Upper Antelope Canyon

A Whale of a Tale

The Tip of Antarctica

 

Penguins Aplenty

Fournier Bay, Antarctica

Atacama Colors

El Tatio Geyser

all traces of copper and lithium were swept away–

Atacama Desert

Trips Ahoy!

Jordan Redux

We were a crew of 48 aboard the Viking Ra, divided into 2 camps of 24 travelers who identified as Bus A or Bus B.

Most of the cruisers returned home at the end of our Nile excursion, but 18 intrepid globetrotters–a union of both buses–continued our journey to Jordan for four nights, where we were greeted at Queen Alia International Airport by Ahmad Al Khaldi, our tour director and self-proclaimed terrorist, who adopted the moniker after once guiding the brother of ventriloquist/comedian Jeff Dunham.

Upon arrival to Amman, we boarded a coach for a half-hour ride to Madaba. It was an ambitious itinerary with a lot of ground to cover before reaching the Dead Sea,

but we quickly knew–given the depth of Ahmad’s knowledge, wit, and organization skills–that we were in good hands.

During the half-hour ride to Madaba we absorbed some background about this ancient city that’s renowned for its skilled mosaic artisans,

and its deeply religious ties to Christianity and Islam.

After an orientation of one ofJordan’s holiest landmarks,

we headed to Madaba’s feature attraction… the Greek Orthodox Basilica of Saint George,

where the current structure, consecrated in 1896 is adorned by mosaic icons on every pillar…

but it’s the mosaic floor that’s the star of St. George and Madaba!

The partially restored mosaic map of the Holy Land originates from the 6th century, and was excavated in 1884 when the current church was built atop the ruins of the original Byzantine church. Over 2 million tiles comprise a detailed rendering of the Middle East with surprising detail and accuracy, making it both an artistic masterpiece, and the oldest surviving representation of familiar biblical sites.

We bypassed Mt. Nebo (to be explored the following day) and continued to the Dead Sea Museum,

where we enjoyed an aerial panarama of the Jordan Rift Valley with the lowest elevation on earth (-1410 ft).

and a closer examination of the area’s geological and cultural significance.

Developers see tremedous potential in promoting Dead Sea tourism, touting first-class accomodations and access to its briney beaches. And they’re wasting little time in hotel construction,

because at it’s current rate of evaportion, the Dead Sea will cease to exist by 2050.

Shortly after checking into the sprawling Movenpick village…

it was time to relax with a mud treatment,

and a bouyant soak. What a feeling!

There’s been lots of internet chatter about which country, Israel or Jordan, has the best beaches. The answer is easy: it’s whichever one you’re on!

However, the east coast scores extra points for hosting the sunset over Jerusalem most nights.

Protecting the Nile

Egypt has relied on the Nile since the dawn of civilization. For over 5000 years, the Nile has pushed nutrient-rich silt through its 6600-km waterway from the wellsprings of Lake Tana in Ethiopia (Blue Nile) and Lake Victoria in Uganda (White Nile), on its way through Cairo, where it eventually runs across the delta and drains into the Mediterranean.

Just as the Nile shaped the landscape, it also shaped a society that believed in the Nile’s magical properties. Ancient Egyptians believed that gods controlled the Nile. They venerated Sobek, the crocodile god who created the Nile,

and prayed to Khnum–lord of the water–who fertilized the river banks, thus enabling Hapi, the goddess of ‘Annual Flooding’ to enrich and irrigate Egyptian crops.

Pharaohs used the Nile as a transit zone for long-hauling building supplies between coastal cities, and establishing monuments to the gods and themselves along the way, like the temple of Kalabsha in Nubia.

Even Aga Khan thought the bank of the Nile was a good idea for a Fatimid mausoleum.

Yet the river that once placed Egypt at the center of the civilized world for 3 millennia is now on life support, and poses a serious threat to the welfare of Egypt’s agriculture, aquaculture, and transportation sectors.

Unfortunately, the matter has been complicated by issues that stem from Egypt’s internal struggles, while the nation also battles other problems originating from south of the border.

For one, Egypt’s population already exceeds 110M, and is projected to swell to 121M in 2030, 160M in 2050, and 225M in 2100.

