The greatest beach, with the greatest river, on the greatest fjord. This is why Gunnar came home from Europe on the brink of war.
Looking north from the Stapavík-Njarðvík Trail.
Where better to survive the end of the world?
Before there was Egilsstaðir, the service and shopping hub for East Iceland, there was Óshöfn in Krosshöfði. Alas, the harbour filled in. That’s it in the centre of the image below.
But back in the day, it was a h happening place. Men would travel perhaps a week with their horses to pick up the shopping here.
.
1904: Those people of Hérað who so wish, can have any sort of groceries delivered to Öshöfn next March-April, providing that they deliver their orders to the store in Bakkagerði, Borgarfjörður before the New Year.
Bakkagerði is in the second fjörd to the south. Hérað is a vast district in the East, including Gunnar Gunnarsson’s childhood home at ValÞjófsstaðir, a long five days’ ride to the East. Chances are, the walnut he received for Christmas as a boy, which he broke in half and made into a boat, which he sailed down the pastorage stream, dreaming of going to sea, came from here.
The land has other ideas.
Njarðvík
So often in Iceland, words fail us.
Oystercatchers on the prowl.
We were 500 metres from a pair of geese and their chick on the shore at Njardvik, when the parents flew out over the sea in a great flapping, honking noise, while the little one slipped into the rocks and did not move. It really did not move.
Shh! Not a word!
After five minutes, the parents were floating offshore, watching us. After fifteen minutes, we left. It was the only thing for it.
When Gunnar said that, it wasn’t a metaphor.
This scene at Njardvik is wealth. The question might be… what are you going to do with it? Because it’s the only wealth there is.
Salt water and fresh, in their own movements, catch the light quite differently.
Seals swim from one to the other effortlessly. What a great seeing that is!
In Borgarfjörður Eystrim , the puffin nesting grounds are covered with netting, so that the puffins don’t ruin their home by being too, well, puffinish.
At Raudanes, they are free to do as they wish. As you can see below, the result is quite different.
There are fewer puffins, but they are wilder. Ain’t that the thing, eh.
The foundational principle of Iceland is “settlement.” after 1100 years of it, we see that nothing has changed. In Olafsfjörður (for example), everything still comes from away.
And buildings are larger than they need to be. They too are settlements.
Even the driftwood, even the art, even the temporary housing made from shipping containers, comes from away.
Or so it seems to someone from away. However, to an Icelander, I think it comes from the world, which is synonymous with the sea.
And you can’t see it.
The result is Reykjavik.
Lóndrangar looks out over the Atlantic at mid-day, in the dim light when the darkness shines as brightly as the sun. It is a time for going inside things, for going in the deep intimacy of a human bodily connection with the Earth. Everything is hushed, and the world is full of memories and future plans.
It is those you walk through, and they look like heather and rock and snow and they feel like wind and cold, and yet you are warm. You are a fire, cupped in a sheltered spot. You make yourself. When summer comes, you walk out into what you have made, and the fire is everywhere. It is now, too, but you must walk very softly. You are inside the sleep of the world.
A Farm in Iceland 