An Iceland Kayak Adventure to the Westfjords July 14-21, 2018

[prudenceb]

Iceland:  An Adventure in the Northwest Fjords

July 14-21, 2018

 

 

To quote Ben Fothergill’s post on Facebook after our wonderful trip ended, “Iceland, Iceland, Iceland.  Where do I start.  What a place.”  Indeed. Well, let’s start at the beginning…

The genesis of this trip remains a bit unclear.  John Carmody insists that David Mercer and I approached him about it.  I believe that John raised the possibility with David well over a year ago and I jumped on board.  In any event, what is clear is that a number of us attending the 2017 Baja Kayakfest were standing in the kitchen area at La Bufadora chatting with John while he washed dishes and the words “Iceland expedition” were spoken…by John, and immediately four of us – Barb Todd, Donna Sylvester, Jane Hardy and I – were just about jumping up and down going, “Yes, yes, yes, I wanna go!” OK, so maybe this isn’t entirely accurate, but it was in LaBufadora that the core of the group – with David back in NH already on board – was born.

And so the year went by, and Camille Belanger and Joe Berkovitz were added, and then Nige Robinson and Ben Fothergill from Sea Kayak Guides in Pembrokeshire, Wales decided to hop on board and so we were 10.  John sent out periodic updates on conversations he was having with Guðni Pall, an Icelandic kayaker and guide with whom he’d been put in touch by another Brit.  When I went to Greenland last summer, I found that preparing for a major trip on one’s own is not nearly as enjoyable as sharing the experience with friends.  In this case, emails flew back and forth as we obsessed about charts, weather, clothing, sleeping bags, sleeping pads, fishing gear, food, stove fuel and so on. 

And so the months passed, and it was finally time and everything and everybody were good to go.  Our group – hailing from Maine, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, California, Quebec, and Wales – would be gathering in Ísafjörður, a town in northwest Iceland.  Jane and Camille would already be in Iceland, hiking and touring around the rest of the country…and as it turned out, composing dire emails and making bleak Facebook posts about The Worst Summer in Iceland in 50…no, 100!...years.  It turned out the Brits were to blame, hogging a weather system that was preventing Iceland from warming up to normal summer temperatures.  When I passed through last year on my way to Greenland, it was sunny and warm.  This year, it had continued to be wet and cold into July.

Did I mention that despite all of this, things were finally good to go?  Well they were…until they weren’t.  On the morning we were scheduled to depart, the four of traveling from Boston received word that our Icelandair flight had been cancelled.  This led to an hours-long scramble to book flights on the dicey WOW airline, then unbook when we found that without bothering to inform us, Icelandair had put us all on other flight leaving only an hour after our original one.

Long story short: we successfully made the new flight, and landed in Reykjavik early on a foggy damp morning.  Whereupon Barb went into a brief panic about where and whether she’d packed her raincoat. Luggage deconstruction followed.

No raincoat found. (It would turn up later.)  We had arranged to be driven the six hours from the airport to Ísafjörður in a chauffer driven van – allowing us time to nap a bit, to see the scenery, and to not worry about the strict luggage weights imposed on a domestic connecting flight.  First we stopped in Reykjavik to pick up the Californians, and so we were finally on our way.  In Iceland! The drive, on increasingly more deserted roads with the morning’s fog lifting as we went on, was beautiful.  We were briefly enchanted by a bit of blue sky, but that wouldn’t last.

This was a more typical view as after crossing foggy green countryside, we skirted fjord after fjord.

Ísafjörður turned out to be a pretty little town nestled below mountains at the end of a fjord. We walked around town, where one enjoyed color where one could find it…

Lilacs were just coming into bloom – in July!

This rusty house gave us a hint that it wasn’t just The Worst Summer in 50 – no, 100 – Years that brought rain to this part of the country…

At a small park, Joe climbed a stone breakwater and surveyed what would be the beginning of our route out the next day.

And after supper at a nice restaurant, it was time for bed – even though it was daylight bright outside, as would be the case 24/7 for the rest of the trip.

