March 23, 2005. In Reykjavik, Iceland. I walked to the pond in the middle of the city, past the government building that juts out into one of its corners. The weather here has been surprisingly warm, in the low fifties, Fahrenheit, and partially sunny. The bushes along that line the walking path are still not budded, though. I watched some swans, paddling in the lake. Their plumage has streaks of brown, so these must be yearlings, just past the cygnet stage. 1:00

March 24, 2005. Stykkisholmur, Iceland. An Icelander, Thorsteinn, runs a kayak touring business here during the summer. He was taking couple, Reynir and Joana, from the Reykjavik Kayak Club, out on the water, in order to investigate possible sites for a summer outing. They invited me to join them. We left from a farm a few miles from town, me using a 15 foot plastic kayak loaner similar in design to my own boat Hraun. The rest of the party had fiberglass kayaks of European manufacture. The tidal range is large here, perhaps three or four meters - similar to the range in Maine. The tide was pretty low at our start at three PM, and we had to carry the boats down a partly turf and partly rock embankment. The day was sunny, with a temperature in the high forties, but the water was much colder. The view here is pretty spectacular. The spine of the Snaefellsnes peninsula is still snow covered. It contains both sharp craggy peaks and some smoother ones that were created during the postglacial volcanic eruptions. Across Hvammsfjordur, other impressive mountains, many with steep sea cliffs, tower. Bryndis Brandsdottir, who drove me up from Reykjavik, took some photos of us as we put the boat in the water and headed out. At the mouth of the farm’s little fjord lies a beached and abandoned fishing boat. Not a good sign! We head out among numerous small islands that remind me of the islands of in Casco Bay (except these are clearly composed of basaltic lava, not the phyllites and schists of the Maine coast). I was having a bit of trouble with the boat - it has a steering bias to the starboard. Torstein tried to make some adjustments, but I was so wedged into the cockpit, which was a bit small for me, that he could not reach the steering cables. We put off the repairs till we had a chance to pull ashore. Meanwhile, I had no trouble making do by paddling extra strokes on the starboard. Our path took us through some fairly fast tidal currents, which were flowing in our direction of progress. We ran several of them, one at a time, in case one of us ran into trouble. At the downstream end of each, we turned into an eddy, and regrouped. We ran each without incident. They were rather fun. About this time we saw our first seal, lying on a rock that jutted from the fast water. It flopped in with a splash as we approached, but we later saw its head watching us. A small heard of sheep, standing on one of the higher islands, also seemed quite interested in us. We passed between two large “stacks” of rocks, each perhaps 10 meters high. They displayed a distinct columnar jointing. Finally, we headed across a bay, perhaps a kilometer wide, aiming for a sandy beach on the island on the opposing side. The tidal current was quite strong here, and against us. Having learned the error of the direct approach during my San Francisco race in December, I headed to shore, ignoring the fact that the current was taking me in the wrong direction. I then hugged the shore, at a distance of only a meter, and made fairly easy progress, reaching the beach without incident. Thorsteinn went a different way. He looped out far from shore, where the current was also less. But he stopped to play on some standing waves and thus reached the beach second. Reynir and Joana, however, could not get past the really fast part of the tidal rip. While they fought the current, I looped one again through the rip, enjoying the fast downstream run. Finally they opted to cut around the other side of the island. Thorsteinn and I went around the opposite direction, and met them halfway. We pulled ashore by a little beach on the same island as the main beach, but in a place less effected by the tides. Thorsteinn pointed out that the currents were quite confused. In some directions from our beach the tide seemed to being going in, in other directions, out. We lay on a little bit of turf, resting and eating snacks. I polished off most of a box of Hraun, and a tuna sandwich that Thorsteinn gave me. As we sat there, a seal swam into our little cove, and spent five minutes of so looking us over. It seemed wholly unafraid of us. Thorsteinn fixed my rudder, which afterward worked just fine. Just before we resumed our journey, Thorsteinn remembered that he had packed hot chocolate. So we had a quick but refreshing cup and then set off. This time Reynir and Joana battled past the difficult rip that had stymied them before. However, we went only a small distance further before deciding to head back to town. We could see rain in the distance, and during the course of our return paddle we lost the sun and started to take a light rain. We paddled through more open water, further from shore, on our return, passing only one island - the one closest to the farm - on our way. This one has a small cave, just big enough for me to fit my kayak in. It seemed to have been made when the sea hollowed out weaker rock that was overlain by a 2 meter thick lava flow. I was feeling very good at the end, and zipped back across the last stretch of water. Thorsteinn had lent me a wing paddle, and I had got the twist of the Olympic-style stroke that I use going nicely. However, when I tried to exit the boat, I fell right over into foot deep water. My legs had gotten quite stiff without my fully realizing it. 4:00

