Thin Ice, Thin Line

As the snow picked up and the next Icelandic song came on in our bus to Reykjavík, the distant horizon was washed out by snow. In its place stood snow-dusted house roofs and fields, a scene now only dominated by never-ending powerlines. The brief snowfall ended but the powerlines remained, and the far-off peaks returned: a reminder that this island of volcanos, Vikings, and natural beauty has bound nature into its future. If the natural world is destroyed, so too is Iceland.

Ice caves:

After a bumpy ride across a desert of black sand, we pulled up to the ice cave. It was bigger than I’d imagined and rose up menacingly from the ground. Most of it was covered in volcanic ash. We listened to a quick intro about warm ice, layers of ash, and glacier formation before being led into the cave.

It was, quite literally, a scene from Rogue One—one that’s melting more every year. It was humbling to have first-hand experience seeing the receding glaciers and hearing stories from our guides who rely on these natural features for sustainable eco-tourism. The immense power of the natural world that they talked about was right in front of us.

Skógafoss to Vík:

We visited the waterfall, Skógafoss, on our second day. A rainbow stood proudly like an arched entrance to the inlet that housed the falls. At its base, a heavy spray covered tourists who dared get close for a photo.

As we climbed the rickety flight of stairs up the side of the falls, a white mountaintop stuck out from behind the rolling hills that fed Skógafoss. All over the area, tourists thronged. Since the 2008 financial crisis hit Iceland, tourism has emerged as an economic driver that sustains much of the country.

Even as a tourist, myself, it bothered me that we were invading Iceland’s natural landscapes to such an extent. People from all over the world come to stand in awe of the beauty, while forgetting the changes they could make in their own lives.

That night, in search of the Northern Lights, we hiked uphill for ten minutes or so from our hostel, trying to leave behind even the few lights left on in the small town of Vík. It was too cloudy. We decided to lay on our backs in a field and watch the mountains surrounding our valley do nothing.

Finally, and ironically, it felt like we’d escaped the tourists.

Thermal river:

We took the long way in, our guide preferring to show us the path less traveled. We attached our hiking spikes and checked our towels.

After a short walk, we stood on an outcrop with the sun behind us that overlooked a deep valley covered in snow. Somewhere down below we were supposed to get half-naked and let our eye lashes collect frost while we relaxed in a river heated naturally by geothermal energy. Soon after, as we lay in the water, bodies sweating and faces frozen, the walls of the valley rose up on either side—still icy and snow-covered.

On the way out, the wind whipped my cold face and chapped lips without mercy. My wet towel froze and my eyes watered. I pulled my eyes up from the loose, red rocks beneath my feet to take in the cliffs and billowing clouds of geothermal steam.

I wanted to take in the scene one more time before we went over the ridge, trying to savor the moment despite the intense cold. I wondered about our responsibility back home, too: how do we use these experiences for positive change?

Whales:

We bundled up in winter gear and sat on the deck of the Andrea, playing cards and blowing on our hands while we sailed out of the harbor and passed snowy peaks in search of whales. We weren’t disappointed.

It didn’t take long to find a humpback. As the calf’s tail flopped lazily out of the frigid water, cameras clicked, and iPhones were aimed. People from all over the world exclaimed in different languages. We were connected, in that moment, by the beauty and power of the humpback. Then she dove again, and we receded back into our differences. Maybe this was human nature. Maybe it was just a language barrier. I prefer to think the latter.

People gawked at the smallest glimpse of the whale. I wondered why so few animals—all fascinating in their own rights—received such privileged treatment by humans. I guess not every species can blow mist against the backdrop of Icelandic glaciers in a rich blue sea.

She was the only whale we saw, and, before long, we were headed back to shore.

Commentary:

From our guides, we learned that you can be a total badass (looking at you, Helgi) while simultaneously caring about the planet. People like Helgi showed us that believers in climate change yelling at the deniers is not going to help here.

Collaboration, debate, and common sense will. Right now, it’s not about debating the causes, but finding a solution—before places like Iceland are stripped of their beauty, a country that won’t be the same when glaciers melt and the ice caves collapse.