Category: hiking

The Road to Recovery

Posted in Adventure, health, hiking, humor, landscape, museum, Photography, psychology, sports, travel, wanderlustTagged , , , , 4 Comments

BREAKING NEWS

Ordinarily, I’d be blogging about my summer road trip to Quebec’s National Parks, with occasional lookbacks to our winter adventures in Vietnam. But circumstances have changed, and future long-distance travel has been placed on hold until October.

Instead, I’ll be introducing a new cycle of posts reflecting my road to recovery after emergency rotator cuff surgery on my right shoulder. And, I’m using a photo of a famous location in Door County taken 6 summers ago, which may seem like a metaphorical cliche, but it still rings true in consideration of my latest debacle.

Let me explain.

About 35 years ago, I joined a neighborhood softball league as a catcher. During a particularly fateful game near the end of our schedule, a batter hit a routine flyball to shallow left field with a runner on third and one out. The outfielder made the routine catch, setting up the showdown at home plate.

The runner on third sprinted home with “Pete Rose” intentions. The throw came in hard and accurate. I covered the plate in anticipation of the play–waiting for the ball while preparing for impact–and ready for the tag.

But the runner arrived just before the ball. He came in fast and hard, battering the right side of my body.

Safe!

But not for me!

My shoulder ached for the next few months and eventually healed itself without medical intervention… or so, I thought.

What I didn’t know was that the torn labrum and the eventual arthritis in my right shoulder would become my personal weather barometer for the next three decades.

But I lived with it. I found that my old injury rarely interfered with daily life or staying active. Cycling, hiking, and paddling had little effect… until I took up pickleball.

Yes, Leah and I got caught up in the sensation–3 times a week. Because we both played tennis in a past life, we quickly improved our self-assessed ranking from 2.5 to 3.0 during our first year of play.

Over time, increased ability and better competition provided a better workout, but also contributed to greater wear and tear on my right arm.  It began aching and now required a visit to an orthopod.

After an x-ray, the doc’s preliminary diagnosis of bursitis warranted a steroid injection which provided relief for only a couple of days. That’s when I knew it was time for an MRI and a follow-up with the orthopod.

But not before another Monday of morning matches… which was my ultimate undoing. While playing a doubles match, I reached for an overhead slam.  Upon contact, I immediately felt and heard a pop in my shoulder accompanied by a stabbing pain. I shook it off and resumed play for the next hour.

Big mistake!

The following day, I was incapacitated and in constant pain, requiring another trip to the orthopod and a second MRI.

My radiology report revealed a much more serious injury than earlier: a torn rotator cuff, bone spurs, and extreme inflammation surrounding the joint and capsule. Only arthroscopic surgery could save me now!

But not before a brief visit to northern New Jersey to witness Lucy, Leah’s granddaughter,

accept her diploma from Pascack Valley High School.

In addition to celebrating with family,

there was also a hike around Rockland Lake,

and a visit to the Intrepid Museum…

in NYC.

After a disastrous flight home on United (a 5-hr delay AND lost luggage), surgery was performed early next morning.

According to the surgical center, the procedure was unremarkable. My doctor repaired the rotator cuff and addressed the biceps tendinosis; he shaved the outer end of my collarbone and vacuumed the bone spurs from the AC joint; and finally, he eased the impingement by performing a subacromial decompression with acromioplasty.

After an hour in recovery, I was released to Leah, wearing a shoulder immobilizer that would soon become my arch nemesis.

Interestingly, Leah insists that despite my stupor, I was largely responsible for composing this photo.

The first couple of days were a blur–existing in and out of a drugged sleep–thanks to an oxy-cocktail and a nerve block that slowly wore off after 36 hours.

However, Hour-37 became a painful reminder that my road to recovery would be a litmus test for controlling my anxiety, because at this moment, my life feels like I’m trying to get comfortable in an economy airline seat for a 6-week flight to Normaltown.

More to follow…

Upper Antelope Canyon

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Resetting the Wayback Machine to Dateline: August 3, 2023

After three days of admiring Grand Canyon’s North Rim–from Point Sublime…

to Point Imperial…

to Angel’s Window,

Leah and I were already anticipating our next physical and photographic challenge–hiking through the Coyote Buttes North in search of The Wave.

But we were at the mercy of Bureau of Land Management, who awards permits to no more than 64 visitors per day through a complicated online lottery process.

We scored dinner reservations at the Grand Canyon Lodge Dining Room…

during sunset to discuss our future travel plans.

