Once, these birch forests were burned to smelt iron, then they were nibbled to naught by sheep.
A thousand years of erosion later, they became symbols of Iceland’s independence, and were carefully grown up from their sheep-nibbled stubs.
Then Iceland got to work hosting tourists. The north, and its tourists, were left behind, so tourists were brought on busses as late as 2019. They had 30 minutes to walk through the trails, without history, and then were off to think whatever they might think.
The Icelanders weren’t going there themselves in 2019. They were going here, upriver, by horse expedition:
Now what? The forests wait.