Vik to Hofn
It was in Vik that I began the 2 a.m. Northern Lights vigil. We had a picture window facing the Atlantic in our wood paneled room #25 of Hotel Hofdabrekka Vik. The evening ended with clouds covering up a perfect 1/2 moon. I set the alarm for 2 a.m. When it went off, I spent an hour gazing at the sky. It was overcast this night. A storm was rolling in from the ocean. I could see distant car lights moving along the ocean road–yet I couldn’t see the mountain just to our side. The farmhouse lives in the good graces of Volcano Katla, and is supposedly haunted. Getting back to sleep that night was not easy.
The next morning dawn seemed late and there were sheets of rain coming down sideways with the wind. We wanted to see the black sand beach and the standing stones at Reynisdrangar on this cold Sunday morning. We turned off the main Ring Road towards the ocean.
The road was patchy (I’ll get to these roads in the next entry). We bounced along, braving the road. Suddenly, the road was over and we were on a strand of black gravel sand leading down to the beach with the three sea stacks (Skessudrangar, Landdrangar and Langhamrar). We parked. We could only see one of the standing stones from here. We would get out and walk to the ocean’s edge to see the others.
The wind nearly pulled the doors off the car as soon as we opened them. We held hands and began walking down to the beach. The wind was unbelievable. It pushed and pushed–like a giant hand cupped along your back–forcing you to the ocean. Bryan and I linked arms and dug our feet into the sand to avoid being driven into the ocean. It was funny at first, then lost the charm when we couldn’t catch our breath and couldn’t stop being pushed like a leaf towards the waves. Somehow, we turned around and made it back to the car. The wind changed direction and pushed us quickly to the car…making the cars doors difficult to open, but slamming them shut even as we hurried to tuck our legs in. An omen, a warning? Should have heeded it!
I had the bright idea of driving the car down to a different place on the gravel road so that maybe we could see all three standing stones from the safety of the car. Bryan gamely tries it. The gravel becomes sand. The car bottoms out. We come to a halt, the car stalls. Bryan reverses. We go nowhere. Not forward, not backward. Black sand, wind, rain, it was an early Sunday morning in a bleak, isolated corner of Iceland. We got out and became horrified. The front tires are 1/2 buried. We can’t see underneath the car. The headlights burn in the dark beach as we start digging like dogs to free the wheels. Fifteen minutes later, no progress. Now we’re filthy, tired, and really scared. We’ll have to call Avis to rescue us. IF we can find a phone…
We walk to the closest farmhouse…up a hill about a mile away. Two dogs greet us, surprisingly friendly. We knock. A man answers, a little girl is wrapped around his leg looking at us wide-eyed. He had nearly clear blue eyes and blond hair. I asked for help and pointed at the car. He smiled as he looked out to our tiny, isolated car–motor still running, lights burning way out there on the beach–and says “I’ll bring the tractor”. We walked back, accompanied by a sheep dog. Soon he came into sight on the tractor. He tied a tow-rope around the back axle and pulled it out with Bryan steering, dogs barking at the car and dirt flying.
We thanked him about a hundred times, petted the dogs and Bryan gave him every piece of paper money we had…we think it was about $40. What a day….and it wasn’t quite 10 a.m. We stopped at the next gas station for an ATM, fuel, chips and cokes. We were still shaking. After settling down a bit, we began the drive East.
The scenery was again surreal–bizarre. Out of place rocks–HUGE boulders. And then gravelly, sandy streams, and black beaches. Thufurs of bright green/yellow/black mounds. Miles of nothing but marshy looking grass and stacked stones. We drove through two sandurs (Mectallandsandur and Skeidararsandur)–vast wastelands of black sand and glacial debris carried out by volcanic eruptions underneath the icecap Vatnajokull. Until the Ring Road was completed in 1974, the only way to cross was on a horse with a guide. Miles of this road washed out in 1996 because of an eruption under the glacier. Travelers are warned about the dangers of the area’s intense wind that sandblasts people and cars.
At Skaftafellsjokull glacier, we hiked for about 45 minutes on a rock trail to the glacier. It looked really close. It wasn’t. The glacier is retreating–it has separated from it’s other finger now…leaving behind dark sand and gravel and no growth. “Glacial bursts” have left boulders and giant slabs of ice here and there. We touched the glacier–muddy, slate grey with shiny spots of ice and blue up further. Water runs beneath it. It’s hollow underneath and sounds like a muffled waterfall–dripping, pouring and swirling.
A little while later we came suddenly upon the iceberg lake, Jokulsarlon. Big chunks of beautiful blue ice floating in a lake. Saw a seal. No one was at the boats, or we would have taken a ride among the bergs.
We arrived in Hofn, Guest House Hvammur (Gistiheimili Hvammur), room #3. We were the only guests there. We grabbed burgers from a small yellow drive-up stand on the harbor. And collapsed. I dreamed I was about to see the northern lights…lying on my back looking at the 1/2 circle of the black sky–with lines drawn over it for star formations. Just as the Northern lights were coming, I woke up.