Regrettably, our meal was more consolation than celebration. Despite our application for permits months in advance, and again, the day before our departure, our high hopes were dashed by impossible odds.

Ultimately, we followed our contingency plan, which, like an old friend, was familiar yet still full of surprises. The following day, we drove through Marble Canyon–flanked by Vermillion Cliffs–with a brief stop along Highway 89A to marvel at a Cliff Dwellers Stone House,

a crumbling roadside curiosity that was constructed from rock debris and local timber by Ziegfeld Follies dancer Blanche Russell and her husband Bill, whose car had broken down at this location in 1927.

According to the tale, the beauty of their surroundings was so captivating that they established a homestead on the site during the Great Depression, extending hospitality to Mormon travelers journeying along the adjacent Honeymoon Trail to the temple in St. George, Utah, for the sanctification of their marriages.

Meanwhile, we continued north on a pilgrimage of our own to Page, Arizona for a few days of essential sightseeing.

The following day, we arrived at a strip mall to claim a coveted noon reservation for a guided tour of Upper Antelope Canyon tour with an accredited Navajo tour operator. Having toured Lower Antelope Canyon 6 years ago (see Can’t Elope Canyon), we elected to hike the upper canyon this time around.

Upper Antelope Canyon, often referred to as “The Crack,” features a flat entrance and a level path throughout, offering a seamless stroll with no elevation shifts. This easy access, devoid of any stairs, renders it more welcoming than its counterpart, Lower Antelope Canyon, where stairs and ladders are part of the experience.

In my quest for photographic redemption, I was determined to infuse some mystery into the majesty of these sculpted canyon walls by focusing on the details of the form, while framing an energy of twists, curves and color.

We jostled and bounced across a dusty desert plain from the back of a dusty pickup truck, enduring temperatures of 100°F. The grab bars were so hot, I could only handle them through my hat. After arriving at the canyon’s entrance, our guide offered us a brief geology lecture and valuable photography tips.

Rather than lug around my SLRs, I relied on my Samsung Galaxy 23S Ultra phone for its reputed low-light sensitivity and high-resolution capabilities.

From the onset, our guide pointed out shapes created by negative space, such as the “Lady of the Canyon,” which seemed intriguing to many, but irrelevant to my mission.

Additionally, there was plenty of highlight and shadow play in the formations that was easily personified, such as the “Open-Mouth Man.”

Many photographers were there to capture the “sunbeam effect” that appears from April 1st to September 30th with a helping handful of tossed sand.

There was also equal opportunity to document the canyon wall formations as realistically as possible.

or using the undulating walls as an interesting backdrop.

But I was there to capture the abstract potential!

The canyon’s walls rise up to 660 feet above the streambed, and the trailhead sits at an elevation of 4,377 feet.

Geologists say the walls are shrinking and the elevation is increasing, as sand continues to rise from continuing erosion from wind and water.

The 0.3-mile one-way trail is mostly hard-packed with red sand and silt.

The Navajo Nation calls Upper Antelope Canyon “Tsé’bighanilini,” meaning “the place where water runs through rocks.” I call it amazing!

One hour later, we emerged from “The Crack.”

Antelope Canyon’s allure was so magnetic that I felt myself being drawn into repeating our adventure. However, time would not allow, and no slots were available!

Certainly, its beauty would have revealed itself in a new light, with a new twist!

Or not!

Atacama Colors

Posted in Adventure, geology, hiking, landscape, National Parks, Nature, Photography, travel, video, wanderlustTagged , , , , , , 4 Comments

Despite the monochromatic omnipresence of shifting sand and salt across the Atacama Desert (observed from previous post, “Atacama Desert”)–

aside from the occasional splash of flamingo pink–

there is an abundance of color to behold in other regions of Antofagasta. Leah and I joined our expedition colleagues…

for a 90-minute drive north through remote, rugged terrain and narrow switchbacks, to catch a 7am sunrise over El Tatio Geysers, the highest, albeit 3rd largest geothermal field in the world, and certainly, the most active in the southern hemisphere.

At an altitude of 14,170 ft, the -6oC desert temperature was biting at our faces, but it was a temporary inconvenience. The backlit, pre-dawn sky and cold air benefitted the playful plumes that vented from 80 steaming geysers and fumaroles amid 12 sq miles of Andean volcanoes.

Like so many others, I was poised for the first sun to creep over the horizon,

not only to return the feeling to my fingers, but to reveal the chromatic clouds playing across the landscape.

