Snǽfellsnes Peninsula, West Iceland
August 30, 2011 Latitude 65˚4' N
Descend into the crater of Yocul of Sneffels, which the shade of Scartaris caresses, before the kalends of July, audacious traveler, and you will reach the center of the Earth. I did it.
Arne Saknussemm
Unlike Arne Saknussemm, who left the enigmatic message in Jules Verne’s Journey to the Center of the Earth which took place on this peninsula, we were far from audacious travelers. What with a fully loaded 2011 VW Golf, unlimited access to Diet Coke, and no time limit of July 15th, we set out from the charming town of Stykkisholmur—a village of quaint maritime charm that came from a cluster of wooden warehouses, homes and stores that dated from the mid 19th Century.
It was a fine, sunny day and we were in no hurry to complete the circuit around the torpedo shaped Snǽfellness Peninsula. We had 120 miles to go and whole, long, sub-Arctic day to do it in.
We zigzagged our way through the broad and stunning Breidafordur fjord. It was mid week. School was back in session and no one was on the road. We stopped often—to take short hikes, to sit on the tops of cliffs that looked out over the sea to take in epic vistas. From these jagged cliffs we could observe eagles soaring above us. Sadly, we were too late in the season for puffins who come here to breed by the millions. They’d already left for warmer waters.
At the far end of the peninsula, after an hour or so of viewing mountains shrouded in wispy fog, the sky opened up and Snǽfellsjökull, the dramatic peak Verne selected as the setting for his tale, came into view.
We were lucky. Very, very lucky! After passing crunchy lava fields for what seemed like forever, we rounded the peninsula and there, in front of us, almost cloud free, was Snǽfellsjökull—the Snǽfellsness glacier. Long before Arne followed the advice from a 16th century Icelandic text, the dramatic peak had been torn apart when the volcano below the ice cap exploded. The volcano subsequently collapsed into its own magma chamber, forming a huge caldera—and…the entrance to the center of the Earth.
Well…we were no adventurers and there was no way to the summit except on snowmobile. It was September, the season was over, due to the lack of snow this late in the summer. Oh, well. Another time.
Beneath the glacier’s icy grip, the road smoothed out to the south, passed interesting sea-sculpted rock formations and continued onwards along the broad southern coastal plain, hugging, at times, huge sandy bays. At one, we stopped to watch a newly married couple having their wedding day photographed with an 18th century church and the craggy coastline as a backdrop.
At one point we hiked down to the sea and found a beach of golden sand—incongruous against an icy north sea. The sun may have been strong, but it was no beach day—at least by my standards.
Back in Stykkisholmur, we lingered over dinner, splurging at the “Five Fish” café. Dinner with a view of the harbor was mighty expensive: forty dollars for lamb and thirty dollars for chicken. Meals this far north are pricey.
It would be the only meal splurge in Iceland. From now on we’d prepared our meals at each hostel we’d stay at.
At 10:15 I went out on the deck of the hostel. It was still dusk and the northwest sky was still light. I summoned Steve, and we sat outside, watching dusk turn to dark—almost 11:00 pm. A full three hours later than northern New York at this time of year.
We never did find the entrance to the center of the Earth, but we’d had a fine day retracing the steps of Arne Saknussem—five centuries later.
August 30, 2011 Latitude 65˚4' N
Descend into the crater of Yocul of Sneffels, which the shade of Scartaris caresses, before the kalends of July, audacious traveler, and you will reach the center of the Earth. I did it.
Arne Saknussemm
Unlike Arne Saknussemm, who left the enigmatic message in Jules Verne’s Journey to the Center of the Earth which took place on this peninsula, we were far from audacious travelers. What with a fully loaded 2011 VW Golf, unlimited access to Diet Coke, and no time limit of July 15th, we set out from the charming town of Stykkisholmur—a village of quaint maritime charm that came from a cluster of wooden warehouses, homes and stores that dated from the mid 19th Century.
It was a fine, sunny day and we were in no hurry to complete the circuit around the torpedo shaped Snǽfellness Peninsula. We had 120 miles to go and whole, long, sub-Arctic day to do it in.
We zigzagged our way through the broad and stunning Breidafordur fjord. It was mid week. School was back in session and no one was on the road. We stopped often—to take short hikes, to sit on the tops of cliffs that looked out over the sea to take in epic vistas. From these jagged cliffs we could observe eagles soaring above us. Sadly, we were too late in the season for puffins who come here to breed by the millions. They’d already left for warmer waters.
At the far end of the peninsula, after an hour or so of viewing mountains shrouded in wispy fog, the sky opened up and Snǽfellsjökull, the dramatic peak Verne selected as the setting for his tale, came into view.
We were lucky. Very, very lucky! After passing crunchy lava fields for what seemed like forever, we rounded the peninsula and there, in front of us, almost cloud free, was Snǽfellsjökull—the Snǽfellsness glacier. Long before Arne followed the advice from a 16th century Icelandic text, the dramatic peak had been torn apart when the volcano below the ice cap exploded. The volcano subsequently collapsed into its own magma chamber, forming a huge caldera—and…the entrance to the center of the Earth.
Well…we were no adventurers and there was no way to the summit except on snowmobile. It was September, the season was over, due to the lack of snow this late in the summer. Oh, well. Another time.
Beneath the glacier’s icy grip, the road smoothed out to the south, passed interesting sea-sculpted rock formations and continued onwards along the broad southern coastal plain, hugging, at times, huge sandy bays. At one, we stopped to watch a newly married couple having their wedding day photographed with an 18th century church and the craggy coastline as a backdrop.
At one point we hiked down to the sea and found a beach of golden sand—incongruous against an icy north sea. The sun may have been strong, but it was no beach day—at least by my standards.
Back in Stykkisholmur, we lingered over dinner, splurging at the “Five Fish” café. Dinner with a view of the harbor was mighty expensive: forty dollars for lamb and thirty dollars for chicken. Meals this far north are pricey.
It would be the only meal splurge in Iceland. From now on we’d prepared our meals at each hostel we’d stay at.
At 10:15 I went out on the deck of the hostel. It was still dusk and the northwest sky was still light. I summoned Steve, and we sat outside, watching dusk turn to dark—almost 11:00 pm. A full three hours later than northern New York at this time of year.
We never did find the entrance to the center of the Earth, but we’d had a fine day retracing the steps of Arne Saknussem—five centuries later.
No comments:
Post a Comment