Ísafjörður morning, looking much like Ísafjörður night…

Today would be for boat selection and packing at the Kayak Center Iceland.    But first, breakfast at a bakery.  I won’t say who needed three pastries to get going….David!

We were met at our hotel by more of our motley crew,

where we waited for transport for all of our luggage to the Kayak Center.  David chilled while we waited.

The Kayak Center…oh my but we were all envious of the club members whose base it was.  A large building right on the sea, with a substantial multi-tiered boat storage area, a room of individual lockers for club members to store paddling gear, showers and drying room, comfy old couches, and another large storage area. Hanging from the ceiling in the boat storage area was a white skin-on-frame kayak, with signatures of those who have circumnavigated Iceland.  You may recognize some of the names…

One of them was our guide, Guðni Pall.  In his 30’s, Guðni decided – a year after he started kayaking – that he wanted to do the circumnavigation.  It took him two years to prepare for what would end up being a successful three month journey, by which time he had all of three years experience.  Clearly he was a strong and competent paddler! Together with his friend Gummi (whom Guðnireferred to as The Rock for his steady and low key presence) we had a pair of what would turn out to be wonderful guides and trip compatriots. And so they started pulling boats from racks for us to try on for size.

John and Nige pondered over this red craft.

Everyone soon had a boat. I settled on an Explorer.  We pulled them outside to start packing. Here is 10/12ths of our fleet.

Packing an unfamiliar boat was the usual inefficient process, but we had a deadline as all of our stuff needed to be out of the way by mid-afternoon as the Kayak Center was to be the gathering place for a group of swimmers participating in a race in the sea (!).   We finished, and some posed for a picture.

Swimmers began arriving.

While Camille and Barb huddled in layers of warm clothing to watch the start of the race,

the swimmers left no doubt that Icelandic people are hardier than the rest of us!   While some were in full wetsuits to compete in either the 500 or 1500 meter race, others wore only a bathing suit.

And they’re off!

We stayed until the last person had finished the long race, clapping most vigorously for those who had been in the water the longest.

And then it was time for another supper, and a test of electronic navigation aids (what?!).  Guess we won't be bringing all of these reliable electronic bits...

and then to bed…in broad nightlight.

 

SATURDAY, JULY 14  Day One – Ísafjörðurto Grunnavík(Green Bay – thank you Joe for translations!) 

Let’s start with a map of our whole trip.  You can refer to it day by day if interested.  Thanks to David for making us all maps, and for marking this one in his neat handwriting, day by day!  Most of our journey was in the Hornstrandir Nature Reserve.   This isolated area has no roads or year round settlements.

 Our first day of paddling would feature a long – 12+ km - open water crossing of Ísafjarðadjúp (which according to Joe, who did the research, means “ice fjord deep”) into a headwind from the north.  Perhaps this is why the group was looking rather grim as we gathered before setting out at around 9:30.

But Barb was smiling again by the time we had moved the boats to the beach in preparation for launching.

We posed for a group shot 

and then set out, heading northeast up Skutulsfjord

passing docked cruise ships on the opposite bank.

We made a final stop for any last minute adjustments or necessities of nature at the end of the fjord. John and Nige looked good to go.

I found the view across the broad expanse ahead of us immensely daunting.  See the blue-gray headland hovering under a cloud bank on the horizon?  That was our destination.  Into a headwind.  All the way across…

The seas were only a bit sporty but there was the persistent headwind...

As the (endless) crossing proceeded, we spread out.

I found that chatting with different people as we made our way helped make the time and distance pass. As we went, we scattered flocks of guillemots and terns.  Seeing puffins, circuses of puffins, with their cheerful colorful beaks also helped.   When we were finally within clearer sight of our destination (a prominent waterfall against the green mountainside),

Barb and Donna took off like horses back to the barn.  It was extraordinary to see how quickly they were dwarfed by the landscape, until we lost sight of them altogether.  This was a valuable lesson, and we made a pact to stay closer together in the future.