Soon enough, the rising sun would turn the blackest of hot springs into a glorious reflecting pool.

It was worthy of a celebration.

Because El Tatio is community-owned and administered, there were several local rangers scattered throughout the vicinity to patrol, advise, and admonish any foolishness similar to Pierce Brosnan’s trespassing at Yellowstone National Park (although he entered a “not guilty” plea during his recent arraignment).

One can only hope that discretion and common sense would prevail in this fragile and volatile environment.

El Tatio Geyser

A stroll through the field revealed a kaleidoscope of algae-induced minerals and salts,

that stretched into the distance.

El Tatio didn’t appear as daunting as Old Faithful and its surroundings, but it was impressive, nonetheless, with nowhere near the number of onlookers!

From our position–only 100 miles to Ollagüe Volcano, bordering Chile and Bolivia–

we continued to Valle del Arcoiris, another community-based natural wonder,

where “purple mountains majesty”…

become a befitting backdrop to roaming, grazing llamas.

The valley was as wide and rich with the scent of riki riki…

as it was awash with colors created by a primordial stew of Sulphur, gypsum, crushed shells, and clay.

When the Pliocene Epoch carved out the valley,

all traces of copper and lithium were swept away–

which is a silver-lining for a spectacular landscape that would otherwise have been ravaged by mining companies.

Happily, we had a front row seat to all of it!

Atacama Desert

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Rather than go thru the details of how we got here, suffice to say that 2 days of inconvenient travel brought us to the Chilean Andes…

to experience the highest and driest desert on earth (averaging 13,000 ft. elevation), where temperatures can fluctuate between 0oC and 25oC, and rainfall averages 2 mm of rain per year with a humidity factor of .02%.

The area is so vast, it spans Chile, Peru, Argentina, and Bolivia.

But despite the hostile environment, flora and fauna still manages to survive.

Our first destination was the Soncor Sector of Los Flamencos National Preserve,

where a variety of native flamingos congregate to feed on brine shrimp that flourish in pools along the salt flats.

Although the park flamingos were unidentifiable from a distance,

it became easier to identify their individual characteristics the closer we got to them,

distinguishing the flock as Andean flamingos.

Our next destination was Valle de la Luna (Valley of the Moon), another sector of Los Flamencos–only 10 minutes from San Pedro, across a dusty road built for vehicles with dependable suspension.

The park was aptly named by Gustavo Le Paige, a Belgian missionary who pioneered much of the archeological research of San Pedro de Atacama in the 1950’s.

The sector captures the essence of the region’s vastness and aridity, so much so, that NASA tested its Mars rovers on the surface to simulate future planetary exploration.

Salt and sodium nitrate crystals are found throughout the Atacama Desert, as the dry air and lack of vegetation allows them to collect on the surface.

Although the region also contains precious metals including an abundance of copper, silver and gold, it was the large cache of potassium nitrate that brought the railroads and development to Atacama, turning the region into a hub for culture and commerce by the 2nd half of the nineteenth century.

Today, large reserves of precious metals such as lithium provide a significant source of revenue for private and state-owned mining companies.

In fact, as of January 14, Chile’s SQM, the world’s 2nd largest producer of lithium has suspended its operations in Atacama due to 500 protestors from indigenous communities in the Antofagasta region who’ve been blockading roads–immobilizing workers, supplies and lithium to and from the mines–demanding that they be included in negotiations between SQM and the Chilean government.

Let’s hope that this conflict can be resolved quickly, so we may continue to feed our global appetite for electric vehicles.

Going West

Posted in Adventure, Airstream, hiking, landscape, Nature, Photography, travel, wanderlustTagged , , , , , 5 Comments

Forgive me; it’s been a while since my last confession.

Life happens and it’s been challenging at times to juggle travel with business affairs, personal affairs and blogging. And with the passage of each passing day, it’s become increasingly more difficult to return to summer events with the same vitality, and cobble a detailed timeline from 3 months ago. In fact, there are still stories from last year’s journey to Canada that have yet to be written and published.

While I could travel less to blog more often, or continue to travel without memorializing the occasion, neither option is an acceptable one. Perhaps, I’ll just have to find a better way to accomplish both without sacrificing one for the other. In the meantime, I’ll pick up where I left off, which is somewhere on the road between here and there.

First of all, a shout-out to our friends Dirk and Heather,

who allowed us to park the Airstream at their ranch in Fort Collins, assuring us peace of mind while we boarded a flight from Denver to Seattle to visit my son Nate.

