Friday, February 8th, 2010. On Iceland.
Three years ago, I first read the chapter written by Greg Stamer in Eastern Arctic Kayaks on the use of the Greenland paddle. Since then I have followed his articles in the Masiq, and the occasional piece published in sea kayaking magazines.
This article on the Iceland circumnavigation was published in the October 2008 issue of Sea Kayaker Magazine, and having sorrily missed to renew my suscription, it just passed under the radar.
These are the first paragraphs that account for the Southern coast where Freya Hoffmeister shot a conspicuously good photo of Greg standing on a shore of black volcanic ash with his arms spread open against a steady head wind:
We pushed hard to reach the settlement at Höfn to resupply before a forecasted storm slammed into the exposed coast. My muscles were screaming for rest, as we had already covered 56 miles (90 kilometers). It was nearing midnight, but this close to the Arctic Circle the sun still burned brightly on our faces and illuminated the volcanic landscape and the milky white waves laden with glacial silt. With 24 hours of daylight we could paddle as long as our strength held out. Standing between us and the dream of collapsing into our sleeping bags was the needle thin inlet at Höfn (meaning “harbor” and pronounced “Hup” like a hiccup). Höfn is regarded by many as the most dangerous inlet in Iceland. More than 50 people have lost their lives to its fast tidal rapids, jagged rocks and constantly shifting black volcanic sandbars.I poured out maximum power. Normally this would have me racing at six knots or more but I was virtually at a standstill among the stark black boulders guarding the inlet. Sweat trickled inside my drysuit and my face felt hot and flushed. My strength would not last long. Freya too was only managing to keep from getting washed out to sea. We adjusted our course slightly to ferry glide across the main flow of the current and slowly clawed our way across the inlet mouth to a small eddy on the western edge of the inlet where we could catch our breath in the gently swirling water.Immediately before us were car-sized rocks standing between the sea on one side and a source of outflow from Europe’s largest glacier, Vatnajökul, on the other. Just upstream from us was a long field of white, steep and confused standing waves created by the tidal race that can flow at 10 knots or more. We would have to wait hours for the tide to change, portage overland to bypass the inlet or go on the offensive and head directly into the violence. We were tired and chose to go for it. It was the wrong decision.













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