March 25, 2005. Reykjavik, Iceland. Bryndis Brandsdottir and I walked on a bicycle path that runs along the sea, not so far from the Reykjavik airport. The day is cloudier and cooler than the last several, but we can still see the nearer mountains, including Esja across the bay, Keilir to the south and the highlands to the east. The sea is relatively calm, although the seaweed on the path attests to much stormier times in the recent past. We walk up to a lighthouse, and climb a rock sea wall that offers on a bicycle path that runs along the sea, not so far from the Reykjavik airport. The view of the sea is good and we see several trawlers. We then walk a big loop that includes a segment through the nearby town, stopping at Gurrie”s house (but she isn’t home). We admire her garden. Daffodils are starting to sprout, and the bushes are budding. 2:00

March 26, 2005. Brandur Karlsson and I hiked up Keilir, a hill on the Reykjanes peninsula. We parked off an unpaved road west of the hill, and took a hiking path east that at first followed a set of low ridges, and then crossed a lava flow. Hiking on the ridge was easy. The volcanic tephra formed firm gravel that provided good footing. The path over the lava flow was more difficult. The flow had many ups and downs over moss covered lava boulders. We passed by several prominent fissures, one of which was about six feet deep and two feet wide. Its bottom was flat and grass covered. It might make an interesting camping spot. The area at the foot of Keilir is a flat grey plain, its surface a smooth pavement of small pebbles, underlain by soft dirt. Some kind of outwash plain associated with Keilir and some smaller neighboring hills, I think. We ascended Keilir on a broad arc to the south, at first, across talus, and then cut up through a small ravine cut through the hyaloclastite rock, a sort of brown volcanic sandstone. We could see a white and very shaggy ewe that had ascended a neighboring hill. It stood out brightly against the brown rock. We could not imagine why it had decided to climb the hill. It seemed mostly bare rock, so there could not have been much vegetation for the ewe to feed upon. The last third of the climb was a scramble across fairly loose talus. A concrete monument marks the summit, together with a cairn and a steel box containing a guest book. We both signed in. We were the only hikers today, but 13 people had signed in yesterday. The top of Keilir, at 379 meters elevation, was in fog, so our view was pretty limited. We set up the MSR stove and made tea and chicken soup, which we ate together with a sandwich. While we were at the top, the clouds lifted a little, especially to the east. We could see the tongues of the lava flows that had cut across the land, and neighboring hills similar to, though lower than, Keilir. We took some photos, balancing the camera on the top of a rock cairn so as to get both of us in a delayed exposure. We then headed back down, following a trail that headed down the northwest side. It was considerably easier than the way by which we had ascended. From a vantage point about halfway down, we could see the sea and the town of Keflavik. We also noted that the ewe was still up in the neighboring hill. We took a different route back, one that headed north across first a moor and then a lava flow. The flow was difficult going, but we found many grottos of beautiful, green moss. We also found several small lava caves. After the trail crossed the flow, it followed the edge of a hyaloclastite ridge back to the road. We then walked the road back to the car. The lava flow through which the road was cut has considerable topography. We could not see the car until we were almost upon it. Indeed, I checked the GPS several times to ensure that we were waling in the right direction. The lava flow, while appearing very large in aerial extent, had nevertheless missed a few areas. These had luxurious turf, at least compared to the mostly bare rock or moss flow. 4:30.