Egypt’s alarming growth rate over the past millennium has placed the country in economic jeopardy for the foreseeable future. Presently, nearly one-third of the country lives in poverty.

Additionally, with 97% of a dependent population living along the banks of the Nile and its delta, the existential threat to the river Nile has heightened significantly.

Intervention by Egypt over time has resulted in benefits and new challenges…

By partnering with the Soviets between 1960 and 1970,

Soviet-Egypt Friendship Monument

Egypt constructed the Aswan High Dam–an immense embankment dam–upriver from the original Aswan Dam completed by the British in 1902.

It’s purpose: to control flooding;

provide increased water storage for irrigation;

generate hydropower;

and encourage tourism–all seen as pivotal to Egypt’s industrialization.

Yet, there have been unintended environmental consequences to damming the Nile:

  • The dam restricts passage of rich volcanic sediment that once swept along the entire riverbed, but now struggles to reach the Mediterranean.
  • The Nile Delta has lost a substantial amount of arable land due to the Nile’s inability to provide an unabated flow rate to defeat a rising sea.
  • A 15 cm rise in the Mediterranean’s sea-level over the past century is expected to double over the next 30 years from climate change.
  • To compensate for the salination of the soil, farmers must pump more fresh water from the Nile onto their crops, causing additional pollution from synthetic fertilizer runoff.

According to the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change, the U.N.’s group of climate scientists predict the impact on the Nile will be catastrophic. They say it will lose 70% of its flow by the end of the century, with the water supply plummeting to a third of its present capacity.

Good for camels, but not for human survival.

Egyptian officials have also been wrangling over water rights and diplomacy with Ethiopian counterparts, arguing that their water security has been irreparably compromised.

However, more than half of Ethiopia’s 110 million people currently live in the dark. Their leadership is hopeful that the Grand Ethiopian Renaissance Dam on the Blue Nile (begun in 2011) will help to electrify the country and generate power for export.

Consequently, the Renaissance Reservoir will cause a 25% loss of hydropower generated by the Aswan High Dam, a reduction in Lake Nasser’s water retention, and a reduction to Egypt’s flow rate by as much as 25%.

With anticipated droughts in East Africa, a 2oC rise in temperature across the region, and a population crisis that begets increased poverty, it’s imperative that competing countries begin cooperating with each other to protect their citizens and their mutual interests.

Flowerpot Rocks

Every six hours, twice a day–give or take a few minutes, depending on the tidal charts–the Bay of Fundy empties into the Atlantic Ocean,

and exposes the ocean floor.

When the tide rolls out,

the effect at the harbor is dramatic enough to leave fishing vessels resting on their laurels.

And peculiar things happen on the Saint John River…

on its way to the Bay of Fundy.

When the Saint John River drains into the Bay of Fundy at the Reversing Falls Bridge…

it triggers a phenomena seen nowhere else: water being pushed up the channel to create an inverted waterfall.

At its highest, the Bay of Fundy’s tide reaches 56 ft.–equivalent to a 5-story building…or boat.

But when the bay recedes, what’s revealed is often surprising and stunning.

Consider the rocky reef at Cape Enrage,

which supports a pop-up sculpture park…

overseen by the Cape Enrage Lighthouse–still protecting New Brunswick’s coastline since 1870.

However, there’s a different phenomena to behold during low tide at Hopewell Rocks Provincial Park,

that’s absolutely enchanting.

Tidal erosion has sculpted these magnificent cliff remnants into distinctive shapes, with sizes ranging from 40 to 70 feet high.

Scientists have nicknamed these formations Flowerpot Rocks for obvious reasons.

The cape is vast,

with so much to explore,

but time for roaming the ocean floor is strictly regulated, and closely monitored by security,

lest a tourist get pinned to the rocks by the surging tide,

and get swept away by unexpected beauty.

`

Blue Lagoon Finale

Today was departure day. While other travelers were hastily checking out of Grandi to meet their airport connections, Leah and I had other plans. We had purposely booked an evening flight to give us another day of touring, but nothing too rigorous. We jumped on the option of keeping the Land Cruiser, and driving ourselves to the airport, coupled with a visit to Blue Lagoon.

Photo Credit: Ragnar Th Sigurðsson/Arctic Images

After two weeks of circumnavigating the country/island for a total of 2020 miles, we were more than ready for a few hours of rest and relaxation before battling the airport madness.

