steepen, the
skiing becomes more
challenging and exciting,
and that caress becomes a fully fledged
slipstream whistling past our goggles as we drop
into wide
couloirs
(
gullies), slicing through the snow with
ease. I feel a convulsion of wild-eyed joy at the thought
that this is just the first of scores of runs ahead of us.
Comparisons between heli-skiing and resort skiing are
pointless – there are no lift queues, no lifts, no mountain
restaurants, in fact, no sign of humanity whatsoever,
and every run is down untracked snowfields. The sight of
hundreds of metres of virgin snow isn’t something you
encounter too often in the Alps and, even when you do,
it’ll be criss-crossed with tracks by mid-morning. Here,
in Iceland’s far north, every single run you make is down
a glistening carpet of pristine white draped across a slope
that may never have been skied before.
After our first day, having clocked up close to 12,000m
of downhill, JB tells us that nine of the 14 runs we’ve
done have been first descents. A smug grin can be seen
spreading across everyone’s faces as it sinks in that we
are the first people
ever
to ski these slopes. Even better, JB
reckons there are “thousands” of such runs here.
Of course, you don’t have to rent a chopper to enjoy
skiing here. There are several small resorts dotted around
the country, the best of which is Hlíðarfjall (
hlidarfjall.
is
),
near Akureyri, Iceland’s second biggest city. It has
almost 400m of downhill, with 27 runs, nine lifts and
three cross-country ski trails. There’s also some fantastic
ski touring in the north of the country, as well as on the
slopes of the now famous – but still unpronounceable -
Eyjafjallajökull
volcano (
bergmann.com
).
Because of the high latitude, there
are great snow conditions in Iceland well into
June and the season doesn’t even start until March.
One experience you may care to leave to others,
however, is sampling the local culinary delicacy. Known
as
hákarl
,
it is – allegedly – a Viking speciality and is
made from shark’s flesh that has been buried in the earth
for a few months and then hung up to dry for several
more. They say it’s been a traditional winter dish here
since JB’s original ancestors landed, but while I can’t
confirm that fact, I can report that it is indeed as awful as
it sounds. White or red in colour and cut up into chunky
cubes, it gives off a strong whiff of ammonia. Sampling it
one evening, I only managed a mouthful.
Thank God for Brennivin, the local hooch, which I
hastily poured on top of it to rid my mouth of the taste.
Another Icelandic speciality, despite being made from
fermented spuds and known locally as 'Black Death',
actually isn’t that bad. Deliciously warming after a
gruelling day on the slopes, it also represents pretty much
the extent of the après-ski scene here, as we’re based
in a remote farm, with just moorland and a couple of
impressive waterfalls for company.
THERE IS SOMETHING
ENTIRELY, UNIQUELY
WONDERFUL ABOUT
SKIINGHERE.
ICELAND’S TERRAIN IS
UNLIKE ANYTHING THE
SKI RESORTS OF
EUROPE AND NORTH
AMERICA CANOFFER
»
0 6 6
