Traveller's Rest
December 2, 2007 - 9:36 pm
The plan was to see if we could survive a 2 hour ride in the intense cold. I wore about 4 layers of clothing; Lorraine had 5 (but she didn’t have the benefit of Rachel’s amazing arctic coat that I had borrowed). We were both using heated insoles in our boots – these are amazing little gadgets that heat up as soon as you remove them from the packaging and last for about 5 hours. I wish they’d been invented back in the days when I was working with horses and when we had properly cold winters over here.
As soon as we left the hotel we knew it wasn’t going to be so bad – the temperature had risen to a balmy 2˚C and the wind had dropped.
At the stables we were introduced to our horses (strictly speaking, size-wise, they are ponies, but the Icelanders call them horses). Mine was a chestnut called Ace and Lorraine had a grey called Swan. There were some other interesting variations between the way things are done in England and in Iceland. Firstly, they put the saddles much further back than we tend to, but this is probably because the horses have low withers and short necks. Secondly, they run the stirrup leathers under the saddle flap. Thirdly, you can mount from either side.
Icelandic horses are trained to use a gait called tölt, or running walk, which is exceptionally comfortable over long distances. Both Swan and Ace could do this if you gave them the correct aid, which was two short tugs on the reins. Ace couldn’t go as fast as Swan, though, and tended to break into trot if he was being left behind. This wasn’t really a problem while we were out as the ground was frozen so hard that there were only a few times we could go faster than a walk.
It was lovely to be outdoors, miraculous not to feel the cold, and wonderful to be able to get much closer to nature. We had to lead the horses over a particularly bumpy piece of ground to avoid a herd of cows. The ground was covered with low growing dwarf willow. Ace was very careful, but Lorraine feared that Swan might jump on top of her. Fortunately, all went well, and we soon realised that 2 hours wasn’t enough – we could happily have gone on for 3 or 4.
After the ride we had coffee and ginger biscuits with the couple who owned the stables. I’d really love to go back in the summer and do one of the trail rides across the mountains, so they gave me some information.
As there were still about two hours of daylight left, we asked if they had any suggestions where we should go next. They said the falls at Skógarfoss were worth seeing, so having programmed Mrs SatNav, that was where we headed next.
The sun was getting lower as we skirted the Myrdalsjokull glacier. Out to sea, the misty Westman Isles bathed in golden sunset light. We stopped several times for pictures on the way, although not wanting to waste too much time in case we lost the light.
Skógarfoss was deserted. Earlier in the day coaches may have filled the car park, but now, at dusk, and with a biting wind blowing off the glacier, we had it all to ourselves. Ice coated the rocks and made walking on the stones slippery. The falls were smaller than Gulfoss, yet somehow far more magical in appearance. Anything might be hidden behind the roaring curtain of water; treasure or the entrance to another world.
Driving back, I felt strangely happy. It had been another great day in Iceland.