Finally, we were all across and stopping for lunch. The landing was a bit gnarly (as would many would be throughout the trip – large rocks and cobbles, slippery footing), but thanks to Ben, Guðni, John, Nige and Gummi (who together with Barb and Joe provided day after day muscle and sure footedness that helped out the rest of us) we all got safely ashore.  We relaxed for an hour for lunch.

   

Proving my ineptness on uneven surfaces, I executed a rather graceful (if I do say so myself) rolling landing when I fell on the rocks going back to my boat.  The mantra “Most kayaking accidents happen on land” would sound in my head many times on the trip – as it has in many other challenging venues.  I was not the only one to take a tumble over the course of the next week.

I was one of the first back on the water, so didn’t see David capsize shortly after launching (he’d been struggling in a Nordkapp all the way across), which meant I also missed his subsequent quick and efficient roll!  Wish I had, because it sure sounded impressive!  He later said that when he went over, he knew that a wet exit into the extremely chilly water was not an option, and his practice of rolling whenever he’s on the water really paid off.

It was a relief to be paddling now closer to shore, looking at the scenery – imposing headlands and rocks and wildflowers and waterfalls – rather than facing a seemingly endless stretch of open ocean, and soon we were close to our first camp spot, the last formal one we would have – complete with an outhouse and a cottage to get in out of the elements.  There were several abandoned falling down houses, and a few that were habitable.

The approach was through a tiny tide race formed by a river spilling out into the sea.  Ben needed to take a photograph in it.

We all came in for a landing

and were immediately impressed by the field of wildflowers that greeted us.  In two trips to far northern places – Greenland and now Iceland – I have been very impressed by the profusion of color that we found almost everywhere that we stopped.  Much more than at home.

We had two options to get to the camp area – we could wade across the river, or cross a rustic bridge. Donna among others chose the latter.

More wildflowers on the other side.

And soon our tent city – 9/10ths Hillebergs – was set up, as the sky was starting to clear.

We were impressed by the good-looking outhouse – which had running water and a flush toilet!

Guðni prepared our first supper (while thereafter we were all on our own):  lamb cooked in a traditional Icelandic manner – on charcoal in a pit sealed by grass and dirt.

Donna modeled her rain gear, even though the weather was improving.  We were all impressed by her paper pants (made from a Tyvek equivalent).

ohn, Nige and Ben cooked up some potatoes and carrots and left them warming on top of Guðni’s lamb pit.

John was impressed by the hot tub (unfortunately not in operation) near the campground’s cottage. 

We were greeted by the friendly - and as it turned out generous - woman who lives in the cottage and who makes a lounge with tables, chairs and cooking and washing facilities available to visiting campers.

She invited us inside to sign her guestbook (she insisted that all 12 of us do so), and we admired the photos of her family and ancestors hanging on the wall.

Then…lamb supper! Unbelievably tender and delicious, cooked to the right degree of rareness.  Only thing missing – mint sauce!  Apparently Icelandic people love their sauces (in this case garlic and one other that I can’t remember) but have never experienced our traditional combination of lamb and mint.

I think John ate a piece of tempeh instead...

After supper, time for washing dishes.

It was a beautiful evening, with intriguing light under clearing skies, 

and a sailboat moored in the harbor.

I wandered out for a better look, and was immediately dive-bombed by Artic terns.  I saw close to shore a baby bird and understood why I was being harassed.  I beat a hasty retreat, then watched as Guðni, standing close to shore to look out to sea, was attacked.

Off to bed at 11 pm, in the bright light.  I was exhausted from the day and slept well.  My little tent, new sleeping pad and warm sleeping bag on a soft grassy surface made for a perfect sleeping environment.

 

SUNDAY JULY 15 Day Two – Grunnavík to Höfðabót (Höfdi Cove).

 

This was to be one of those days.  Every trip has one, or at least every trip of mine does.  When one is not in synch with the boat, or the environment, or perhaps oneself.  It turned out to be the longest “short day” of the trip.  Perhaps because of the effort exerted to doing crossing into a headwind, my troublesome right shoulder blade muscle decided to call attention to itself…   But first, the morning…

When I awoke at whatever time it was, it was raining lightly.  That was fine.  It was Iceland after all, and Iceland was experiencing The Worst Summer in 50 – no 100 – years.  I made breakfast huddling in my tent.