Dollar for dollar and day for day, Leah and I figured that flying round-trip to Seattle probably saved us 2 weeks of driving 1,500 miles, at a proximate cost of $1300 in fuel.

After our arrival to Issaquah (suburban Seattle and Nate’s hometown), we ventured southeast along the I-90 corridor to hike Rattlesnake Ledge on Rattlesnake Mountain–

a demanding 2-mile ascent…

that gave us sweeping views of Rattlesnake Lake,

and the Cascade Range beyond the clouds.

Seattle was also our gateway to north of the border…

After a 2 hour and 45-minute cruise aboard the Victoria Clipper, we arrived at Victoria’s Inner Harbor,

where we would spend the weekend at the historic Pendray Inn and Tea House…

in the very pink, Executive Suite.

Victoria is well-known as a pedestrian town,

with a variety of landmarks and attractions within a few miles of our hotel. We were less than a half-mile from Parliament,

and Fairmont’s Empress Hotel,

and another half-mile further to Canada’s oldest Chinatown.

And strolling along the Lower Breakwater (adorned with First Nation symbols) with panoramic views to the south, afforded us a different perspective of the Cascade Range.

Also within walking distance, we discovered Craigdarroch Castle, a Victorian architectural marvel…

from front…

to back….

top to bottom,

and everywhere in between!

And exquisitely furnished throughout the residence.

Of course, no visit to Victoria is complete without a stroll through Butchart Gardens,

but that’s a story for another day.

Colorado Springs

Posted in Adventure, Airstream, family, hiking, landscape, museum, Nature, Photography, sports, travel, video, wanderlustTagged , , , , , , 2 Comments

Leah and I arrived in Colorado Springs, where we liaised with Leah’s daughter, Carrie and her clan to enjoy a camping adventure together during the Independence Day holiday weekend, and it was action-packed.

Hiking one mile into Guffey Gorge…

brought us to Paradise Cove, a swimming hole popular among local adolescents who come to cool off from the 100oF heat and flex their courage muscles by cliff jumping into deep water.

Risk-takers were scrambling up the terrain to pick their “launch” position on the rocks, and prove to themselves and others that they had “The Right Stuff.”

We were happy eating our lunch while watching the derring-do entertainment.

But Colorado Springs has so much more to offer. For starters, the interactive U.S. Olympic and Paralympic Museum offered the perfect opportunity to celebrate athletic excellence;

to mock-compete in several sports categories by testing memory, reflexes and endurance;

and provide exhibition space for thousands of Olympic artifacts collected over the years.

After capturing a clever montage from the digital mural in the building foyer,

it was time to watch the Colorado Springs Switchbacks take the pitch at Weidner Field against Monterey Bay, but not until after the cloudburst,

when the unexpected hail finally had a chance to melt.

While Carrie and clan cruised to nearby Cañon City to view the Royal Gorge (our destination in 2 weeks,

Leah and I returned to Garden of the Gods,

before continuing to Manitou Springs to visit the urban fauna…

and flora.

Ironically, we’ve recently visited Carrie and clan at home in Cedar Crest, NM after 7 weeks of subsequent travel to dozens of different destinations…

which is a sore reminder of how far behind I am in chronicling this summer adventure, whether it’s because of inconsistent internet on the road or enjoying myself too much to stay current.

It may be time to discontinue continuity.

Getting to Denver–Part 1

Posted in Adventure, Airstream, hiking, History, landscape, museum, Nature, Photography, travel, wanderlustTagged , , , , , , 4 Comments

Much has happened since leaving Bonnaroo for Denver. There’s been a long-distance get-together in Rogers, Arkansas with a nursery school buddy from Pittsburgh…

and a long-overdue reunion with family from Pittsburgh, who now reside in Overland Park, Kansas.

We’ve also kept a watchful eye on the weather–always tracking the extreme conditions that have been swirling around us, the likes of tornadoes, hail, flooding, land slides, and record-setting heat streaks–yet with each destination, we’ve mostly managed to dodge a bullet.

There was also a handful of visits to some iconic sites along the way, and some less familiar, but definitely photo worthy.

Our first stop took us to Parker’s Crossroads, halfway between Nashville and Memphis, and the site of a celebrated Civil War skirmish in West Tennessee.

It was the final battle for Confederate Brig. Gen. Nathan Bedford Forrest, who managed to outfox the Union brigades of Col. Cyrus L. Dunham and Col. John W. Fuller by escaping with his regiment across the Tennessee River and avoiding certain defeat in the face of an enemy nearly twice the size with two times the artillery.

