Reflection

   At every turn Iceland's landscape surprised me with its primeval beauty. That the Atlantic, snow-capped mountains, waterfalls, and glaciers could all be seen from one spot at times was a marvel that inspired transcendental reflection. The visceral and untouched nature, which the island sustains, has proven to me that the nonpareil beauty of the natural world has no limits. No picture, no postcard, and certainly no words can adequately capture its Elysian grace.

   Many moments on this trip will remain in my memory:

    wandering through Reykjavik's streets cast golden by the setting sun,

    descending into the icy bowels of a glacier,

    hiking up the sheer mountains beyond Grundarfjordur,

    hearing the stillness of a fjord,

    seeing the ephemerality of a glacier,

    and through the eyes of a waterfall,

    feeling the ominous power of a sleeping volcano,

    and all with great company.

   Above all this experience has reaffirmed my belief in the intertwined destinies of humanity and nature, each with a responsibility to protect the other -- as they are one and the same -- to nurture the posterity of both.

 

Vestmannaeyjar

May 29

   The sky is overcast above a valley of green sheep-speckled pastures. Behind our hostel the mighty Skogafoss waterfall crashes with the power of the Eyjafjallajokull and Myrdalsjokull glaciers that feed its headwaters. At 0810 we leave this natural marvel for an equally awe-inspiring one tucked within an adjacent mountain. The Seljalandsfoss waterfall cascades with misty gracility before a hollowed cavern, which allows travelers a view from behind the curtain of water. 

   At 0930 we board the ferry headed for the Westman Islands, a geologically nascent archipelago off of Iceland's southern tip. By 1020 we land on the largest island, Heimaey, which fosters a town of 5,000 and the site of a nearly 40 year old volcanic eruption. Upon arrival we navigate through the industrial harbor to a towering sea cliff called Heimaklettur. On wooden ladders and a treacherous path we ascend to its grassy slopes for lunch amongst sure-footed sheep.

   From the summit of Heimaklettur we see the quiet village in the shadow of the sleeping craters Eldfell and Helgafell, now only palimpsests of a violent fissure eruption. The former is our next destination lying within the island's southeast quadrant. 

   In the early afternoon we traverse the streets of Heimaey to the base of Eldfell and begin climbing its loose reddish slopes. Along its rim bright rocks of melting colors mark where magma-heated air escapes from hidden vents.

   Our day concludes with a trip to the Eldheimar Museum, a commemoration for all that was lost in the 1973 eruption, and dinner at Gott, "Good," which lived up to its name.