Because we weren’t planning to launch for several hours, we all made our way up to the cottage lounge to get out of the rain.  We were delighted to be presented with a plate of freshly made cake – hjónabandsæla(aka wedding band cake) by our generous host.

We passed the time. Ben and Nige read the guestbook.

Barb tried out some fish oil, which was surprising light and less disgusting than you might imagine.

Late morning, and we were ready to go.  Snickers powered Gummi’s boat…or Gummi.

We fathered up to get the boats on the water.  Not sure why David was looking so...whatever...

and after launching, waited for everyone near the moored sailboat.

It was still damp and chilly.  I’ll quote here from Joe’s log, because it nicely summed  up the day:  “Unpleasant handrail [along the coast]… Nasty headwind about 10 kt with light to moderate rain the whole way with quartering seas varying in height depending on exposure to a long fetch.”

Nige paddled past a house that had not fared well in a storm,

and onward under gloomy skies.

We were cheered by a few things:  seeing a fox running along a small ridge, tiny against the mountain to our right, and seeing a rock arch at the end of a small headland.

Here’s Joe, in the midst of our gray world.

But the mountainside had yellow flowers, and that provided some cheer to the view.

We landed on a slippery cobbled beach,

quickly donned our storm cags, and looking rather more miserable than we felt – with mostly good cheer at that point despite the elements – ate lunch standing up, trying to shelter from the wind.

Ben alone tried to find a comfortable place to sit and stay warm.   This picture doesn’t convince me that he was successful.

I think Jane, buried in layers of clothing, was smiling in there somewhere.

Guðni found a cod skeleton, and we all examined it with interest.

He pointed out where we were heading.

On we went.

It was on this last leg that my shoulder started firing up, and I fell behind, unable to keep up any paddling cadence for the pain.  John dropped back and paddled the rest of the way with me, and Gummi was able to administer a powerful localized on-water massage to the troublesome area, and so I was able to continue on.  We were almost at our campsite anyway.  At last, we were landed and examining the campsite.

It was quite wet (“worst summer in Iceland in 50 – no 100 – years”) and we were unable to spread out much.  Damp and cramped, but the ground was soft and we were tired from this “short” day.

 

MONDAY JULY 16  Day Three  Höfðabót (Höfdi Cove) to campsite on east side of Hrafnsfjörður

 

As is often the case, difficult days are followed by wonderful ones, and this was true of our third day.  It started out completely overcast and as damp as the night before.  Nige and John lounged in their tent eating breakfast.

And here is Camille, doing something that I would bet has never been done before at a wild campground on the Icelandic coast: ironing her buff with the bottom of her teapot!

She said this was to help it dry, but I suspect that she really just wanted to continue to look as stylish as she always does.

Ben was the last one to wake up, and I’m not sure that he was entirely alert when I took this…

I forgot to mention. When I opened my front hatch at the end of the first day’s rough crossing, after waves had repeatedly washed across the deck of the boat, I found that a fair amount of water had gotten in and all my drybags were wet and there was an inch of standing water.  I had brought along a stash of garbage bags just in case, and on second day stuffed dry bags inside of them for an extra layer of protection.  This morning, John and Guðni worked to seal the leak they’d identified in the hatch cover seating.

It ultimately helped, but didn’t completely solve the problem.  Thank heavens for the garbage bags…

When we started out, it was overcast 

but soon there was a promising sign – a patch of blue through a hole in the clouds.  This was rather cheering.

It was an easy paddle, which turned out to be shorter than Guðni had originally planned.  We were looking for the gravesite of a famous Icelandic outlaw, and a memorial to both his wife and him.  We scanned the coastline looking for a place that an outlaw would want to leave his mortal remains.

Here’s Barb,

Jane (looking rather like an outlaw herself),

and Camille.  Note the flock of swans beyond her.  We saw many swans – and camped with a lot of swan poop. (They are pretty prodigious in that department.)