Leah and I took the walking tour past interpretive markers depicting critical moments in the battle, and observed that Parker’s Crossroads battlefield, while a testament to the 737 fallen soldiers,

should also be appreciated for its serenity and pastoral scenes.

Only 45 miles west of us was Tennessee Safari Park in Alamo,

where we looped around a drive-thru zoo for an hour with 4 buckets of animal nachos for hungry wildlife roaming freely throughout the fenced prairie. We were immediately greeted by an aggressive mob of ostriches and camels that descended upon our truck sensing a meal was imminent.

With the passenger window down, Leah tentatively extended the bucket beyond the door, only to have the bucket ripped from her hand by a dromedary with no manners and fewer eating skills.

Kibble went flying everywhere–inside and outside the truck. Even today, I’m still fishing out morsels between the seats. Lesson learned.

However, the lure of food was a perfect ploy for pet portraits…

Continuing west, we traveled to Little Rock, home to the Clinton Presidential Center, dedicated on November 18, 2004.

We parked the Airstream directly across the Arkansas River in North Little Rock by a decommissioned WW II tug and sub…

and cycled the long way around the riverwalk trail (some of it kinda sketchy),

past the Big Dam Bridge…

until we circled back 8 mi. to Clinton’s library–a hulking structure clad in glass screens that cantilevers over the Arkansas River as a symbol of “building a bridge to the 21st century.” And it was air conditioned!

The building that houses Clinton’s legacy is enormous enough to collect and archive 2 million photos, 80 million document pages, 21 million e-mails, and 79,000 artifacts from the Clinton years (1993-2001).

Appealing graphics break down the headlines and the issues of the time: year by year, month by month, surrounded by wings dedicated to domestic policy, diplomacy, economy, education, civil rights, and scandal. It’s all on display throughout the Main Hall, modeled after the Long Room of Trinity College in Dublin.

Exhibits feature Clinton’s campaigns;

Clinton’s security;

Clinton’s Oval Office;

State dinner receptions under Clinton:

and impressions of Clinton by character experts.

Our journey to Denver continues through Kansas…

I Love Petra

Posted in archeology, Architecture, hiking, History, landscape, travel, wanderlustTagged , , , , , , , 2 Comments

Weather in Petra can be unpredictable in January. A year ago–on January 26–it was snowing, but today, the temperature would reach 60o and the sky would remain cloudless. What better time to take a hike through history, and walk amongst one of history’s most remarkable endeavors.

With overnight accommodations at Movenpick–directly across the street from the Petra Visitor Center–access to the Old City was most convenient. We assembled early in the town center. The square was quiet except for shops looking for early customers,

and a stray puppy gnawing on a breakfast bone.

Our group gathered around a large map in town center to plan our hike.

Ahmad explained the many ways to get to Petra’s ruins: by foot, golfcart, donkey, horse, or camel. But the only road that takes us there–courtesy of George Lucas, who paved the way for a dramatic scene from Steven Spielberg’s Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade–runs through a narrow gorge known as As Siq,

which is nearly a mile from Al-Khazneh, known as the Treasury.

Beyond the Treasury, it’s another mile past Temenos Gate to the end of the Colonnaded Street…

that leads to Qasr al-Bint–Petra’s most intact structure and Nabataean temple.

Ahmad suggested we take our time by foot, but after that, we’re on our own–for as long as we like–and we can return by any means of conveyance.

Once we understood the plan, we started out: past Djinn Blocks–a series of three imposing funerary monuments;

an iconic, two-story Obelisk Tomb;

and a Bedouin musician who may have been busking to buy an extra string for his DIY rababah.

We followed the road through high walls of colorful sandstone, where rocks resembled elephant creations…

and human profiles,

with twisted stone rising upwards of 600 ft (183 m),

and narrow as 10 ft (3 m) across,

until we neared the end of the passage. Ahmad had us form a line and close our eyes as he guided us through the last bend in the gorge.

When the moment was right, we opened our eyes for the big reveal…

and it was a revelation! First light was streaming across the canyon walls,

and bathing the iconic façade with golden sunlight. It was truly a sight to behold! Ahamad declared, “I love my job!”

