Mýrdalsjökull, Reynisdrangar and Dyrhólaey...oh my!

In our last post -- What's in a Name -- we left off with discussing Katla, one of the more violent volcanoes along the Mid-Atlantic Ridge. Capping Katla is the ~600 sq. km. glacier called Mýrdalsjökull. Looking at a map of Iceland you will see some some eleven jöklar (plural for jökull, which by the way is pronounced 'yokel', more or less, and other than that, has no resemblance to our local breed) scattered about the island. They cover about 11% of the country's landmass and a jökull is of course a glacier. However, due to global warming, all of the glaciers are in rapid retreat. The largest, at around 8,300 sq. km in size, is losing about 4 km. per year.

Now we know what a is but what is 'Mýrdals?' If you remember from the previous post, the coastal town of Vík is actually formally know as Vík í Mýrdal. The latter word translates into English as 'mire dale.' Those are two words you are more likely to run across in Lord of the Rings rather than Facebook, as they are the more antiquated forms of 'boggy' or 'swampy' or 'marsh valley.' Mýrdalsjökull = Glacier of the boggy valley and Vík í Mýrdal = bay of the marshy valley. The reason for all the mud is the fact that the region receives up to 90 inches of rainfall annually.

Close by Vík are a set of basalt sea stacks known as Reynisdrangar. They rise from the stormy north Atlantic sea like the petrified masts of some ancient man-o-war. In fact, there are three similar legends related to them and at least two feature a ship. The most colorful tells the story of three trolls -- Skessudrangur, Laddrangur and Langhamar (but I think of them as Larry, Moe and Curly) -- who, whilst trying to drag a ship to shore, are caught, turned to stone and frozen in time and place by the rays of the dawn's sun. The stacks are very photo-genic from either the black basalt sand beach to the east or the high cliffs of Reynisfjall, directly above. If the weather is relatively calm (all things being relative here), you can lie upon the edge of the cliffs watching the puffins wheel about in the void between you and the stone trolls.

From those same cliffs, much further to the west, a headland thrusts into the sea, with a quite large puncture mark in the rock. Dyrhólaey it is, meaning, "the hill-island with the door-hole." Tour boats will float through the opening and a stunt pilot is said to have flown through it as well. The cliffs are crowded by puffins and the view from the edge of the promontory is spectacular if not vertiginous.

A little ways inland and with a peaceful gaze at both Dyrhólaey and Reynisdrangar, is Loftsalahellir, "upper chamber cave." Before the Vikings began arriving in the 800's it is rumored that Irish monks seeking "green martyrdom" in the time of St. Patrick (6th-7th century) voyaged to Iceland to live solitary lives of hermits. No physical trace that I am aware of has been found of these monks. Perhaps their lives were so devoid of any physical comfort and artifices that all has been obliterated by time and the elements. Or, perhaps it is all just a myth. Regardless, an Irish monk was said to live in this cave, Loftsalahellir, sometime before the Icelandic Sagas place Viking council meetings there. Either way, it makes a lovely spot to have lunch as well as end this 'saga' of a blog post.

Bless í bili

What's in a Name?

The passion for naming things is an odd human trait. Many a scientist claims to have explained some phenomenon when in truth all he has done is to give it a name.

— George Gaylord Simpson

 

Once you label me you negate me. — Soren Kierkegaard

 

You can know the name of a bird in all the languages of the world, but when you're finished, you'll know absolutely nothing whatever about the bird... So let's look at the bird and see what it's doing -- that's what counts. I learned very early the difference between knowing the name of something and knowing something. — Richard Feynman

 

Rose is a rose is a rose is a rose. — Gertrude Stein

Gertrude said it most succinctly and perhaps most elegantly. A thing is what it is, not what it is called. Yet, the ancient Chinese proverb — The beginning of wisdom is to call things by their right names — intimates that words do matter. Perhaps the Chinese were conflating wisdom with knowledge, for clearly names are important in knowledge whilst wisdom tells us that a rose is indeed a rose.

 

Recently I began reprocessing images of a trip to Iceland I took some years back. I started labeling the images with more specificity than just “Iceland,” and began wondering about Mýrdalsjökull, Hjörleifshöfði, Reynisdrangar and other tongue-twisting place-names I was finding on my maps. Is there a history behind the name? Does the name mean something? Is a rose truly just a rose? Or, in the case of Iceland, is a vík a vík.

 

On the southern most nub of Iceland’s coast is a small village of some 300 souls. It’s full name is Vík í Mýrdal, but everyone calls it simply Vík. Cast your eyes on a map of Iceland and scattered around the coast of the island you will find other víks: Keflavík, Grindavík, Ólafsvík, and of course the most famous vík of them all, Reykjavík. What’s with all the víks? It is not, strictly speaking an Icelandic word but rather Old Norse for ‘cove’ or ‘bay.’

