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"Why I am here, I do not know. There are no buildings here; no trees can grow here. Yet I feel I belong here and it is because here there are few people, but much nature."
— W.H. Auden, Letters from Iceland

Iceland's nature is that of an Antarctic wilderness.
Its inhabitants are a mass of grotesque eccentricity.
Its history is written in sagas,
a litany of murder and killings.
The country is littered with volcanoes,
glaciers and arctic snowstorms.

In short, Iceland is the adventure playground for freeriders.

Gate to the Underworld
The countryside lies in a pale twilight. Volcanoes rise out of the clouds and the smell of sulfur is heavy in the air. The landmarks here are called the Ring of Fire, Dark Castle, or, shorter and more to the point, Hell. Welcome to lava land.

Between craters and cooked mud puddles, we watch out for what is known as the hot "liquor." The wind chills us as it sweeps across the land and we make pit stops to warm up at the hot springs that emit heat, and are scattered throughout the land like hot burners of a stove.

"For someone who is curious about the Iceland experience, we can suggest this: to get the true sensation, grab your weather report and your coffee, and sit in the freezer while burning a hundred dollar bill..."

For four months a year this land remains in the darkness. Then it is spring on the Arctic Circle. In spite of the freezing temperatures, Iceland's residents wear their summer attire. Whoever lives here must be able to bear the harsh surroundings. Even the traveling snowboard salesman must be tough enough to handle the environment. The well-informed reader knows precious little about the Icelander's mountain pits and mines and we, too, had to consult our travel guides. For someone who is curious about the Iceland experience, we can suggest this: to get the true sensation, grab your weather report and your coffee, and sit in the freezer while burning a hundred dollar bill.

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Asgard, "residence of the gods," Iceland, is a fitting name for the island on the Polar Circle. The Vatnajökull Glacier alone is twice as large as all the glaciers in the Alps combined. It's not a picturesque mountain — more of an icy desert with magma boiling under its surface and snow heights up to 1,000 meters. All mountains of Iceland are born of fire. Even the Snæfellsjökull, a volcano, looks like it is out of a storybook. Because it is the last outpost in the west, the power of this mysterious mountain has captivated mountain climbers for centuries. It is popularly known as the mountain with the gate to the underworld, as told in Jules Verne's novel, Journey to the Center of the Earth. Those who confront the mountainous area meet sea lions, parrots and perhaps even cuddly polar bears. It is the ultimate nature journey.

In the highlands stands the king of the Iceland mountain range, Herdubreid, the throne of the gods. During the summer, there are only two months during which it is passable. For a winter trip, the odds are worse. At best, the chances are the same as winning the lottery.

We chose to travel to the mountain of Trölskagi and the Fjördur peninsula in the north. By planning this path, we have uncovered the best of Iceland. The potential of a fascinating and beautiful ascension is enormous.

Old volcanoes and expansive mountains rise over 1,000 meters out of the upper fjords. On the periphery, the world seems to end at the dark, cold, polar water. Until the end of May, the valleys lie under meter-high snow. In addition, one has 24-hour light in the north, which results in climbers losing all sense of time. It is an ideal situation for people who oversleep, such as ourselves; it does not matter if we break camp at 10am or 10pm. Our schedule relies on the weather and physical conditions. The mountain climber must always be in solid physical condition for a journey. The comfortable huts in the mountains and along the coast mean a long, yet lonely, journey. There are no men here, yet the fjords are not uninhabited, there are the elves and trolls.

The Trolls and Elves
The abandoned mountain regions are ideal areas of retreat for elves and trolls. Names like Trölldalur (troll valley) and Alfaborgir (city of elves) or Tröllskagi (spit of land of the trolls) signify the curious feel of these enchanting and beautiful places. Mountain trolls are, in fact, truly the masters of camouflage. Hidden between the bizarre lava formations, they appear to play jokes on the weary mountain climber.

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These secret visitors can be most unpleasant. These living-dead creatures come out of hiding to catch companions that they then take back with them to hell. Songs of warning rise out of the crevices singing the words, "The moon hides tonight because the grim reaper rides. Don't look into the white of my face. Growl..."

But, there are friendlier elves than the grim reapers. Some elves have been known to make intimate friendships with earthly men. But most people who have befriended the elves lost their minds soon afterwards. There is even a position in the government for a specialist of the elves — a great position — and in the area of Gundafjördur there is an Elf Stone between house number 84 and 88, meaning house number 86 is dedicated to the elves.

The Ultimate Thule Experience
Our packs are transported to the hut for us. Through the magical and untouched winter landscape, always toward the polar water, we travel 20 kilometers from the last fishing village. The huts are located in a mountain stream, encircled by old volcanoes. Around us are amazing mountains with wide, sheer faces and razor-sharp ridges, adequate material for the next few days. The weather cannot make up its mind: gray skies replace blue, then they brighten and clear, and then gray skies resume. At least the wind is consistent. At one point, shortly before we reach the peak, a powerful windstorm nearly sweeps us from the mountain. Crawling on all fours, we must retreat to shelter.

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It is 11pm when we finally reach the peak. The panorama is spectacular. To both the east and west, the view reaches deep into the land. The sun sinks in front of us, glowing in the polar lake, only to rise again, soon. Directly below us we see, through a break in the clouds, the little hut. Through the telescope we recognize a chimney and we smile. Turning our heads, we see a pair of "turned to stone" trolls fly down the steep face and surf in the magical light on the fields of snow until directly in front of the huts. That was the essence of the freeride experience — movement in a new frame of mind, powered by the energy of the time passing by, below us.

By the time the experience ends, it is after midnight. A single star beams in the sky. Birds move toward the south. It is here that our dreams of the ultimate Thule experience have been fulfilled. Thule, the legendary island of paradise, is in the North Atlantic. For a second, we feel as if we are mythological heroes and with the achievement of many kilometers behind us, we leave the fjord. One more time, against the wind, we must walk over 20 kilometers of rough terrain. Step by step, we fall into a quiet line, traveling methodically down to the small fishing town of Grenivík, where overwhelming greenery greets us. Water from hot springs bubbles from the surface of the earth, covering the glittering snow of the Kaldbakur Mountain.

Fire and ice, that is Iceland. By the next morning, the snowstorm had covered our tracks. The circle closes itself and the story ends as it began. Now we're off to the next adventure.

— Jogi Januschowsky, MountainZone.com Correspondent

* Story Translated by Christina Kettman