Land of Fire and Ice...

Smokey Bay

The title should read Land of Fire and Ice (and rain, and painfully short days (in Winter), and far too expensive beer prices for nights that are that long, and fantastic, helpful, optimistic people...).  Need I go on?  Five short days is simply not enough - especially when the days are that short!  My post exam (Post degree really) trip was to the the mid-atlantic ridge - the bit, that is, which pokes above the choppy waters of the North Atlantic.

Landing at Keflavik international in the dark the WOW AIR pilot had given us a taster of Icelandic culture even before we arrived - Ladies and Gentlemen, off to the right side of the plane, you can see the Northern Lights - This was about two minutes after the seat belts sign had come on and the trolley-dollies were hustling up and down the plane ensuring that all the seat backs and tray tables were in the upright and locked position.  I was in an isle seat.  It would have been downright rude to clamber across the laps of the quietly spoken and very polite middle aged Icelandic couple next to me, just so I could get my first glimpse of the lights.  They'd seen it all before of course and could not have cared less.


Keflavik was like all airports - seemingly designed by a lunatic with a penchant for mazes.  Back, forth, up a ramp, down an escalator, across a raised platform were others, presumably further along in their attempt to leave the airport, crossed below you at right angles to your direction of travel.  Is there an active competition to make airports as confusing as possible?  That said there's definitely a bit more of a  "Grand Designs" feel to the place than there is at Heathrow.  Use of the dominant local stone  - basalt -  in the build lent it an individuality that is denied most airports.   Reykjavik (norse for smokey bay) initially comes into view as an undulating scattering of 1 - 2 story lights in the otherwise all enveloping darkness of South West Iceland, but it quickly thickens up into something more like a capitol city as the airport bus cruises serenely towards the city centre.  The airport bus service is run with military precision - large buses bring the passengers en mass to the Greyline bus station were they are then split off into smaller mini-buses, the better to negotiate passage around the narrow streets.  The side streets are generally quiet, filled with 2 and 3 story residences, but the main drag - Laugavegur -  in the evening is awash with late shoppers, restaurant goers and barflies, a mass of motion below some of the most tasteful Christmas decorations I have ever seen - Much better than the tacky, usually hollywood movie  inspired ones in London's equivalent Oxford and Regent Streets.

Seeing the Northern Lights was one of my things to get done.  Unfortunately it still is.  I booked onto a guided Northern Lights tour and we were coached out to the middle of nowhere, but apparently a middle of nowhere from where the lights had been seen earlier that evening.  Being an astro-photography bod I had questioned the likelihood of actually seeing anything.  To describe the conditions as patchy was being especially generous.  But the guide seemed convinced by the early evening reports.  They say the waiting is the hardest part, and never has a truer word been said.  Every once in a while, the guide would proclaim that he could see them very feintly on the horizon.  We would look, aim cameras and snap away, and then mutter amongst ourselves about how we wanted some of what he was taking...   One hour turned into two, three and then four before the guide admitted defeat.  Northern Light chasing is a game for the patient and the fervent of heart.  You almost have to believe to be rewarded with a vision.

Icelanders have no choice but to be aware of their unique position geologically speaking.  A trip around Reykjavik during daylight just confirms this connection.  Every building seems to have basalt elements, and were basalt has not actually been used, the design reflects this natural heritage instead - the Cathedral (Hallgrinskirkja) and the concert hall are prime examples.

The columner basalt inspired cathedral Hallgrimskirkja

The hexagonal columns and panes of the concert hall  - Volcanic Glass? 

Traveling in a minibus across an extinct shield volcano (Esja) in the snow was definitely meaningful to me.  The vastness and  flatness of the landscape thereabouts spoke to me of runny lavas erupting effusively like vast running sores in the surface of the earth.  I could appreciate the distinction between this and the general perception of volcanoes as large conical things that go bang in a big way.  I'm not totally convinced that other passengers on the trip around the golden circle were as impressed.  The same applied to the first stop - Thingvellir.  Unless you know more or less what to look for, and more or less how to interpret those things, you may be a little underwhelmed by a place were North America and Europe are moving apart so imperceptibly slowly that the movement can only be detected with specialized equipment.  The edge of the rift upon which we stood spoke volumes to me about rifting, drifting and isostatic subsidence, but some of the comments back at the bus hinted at a feeling of being a little underwhelmed.  Ah well, next stop was the famous Geysir.

Thingvellir - Where continents move apart.