Guðni kept scanning for the outlaw burial site, which is marked with a cross.  We approached an area that looked promising in the gravesite department.

We were joined soon thereafter by Gummi and Nige, who had held back at the beginning of the fjord, hoping – but failing -  to catch some cod.

We landed and found the area so appealing the decision was quickly made to stop for the day and camp right there.

Guðni found the grave.

It was still early afternoon, and we had options.  We could stay on land and go for a hike, do nothing but chill, or paddle unloaded boats (heaven!) to the end of the fjord.  John, Joe and I opted for the latter, and it turned out to be a really good decision.  Shortly after we launched, the stubborn clouds started to lift.

Joe surveyed the still overcast side of the fjord.

And then, at the end of the fjord, we saw an emergency shelter (one of a number sited in the northwest fjords) that John had seen marked on his map.

Not only was there a shelter, tilting slightly backward toward the mountains behind it, but an elfish outhouse, in which John posed for a picture (sorry for the blurry camera lens here).

We hiked up and examined the shelter,

and Joe and I posed with the sign that should have marked the outside but instead was leaning against a wall inside.  

The shelter was in sorry shape, with almost no supplies and no radio.  Guðni later said he would notify whoever was in charge about it.  I posed coming out the door.

  

The sky was rapidly clearing as we walked down the wildflower-bordered path back to our boats.

By the time we were back on the water, we had bright blue sky above us.  The wind, which had shifted a few times, disappeared altogether. It was easy paddling.

Back on land, there was evidence – and not just prodigious piles of poop! – of swans on the beach. Note their large footprints.

While we’d been out paddling, others had organized the firewood some had picked up on beaches along the way,

set up a windbreak, and were gathering up more kindling.

Gummi had brought along a drone with hopes of making a video that could be used for advertising guided trips in the area.  Here we are under attack!

I went for a walk down the beach, and was again amazed at how quickly one can lose sight of things in this massive landscape.  I hadn’t gone that far, and our campsite looked very small in the distance. 

 

Indeed, the air is so clear that distances in general are very difficult to gauge.  I had experienced this phenomenon the year before in Greenland.  More than once, we asked, “How far away is that headland…or shore…” and found that it was miles away when it looked much closer.

After supper, we walked to the outlaw memorial.  The stones on it are heart shaped from one vantage point and were brought to this site from the town where each was born.

Then it was time for the evening’s entertainment – and Proof #2 that Icelandic people are tougher than we are.  Guðni and Gummi went for a swim.  Gummi swims in the sea once a week year round.  I can’t even imagine…

We had thought the evening would end with this enjoyment, but there was more to come. All of a sudden we saw a herd of Icelandic horses approaching the beach from behind us.  I wish I could say that they were wild, but they were not.

These horses (just don’t call them ponies!) are small and sturdy, with thick manes and luxurious tails. They are notable for having five gaits – not three.  Walk, trot, canter/gallop, tolt and the flying pace.  Look it up!

We were very amused – although those in charge of the herd were not – by several naughty horses, who bolted for the beach and started rolling in the sand, responding only slowly to the remonstrating shouts of their handlers to get up.

We liked this Icelandic horse sweater.

The horses stood calmly for a time, grazing and gazing

and then the whole group moved on.

We sat and enjoyed the sunny evening.

More wildflowers.

Donna brought out a bag of marshmallows for toasting over the fire.

And then time for bed. Because the sky was completely clear, the temperature plummeted in the night. For the first time, I was a bit chilly even in my 15 degree bag.  I contemplated pulling on more clothes, but didn’t, instead just snuggling deeper into the bag and pulling the liner over my head.

