Snowmobiling on Vatnajokull Glacier

"50km is the speed limit—and don’t go too slow because it becomes more difficult,” says our guide, straddled on a snowmobile giving us a driving lesson. We’re standing on top of Vatnajökull, the most voluminous glacier in Europe, about to begin an hour-long snowmobiling expedition across the behemoth ice cap. It has already been an exciting adventure just getting here; first, we bumped up a challenging mountain road towards the glacier, and then, when the truck could go no further, we transferred into a snowcat—a large tank-like machine that took us the rest of the way to where our snowmobiles lay, under covers, waiting for us.

ONTO THE GLACIER

After our lesson, it’s time to ride. Lined up hori - zon tally, I watch from the end as one by one my fellow travelers take off, some smoothly and others alarm ingly fast. When it’s my turn, I ease my thumb down on the accelerator and slide onto the tracks made by the others, who are already blasting up the hill in front of us onto the glacier. I nervously follow, steadily building speed, the engine growling hungrily beneath me in response.

I hit the bottom of the hill at 30km an hour, racing upwards to burst over the crest and tear through a world of white. The line of snowmobiles snakes out in front of me. Our guide, the furthest away already just a dark speck near the horizon. The frigid wind rushes past me, but it’s drowned out by the roar of the engine below, swallowing all noise. Heading north across the glacier, my nerves disappear as the adrenaline kicks in. I open up the accelerator, rapidly reaching the furious pace of 40km per hour. I let out a whoop of excitement that is immediately snatched away by the wind.

ENJOY IT WHILE IT LASTS

We’re not the only things moving about up here. All of Iceland’s glaciers are shrinking—Vatnajökull by an average of 1 meter every year. It’s a frightening speed for such a thing to happen. The part of Vatnajökull we’re soaring across is made up of compacted snow, covering a range of mountains and valleys, with an average thickness of 400 meters. The thickest part of the ice cap is over twice that—1000 meters. It’s no surprise that this is the biggest glacier in Europe.

EXHILARATING SPEED

We charge towards the east, where a large moun - tain face rears up and bars our progress. Swinging north, I’m confronted by a fierce wind that blows right through me, chilling my fingers through my heavy gloves. I flick on the hand warmers, pull my balaclava up over my nose and barrel forwards, hunching low against the wind.

Eventually, we stop again at the highest point we’ll reach for the day—850 meters above sea level—and then it’s time to make our way back to the snowcat, giving me my last chance to reach the speed limit. As we take off, I hang back a bit for some more space. When the snowmobile in front of me is far enough away, I open up the accelerator, determined. Soaring across the glacier, the engine as loud as thunder, and with flecks of snow spitting up from the sleds on both sides, I hit 50km per hour. Ahead of me is the glacier, and beyond that the ocean, sun glinting off the water. At such a speed, I catch up with the others all too soon.

Later, on our descent back down to sea level in the super jeep, I catch a glimpse of the speedometer: 50km per hour. But after the thrill of snowmobiling on Vatnajökull, exposed to the elements, it feels painfully slow.

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