Skip to content
Join our Newsletter

Travel Storey

From Whistler to Iceland

A visit to the other edge of North America

I paused at the edge of a steaming fissure on the axis of the rift zone through central Iceland and stepped, symbolically at least, off the eastern edge of North America, across the mid-Atlantic ridge, onto the western edge of Europe. For most of its 16,000 km length the Mid-Atlantic ridge is a submarine feature but about 15 million years ago its northern end drifted over a stationary hot spot in the earth's mantle and the combined magma production of these two sources produced the embryonic volcanic island of Iceland. Since then the island has continued to grow and is still growing as fissures, like the one I just stepped across, continue to open at about 2 cm per year.

From Vancouver Iceland is a bum-numbing 11-hour flight to London, followed by a three-hour flight back to Reykjavik where we began our journey with "Arctic Experience," a British adventure travel company that specializes in getting off the beaten track. Billed as a walking trip we spent the first day warming up with short hikes to geysers, waterfalls, and historic sites in the vicinity of Reykjavik where Ingofur Arnarson and his Viking buddies landed and established the first permanent settlement in A.D. 874.

Today Reykjavik is a bustling, friendly place with all the amenities of a small, modern European city, plus some uniquely Icelandic differences. Probably the cleanest, most pollution-free city of its size anywhere on earth, nearly every building and home is heated with natural hot water drawn from geothermal wells, and lighted with electricity from pollution-free hydroelectric and geothermal generators. More than half of Iceland's 280,000 people live in greater Reykjavik. The rest are scattered along the coastal lowlands in small fishing villages and farms. Although the country is about three times the size of Vancouver Island more than 75 per cent of its total area is uninhabitable, a vast interior wasteland of icecaps and windblown volcanic desert.

Our group of 15 travellers is completely self contained and highly mobile in a Mercedes-built, Iceland-modified 4x4 bus which Jonni, our driver, describes as "just a big Jeep." Our guide, Bryndis, an athletic 26-year-old, tri-lingual, Reykjavik school teacher is a wealth of Icelandic history and folklore and a seemingly tireless leader on our long cross-country hikes. Each evening we return to a hearty meal of fish or lamb that cook, Vilborg, has purchased locally and prepared in venues ranging from stainless steel school kitchens, to pit-fires in a roofless sod house. Accommodation is strictly "bring your own sleeping bag" – no frills but solid, dry comfort in a variety of guesthouses, private homes, school dorms, and a working farm.

Our first long hike takes us from the south coast across the divide between Eyjafjalla and Myrdals icecaps. From Skogafoss waterfall we start a gradual 3,000 foot climb. The trail hugs the steep, moss-covered banks of Skogaa River, which plunges over a seemingly endless succession of waterfalls. We count 20 before the terrain levels out and the river breaks up into braided tributaries emerging from under the ice. We are now above "moss line," surrounded by barren lava, volcanic ash, and glacier ice. Bryndis leads across the featureless upland between the two icecaps to where we begin our descent. Fixed ropes provide security across some of the tricky slopes. This is the steep side of the ridge where erosion has cut deeply into the volcanic substructure of the mountain. Steep switchbacks take us to a broad floodplain where Jonni is waiting with his "great big Jeep" to drive us home; fording a half dozen rivers, bouncing across trackless gravel bars, and finally back to a road and a big meal at the farm.

After several more days exploring around Hekla and Torfajokull we head inland, leaving the green coastal mountains and climbing onto the high arid plateau of central Iceland. Our route takes us across a vast stretch of wind-scoured lava and shifting ash between two of Iceland's largest icecaps, Hofsjokul and Vatnajokull. After eight jolting hours we arrive at Lake Myvatn, in the Krafla volcanic region of northeastern Iceland. The lake, with its convoluted shoreline and countless small islands is lined by dozens of "pseudocraters." Resembling miniature volcanoes from 20 to 50 feet high, they were formed by steam blasts where molten lava flowed over swamps or pockets of groundwater.

The Krafla Volcanic System is an actively spreading fissure swarm where repeated eruptions have produced a variety of, central volcanoes, crater rows, and hundreds of square kilometres of lava flows. We start our exploration with a climb to the rim of Hverfjall, a classic tephra ring with a deep, kilometre-wide central crater. Built by a short but powerful eruption 2,800 years ago it marked the beginning of a volcanic episode known as the "Krafla Fires." Since then crustal dilation of many metres has been accompanied by nine surface eruptions, most recently in 1984. The clinkery black surface of that flow is still steaming and we pause to examine crusts of bright yellow sulphur being deposited around gas vents in the lava.

Fascinating as they are, there is much more to Iceland than volcanoes, ice caps, and waterfalls. The country has a rich cultural heritage that is reflected in many aspects of its modern society. From the towering modernistic spire of the Hallgrimsskirkja Cathedral in Reykjavik to the hundreds of tiny wooden-steepled structures scattered among the villages and farms a church of some sort is central to each community. Today the country is predominantly Lutheran, but it didn't start that way. The original Norse settlers brought their own Gods; Odin, Thor, and the rest of the pagan folks. Other European settlers were devout Roman Catholics and by the year 1000 religious tensions threatened national unity.

To everyone's credit the conflict was resolved by agreeing that "Porger the Lawspeaker," one of the senior Norse chieftains, should decide whether the country would follow Christ or Odin into the future. After a night of deliberation he pronounced, mainly on economic grounds, that the country would henceforth be Christian and in a gesture of goodwill threw his own pagan idols into a large waterfall known today as "Godafoss" (waterfall of the Gods).

Although Porger's idols were swept away in "Godafoss," many of the old traditions lingered on and creatures such as trolls and "hidden people" persist in the cultural fabric and folklore of modern Iceland. No Icelander readily admits to believing in trolls but the "hidden people" are a different matter. They are said to live among the rocks and in the fields and to communicate in subtle ways with their visible relatives. According to Bryndis, herself a firm believer, roads have been re-routed and fields cordoned off to avoid offending the hidden folk living there.

None of us, not even Bryndis, had any problem with the hidden people. We found instead a friendly, well educated people with an intense pride in their heritage, a knowledge of their history and a willingness to tell us about their island. Everyone seemed prosperous, fit, and busy. Most surprising, in a country with such a long history, we saw no evidence of clutter or decay. From downtown Reckjavik to the most remote fishing village and farm the houses and buildings, no matter how old, are tidy and well kept. We saw a country with a high living standard and a higher literacy rate than any other nation. And it all came about on a barren, treeless volcanic island on the edge of the Arctic Circle. The Icelanders have every right to be proud.