Petra has been written about to near exhaustion. There’s not much more I can add about the Nabataean Kingdom that UNESCO World Heritage Convention hasn’t already mentioned, so I will say it in pictures and leave the words to UNESCO:

Inhabited since prehistoric times, this Nabataean caravan-city, situated between the Red Sea and the Dead Sea, was an important crossroads between Arabia, Egypt and Syria-Phoenicia. Petra is half-built, half-carved into the rock, and is surrounded by mountains riddled with passages and gorges. It is one of the world’s most famous archaeological sites, where ancient Eastern traditions blend with Hellenistic architecture.

Situated between the Red Sea and the Dead Sea and inhabited since prehistoric times, the rock-cut capital city of the Nabateans, became during Hellenistic and Roman times a major caravan centre for the incense of Arabia, the silks of China and the spices of India, a crossroads between Arabia, Egypt and Syria-Phoenicia. Petra is half-built, half-carved into the rock, and is surrounded by mountains riddled with passages and gorges.

An ingenious water management system allowed extensive settlement of an essentially arid area during the Nabataean, Roman and Byzantine periods. It is one of the world’s richest and largest archaeological sites set in a dominating red sandstone landscape.

The Outstanding Universal Value of Petra resides in the vast extent of elaborate tomb and temple architecture; religious high places;

the remnant channels, tunnels and diversion dams that combined with a vast network of cisterns and reservoirs which controlled and conserved seasonal rains,

and the extensive archaeological remains including of copper mining, temples,

churches and other public buildings.

The fusion of Hellenistic architectural facades with traditional Nabataean rock-cut temple/tombs including Al-Khazneh, the Urn Tomb,

the Palace Tomb, the Corinthian Tomb,

and the Deir (“monastery”) represents a unique artistic achievement and an outstanding architectural ensemble of the first centuries BC to AD.

The varied archaeological remains and architectural monuments from prehistoric times to the medieval periods bear exceptional testimony to the now lost civilisations which succeeded each other at the site.

© UNESCO World Heritage Centre 1992-2023

Petra was a marvel. And it may have been the overwhelming feeling of awesomeness that gave us the energy to return to the plaza by foot and express our satisfaction. So too thought the young girl with special needs, who spontaneously shared the moment with Leah.

There was so much cultural, historical and scientific significance to absorb in a day, which led me to conclude that the worst thing about Petra was not having another day to do it all over again.

Flowerpot Rocks

Posted in Adventure, Canada, geology, hiking, landscape, Photography, travel, video, wanderlustTagged , , , , , , , 4 Comments

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.

`

Spelunking the Largest Lava Tube in Iceland

Posted in Adventure, culture, geology, hiking, History, landscape, National Parks, Nature, Photography, travel, wanderlustTagged , , , , 5 Comments

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…

A Tale of Two Towns in North Iceland

Posted in Adventure, Food, hiking, History, landscape, museum, Nature, Photography, travel, wanderlustTagged , , , , , , , , , 2 Comments

Widely considered the Capital of the North, Akureyri is only 100 km south of the Arctic Circle, but boasts the warmest climate in Iceland, with temperatures ranging from 75oF during summer months to 30oF during winter. However, Akureyri is also a very cloudy town, averaging just over 1000 hours of sunshine a year, with virtually no sunlight from November to February.

With a population of 19,000, Akureyri is the largest town beyond Iceland’s densely populated southwest corner, and enjoys many of the amenities of any vibrant urban center–with winding side streets and bustling plazas offering coffee shops, boutiques, gourmet dining, art galleries, and an active nightlife–all of which helps the locals get through the dark winter months.

There’s also a geothermal swimming complex that’s the envy of all of Iceland, and it’s conveniently located downtown behind the church.

If the identity and soul of Akureyri is best symbolized by the twin spires adorning the Church of Akureyri, or Akureyrarkirkja as designed by Guðjón Samúelsson (also known for Reykjavik’s Hallgrímskirkja)…

then the heart and soul of Akureyri is in full bloom at Akureyri Botanical Gardens, or Lystigarðurinn—

established in 1912 by a society of women enthusiasts who were eager to provide a green space for locals to recreate or relax.

Not only is Lystigarðurinn the first planned park space in Iceland, it’s also one of the northernmost botanical gardens in the world, featuring over 7,000 species of plants, and making it a valuable resource for botany research.

An hour’s drive northbound brought us to Siglufjörður, a colorful and historic fishing village atop the mainland, and only 40 km from the Arctic Circle.

But the tale of Siglufjörður lies in stark contrast to Akureyri. In Akureyki, I had to hunt for a weekend parking space. Not so much in Siglufjörður, where its population has been in steady decline. Once a bustling seaport known as the herring fishing capital of the world, only 1200 residents now call Siglufjörður their home since the herring disappeared in 1968 from overfishing.