We stopped briefly at a roadside turnoff in Reykjanes to explore our surroundings,

and spelunk a small crater from last year’s eruption.

However, as I write this, I regret missing the spectacle of Iceland’s August 3rd eruption and lava flow of Fagradalsfjall’s Geldingadalir volcano.

Nevertheless, because of the fissure’s volatility, the landscape is scarred and uninhabitable, yet eerily beautiful.

And because of Reykjanes’ geothermal properties, the Blue Lagoon has become legendary for the healing properties of its milky, mineral-rich waters.

Digression…

The social and political landscape of Iceland is an unusual paradox–progressive in some matters, while also Puritanical at times. For instance, currently 67% of women no longer consider marriage a precursor to children.

Nor is organized religion very popular these days. Although Iceland has adopted Lutheranism as its state religion, the majority of Icelanders identify as either atheist or non-religious.

Iceland is also a global leader in promoting and protecting gender rights and equality.

Which begs the question: How can a Penis Museum exist in the center of Reykjavik when Icelanders prohibit nudity at any and all pools, spas and beaches?

After arriving at Blue Lagoon registration,

we claimed our color-coded, “Comfort” bracelet, which entitled us to:

  • Entrance to the Blue Lagoon
  • Private locker
  • Silica mud mask
  • Use of towel
  • 1st drink of our choice

We grabbed a towel on the way to our respective locker rooms–offering both public and private spaces for changing and showering. Once we located an available locker, we were directed to shower before entering the pool. Same-sex monitors were everywhere to assure compliance.

I met Leah outside the bathhouse with my towel and phone. The air temperature was 54oF and we were both shivering.

“What are you doing with your phone?” she asked.

“I need it to take pictures,” I answered.

“Don’t ya think you’re taking a big chance out there?” she continued.

“Probably,” I admitted, “but the water’s no deeper than 4.5 ft, so I’m not too worried. And NO splashing!”

“Okay, but just so you know–if you drop your phone, it’s gone forever. You’ll never find it in this,” she warned.

I gripped my phone with one hand and grabbed Leah’s hand with the other, and together we slipped into the warm, milky waters.

Ahhh!!

The water temperature felt like 90oF, but as we approached the bridge, rushes of hot water circulated around us with a thin mist hovering over the surface.

It’s hard to believe that Blue Lagoon was created by accident when engineers discharged geothermal plant condensate into a nearby lava field and expected the water to permeate the porous rock. But they didn’t consider that sedimentation would eventually clog the pores, and turn the fields into expansive reservoirs.

The lagoon didn’t seem overly crowded, but a lifeguard assured me that today was the busiest day since the pandemic recovery.

Although, the further we ventured, the fewer people we encountered.

until we reached the outer limits of the lagoon to enjoy a quiet moment by ourselves.

That’s when we realized that most of the crowd was either drinking around the bar,

or applying a silica mask doled out from the treatment kiosk. So we did both!

Unfortunately, our time in Iceland has come to a close.

We’ll resume our summer travels in Maine and Canada.

Till then, Kveðja Ísland! (Farewell Iceland!)

P.S. I didn’t sacrifice my phone to the Blue Lagoon.

Spelunking the Largest Lava Tube in Iceland

Leah and I overnighted in Arnarstapi, a tiny fishing village perched on a lava cliff in West Iceland, where Mt. Snapafell looms large across the horizon.

Icelanders believe the village still pulses with a healing energy that emanates from chieftain, Bárður Snæfellsás, half ogre/ half human and sorcerer from the first settlement.

as imagined by sculptor Ragnar Kjartansson in 1985

Legend suggests that Bárður was swallowed by Snæfellsjökull glacier. Perhaps it was his penance for killing his nephews, who admitted to pushing his daughter out to sea on an ice floe.

Consequently, Bárður was forever frozen in time and eternally committed to protecting the people of Snæfellsnes Peninsula,

and preserving its unspoiled natural beauty…

Another storm was brewing the day of our drive to Snæfellsjökull National Park. We mapped a route in search of the mysterious Snæfellsjökull Volcano, and took the high road as directed by GPS…

until we ran out of road and visibility halfway up the pass.