After finishing the hike, we drove to the Blue Lagoon and swam in its geothermal water. Its color really is blue, an impressive light milky blue. The water is very saline, and has a mild odor of sulfur. We paddled a very slow circuit of the Lagoon, visiting the cave, the waterfall, the steam vent and other anthropogenic sites. The water is pleasantly warm and relaxed our muscles. But it’s quite stratified, with the hottest water being in the upper few inches. Most of the lava that surrounds the Lagoon is covered with rind of white mineralization, opal I think. The bottom has a layer of grey mud that people are using as facial mouse. 1:00

March 27, 2005. Bryndis Brandsdottir and I examined some faults on the Reykjanes peninsula. We drove by jeep to the Hrutagja signpost on route 428. This road follows the boundary between hyaloclastite ridges (to the southwest) and lava fields (to the northeast). We then hiked a loop through the lava. Initially, we walked through an area of deeps moss, springy like a thick rug or mattress. We passed a fissure, a twenty foot deep, ten foot wide crack in the earth, with walls made of angular blocks of lava perhaps one or two years wide. We crossed the fissure in place where it was shallow, and then walked over to another, a few hundred yards to the northwest. I climbed down into it, scrambling over moss-covered boulders and some patches of left-over snow. We continued to the northwest, heading for a fissure that seemed to have large, up thrown boulders along its rim. The fissure was monstrous, and seemed different from the others both in size and also in being somewhat curved (the others were very straight). We followed its edge, and discovered that it ran just at the edge of the lava flow. Beyond the fissure was a 150 foot high escarpment, with a much older lava flow below. The giant fissure formed as the toe of the flow collapsed, or so we supposed. We continued the hike, coming across several pop-ups - places where the lava had arched up for some reason. Beyond the pop-ups was yet another fissure, but this one was smoother than the others, and had grass at the bottom, cut by a hiking trail (or maybe a sheep path). We descended into this canyon, and walked along its bottom. It appeared to be a fissure through which lava subsequently flowed, for in places the smooth lava rind had cracked away, revealing the much more angular blocks of normal fissure beneath. We followed this canyon right through the toe of the flow, past where it intersected the toe-parallel giant fissure, to where lava had flowed out onto the plain below. It must have formed beautiful, fiery lava falls at one time. At the base of the toe we came across a trail, blazed with blue posts. We followed the trail to the north, paralleling the base of the flow. We were somewhat uncertain whether we would be able to find a spot suitable to ascend, for the toe of the flow was both amazingly tall - perhaps 150 feet - and rather rugged. And of course we knew that we would encounter the giant fissure, which would have been difficult to cross, had we tried to scale the toe. We figured that the toe would eventually intersect the hyaloclastite ridge and be scalable there, and this indeed proved to be the case. As we walked along the toe, we speculated why it was so tall. Perhaps the lava was flowing into a lake or the sea (at a higher sea level stand), and thus cooling rapidly. But we saw no pillows indicative of water. In fact, the toe contained large relative flat plates, some of which were perhaps a third of the overall height of the toe. Alternatively, perhaps the lava was just very viscous. The junction between the toe and the hyaloclastite ridge had a very gentle slope, and was smooth and easily passable. The parking lot was just beyond the top. 2:00.

March 28, 2005. Bryndis Brandsdottir and I walked from the Science Institute, past the Reykjavik pond, to the port. Many grey geese, mallard ducks and swans were in the pond. We watched one diving bird, a small, black duck - the only one of its kind in the pond that we could see. Nearing the port, we passed a forklift moving very large boxes of codfish. Each fish was a meter or so long. 0:45