I suspect that even in the warmest summer, Geysir is shrouded in mist.  The heat and damp from below ground envelopes everything.  The town itself seems little more than the hotel (immortalized in Desmond Bagley's book Running Blind), the rest stop, cafe and gift shop and the hydrothermal field itself.  The  actual hydrothermal vent after which the town is named (and indeed all other geysers the world over), does nothing more than burble fitfully.  It has not lived up to its name for many years, and seems to be enjoying a tranquil retirement.  I was told by a twinkly eyed bearded Icelander that for years, people (probably at great personal risk) used to throw rocks down the vent to induce Geysir to blow, but then she just stopped.  This smacks of that rather brainless perception that nature is there for our amusement - apparently nature does not like having rocks shoved down her wind pipe and she's decided not to play anymore.  It would seem that one of the frequent seismic events locally altered the geothermal plumbing system.  Now Geysirs younger brother Stokkur holds centre stage boastfully blowing off on average every 7 - 8 minutes - No rocks are required - no one is allowed near enough.  One of the products of this regularity is that there is lots of flowing water thereabouts and in the winter it turns to sheet ice.  In environment fit for Torville and Dean is created, but the majority of Stokkurs were not so impressed.   Interestingly you can find fossils at Geysir and unlike most fossils, these are not millions of years old, but probably only a matter of a few hundred - perfect calcite copies of plants were the mineral rich waters flowed over them.

Stokkur showing off.  Skating rink in the foreground

Tavertine with very recent plant fossils

By now the day was become increasingly wet and dark.  Gullfoss in the almost dark loses something. Although one cannot argue with the power of the place, the day was becoming a battle with increasing rain, increasing winds and rapidly decreasing light.  The driver stopped in the car park and those of us who dared brave the increasingly bad conditions skated across to the viewing point.  Yes it was very beautiful in its half frozen state, but being honest, I probably could have skipped Geysir in order to see this in slightly better light.  Oh well, It will still be there in the summer.

Gullfoss

When time is short, you end up having to carefully manage it.  The weather was overcast but dry the next day and I took the opportunity to look and see what sort of rocks and minerals I could find in and around Reykjavik.  What the locals must have thought of this nutter scavenging bits of rock from the rough sea defences, who knows.  Whatever they thought, they were too polite to say it.  I was looking for examples of Amygdales - volcanic bubbles into which minerals had crystalized.  There were plenty of them and I managed to identify a reasonable selection of them.

Aragonite

Common Opal

Phillipsite

Pitchstone

A Xenolith

A larger xenolith in the sea defenses.

Olivene Phenocrysts in Vesicular Basalt

The plan had been to go to Iceland for a few days and go on a bunch of organized trips as a sort of recce for a future longer trip with hire car.  As it is I'll have to go again just to actually see some ofmthe things I saw!  The second long trip I did, along the south coast was most note worthy because although we went to a lot of places, due to the fog, low light and driving rain, we did not actually see all that many of them.   At Vik, I had a highly recommended Icelandic Lamb Soup, and I walked on the black sand beach.  A little rooting around in a dune came up with a very fresh bit of Obsidian, and the beach walk produced a rounded sample of the much less common flow banded obsidian.  We also journeyed to Iceland's southern most tip - were columner basalt flows could be glimpsed through the mist.  A trip across the lunar landscape at the base of Katla took us to the Myrdals Jokull glacier.  This still has traces of the ash fall from the 2010 eruption of the next door volcano Eyjafjallajokull, and generally, the poor weather and light conditions made the location seem gloomy and brooding - I have to see it on a sunny day really, but like I said earlier, nature is not there for our amusement and she cant be expected to perform on cue.

Myrdals Jokull Glacier

A giant boulder with glacial striations

Beach pebbles at the southern tip of Iceland

So would I go to Iceland again?  100% Yes I would!  I just scratched the surface.  There are two or three good summer trips worth of material just to cover the obvious things.  The geology is superb, as expected, but more than this, I think the people and their relaxed attitude to life was a real eye-opener.  You never heard the squeal of breaks or the angry honk of a horn.  Cars stop for you if you cross a road, even if you're nowhere near a pedestrian crossing.  Energy is clean and abundant.  And the atmosphere of the place, the vibe, is one of sunny optimism.  My most abiding memory is of a helpful young man at the volcano centre giving me advice the morning after my trip to see the Northern Lights - a trip at which the Northern Lights were conspicuous by their absence.  He said "Pro-tip." I was instantly fascinated - I'd never had someone start a sentence with the word pro-tip.  He went on, "Dont pay for one of these expensive trips, just go out beyond the street lights on the seafront or into a park on a clear night.  You'll see the Northern Lights for free."   Now that's helpful, if a little late.  Why could I not have met him on day one?

Iceland on a sunny winters morning

The Solfar Sun Craft by Jon Gunnar Arnason