make a great escape from her or what would happen if I did not return. At times, she is quite brazen and direct, asking for the car keys and the will…actually, only the former. As the campground was close to the trailhead, the keys were not necessary. Off we went, the Dutch fellow and me. However, after a short while, he decided to end his bid for success. I continued on and upwards while I watched the fast changing weather. The clouds and mist were dropping over the mountain. By the time I reached the peak, visibility was very poor. I took a few photographs on the way up anticipating there would little to view as I moved upwards. Upon reaching the narrow peak, I signed the visitors’ book. It seems a strange term, visitor. Can you imagine saying to someone that you went up that dangerous precipice for a visit? Anyway, I commenced the descent soon afterwards, feeling cold and uncomfortable with such poor visibility. It turned out that there were two of us remaining on the mountain.
I remembered on the ascent that there had been only one directional marker; it proved to be critical. Miss that beacon and a person could end up anywhere. With the clouded mountain, the thought was a little intimidating. Unfortunately, I forgot about the beacon but luckily, noticed it again on the way down. It happens when one is focused on other issues that an important factor like the marker could be overlooked. Finally, I reached Jenni who was in good spirits notwithstanding the circumstances. We gathered ourselves and decided to return a different route which we knew to be longer. I wondered about that. However, Jenni felt comfortable with the decision. We headed down a steep and rocky decline in failing light, heavy clouds continuing to move towards us, and light rain, falling. We were happy to see that the Icelanders anticipate bad weather—they get a lot of it. The trail was marked with beacons. Nevertheless, we made sure that at all times, or nearly most of the time, we could see indications of markings ahead. This became even more critical as we experienced a near whiteout for a short while.
The mountain keeps calling...we're coming.
We kept moving and eventually passed the Dutch/American couple we had met earlier. We moved steadily and noticed as expected, at lower altitudes the weather showed an improving trend. After the 12-mile round trip, we arrived at the trailhead and close to home, our tent. Unfortunately, the rain continued for a further twenty-four hours, making things more difficult than we would have liked. Nevertheless, it was still enjoyable as our tent kept us dry although we got a little wet following the shower, after drying ourselves, as the ablutions were a distance from ‘home’. We woke to rain which was a little miserable, making it uncomfortable breaking camp. Fortunately, we had a car without leaks which proved to be most welcome. No amount of dampness could affect the upbeat feeling created by, perhaps the finest hiking experience we can remember. Truth be told though, our memories aren’t what they once were.
Cheers,
Jenni and Jeffrey
Please don't feed the monkey!
Details of the eruption in the vicinity of the bench and table:
No comments:
Post a Comment