March 31, 2005. I accompanied two engineers from the Science Institute, Hauhur and Dori, to the Mohnukar region, just north of Hekla volcano. The purpose of the trip was to install a new windmill at the seismograph station there. We traveled in two off-road capable jeeps. We first traveled on paved roads, then fairly smooth unpaved roads, then (after partially deflating the balloon tires) poorly maintained dirt roads, to finally, a barely perceptible track that crossed bare lava plains. Haukur expertly maneuvered us through some snow drifts, and we reached the station at Mohnukar without incident. The weather was not so good - wet snow was falling and the visibility was only a kilometer or so. I first set up my MSR stove, and made lunch - fried eggs and tea. I then helped Hauhur and Dori install a windmill on the small wooden hut that served as the electronics building for a seismograph and GPS unit. We carefully mounted a 12 foot long pipe - the boom for the windmill - on the side of the hut, and then installed the generator, rotor and tail on top. After the physical installation was done, and the two engineers were working on the electronics, I took a walk around the area. The station is beside a small hyaloclastite ridge that is remarkable in having one end that is completely sheared off, leaving a cliff composed of very large boulders. I suppose a glacier or a glacial flood did this. The same sort of plucked cliffs are common in Harriman Park, back in New York. The ground around the hill was relatively flat, and consisted mostly of soft grey tephra, small bits of scoria a centimeter or so in size. A slight accumulation of snow gave the land a very stark, black and white appearance. Some parts of the plain contained irregular mounds of tephra, a few feet high. These were deposited when drifts of tephra atop the winter snow dropped as the snow melted. A few patches of snow remained, some as much as a six feet thick, judging from sharp-sided gullies hollowed out by the wind. I followed the edge of a lava flow for a while. It seemed quite young, although it was partially covered in places with tephra (whether from an original tephra eruption or just blown by the wind, I don’t know). There was almost no vegetation in the area, except that I climbed a little hyaloclastite hill that has a small patch of moss, and later saw a largish boulder that has some moss, too. I spend some time looking at the recent lava flow. It had many interesting features, including many spines that projected upwards. Altogether, about three hours at Mohnukar, of which perhaps an hour was walking about. 3:00.

April 2, 2005. I walked along the Reykjavik waterfront, from Fossvogur to Bryndis Brandsdottir’s house, near the sea port. The park at Fossvogur, which is behind the airport, has a number of club buildings, including the Reyjkavik Kayak Club. Nobody was there as I passed, perhaps because the weather was rather cold and windy, with a few flakes of snow falling. I walked along a paved path that followed the water’s edge. I passed a small, geothermally heated beach, with a sign that claimed 18-20 deg C water (though I doubted the water to be that warm, as no vapor rose from it). The path wound past the airport, and then through suburban parts of town. Several interesting sculptures were placed along the path: a great auk, mounted on a rock in the sea; several fish, as if someone had dumped a bucket of them on the path; a seaman rescuing another; two androgynous humanoids hugging; a continuously running drinking fountain from a smoothly carved block of basalt; another sculpted to look like a coil of fire hose. At one point the path along the sea ended, and I walked along a city street, past what appeared to be a school with an astronomical observatory atop one on the buildings. The path started up again and looped around the tip of a peninsula, by a radio tower and golf course. A small pill box, some relic from World War Two, I guess, looked out onto the sea here. This area had three small ponds, set back just a short distance from the sea. Many birds, including grey geese, swans and terns were about, especially on an island in one of the lakes. Finally, I approached the lighthouse where Bryndis and I had walked on March 25. Here the path runs behind turf covered dunes (or perhaps manmade hills). The sea is mostly calm, but in this area there are some breakers, both along the shore and out in the middle of the bay, where I suppose there is a shoal. Several fishing boats are passing offshore. The path then ran past a fish drying house, complete with drying fish and a very pungent odor. Finally it entered the main part of town, arcing past some apartment buildings. By this time, the snowfall had become significant and the ground was taking on a small accumulation. 2:40.