This had been a special day. Before the trip, I had done a lot of thinking about my experience on an expedition in Greenland the year before. As I’ve already mentioned, I hadn’t known anyone on that trip before I went, and at the beginning in particular had felt quite lonely.  But in Iceland all of us had paddled – in some cases extensively – with almost every other person there (excluding our Icelandic guides, of course).  Those who didn’t know everyone were inclined to like folks they hadn’t yet met because they had come recommended by someone they did know.  Everyone on this trip was there because those of us involved in organizing it had specifically wanted them there.  It makes a difference on an expedition, or trip, or adventure - whatever you want to call what we were doing in Iceland – to know that everyone likes and respects everyone else, and that everyone has everyone else’s back.  In Greenland, I’d been the oldest – by a decade – and slowest paddler.  My unsteady self had required help from others, which contributed – I believe – to a view of me – or perhaps just my perception of myself - as “less than.” In Iceland, everyone knew what everyone else’s skills were - and what people might need help with.  This allowed everyone to be his or her best competent self, and helped to forge a group that worked and communicated well from the get go.  While the first two days had been difficult – for different reasons – everyone’s spirits had remained very positive (except perhaps, in my case, briefly on the second day when my shoulder threatened to be an ongoing issue).   On this third day, everything had come together.  We started consciously focusing on quality, rather than quantity in the mileage department.  (I had often felt frustrated in Greenland that there was a push to keep moving, making it difficult for me at least to fully enjoy the days as they unfolded.)   The sun had even come out.  Here we were sharing a wonderful journey in an awe-inspiring environment with a good-spirited, funny and generous group.  It doesn’t get any better than that.  (Even though I was wishing I had brought better dinners than the freeze-dried packets that I had…  Recommendation:  NEVER buy freeze dried fettucini alfredo with cream sauce.  Positively disgusting!)

To cap off the beautiful day, when I poked my head out of my tent at about midnight,  this is the view that greeted me…

 

 

TUESDAY JULY 17 Day Four (Hrafnsfjörðurto Rangelí in Leirufjörður)

 

And when I awoke the next morning, the same view…

Joe, always up at 5:00 am, was strolling along the beach, drinking coffee and contemplating.  I waved but didn’t otherwise disturb him. Every morning, he hiked/walked wherever he could beyond our campsite.  He saw things the rest of us didn’t, and I hope that he’ll add his own commentary or photos to what I’m writing here.

With the sun out, cold night gave way quickly to warm day.  We launched on flat calm seas 

and headed across the fjord toward a waterfall tumbling to the sea.  I found myself gazing into the perfect reflection of mountain and waterfall, watching the water running up to the surface rather than down – a water-rise  As I gazed, a bird flew low to the water, and for a moment I was dizzy with wondering what was up and what was down. 

There was a greeting party of seals in a little cove farther along the shore.

And then Barb made the find of the trip.  Noting a white tailed eagle circling above and then landing, she had scanned the rocks and high ledges for a nest…and found one instead very close to the water.  After taking a few pictures, we backed out quickly so as not to further upset, mama, who was watching from a distance away.

The shoreline was enticing, with listing rocks,

and harlequin ducks swimming along,

and more rocks.

We made the turn into Leirufjörður, and in the shadow of the mountain, the temperature dropped.  We paddled away from the shaded shore to the middle of the fjord to find sun again.  We stopped for lunch on a rocky beach.  It had gotten windy and chilly, and I regretted having chosen that morning to wear lighter layers, seduced as I was by the sun when we set out.

But the wind was at our backs, and we were pushed rapidly downwind.  The waves carrying us briefly steepened.  Just before we reached our stopping point we paused at a strong and broad waterfall dropping into the sea. 

And then we were at the most beautiful campsite of the trip, although it would later prove to be rather a more complicated place to camp than we anticipated…  A river running down from the mountains beyond broke into braids of shallow pebbly streams where the land flattened out at the camping area.  Here's a view from above after we'd pitched our tents.

In this protected spot, the wind had died down, the sun was bright and it was quite warm.  We all spread out, setting up camp.  There was a river to fish in, a waterfall to get closer to, and hiking up the valley.  A number of us set out.  Here’s Barb and Camille.

There were lots of wildflowers and other colorful plants.

And more waterfalls in the rushing river.

We came down to find the boys relaxing and showing a little leg…

Guðni was fly fishing (without success) in the river.