It was snowing on the other side of the mountain, and road crews had already conceded to Mother Nature.

So back down the mountain we went, where the weather was more predictable, and the roads were more reliable.

Unfortunately, we sacrificed a critical hour to correct our course, which translated into less time exploring Snæfellsjökull glacier at Snæfellsjökull National Park.

Instead, we continued to our next destination and penultimate excursion–

Our pre-paid guided tour of Iceland’s largest cave was originally scheduled for 1pm, but with rain clouds rolling in and a cold drizzle spoiling any chance of sightseeing or picture-taking, we expedited our drive to Borgarfjörður, with prospects of joining the noon tour if allowed.

We arrived at 12:05pm, but Sigurður (Siggy) agreed to include us, since he was already waiting for another late arrival with reservations. Hallelujah!

With our tour party now complete, each of us received a hardhat and headlamp, and Siggy (our only true-born Icelandic guide during our trip) led us 100m across a lava field called Hallmundarhraun to a twin opening in the earth where the roof of Víðgelmir had collapsed, revealing the cave’s only entrance.

We were dressed for winter inside the cave, where temperatures usually rise to 4oC, but Siggy was comfortable in a traditional Icelandic wool sweater knitted by his mom that he wore this day to celebrate Iceland’s Independence Day.

While traditional wet caves boast an array of stalactites and stalagmites, Víðgelmir cave gave us icicle formations,

and colorful mineral deposits imbedded in the walls,

and ceiling.

After an hour, we reached the end of the boardwalk where the tube narrowed,

and it was time to resurface.

With a 2-hour drive to Reykjavik ahead of us, we may yet reach the Penis Museum before closing time.

To be continued…

Tall Tales of Iceland

Iceland’s oral and written history is steeped in mythology and folklore, and rooted in the country’s natural wonders. From the time Garðar Svavarsson, a Swedish Viking first settled in Húsavík in 870 AD, Icelanders have imagined a world where phenomena is best interpreted through their sagas of mysticism.

Iceland’s first settlement succeeded in the second half of the ninth century because of adventurous Vikings from Denmark and Norway who were looking for a fresh start in a new world that offered opportunity, security, and stability. A parliamentary assembly of regional chieftains gathered in Thingvellir in 930 to form the Althing (assembly of free men), and ruled as the unifying body of this “free state” until 1264.

Originally, the Althing accepted Northern Germanic religion or Goðatrú (Truth of Gods) which resembled the religion of their homelands. Sacrifices were overseen by landowners/priests in temples and shrines to appease the gods and spirits, of which Thor and Odin were most popular.

By 1000, the Althing rejected paganism and enacted Christianity as the religion of the land under pressure from Norwegian king, Olaf Tryggvason, who embargoed all trade between Icelanders and Norway and held the sons of chieftains as hostages unless Icelanders accepted baptism.

Yet, despite the introduction of Christianity, pagan influence was not easily erased, and still informed how settlers reacted to their old surroundings, and their new spiritual allegiance.

For instance, when Leah and I discovered Dimmuborgir, a dramatic expanse of lava fields east of Myvatn,

we learned that the pillars were the creation of emptied lava lakes from an immense volcanic eruption about 2300 years ago.

But legend tells us that Dimmuborgir (or “Dark Castles”) was created by Satan after he was cast from heaven, and Dimmuborgir was the gateway to the devil’s “Catacombs of Hell.”

Also seeking refuge at Dimmborgir are the Yule Lads–13 offspring of Grýla and Leppalúði–who are regarded as trollish pranksters who eat misbehaving children before Christmas.

Jökulsárgljúfur National Park is another popular destination we visited that invoked the spirits and captured the imagination of pagan worshippers.

Jökulsárgljúfur, Iceland’s largest canyon, stretching 25 km long and 500 m across is the result of endless catastrophic flooding caused by an Ice Age eruption so fierce that its glacial ice cap exploded.

However, the Norsemen believed that Sleipnir, Odin’s eight-legged steed created this natural wonder by touching earth on a jaunt across the sky, leaving behind the impression of a massive hoofprint that became the canyon Ásbyrgi,

with a rock island spur named Eyjan.

