ICELAND

CONTINENTAL DRIFTER
Super jeep: an Icelandic adventure
by Elliott Hester
click on photos for enlargements

Iceland is “Europe’s number-one destination for outdoor adventure and eco-tourism.”So claims a prominent local tour company. Considering the variety of adventure tours offered in Iceland, the quality of the products, and the fact that all guides and most locals speak English, thrill seekers should be lining up to book a flight to Reykjavik.

During a recent visit, I took a day-trip with the The Activity Group. Like its competitor, Mountain Taxi, the Reykjavik-based company offers a variety of adventure tours. They operate volcano safaris to the Reykjanes Peninsula, ATV quad bike excursions in the desert highlands, dog sledding, river rafting, caving expeditions, and guided journeys through the Mosfellsdalur Valley on sturdy Icelandic horses.

In winter, there’s even a “Northern Lights Hunt” for the swirling neon-green lights of the Aurora Borealis.

I settled on the Golden Circle “Super Jeep” Tour. The 9-hour excursion operates year round and showcases some of Iceland’s most spectacular natural phenomena. At the end of the tour, day-trippers get to drive snowmobiles on Langjökull—the second largest of Iceland’s 120 glaciers.

Our custom outfitted 4-wheel-drive “super jeep", a Ford Ecoliner, was rigged for rugged terrain. It accommodates up to 14 passengers and boasts 44-inch tires that create extra-high ground clearance. It looks like the sport-utility offspring of Monster Truck parents.

On a chilly summer morning, I was picked up on Laugavegur Street in front of my hotel. Like an army tank, the mammoth super jeep squeezed through the gauntlet of cafés and gift shops on this narrow shopping lane.

The jeep lurched to a stop. The passenger door popped open. I climbed up and hurled myself into the passenger seat. Ragnar Lovadal, our guide, greeted me with a smile.

As we crisscrossed the tiny capital to pick up passengers, Ragnar nodded toward the dashboard. It had been outfitted with 5 different communication devices: VHF radio, CB radio, GSM phone, NMT phone, and a high-tech radio-phone known as Tetra.

“You know what you do when you lost in Icelandic forest?” he said.

“No,” I replied.

“You stand up.”

I laughed out loud because forests do not exist in Iceland. A few sparse trees, mainly spruce and birch, struggle to survive on this Ohio-size volcanic island.

With a less-than-capacity load of 11 passengers, Ragnar drove east along a two-lane highway. Reykjavik’s suburban sprawl quickly gave way to what looked like an alien planet. The solitary strip of asphalt wound through black lava tablelands and fields of rocky outcroppings. Mountains, their peaks ringed with glaciers, loomed on the horizon. Volcanoes rose ominously in the distance. (The most active of Iceland’s more than 100 volcanoes, Hekla, last erupted in February and March of 2000).

Ragnar drove us to Pingvellir National Park, where a grouping of buildings—including the current prime minister’s summer home—seem to huddle for comfort in the middle of a barren wilderness. In 930 A.D, the country’s first parliament was established here.

But the main attraction is a spectacular fault line gouged across the rugged terrain. The rocky chasm runs for miles along the island’s center.

Ragnar then drove to a geothermal area, where gigantic geysers of boiling hot water shot as high as 200 feet. Next came Gullfoss Falls, on the Hvítá River. One of Iceland’s most popular attractions, the powerful double-cascaded waterfall was shrouded in mist that created an undulating rainbow.

At one point Ragnar turned off the paved road and onto the muddiest, most heavily rutted dirt track imaginable. Plowing through slush-filled fissures that could swallow a Honda Civic, the super jeep bucked its way uphill to the base of Langjökull Glacier.

At the equipment center, the tour group was outfitted with snowsuits, boots, helmets and gloves. Birkir Runarsson introduced himself as our mountain guide. He gave a 10-minute briefing on how to properly ride the Ski-doo Rotax 550-f snowmobiles.

“Use right hand to pull back on clutch … don’t ride the brake … if you want go fast, go fast.”

We went fast. At speeds of up to 60 mph, 11 neophythe snowmobilers plowed through the snow on 80-horse power, 2-stroke mean machines. I roared up and over the 350-square-mile glacier, racing like a teenager who had something to prove, stopping occasionally to enjoy mountain views that took my breath away.

When the hour was up, we piled into the super jeep and let Ragnar do the driving.

The long ride to Reykjavik lacked the thrill of a glacial snowmobile race. But when we reached my hotel, I chose to leap from the lofty passenger seat.

The drop almost killed me

Next stop: Paris, France

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