The afternoon rolled on, sunny and relaxed.  I took the opportunity to wash my hair.  I lay down on my belly and dunked my head into the cold cold river water.  That felt good!  But all good things must come to an end, and by dinnertime, the clouds had rolled in once again and it was chilly.  But that was fine.  We had a fire and gathered for supper.

Ben, lounging in his blue puffy jacket…well, we decided he was perfect as Mr. July for the 2018 Iceland calendar.

And so, beautiful day ended (or so we thought) we all trundled off to bed…   Only to be awoken some time later by urgent voices. “David! Wake up!”  I poked my head out of my tent to see Guðni and Gummi carrying David’s tent

and the water rather closer to mine than it had been when we had arrived – supposedly at about high tide.

The boats were no longer on dry land…

Apparently Gummi had awoken to a strange waterbed sensation in his and Guðni’stent.  They were four inches afloat!

So…when we had arrived earlier in the day, right after high tide, the ground on which we pitched our tents had been bone dry, it was neaps, the night tide was to be smaller than the midday one so it seemed a good place to pitch tents.  And yet…and yet…   David and Guðni consulted tide charts trying to make sense of what had happened.

Gummi helped me move my tent, and then Guðni posed for a picture right where his tent had been before they moved it.

Because there was still a half hour to high tide (which seemed impossible given how much the water had already risen), Guðni attempted to make good use of the time by fly fishing once again at 11:30 pm.

Despite all the ruckus (four tents altogether had to be moved) everyone else apparently slept right on through, awaking in the morning in bafflement at the presence of neighbors that had not been there when they went to bed…

 

WEDNESDAY JULY 18 Day 5 Leirufjörðurto Bæsudalur in Veiðileysufjörður

 

As always I peeked out of my tent to start the day.  So much for sunny days…

The wildflowers were still vibrant under the gray sky.

Interestingly, the ground that had been underwater the night before was once again completely dry. This is how we had been fooled into thinking the low-lying camp area had been safe.

It was Guðni’s birthday, and Nige baked a bannock cake to celebrate.  He looked more menacing than celebratory, however, lightly brandishing a rather large knife.

John announced that it was a birthday tradition to wear special hats, and so he presented Guðni with a red one.

We all admired the cake decorations, 

and more or less patiently awaited

the cutting of the cake and divvying of slices.

But cake isn’t a cure for everything.  Donna was suffering from a very chafed neck where the top of her drysuit gasket met her skin.  Gummi made a medical intervention.

We had to wait for the tide to come up enough to launch, and it was midmorning when we finally pushed off.

A flock of birds flew low to the water in front of us.

Yet another waterfall.

Donna and Jane paddled together on the placid water.

Eventually we were out of the fjord and turning west.  It was not long before once again, we were reminded how much hardier Icelandic people are than the rest of us.  Lovely day for a swim, no?  Well…

See the headland in the distance?  Our hope was for continuing benign weather and calm seas, which would allow us continue on past the last fjord, camp for the night, then “go outside,” rounding toward the Greenland Sea past miles and miles of rocky cliffs, the most western point of the northwest fjords.  Guðni was able to get a cell signal that allowed access to a weather report, and it looked promising.

We paddled on.  A triple waterfall above.

We spread out, some of the boys once again heading out trying to catch the heretofore elusive cod. (Spoiler alert:  no cod caught…)

John and Guðni paddled together. Conditions were good for chatting, or just contemplating the world of green and gray and black and white around us.

As we neared the turn leading to the next fjord, the rocks got jaggedier.

A bird perched on the cliff.

There was a cobbly beach – perfect for a lunch stop.

Donna and I did a little rock art before eating.

Then it was time to get closer to some of the geometric rock formations at the west end of the beach.

Then we were off again, past more interesting rock formations.

The luckless fishermen headed out to deeper water once again in their ongoing - and futile - quest for cod.

Joe wanted to try his hand at finding a campsite, so he led us down the fjord, focusing on a green glacial valley identified on the map.