To the west of Ásbyrgi, lie the cliffs of Hljóðaklettar and its inhabitants, the mythical Huldufólk (Hidden People), who cautiously avoid sunlight, or risk the same fate of the elves and trolls who have turned into stone pillars from sun exposure.

Another example of trolls behaving badly can be found along the black sand shoreline of Vatnsnes peninsula in northwest Iceland. From a geological perspective, Hvitserkur is a 15-meter tall basalt monolith that’s been shaped by severe North Atlantic storms and constant temperature changes.

Although Hvitsekur resembles a drinking dragon, Icelandic folklore refers to the stack as an evil troll who raided a local church to silence its bell tower, but turned to stone after being caught by the sun’s early rays. The petrified troll is home to hundreds of nesting birds who forever punish him with a thick layer of guano, and Icelanders who mock him with the name “White Shirt.”

Of all the stories, historians consider Goðafoss a landmark in North Iceland culture, for its here that regional chiefs met with pagan lawmaker, Thorgeir Ljósvetningagoði to determine whether to continue their old ways or embrace Christ as their spiritual guide.

The saga tells us that as a gesture of Iceland’s newly adopted religion, Thorgeir Ljósvetningagoði stood at the brink of the falls to cast a collection of Norse idols into the abyss, marking an end to paganism. Thus, the waterfall was christened Goðafoss, the “Waterfall of the Gods.”

It was the beginning of conversion, and Iceland eventually capitulated to convention. Nevertheless, the notion of magic and sorcery continued to flourish in Iceland, well into the 17th century. A museum located in Hólmavík is devoted to the subject.

It tells the story of 25 or so victims who were executed on charges of witchcraft between 1625 and 1685.

The museum also exhibits some unusual artifacts,

ranging from the sublime…

to the ridiculous.

Superstitions began to fade during the last decades of the 17th century, and the Reformation came as a shock to Icelanders. But consider a 2007 study by the University of Iceland that found an estimated 62% of the nation still believes in the existence of elves, and 40% of the population is irreligious.

Thank God for bogeymen!

Other Worlds of Iceland

Significant geothermal zones and volcanic landscapes throughout Iceland may give the impression of a primordial, preternatural planet. Yet, Icelanders have prevailed, despite the harsh and ever-challenging environment of their homeland.

Such is the case of Möðrudalur, a remote farm settlement in Eastern Iceland protected by Mount Herðubreið, the “Queen of Icelandic Mountains.”

Möðrudalur ranks as the highest inhabited farm in the country–at 469 m (1739 ft) above sea level, and supports a weather monitoring station, having recorded the lowest temperature in Iceland, -38.0 °C (-36.4 °F) on January 21, 1918.

The farm became inaccessible once Ring Road 1 was relocated northeast in 2001. However, a new F-road was eventually cut to continue servicing the curious folks who felt a connection to the old trails crisscrossing the wilderness, and a thousand-year history that made this a protected area.

A church was built in Möðrudalur in 1949 on once-sacred ground by farmer, Jón A. Stefánsson to honor his wife’s passing in 1944,

and decorated by revered folk artist, Stefán V. Jónsson.

A guesthouse, a small store and highly regarded restaurant serving locally sourced farm-to-table fare have been added over time to boost tourism in the area.

A more dramatic and inhospitable environment lies 90 km to the north. Jökulsárgljúfur Canyon was carved by fire and ice and a rushing river that over time laid bare the cores of spent volcanoes.

Following the Jökulsá á Fjöllum upriver (which flows from the Vatnajökull glacier) is an impressive triplet of waterfalls, of which Dettifoss is considered the most powerful in Europe, plummeting 45m (150 ft) into Jökulsárgljúfur Canyon at 400 cubic meters per second during the summer melt.

Returning to the Ring Road, it’s another 60 km west to the Myvatn Geothermal Area (Hverir), a volcanic swath that rivals the fumaroles, steam vents and mudpots of Yellowstone…

We cleared our lungs of rancid Sulphur fumes before checking into nearby Laxá Hótel, where the Krafla caldera looms over Myvatn Lake in the distance.

But Leah and I weren’t done for the day! After enjoying a meal at the hotel restaurant, we donned our hiking boots and enjoyed a solitary 10 pm stroll through Dimmuborgir,

a field of unusual lava formations caused by an eruption 2300 years ago and the subsequent collapse of a massive lava tube.