This cautionary tale is well-documented through the town’s award-winning Herring Era Museum.

Having grown up in a household that enjoyed sardines, kippers and herring, I felt compelled to explore the museum’s interactive exhibits: which illustrates how the fresh catch was hauled to port,

and subsequently processed by an army of “herring girls”…

who could gut and brine enough fish to fill three barrels an hour.

Iceland’s first processing plant was built in 1911, where oil and meal–for pet food–was extracted from the fish. As more fishermen from Scandinavia arrived to fish the fjord’s bounty, the industry prospered.

In 1925, disadvantaged “herring girls” successfully went on strike for equal pay, and formed one of Iceland’s first labor unions.

In its heyday, Siglufjörður had 5 processing factories, and 23 salting stations supported by a hearty population of 3,000.

Today, the town of Siglufjörður hopes to ensure its future and relevance by presenting their history, and Leah’s buddies hope that tourists are listening.

Tall Tales of Iceland

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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

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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.

Water and Ice, Part Two

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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

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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

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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

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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…

Completing the Golden Circle

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Feeling exhilarated after our Silfra snorkeling adventure, Leah and I said goodbye to Thingvellir, and set out to complete the remaining natural wonders of the Golden Circle trifecta.

We continued to Haukadalur, a geothermal valley in South Iceland that boasts a plethora of fumaroles and geysers,

including the powerful and predictable Strokkur, Iceland’s most active geyser that regularly erupts every 5 to 10 minutes like clockwork,

sending boiling water skyward, 20 to 40 metres beyond its mineral-stained crust.

Afterwards, we traveled to Hvítá river canyon to visit Iceland’s beloved falls, Gullfoss. The water in Hvítá river travels from the glacier Langjökull, Iceland’s second largest ice cap, before cascading 32 meters (105 feet) down Gullfoss’ double drops in dramatic display.

We arrived in time for one of Iceland’s typical daily weather changes as we hiked to the closest observation deck. The blustery gales had driven the cold drizzle and falls spray sideways. While we were dressed appropriately in warm parkas and rain pants, Leah was miserable and could only manage a walk to one of many overlooks of Gullfoss.

I tried to ignore the weather, but the poor visibility and annoying spritz was affecting my ability to keep the camera lens dry while trying to capture the “perfect shot.”

Leah retired to the comfort of the Land Cruiser, while I climbed above the canyon wall in search of a different perspective, thinking that if I distanced myself from the water, I could keep my camera dry.

The best that I could manage, given the circumstances was adequate…

However, to my chagrin, I found the perfect shot at the base of the foothills, but it belonged to a park graphic with information about Gullfoss…

However, looking southeast, I also discovered a telling view of Thingvellir’s distant topography just beyond the Visitor Center.

Of course, being a national park, certain rules apply; and understandably, drone photography is a no no. But Gullfoss is so expansive that it would surely benefit from an aerial approach, so the Park Service sanctioned a third party to capture the awe and splendor that only a drone can see.

We ended our day in Selfoss,

where more adventures await…

Iceland by Land Cruiser

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By the time Leah and I were flying over Iceland, we were zombies.

Leah was outraged by the airline’s no-frills service. “Not even a tiny bag of pretzels,” she lamented, “Maybe I closed my eyes for one or two minutes.”

I was mostly pissed that my gummies were duds, but I thought the Icelandair pilot and jet did a commendable job of getting us to Iceland–crossing 4 time zones in 5 hours.

We arrived at Keflavik International Airport at 5:30am, found our bags, cleared customs, bought some duty free tequila, and got our bearings…

We have embarked on a 2-week road trip around Iceland, hopping from one hotel or guesthouse to another until we complete the circle, and we’re not too sure what to expect.

By the time we reached the reception atrium, half-a-dozen drivers were gathered by the airport entrance looking for a match. But none of the clients’ names on their iPads and iPhones matched with mine.

I approached one of the drivers and handed him my voucher. His English was perfect.

“I know this driver,” he said. “He’s the best! I think he’s running late on another trip, but I’ll call him for you.”

The phone call was brief. “He says he’s on his way.”

By 6:30am we were riding in an electric Audi SUV to Grandi by Center Hotel, discussing with our driver how Iceland’s road system is still too immature to support a fleet of EVs–plagued by insufficient charging stations and improper maintenance. The ride took 40 minutes.

