m8ta
You are not authenticated, login. |
|
{886} | ||
Just got back from a trek through the volcanic mountains of Iceland. The landscape is extremely dramatic; though it’s not nearly the scale of Alaska or the Rockies, it presents itself as such, as the largest plant is thick moss or stubble grass (in places); everything is bare, the vistas unobstructed. (What do you do if you get lost in an Icelandic forest? Stand up.). There are no trees for size reference, indeed it seemed so alien for a bit that I was amazed that I could still breathe the air. The first day of exploring I had a pretty serious scare. Was walking, very light and fast as usual, with just enough to protect against rain, just enough food to keep me from eating moss. I elected to take the less-popular route back, which lead across a high muddy (no plants) gray (all the snow is ashen) scree-filled plain, to a hunchback of a mountain, and down into the river valley where I was camped. The first part was fine, though searingly desolate and wind-shorn. The problem came when I rounded the final peak and discovered that the trail was covered by a gray wind-sculpted snowmass. It was at an angle too steep for my shit shoes and lack of ice-tools, and the slopes everywhere else were critical: free a rock and it will tumble 100‘. Free a Tim and he will also tumble 100 feet .. or more. I didn’t want to hike the 17km back the way I came without an attempt at re-finding the trail, so I set off, gingerly, over the ice and gravel, alone. The ash actually saved me, as it coated the snowfields, and made them passable in the late late afternoon warmth (the sun ‘sets’ around midnight and rises at 2.). This lead to a pinnacle from which I could *see* the campsite! But there was only slide-to-death venues for descent, until I noticed a set of footprints heading up a steep snowbank to my left. I was elated - a trace of humanity! I set off with renewed vigor, and did a semi-controlled fall down the ice; the foot-holes kept me under control. But they were not foot holes. I noticed quickly that the holes were irregular in spacing and shape, and shortly after I passed the steepest wind sculpted section of snowbank, realized that they were made by a large rock falling off the mountain, picking up speed as it dented the ice shell. I kept going, mostly because I could not stop, though eventually it leveled off. Had that rock not fallen, I don’t think I would have had the psychological wherewithal to try the slope, nevermind foot purchase to slow my descent. As a stream gets broader its slope generally decreases, given constant resistance from the rock / earth, so as I descended the valleys broadened and became less treacherous. I made the remainder of the way back on a riverbed, albeit with wet feet. It was exciting, and i felt fully in the world as i was trying to get off that trail-less mountain, but I’m not sure if I want to do it again; the following day while hiking up neighboring peaks I felt a heightened sense of caution, vertigo. |