After a day of walking through location settings for Star Wars, Game of Thrones, and Alien, it’s little wonder that Iceland takes its landscape cues from a very powerful producer.

The East Fjords of Iceland

Continuing our counterclockwise circumnavigation of Iceland, today’s drive (Day 5) carried us through tranquil fishing villages,

along spectacular fjords,

and past so many sweeping landscapes…

that Leah wondered—given my many photo epiphanies–if we would ever reach Egilsstaðir, our evening destination.

Fortunately, in our favor, our summer days have 22 hours of daylight.

We started our journey with a brief stop in Djúpivogur, a 16th century Danish fishing port and trading post that attracted European merchants. By the mid-1800’s, there were four houses in Djúpivogur, and Langabúð was one of them.

Constructed in 1790 as the village storeroom and warehouse, it was considered the economic and social engine of the town up until the 1950s. Today it’s a museum and visitor center.

A walk around the Djúpivogur’s harbor offered little shelter from the frequent gusts of blustery wind coming off the water. Leah stayed behind in the Land Cruiser, but I found the 34 granite “Eggs of Merry Bay” atop their pedestals to be an interesting oddity,

as each egg had been named for a local bird.

Next stop was Petra’s Stone Collection,

beautifully curated throughout her house and garden in Stöðvarfjörður.

What started as a hobby during childhood, became an obsession throughout her adult life, until she acquired the world’s largest private collection of mineral rocks,

mostly unearthed in the vicinity of East Iceland.

We also stopped in Fáskrúðsfjörður, a small fishing village with French connections that dates to 1880. Originally developed as a French trading hub fortified by a chapel, a hospital and French consul, the town still retains its French flair.

Once we returned to the Land Cruiser, we vowed to limit our stops, but the road beckoned, and I couldn’t resist!

“One last time,” I pledged. And Leah relented.

We detoured to Teigarhorn, a natural monument and nature preserve most valued for its cache of zeolites, and most likely the source of so many of Petra’s discoveries.

Teigarhorn is also a protected nesting ground.

Ultimately, we made it to Egilsstaðir, had a meal, and found our way to Vok Baths, a geothermal spa,

tucked into the banks of Lagarfljót–a long and narrow lake–where Icelandic folklore (c. 1345) suggests a giant serpent dwells.

Three infinity pools of increasing temperature (105oF max) offered us the perfect opportunity to melt away the stress of a long travel day…without a serpent sighting.

Finally, the midnight sun had set on our day at midnight.

And hopefully, our hotel has decent blackout shades to protect us from a 2am sunrise.

Water and Ice, Part Two

Imagine an aquatic gallery of ephemeral ice sculptures in varying shapes, sizes and shades of blue, dancing around a glacial lagoon before floating out to sea or washing upon a black, sandy beach.

After our hike at Skaftafell, Leah and I were expected at Jökulsárlón for a late afternoon amphibian boat tour of the glacial lagoon, but not before a required stopover at Fjallsárlón for a dramatic view of an outlier glacier…

receding into a volcanic valley,

with chunks of ice fighting for a place to thaw.

I could have spent hours at the shoreline photographing the amorphous shapes, but our boat excursion across the road at Jökulsárlón was soon boarding.

We rolled off the moraine in fat tires, and effortlessly glided onto the lagoon for a chilly boat ride surrounded by orange vests and hulking ice.

Our captain cautiously piloted the amphibian as close to the bergs as allowed, to limit the wake of curious kayakers,

and knowing that hidden ice is usually more voluminous than exposed ice.

Also present in the lagoon was a resident colony of surreptitious seals,

anxiously awaiting high tide to feast on herring and cod swept into the icy inlet.

After disembarking, we crossed to the Atlantic, where jewels of ice wash ashore,

and decorate the beach,

a fitting terminus that would gain Banksy’s approval and mine.

Water and Ice, Part One

Imagine an amphitheater of “organ pipes” carved out of a grass-topped lava field with a 20-metre waterfall plunging down its center into a roiling pool of green water.

It sounds impressive, but seeing is believing, so Leah and I navigated to Skaftafell, a nature preserve in southeast Iceland that belongs to Vatnajökull National Park, Iceland’s largest park with 18% of the island’s land mass, where Svartifoss is one of the featured attractions.