“The hotel is full,” we learned from the on-duty desk clerk. “The earliest we may make a room ready for you is 2pm, and I will make it my first priority.”

Disappointed, we power-walked through a chilly spray under overcast skies from Grandi to Sandholt, a nearby bakery highly recommended by the desk clerk.

“What are we gonna do for 7 hours? I need sleep!” Leah groaned.

The streets were stone quiet this Sunday at 7am, except for a street cleaner and vacuum buggy attacking the trash along the alleys of a popular square filled with eateries.

However, one road along the way caught our attention…

We discovered that Iceland is regarded as one of the most LGBTQ-friendly countries in the world, having elected, Jóhanna Sigurðardóttir, an openly gay head of state in 2009, and Althing (Iceland’s Parliament–founded in 930 and one of the oldest surviving parliaments in the world) unanimously voting for same-sex marriages in 2010. Unsurprisingly, one-third of Iceland’s population turns out for the Reykjavik’s Gay Pride parade in August.

Leah was thrilled with her breakfast. She had an omelet and I had a waffle with fruit. It gave us the boost that we needed to explore the rainbow road to Hallgrímskirkja, Iceland’s National Church.

and Reykjavik’s iconic Lutheran landmark.

I would have liked to climb the tower for what is reputed to be the best lookout of the city, but we were too early.

View from the top of Hallgrímskirkja. Photo by Philippa via Flickr CC

And that’s true for most of the city, which doesn’t wake until 11am on Sunday, so shopping was also out of the question.

Begrudgingly, we returned to the hotel, admiring some of the charming homes,

and graffiti along the way…

and took possession of our room by 1pm.

After a 5-hour nap and an early dinner, we were ready for bed and ready for whatever new adventure awaits us in the coming days.

New River Gorge

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The New River has been carving the Appalachian Valley for the past 10 to 360 million years–depending on who you ask–which makes it an ancient river–ranked behind the Finke and Meuse as the world’s third oldest river. Of course, there is the obvious non sequitur, given the river’s moniker and apparent age.

One story claims that its name comes from a translation from Indian dialect meaning “new waters.” Another explanation tells of Captain Byrd who had been employed to open a road from the James River to Abingdon in 1764. Byrd used the Jefferson-Fry Map published in 1755. However, this map did not show the river, so Byrd noted it as the “New River.”

Originating in North Carolina, the New River flows 360 miles north until it meets the Gauley River in southern West Virginia, providing some of the best whitewater (Class IV rapids and above) on the planet, and the main reason for our visit.

Our first look came from an overlook behind the Canyon Rim Visitor Center,

treating us to canopied canyon walls as far as we could see, soaring 876 feet above the water.

and a profile of the New River Gorge Bridge (the Rusted Rainbow).

When the New River Gorge Bridge opened in 1977, it was the world’s longest single-span arch bridge for 26 years. With an arch 1,700 feet (518 m) long, it is now relegated to the fifth longest.

While I appreciate the engineering feat of a half-mile span that saves travelers 45 minutes of detouring,

it’s the river I’ve come to conquer.

New and Gauley River Adventures shoved off from Stone Cliff at 10am–14 miles downriver from the bridge–with six eager adrenalin junkies and our guide, Costa Rica Scott in one raft, and a support raft to tag along. Leah refused to float with us, despite my gentle coaxing.

Once we were properly outfitted with life jackets and helmets…

off we went…

While the first half of the trip was relatively lazy, with fountains of 60oF spray coming from occasional haystacks and laterals, the spring run-off and torrents of rain before our arrival had turned the second half into a fast-moving, turbulent churn, filled with hydraulic traps, and 7 foot waves.

which had us threading our way through Keeneys, Dudleys Dip, Double Z, Greyhound, and Millers Folly Rapids with increased caution.

Miraculously, we never flipped and everyone remained in the boat throughout the ride. However, the soul behind me spent most of the time stretched across the raft with his head pinned over the gunwale, retching. Fortunately, whenever our pilot commanded us to “dig in” (paddle like our lives depended on it), I avoided smacking him across the face.

After 4 hours on the river, our take-out was just shy of the bridge, beyond Fayette Station.

What a blast! If only there was time to run back and do it again, but that would have left little time for hiking to Diamond Point;

visiting Cathedral Falls in Ansted;

investigating abandoned beehive coke ovens in Nuttallburg;

strolling through a mining ghost town (pop. 5) in Thurmond;

or just chilling at The Outpost, “Where Wild Meets Wonderful.”

Perhaps another visit is in order.