Mt. Dickerman - 8-25-07

The hike itself is a little steep with about a 4,000' elevation gain in 4 miles - the summit is a little over 5,700'.

Here are a few pictures of the hike to Mt. Dickerman in the North Central Cascades. It was a grey day, a little misty in places (which was refreshing), but limited view. The meadows had quite a few flowers and the entire trail had exponentially fewer huckleberries on it after we left... But there was a great deal of new flora that thrilled our professional botanist and various amateur botanists. I'll add more plant names later.

Pacific Yew

Taxus brevifolia

Closeup of yew and berry;

the cancer drug paclitaxel (Taxol)

is derived from this tree.

Happy botanist!

Columbia Lily

Western Columbine (orange flower)

föstudagur, 27 júlí

Sun Voyager

My last day in Iceland. It has been so much fun, such an adventure full of challenges and sights that had previously been on the outskirts - if even that close - of my imagination. The language filled in some important historic spaces in my own linguistic endeavors, the people were a wonderful expansion of the Seattle neighborhood that I live in that has a strong Scandinavian heritage, the geology was simply amazing for this armchair geologist, and the entire experience has been one of many tales, pictures, and memories. I'll close this part of the blog with some pictures I took that last day, but first - if you ever get the chance to step far outside the box of your existence, no matter how wide the boundaries of your current world, take it! You will never regret it.

Fishhooks that were several hundred years old

Þjóðminjasafn Íslands - National Museum of Iceland







Very large bell - 4'+ high - in Hallgrímskirkja
















Typical house with bright colors and flower boxes













Looking out from top of Hallgrímskirkja - NW











Looking NE...







SE...












SW








Modern wear and weaponry for children













Assorted dyed reindeer hides and sealskin









These are bagels?!!!




















BSÍ - central bus station









Last sunset in Reykjavík

Bless!

fimmtudagur, 26 júlí

This was our free day, and five of us went horseback riding at the Laxnes farm. The Nobel Prize-winning author Halldór Laxness, lived across the highway from this farm (and in fact that's where he took his literary last name from). His prize-winning book was Independent People, and I have to say that it extends to the Icelandic horse as well. OK, fine. It extends to all horses. But the one I rode was an especially good example of independence.

Our instruction consisted of the query, "How much experience?" I said, "Núll". Nada. None. Well, do I have to count when the horse ran away with me at Camp Fire camp when I was 14? We were told to hold on to the reins, and since there was no saddle horn, this was a wise decision. The stirrups are set quite longer than in western-style and you're supposed to flex your heel down the entire time you ride. It's really not that hard.

Icelandic horses have 5 gaits, the fifth one being one specific to their breed; the tolt. It's a very smooth gait I think between a canter and gallop and it is very easy to ride when the horses break into this gait. We took the horses out to a field so that they could have a snack of grass and at that point, "Halldór" and I were still on pretty good speaking terms. We were in a group of 25 - 30 horses who of course ALL knew the drill and ALL knew that we were itinerants. And - they had their pecking order.

Sue and Andy

Ian, "Halldór"







I had been told by the lady who helped me saddle up, "Oh, this horse knows what to do. He's very independent." No joke! He was not fond of certain horses getting ahead of him on the track; he bit the flanks of certain horses to move them out of the way; he barged between 2 horses when there was barely room for those 2, hence putting my feet in jeopardy of either kicking a Swedish lady (who ended up giving me the evil eye on about, say, 10 occasions during the ride because of this) or knocking an 8 yr old Korean boy off his mellow horse. I have to say that most of the bruises I got on this trip were not from scrambling over rocks, slipping on scree, or any other hazards of hiking. No. They were from "Halldór" trying to rub me off!

Eventually he tired of that strategy and resorted to biting the Swedish woman's horse one time too many. That horse swung its head around and latched onto "Halldór's" neck, something that he wasn't expecting at all. He reared up - and took off a little faster than the tolt across the lava fields. And I was somehow clinging onto his sweaty neck because one of my feet came out of the stirrup and I was frantically trying to locate it. When I got situated I pulled back on the reins in a show of "no, I'm the boss" (even though I knew I wasn't), and he got back in line. And proceeded to try his stunts again. But - I kept his nose aimed straight ahead by some pretty tight reining in which he soon tired with. Ah, "Halldór"! Your independence is showing!