We arrived at the Visitor Center parking, and cursed the ATMs for making paying for parking so difficult. We hiked through the campground before arriving at the Visitor’s Center.

I was literally speechless. Vatnajökulsþjóðgarður? Really!? How could there possibly be a word with a V, a K, two Js, and a letter that’s stuck between a b and a p? And how about the pronunciation? And what does it even mean?

But there was no time for questions. We were there to hike, and there was a waterfall to explore.

We caught the trailhead past the same campground and began our ascent. The trail was wide and steep at the start. So much so, that metal mats filled with crushed stone lined the path to keep erosion at a minimum. We caught our first view looking east when we cleared the trees.

We continued above Gomlutun, across Estragil gulley on a footbridge, past two waterfalls (Hundafoss and Magnusarfoss),

until we reached the approach to Svartifoss.

My pulse quickened. I sensed this waterfall was special. I zoomed in until the falls filled my frame, and I lingered before I pressed the shutter.

I raced around the side of the canyon for another perspective…from the bottom.

Svartifoss translates to “Black Falls” and it lives up to its name,

as it showcases a splendid backdrop of charred columns of basalt.

Svartifoss was the inspiration behind Gudjon Samuelsson’s design of Hallgrimskirkja, Iceland’s celebrated cathedral in Reykjavik.

We were down the mountain and at the Land Cruiser after 2.0 hrs. in Skaftafell, which included our lunch at the overlook and a potty break.

It was time for more sightseeing down the road, and we were on a schedule!

But first, some unanswered questions:

  1. Apparently, Vatnajökulsþjóðgarður is a real Icelandic word,
  2. pronounced: https://forvo.com/word/vatnaj%C3%B6kuls%C3%BEj%C3%B3%C3%B0gar%C3%B0ur/
  3. and meaning “Glacier of Lakes” National Park

Water and Ice, Part Two follows…

Hiking a Shrinking Glacier

There is a glacier lagoon at the tip of Sólheimajökull’s tongue that never existed a decade ago. Today, that lagoon is 80 meters deep, and its fed by glacial melt.

Sólheimajökull is an 11km outlet glacier of Mýrdalsjökull, Iceland’s 4th largest ice cap of 269 named glaciers, and easily accessible and suitable for ice adventuring.

Climatologists have been studying Sólheimajökull’s since 1930, documenting a loss of more than 2 sq.km. of its ablation area, and retreating a mile from its original marker.

During the summer Sólheimajökull loses 3 meters of ice every month with frequent ice calving.

With so much chatter about climate change and glacier volatility, I thought it best to have a look around the ice and judge for myself. So Leah and I drove to Sólheimajökull to join a guided glacier expedition,

where we were outfitted with a harness, helmet, crampons and ice pick. With some instruction, we learned how to dress ourselves and behave like mountaineers.

Then the conversation shifted to safety first, and how to avoid the treacherous crevasses on a melting ice mountain that’s constantly in motion.

After a brief hike, we arrived at the ice, but the approach to the top wasn’t a graduated trail; it was a wall.

Suddenly, I felt our training was insufficient, and I couldn’t imagine that all of us were prepared to dig in with our crampons and ice axes and climb over this wall, but that was unnecessary. We simply stepped around the mound on chiseled risers that were rapidly melting…

until we all reached flat ice.

I questioned why this ice had a different color and texture–more like ice coal–than blue crystal.

Valerio, our guide from northern Italy attributed it to the 1918 eruption of Katla, Iceland’s largest active volcano, and fragments of rock and debris–known as glacial till–that typically develop when a glacier passes over bedrock. We were walking on 100-year ice dated by the volcanic ash trapped inside the ice!

Except for occasional photo ops like a discovered ice cave,

we were always moving across the ice and up the throat, and discouraged from breaking the line or falling behind.

After 30 minutes on the ice, it was time to celebrate with a drink. Valerio grabbed his New Zealand ice ax to tap a vein under the ice, and the bar was open…

and it was cold and refreshing!

Since 1890, Iceland has lost approximately 18% of its ice mass to warming, and Sólheimajökull is melting faster than scientists originally speculated. They are sounding the alarm–telling us that Iceland’s glaciers are melting faster than they can recover.