April 3, 2005. Pall and Tira took me on a hike on the Reyjkanes Penninsula, starting from a house owned by the university that is on a small bay, Herdisarvik. This area has a lava-draped lowland, perhaps a kilometer wide, that stretches along the sea beneath high cliffs. The cliffs mark a higher stand of sea level during the glacial, when the weight of the ice depressed the ground. We walked past the foundations of old farm buildings. Nothing but lines of lava boulders sitting on carefully flattened ground remains. We walked down to the bay, and then along its short, dark-colored sand beach. We then cut across to the sea. Most of the ground is covered by a lava flow. We found one area, however, where rounded boulders from a higher stand of the sea were preserved. A low sea cliff, perhaps three meters high, marks the land-sea boundary. Today the sea seems fairly calm, though some small swells make occasionally splashes of foam that shoots up over the cliff. Many small tidal pools have been formed by the waves. Some of these contain gardens of sea weeds, together with snails. Two larger ponds, at different elevations, are connected by a small waterfall. The area immediately landward of the cliff is smooth, with no boulders. About ten meters inland is a large pile of boulders, that have been thrown up in storms. Some of these are fairly rounded. Pall points out on place where they are more angular. We find a depression in the land that marks the spot from which they have been ripped - a mighty work of a very rough sea. Behind the pile of boulders is an area littered with driftwood. We examine some of the logs, which Pall says come from Siberia, and then find a comfortable spot out of the wind to have a snack. I set up my MSR stove and make tea and soup, while Tira passes around cookies and juice. We then head back, crossing the lava flow in a straight line back to the car, rather than following the sea’s edge. The lava is fairly weathered, and covered by moss, grass and other low vegetation. It has considerable topography, with many small hill and some sharp edged pits (some that are turf floored and would make cozy picnic spots). We find what seems to be a tectonic fissure, a crack in the ground that is perhaps a foot wide and five to ten feet deep. It runs along the ground of about a hundred meters with a heading of N70E (geodetic, assuming a N18W declination). Pall asks me to note its location, 63:51.503 North, 21:49.365 West (WGS84), with my GPS. We search for more fissures, and while we find a few cracks that seem to be related to lava collapse, but find none that appear to have tectonic origin. We meet a group of Asians in the parking lot. They are eating rice that they have cooked on a Coleman-type stove. One the way back, Pall and Tira take me to a concert in a church in the neighboring town of Thorlakshofn. A string quartet is playing a piece by Franz Schumert. 2:00.

April 4, 2005. I took a lunchtime walk around the Reykjavik pond. The day is clear and crisp, though a bit windy. The view to the west, with the snow-covered Esja plateau towering behind the city, is rather beautiful. The snow makes the horizontal lava flows of Esja especially visible. I examined some eider ducks closely. Their black and white plumage is really quite striking. Their eyes are hardly visible as they re black on black. The backs of their necks are a slightly yellowish. I looped around each of the three sub-sections of the lake, crossing an arched bridge that creates the two largest sections. 1:20.

April 9, 2005. I walked around the Reykjavik Pond, once again. The weather has been cold, and parts of the pond are frozen. 1:00

April 10, 2005. Ingi Bjarnason and Birgit Ruff too me on a walk along the Sea Cliff near the Reykjanes lighthouse. We parked near the lighthouse keeper’s house, and walked southeast. Our path at first took us down hill, across a fenced-in pasture that had thick and fluffy turf that provided a luxurious contrast to the thinly vegetated uncultivated areas. The little valley contained the pasture and a small pond, nested between the lighthouse’s polygonite hill to the west and a prominent fault scarp, perhaps six meters high, to the east. We took a track that ascended the scarp diagonally, and then stood at its edge admiring the scenery. Across the valley, the ridge hosting the lighthouse continues to the sea, where it forms a prominent stack that juts out into the water. Many white birds – gulls, I guess – were roosting on the prominent sea cliffs. Two islands jutted out of the sea, offshore. The sea had thrown up numerous boulders, some meter-sized in diameter – that made a low wall at the valley’s end. We followed the fault scarp to the sea cliff on our side of the valley, and stood gazing out at the sea. The surf was strong today, and the roar of the waves was loud and continuous. A few birds worked the breaking waves. We then walked back, crossing a meadow of soft moss and lichens that would have suited reindeer. Ingi spotted a small bird – I can’t remember its name – that it migratory. Its return in the spring is said to melt the show. Indeed, today’s weather is well above freezing (in contrast to the last few days) and the ground (in this area at least) is free of snow. 1:00.