The barn grew closer and closer, the horses moved faster and faster, and "Halldór's" one-track feed mind grew more and more one-track...but he knew he still have this "thing" on his back that he really, really wanted to be rid of. One last attempt to rub me off against the barbed wire this time, but fortunately another horse got in the way, so "Halldór" took off for the corral fairly quickly, charging his way between the other horses. He wasn't the least bit interested in debriefing afterwards, either. Funny thing is, he was so easy to ride (when not rearing) that I'd gladly ride him again!


But we all survived and when we returned to Reykjavík, made reservations for dinner at Geysír, a very nice restaurant in the downtown area. I walked around the downtown area to scout out the restaurant and came across several families with young children playing with non-mechanized and predominantly wooden action toys - very neat!












We made it to Geysír on time and checked out the menu. The red flag was waved in front of my eyes; they had hvalborgari! A burger made of minke whale, quite impossible to get in the US, so I had to try it. It was in steak form served with a lobster sauce on a bun. This very dense meat had its own taste - not fishy, not like swordfish, which is somewhat resembled, not like beef, and not like chicken! It was a dark, dark burgundy in the center - quite pretty and mild in flavor. And delicious! And for dessert I had to try the "Velg eplakaka með ís og rjóma" - warm apple pie with ice cream. Yes, we were sate and had had again so many fun and interesting conversations. Then it was time to leave.

But we fell apart the minute we walked onto the veranda outside the restaurant. Andy said it best, "I think I'd look that way if I'd lost mine, too!"
Back to the Guesthouse Aurora for one last picture of almost everyone (missing and missed were Cathy and Paul, Penny and Richard).

miðvikudagur, 25 júlí

Gullfoss

We packed up and took our places on the other side of the stream so that we could take pictures of Sveini crossing it in the bus. It was pretty funny driving past the other guests who had stayed in the wooden huts as they stared at us as we drove past, mouths wide open!











The sky was slightly overcast with smudges of bright blue here and there, but at least we could see a substantial amount of Langajökull to our west. Another of my favorite warning "signs" was found on this part of the highland road; a rock, about 2' high, painted white, was placed at the edge of a 1 m by 1 m washout on the side of the road. Seeing as that wouldn't leave alot of road surface available, we had to move 'way over to the other side. Soon we saw where the Hvitá came from its origin at Langajökull, of course at Hvitálón, a much less spectacular version of Jökulsárlón.

The landscape started to green up as we got closer to Gulfoss. What a beautiful, beautiful waterfall!






Gullfoss as it cascades into Hvitargljufur Canyon







Tea with cookies, cake, coffee, energy bars - time to clean out the pantry! Onward to the original Geysir which, since it's now dormant, has passed on the performance hat to Strokkur. Strokkur was ready to please with eruptions every 6 or 7 minutes. Occasionally there would be a small, 10' eruption immediately followed by a larger one, and then there might be one that was at least 80' tall! My favorite part, though, the was the beautiful blue bubble that immediately preceded an eruption.

And I found there to be 3 ways to pronounce "geysir" in our group - the British "gee-zer", American "gi-zer" and the Icelandic "gay-seer".

Our last stop of the day would be at Þingvellir, Parliament Plains. This was where the first Icelandic parliament met in the 900s. The elected officials from all over Iceland would meet here annually and have trials, cast judgments, make laws, update land ownership, and all this in a democratic fashion. It is a fascinating place geologically as well, since it is located on the major rift that runs southward from the Krafla energy field, so the two walls on either side of the walkway are actually gradually pulling apart. The overall "growth" of Iceland in this manner is estimated to be 2 cm each year. One side is North America, and the other is Eurasia. It was a fun place to daydream of history and the Earth moving slowly...right underfoot...

This side is on the North American plate

Dinner that night was at Siggi Hall's. He is a prominent chef in Reykjavík and we ordered either salmon or lamb. I believe we were also treated to Atlantic char smoked over sheep dung; at least that's what one guide book said. Everything was quite good and we had a good last dinner with the entire group!

þriðjudagur, 24 júlí

( Photo courtesy of Simon K. Leung)

A beautiful day - sky a deep blue, cool temperatures. The big yellow bus took us to the edge of a snowfield on Mt. Snækollur, 1400 m high. We walked over some scree hills and saw some amazingly huge chunks of obsidian. As some who picked up a few choice black and brown pieces soon discovered, it's also quite sharp. The snowfield that we would have to cross without crampons or ropes, unfortunately, was a little too icy so our group split into two groups - I joined the Mutineers (nice call, Simon!), and we set out to hike the adjacent Mt. Fannborg, 1453 m high.

