Stories

I have just returned from a trip to Iceland. We had gone to Hornstrandir, a peninsula in the north,
to photograph the
Arctic foxes in extreme conditions. More about that later, here are a few hastily scribbled notes
mostly written while on the trip.

The merlin stared back us looking a tad indignant. As if it was wondering what on earth were we
doing there.

We stepped back to admire it a little better.

The artist had done a superb job in getting the details. And I loved the fact that the wall on
which the bird was painted was of a similar colour. Contrast be damned.

I idly wondered, if she chose the bird for the wall colour that already existed or if she
convinced the owners about the wall colour after deciding on the bird.

We were at Flateyri in North Iceland, a small and pretty village, surrounded by mountains and
seas. One could argue that it really doesnt need any human intervention to add to its prettiness but thankfully Jean
Larsen, an artist ( https://www.instagram.com/flatbirdsflateyri/ ) thought otherwise. She has painted around 10-15 birds
on the large outer walls of houses.

Such a lovely idea, isn’t it ?

Why don’t more places across the world follow suit ?

Its quite a pretty place..remote, quiet and natural beauty all around
you

Include a breathtaking sunset to the picture…does anything need to
be added ?

Why not larger than life paintings of birds ?
A merlin looks at us a trifle quizically

It was a lovely exercise to walk around the place searching for the
next wall and the next bird.
Loved the sparse yet detailed work everywhere.

Flateyri is left behind and the peninsula of Hornstrandir is next.

We could see the house as our boat turned the bend of the fjord.

Small. Forlorn. Indistinguishable.

A two storied, cream house with red sloping roofs and green window frames.

What was striking was where it stood.

It stood a little above the coast, facing the icy waters, with not another man made structure
visible as far as the eye can see on either side.

There it stood…tall, haughty and indomitable.

( Its a 120 year old house and this is where we would be spending the next five nights. )

I wonder how it would have been to live here a hundred years ago

*****

After you collect your breath and regain a modicum of your energy that you had spent bringing up the
luggage and the fuel and other provisions up from the beach to the house, you walk up the few
stairs, turn to your left and push open the door that seems a bit reluctant to be cooperative.

On your right is the first of the bedrooms. In front of you, a bit on the right stood a flight of
stairs, wide enough for only one person to use at a time. Steep enough to ensure that people of a
certain height would need to be a little careful that they don’t knock their heads on the ceiling as
they climb.

Once you gingerly climb up, you land on a minimal landing space around which there are three
bedrooms, small, cosy and sparse.

Back on the ground floor, if you ignore the stairs and move straight, in just about half a dozen
steps, you are in the dining room. A long dining table occupied most of the space. A bench and a few
stools squeezed in on either side.

You think about the many crowded dinners that might have taken place in this room, the raucous
laughter, the boisterous jokes, the loud arguments, the painful silences that this room would have
seen through the last century and more.

Once you enter the dining room, you notice that there is an opening on your left which leads into a
living room with large windows giving a good view of the outside. You stand at the doorway and you
picture the women who sat here during the day knitting and the men at night smoking.

You retrace your steps. As you come out of the dining room, you notice that there is another flight
of stairs going below. This leads to the kitchen and the sole washroom.

It was a neatly designed house with an economy of space that intrigued me. With all the abundance of
land around, why was there this relentless focus on space inside ?

19 people once lived in this house.

The mind boggles.

*****

I often went for short walks across the sprawling land that lay behind the house. On either side,
large, broad slopes of hills lay lazily sprawled. The one on the right had a lot more snow than
ours.

We stood there gazing at those slopes wondering if we would be lucky enough to see a fox on those
slopes. Once, while we stood there, Rahul noticed a spout in the faraway waters of the fjord behind
us.

Or was it his imagination ?

No!

There’s another spout ! And another.

Orcas !!!

Our first sighting of these mysterious, magnificent beasts of the sea ! We stood on the hill
watching two orcas move in perfect rhythm. We searched the waters desperately through our binoculars
and long lenses, deriving childlike excitement in being the first one to catch sight of the next
spout. The two orcas covered distances with ease and soon vanished around the corner.

Magic often lies in small fleeting moments, doesn’t it ?

*****

Our hill stood largely bereft of snow. Calf length grass, golden in colour, shivered in the breeze
as if trying to get rid of the cold.

Imagine being the only people on this vast peninsula, open lands and
skies spread around us.

Once you cross this stretch of land, the land flattens out a little more. The ground is soft,
covered with a tiny shrub that you are informed belongs to the berry family. Snowballs lay in the
gaps looking as if someone had punctured a giant bag of mothballs. My heavy boots sink in deep and I
feel a comfort that the most luxurious carpets across the globe would gaze at and sigh in deep envy.

There is a stream on my right, having the same boundless energy that mountain streams around the
world somehow possess. As I reach the crest of the slope and look below, Phil, our guide, points out
the sole ptarmigan that stood confident in the invincibility of its camouflage.

My list of first sightings grows.

From the mighty orca to the small ptarmigan.

Do you see it ? The ptarmigan ?

*****

It’s the silence that strikes you.

No, no…it’s not quiet. Not at all.

The mountain stream hurtles down creating a lot more noise than the steepness demands. Like all
mountain streams.

The yelp of the Arctic fox as it patrols its territory.

The haunting whoop of the eider duck.

The hoot of the lone seal as it wanders close to the shoreline.

And the frequent sound of the waves falling with a tired sigh on the rocks on the beach.

You don’t notice them. They belong.

The loudest sound is that of your own thoughts.

Such raw, utterly unspoilt beauty around us

*****

‘You might want to step outside,” smiled Phil.

We just knew what he was referring to. We stared at him for a second in disbelief, to check if he
was joking and ran out, leaving our unfinished dinner on the table at Flateyri.

The skies were dancing.

A little timidly, maybe, but dancing for sure. We tumbled out of the restaurant, scattered across
the empty steets in utter joy, hands desperately seeking phones and taking pictures without any
thought or design.

After five nights at Hornstrandir where we waited in vain.

Finally.

The Northern Lights.

The mighty Aurora Borealis.

Magic in the skies

I liked the contrast here. An ugly, man made heavy equipment on the ground

and Nature’s miracle in the skies above

Hope you enjoyed reading this…stay tuned for what happened at Hornstrandir next 🙂

Cheers !

Ashok

I had gone on this trip that was planned and organized by Kipekee Journeys (https://kipekeejourneys.com ) with Rahul
Sachdev as the mentor. Phil Garcia ( https://www.explographe.com ) was the Arctic
fox expert who took care of all
things at Iceland.