And climate change, of course, plays a pivotal role in this process. Ironically, eco-tourists are rushing to Iceland to experience the glaciers before they disappear.

But Iceland is doing something to mitigate the damage by pledging carbon-neutrality before 2040. Already, the island’s geography and geology provide almost 100% renewable energy for generating heat and electricity.

But will it be enough for future generations?…

Seljalandfoss and Skógafoss

There is no shortage of waterfalls in Iceland, although some are more spectacular than others. Estimates of total waterfalls throughout range from 10,000 and up. But Icelanders have their favorites, and Seljalandfoss and Skógafoss are two of them. Located just off the Golden Circle and only 30K apart made it impossible to resist, so off we went, chasing waterfalls.

What makes Seljalandfoss special is its geological standing. It’s believed to be a part of Iceland’s receding coastline in Southern Iceland, where the Seljalandsá River once ran over the edge of a volcanic cliff and dropped into the Atlantic. 

Seljalandsfoss’ glacial water originates from the Eyjafjallajökull glacier, a smallish ice cap atop Eyjafjallajökull volcano that last erupted spontaneously in 2010, belching so much ash high into the atmosphere that day turned into night and European air traffic was grounded for 5 days.

Eyjafjallajökull towers above the waterfall,

and the Eyjafjöll mountains feed meltwater to the river Seljalandsá, which runs down the slopes before dropping off the Seljalandsheiði heath in the form of Seljalandsfoss waterfall.

Repeated eruptions over millennia have extended the coastline by 12K, while erosion has hollowed out an extraordinary hiking trail that circles behind Seljalandfoss, which literally translates to “selling the land of waterfalls.”

Leah and I could immediately tell upon approach that this was a popular destination, which was soon confirmed by a full parking lot. There was a kiosk for paying the 800 ISK parking fee ($6), but I didn’t realize it until we were leaving. Oh well, I guess I was too focused on the shower I was about to take.

But Leah had different plans. “I’m not doing that,” she insisted. “I can’t find my rain pants anywhere and there’s no way I’m getting soaked. Besides, it’s probably slick from all the mud and water, and I don’t feel like breaking my neck on the third day of vacation. But you should go, and I’ll just look at the pictures later….Tell me about your insurance, again.”

“Shouldn’t we at least take a selfie like everyone around us?” I asked.

Leah had decided that Seljalandfoss’ 60 meter (200 feet) cascade was best appreciated from a distance,

while I was too anxious to capture Seljalandfoss from every angle.

True, the trail was muddy and slippery, but that was only a minor inconvenience.

The challenge came from dodging the unrelenting spray, as if it was weaponized by the wind.

I instantly missed Leah as my assistant. She would have made the perfect rain shield.

After coming around the back side of Seljalandross, I rejoined Leah on a path which led to a small waterfall known as Gljufrabui,

hidden within a slotted canyon.

We hiked back to the Land Cruiser and headed in the direction of Holt. I was casually driving, enjoying the scenery at 90 kph (60 mph), Iceland’s top speed limit, when I hit the brakes….after noticing Iceland’s perfect farm.

We made one additional stop along the way to Skogafoss, when I slowed to catch a glimpse of what appeared to be a Hobbit house built into the mountain.

However, on closer examination, it appeared to be a shelter for sheep and goats.

The approach to Skogafoss had several imposing mountains in the vicinity, also part of the former coastline.

Ironically, Skógafoss translates into Forest Falls, but there’s not a tree to be found in the area. It seems the Vikings had a penchant for chopping all of them down to create their settlement a thousand years ago.

Skógafoss is one of the biggest waterfalls in Iceland. Game of Thrones fans may recognize the falls as the aerial backdrop for a romantic encounter between Daenerys Targaryen and Jon Snow when flying with her dragons.

With a width of 25 m (82 ft) and dropping 60 m (200 ft) with water fed by two glaciers, a rarity (Eyjafjallajökull and Mýrdalsjökull),

visitors can climb a rickety 430-step metal staircase anchored into the cliff, allowing visitors to reach the spillover and enjoy a view of the coastal lowlands while basking in the Highlands, or continue on a popular trail leading up to the pass between both glaciers.

Skógafoss is a place where magic happens…