Mt. Snækollur


The first section was uneventful, over some of the same dirt/scree hills that we'd initially started on, but then we hit a snowfield where we had to dig in the footholds a little better. I was at the end and stopping in the middle of a slope, even though one of very, very slim avalanche potential, was just a little unnerving for me. It's pretty interesting what intuitions you carry with you to other geographical regions where those internal red flags may be meaningless...









But we made it across and then somehow missed the path (everyone but Sue, that is), and the scree slope from hell started slipping on yours truly again. Now, the 1,000' of scree above me was of a troublesome potential, so I got as flat to the hill as possible and made it over that loose area. Oh, was I ever sweating it out until I got to firmer ground!

Soon, though, we rounded the hill and were on the final zigzap path to the edge of the plateau where the summit was located. Since trouble occurs in threes, the wind kicked up and again I leaned a little close to this large-ish mound of rock, snow, and ice! The view all the way up and from the top was spectacular! Both Hofsjokull and Langajokull were right there in front of us, and we could even see the northwestern edge of Vatnajokull south of us. I really can't describe how incredibly clear the air was that day - I applied sunscreen every hour, I think - but all the details of snow on adjacent hills, rivers, lakes, steam vents - if they were in our line of vision, we could see them.

On top of Fannborg, Hofsjökull in background

Ian had brought his nifty little tripod and we all took turns taking pictures. Some, of course, were more detail-oriented than others, and I believe I heard a certain 22 year old in our Mutineers group mutter, "I'm adopted..." when his father took a little more time than everyone else to set up his picture, hehhehheh! We ate lunch, took in the views, and started down.

The Mutineers

I was not looking forward to a return visit to the evil scree and snowfield. Just wasn't. And others must have read my mind because alternative routes back to the parking lot (which we could see) were now being discussed. It was decided to walk down a snowless gully to the eventual stream (which we couldn't see but that we knew was there by an earlier discussion with Sólla), follow that stream, and end up at Hveradalur, the Boiling Valley, where we could also meet up with the rest of the group. Let me tell you, scree skiing is awfully fun, and it was an efficient and safe way off the mountain! We hiked over and around a colorful hill or two, started smelling the sulphur, and soon were at a stream that we had to cross a couple of times. The sulphur smell never left us on this leg of the hike, and we could see greens, blues, oranges, and yellows of various substances along the streambed as well as in the mini-hotsprings that dotted the landscape, sometimes just a few feet from the edge of the water. Just amazing. We watched our step here because we didn't want to boil our feet, boots and all.

Aprés-scree

Around one curve we found a sweet little stand of alpine cotton and decided that we should probably start up the hillside to the parking lot pretty soon. It was rather humorous and maddening at times, the one step forward slide two steps back ratio that this clay/silty mix gave us in the way of traction and upward movement. But we made it, saw the parking lot, and then were able to see the Boiling Valley.

Hveradalur

Some of the group walked back down a path to the junction of the stream we'd been following and the stream that would eventually wind its way past our camp, and some of us sat and soaked in the warmth of the sun (which lessened each time the wind blew). Even though they were a good half mile away, you could hear the jetting vents with a roaring noise that got louder depending on which way the wind was blowing. There were many fun and thoughtful conversations during this waiting period, and I think we were all pretty pleased that we'd made it to the top and down without incident!

Back at camp, Sveini, Greg, and Janet had been busy digging a pit and lining it with rocks and charcoal to prepare it for roasting 4 savory legs of lamb, Icelandic-style. We also had a wonderful salad of fruit and vegetables, baked red onions and garlic cloves - what a feast! The lamb was so good - I was surprised to find that there was still some leftover for lunch tomorrow, some of which I promptly scooped up for a sandwich in the morning! The fancy plastic wine goblets were brought out, beer fished out of the river, and we all had a grand time. We would be packing up in the morning to do some last minute sight-seeing on our return to Reykjavík.









(better count their sheep, if not just their feet...)

I listened to the sounds of the stream, the quiet of the mountains that only echoed the occasional neigh of the corral of Icelandic horses several hundred yards away, and wondered when I would ever be in such a quiet place again. And then the wind kicked up as it blew down the valley from the glacier, and as I curled up lower in my sleeping bag (and bundled in several sweaters, longjohns, and a wool cap), I was ever-so-thankful for the mallet that I'd used to hammer in the posts for my tent fly.