For those just interested in the climbing story: you can jump right down to the heading in bold. One of my flaws is always telling long versions of short stories, sorry...
Christmas was fantastic. Even too much so. My waistline went even further from the famous 90-60-90 Marilyn-measurements and reached new heights.
Now is the time of resolutions and general optimism. My new years resolution, besides visiting a new continent this year (an ongoing new years resolution that will last me until 2009 when I'll probably finish this grand world tour in Antarctica) is getting myself into proper shape for climbing, snowboarding and all the other fun outdoors things I want to do. This is one of the reasons I decided to stay in Iceland this winter and spring. Here I know people to go with, I won't have to start by making friends or paying myself trips, I have all my gear and can easily borrow the gear I don't have. And it's a nice change, since I haven't seen my preciousss Iceland in it's wintercoat for the last two years.
So far, so good. I've been out running and swimming a couple of times and pledge to keep up the good work for at least a few more weeks! Well, my shape wasn't too bad to begin with, it just wasn't very good either.
When I was offered to go ice climbing this weekend, of course I said yes. Finally, the moment of truth!
Preparations started already on saturday. I didn’t have all the gear necessary. I left some of my gear in Greenland when I left there in October, thinking I'd come back there soon and spend the best part of winter there. Unfortunately, my climbing boots were amongst these things and I haven't gone to get them yet. Ice axes; I ordered a pair of them on the internet this autumn. Or so I thought. I just received an ice axe, - in singular! Try picturing advancing up an ice wall with one ice axe... stupid people at backcou... com. So I needed ice axes as well.
Good thing I work for a mountain guiding company that has both boots and axes in stock! So I embarked on an epic bus journey to Grafarvogur (a far away suburb of Reykjavik...) to get keys and go get the stuff I needed.
So, late night saturday, - it will even count as sunday am, I started packing for the early morning departure. Around two-ish I thought I was done and went over the list in my head. Then it hit me: a helmet! Shit, I almost forgot it. Good thing I remembered before leaving. Now where is my helmet?
I rampaged through my entire home (which doesn't take a long time) until it dawned on me that... my helmet was probably sitting comfortably on a kitchen shelf in Kulusuk, Greenland; not far from my boots.
My mounting joy and excitation withered away, there was no sense in going up there without a helmet. Ice climbing is risky and scetchy and dodgy enough without going into it with a direct death wish.
Then I spotted a potential saviour: my bicycling helmet looming in the corner. I tried it on and looked in the mirror. Oh my god. I tried putting the jacket on and the hood up over it. A film named
cone heads sprang to mind.
I can't be seen like this, I'll be a laughing stock for the rest of winter. But I swallowed my pride, it was too late to call anyone to borrow a helmet, so it was the only solution. The helmet went into my bag along with the rest of the gear.
The actual travel story starts here!Six of us (Anna, Bjöggi, Herdís, Robbi, Siggi, Skabbi) went to Eilífsdalur, a legendary ice climbing spot close to Reykjavik. A place I had heard about it so many times and seen from a distance, but never up close and personal.
The approach is quite long, that is, the walk from the car to the start of the route. Normally you'll walk for around one and a half hours before you can even start climbing.
It has become a rare event in Iceland to see snow linger on the ground for more than half a moment but now it had been snowing for a week non-stop. Fighting our way through the white stuff, the approach took us three hours instead of one and a half.
When we got closer to the ice route (Einfari), the huge mass of snow seemingly suspended in thin air at the top of the ice cascade just seemed to get bigger and bigger. We decided that it would probably be a good idea not to try and do the whole route as originally planned, but to put up some lines and practice in a safe place at the side of the main route, in case all that snow suddenly found the urge to come tumbling down. And boy, were we happy to be in a risk-free zone, when, around three o’clock, we heard a loud rumble and saw an impressive amount of snow on the run.
Climbing was great fun. It’s such a mens’ world out there, and being a girl, you can’t help but feeling privileged to be allowed to take part in this sacred act of heroism. Also because me and Anna, we’re newcomers in the field so we profited greatly from tips and teaching from the guys who had more experience with these pointy tools.
Thanks again guys, it was great fun and good practice.
We put up two lines and practiced
there until it was almost dark again, just enough daylight to get our gear together and start heading down. It was downhill this time and we could follow our tracks back, so it took only two hours on the way back. Thirteen hours from car to car, that counts as a pretty good day.
Man, did we deserve that big burger we had in Mosfellsbær on the way back. KFC did a fine job that night, although we had to run out in the end because of bad music.
But, anyway. Good day. And lets hope we get some good ice again soon.
Pictures can be found
here.