 

Some 15 kilometers east of Vík is the isolated 220 meter high headland of Hjörleifshöfði. Named after the Viking Hjörleifur Hróðmarsson, who settled there in 874, the small mountain was once a much larger promontory.  Successive eruptions of the mighty Katla over the eons has caused so much flooding and carrying away of rock that Hjörleifshöfði stands isolated, a mile and a half from the sea. Returning to Mr. Hróðmarsson, apparently he was not a good provider as a year after settling on the rock his slaves revolted killing him and his free men. He is said to be buried at the highest point of the hill. His farmstead was clearly visible next to the rock for over a thousand years until the 1918 eruption of Katla finally washed away the remnants.

 

The cause of all these volcanic disturbances lies some 20 kilometers north of Vík (as the puffin flies). Katla (derived from the Old Norse word for ‘kettle,’ the shape of which upside-down the volcano is) is a large, very active volcano partially covered by the Mýrdalsjökull glacier. It has erupted 20 times since 930 AD and is due for another, any time now. The flood waters created by one eruption is estimated to have been comparable to the combined output of the Amazon, Mississippi, Nile, and Yangtze rivers. Not something one would like to be caught in. In old days, traveling along the southern coast was greatly feared because of the deep rivers and frequent glacial floods. In July of 2011 there was a small eruption on Katla that created a jökulhlaup (glacial ‘leap’ or glacial outburst flood) that destroyed the bridge across the main highway. Watch this short video and at the :34 mark you will see Hjörleifshöfði in the distance.

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oQlkGO5KsPY?rel=0]

 

Next: Mýrdalsjökull, Reynisdrangar and Dyrhólaey

 

The Þjórsá and Dam Battles

The mighty Þjórsá (loosely pronounced Thyor-sah) is Iceland's longest river at 230 km. Flowing turbulently down from the central highlands icecap of Hofsjökull, the Þjórsá is a classic glacial river, cutting deep ravines through lava fields, ancient and modern, and stepping through waterfalls on its way to the island’s southern coast. When we were there several Julys ago, the river was turgid and yellowish-green with silt and mud. The intensity and force of the river was most apparent at Þjófafoss, the relatively short waterfall that sits picturesquely at a bend in the river, the 2200’ high volcano Búrfell beyond. Þjófafoss means ‘Thieves Falls’ as supposedly medieval cutpurses were chucked off the ledge overlooking the swirling, foamy mass below. Not pleasant, but probably pretty quick. Búrfell, with bright green vegetation climbing up its steep lava-strewn slopes, makes a wonderful backdrop for exploring or photography. To the east the fearsome Hekla rises to almost 5000 feet. One of the most active volcanoes in Europe, Hekla was considered the literal gateway to Hell during the Middle Ages. Between 1970 and 2000 it erupted every 10 years...its overdue based on that schedule.

Further upstream 2 or 3 kilometers and spanning the river is the Tröllkonuhlaup (The Giantess Waterfall). The legend states that a female troll (giant) lived in a cave in Búrfell and wanting to cross the river without getting wet, threw boulders into the Þjórsá as stepping-stones. Whatever the myth, the low falls make a great backdrop for having lunch.

Upon planning a return trip to Iceland I was dismayed to read that the Icelandic government in concert with an energy consortium want to build three dams on this river. Now, I will be the first to admit that I am not an expert on Iceland’s energy needs, but viscerally I look at this river and wonder what ‘they’ can be thinking. Even more so when I read that no environmentalists were involved in the initial plan drafting, only government officials and energy companies. Sound familiar? Fortunately the planned three dams have been put on hold, though perhaps that is just a waiting game.

Though our climate is very different than Iceland’s, we too in the arid Southwest have had our dam battles. At one time Floyd Dominy, Bureau of Reclamation commissioner (1959-69), and others, wanted to build a series of dams on most western rivers. They were successful to a point but were finally stopped at the doorstep of the Grand Canyon. Many want to rollback the industrialization of the desert by removing Glen Canyon Dam.

As simplistic and unfortunate as it may be, many facets of our current politico-socio clime can be defined by the term ‘culture wars.’ This is true too when discussing the role of humankind vis-à-vis nature. To take us out of the nature equation is unrealistic and frankly, unnatural. But even more so, the claim that we can ‘improve’ on nature is laughable. We may improve our position of dominance within nature, but that is not improving nature. These are really different and opposing viewpoints. I look at the Colorado River flowing through Greater Canyonlands, or the Þjórsá winding its way through Iceland’s volcanic lowlands, and I see wilderness and want to leave it be. The Floyd Dominy’s and Landsvirkjun’s (Iceland’s national energy company) of the world see lands and waters and resources to overcome, manage, and 'improve' upon. We’ve had a lot of the latter the last 200 years or so, with benefits and boondoggles and disasters aplenty. Growth for the sake of growth is the ethos of the cancer cell. Now is the time to manage our own nature and leave Nature be.