Take a hike
LURING A WHALE UP A WATERFALL Whiskers twitching, a field mouse sits down in the middle of the path, staring right back at me and nibbling away at something clutched in his forepaws, confidently daring me to continue. by James Taylor
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urprised and impressed at its boldness, I throw some small bits of apple towards the side of the path out of respect. It scampers after them and proceeds to feast among the grass, not bothered as I continue through the beautiful field of purple lupine that decorates the beginnings of the canyon. HVALFJÖRÐUR The colorful lupine offsets the overcast skies that hang over Hvalfjörður Fjord, just north of Reykjavik. Turning down route 47 instead of taking the tunnel under the fjord brings you to an almost forgotten road, rewarding those
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WOW Power to the people
willing to make the journey with the sight of one of Iceland’s lesser-known waterfalls, Glymur. I’ve reached the bottom of the fjord and am gazing ahead at a large canyon stretching away inland, the falls hiding at the very end of the twisting mess of rock and moss. At 198 meters, it’s the second tallest waterfall in the country, and by all accounts, a beautiful hike. But my journey here is far from being about either of those factors; I’m here to delve into the rich world of Icelandic folklore. In English, Hvalfjörður translates to Whale Fjord, which originates from an old, Icelandic folktale that tells of an evil, violent whale called Rauðhöfði (Red Head) who sunk 19 ships and