The campsite he chose was on a grassy shelf above a rather treacherous cobble beach.  Our strong group of men, plus Barb, carried the loaded boats and fairly threw them from shoulder height onto the grassy shelf covered with the now familiar purple and yellow wildflowers.  A very nice place to pitch a tent!

Other interesting plants, dried 

and thriving…   First, the Dr. Seuss plant

next, the blueberry colors…

After we were set up, Guðni’s birthday celebration continued.  He made pancakes in his nifty frying pan over an open fire.   Camille contributed dried fruit to add to the batter, and there was whipped cream and jam to go on top.

  

We waited – impatiently! – for each pancake to come off the grill.

It was worth the wait!

Ben took a hand at cooking.

Gummi found an Icelandic plate from which he could eat his.

The ladies relaxed, happy and well fed.

And when all were fed, we had a group “Woo hoo!” for a most excellent birthday!

John grabbed my camera and took a shot.  I’m mellow and content here as one should be after a crepe supper.

Donna broke out the marshmallows again, and Guðni– who had heretofore resisted – had the first (and likely last) marshmallow of his life.  He wasn’t terribly impressed and announced that the sugar rush would likely keep him awake all night.

Just when we thought the evening couldn’t be better, we had a visitor.

This Arctic fox – whose territory clearly included our large camping area – was very bold.

He would come forward, then retreat back behind the fire.

He and John had a bit of a meetup.

Artic foxes are apex animals in this area and are a protected species so have little reason to be afraid of anyone.  They also pretty clearly associate people with delicious food.  Guðnitold a funny story about a tourist who enticed a fox, which promptly stole her mug.  The tourist chased after the fox, forcing him to drop the cup.  As the tourist retrieved the purloined item, the fox doubled back, ran into her tent and stole her food.  (On my Greenland expedition, an Arctic fox stole a high end hiking shoe that its unfortunate owner had left outside her tent.)  Sly as a fox indeed.

Our fox eventually trotted off and the evening’s entertainment was over.  We all went to bed, but not before admiring yet again the plenitude of wildflowers…

 

THURSDAY JULY 19 Day Six Bæsudalurto Sigurðarbúð

 

We awoke to another overcast but splendid morning, the clouds spilling over mountaintops across the fjord.

I walked up a bit and looked down at our campsite tidily stretched along the grassy shelf.

It wasn’t long before our friend, the Fantastic Mr. Fox, was back.  He did not appear to be up to any good...

Some exhibited a bit less patience with him this morning, and scared him off.    We packed up and were off at a good hour.

While we had hoped to see whales on the trip, we had to satisfy ourselves (and trust me, it wasn’t very satisfying) with getting up close and personal with a dead sperm whale washed up across the fjord from our camp.  It felt a bit disrespectful to take photos of the dead, but I did shoot one.

And then we were heading south out of the fjord toward what would be our last campsite of the trip – our first two-nighter.

David paused by another waterfall.

We stopped for a snack break on a little beach at the mouth of the fjord, where the little blueberry colored flowers crept along the cobbles, and I saw a new orangey red plant.

On the water again, more rocks…

And a baby gull, who looked rather bedraggled, but later proved its mettle by swimming off.

John pulled up on a little beach and gathered three souvenir rocks, thinking it likely that no one had ever stopped there before.  If you go to his house in the future and see a small volcanic rock sitting on the dining room table, my bet is it’ll be the one from here…

As we proceeded, the sky began to clear, and the sea bottom was black and white sand, striated by the movement of the water.

Above, the water was rather astonishingly aqua colored over the sandy bottom.

We passed a boat stranded on shore,

then approached the little orange lighthouse.  (There is much to admire in Iceland, but clearly Icelanders have something to learn from Maine in the lighthouse department…)

Artic terns rested placidly on the rocks stretching out from the lighthouse point.

And then we arrived at our last campsite.  It was quite boggy and it wasn’t easy finding good places to pitch a tent.  Joe was happy to snag a spot on the cliff overlooking the beach, where he reported he was lulled throughout the night by the sound of the waves on cobble beach below.  But the site had the advantage of an emergency shelter where we could get out of the weather for cooking meals and eating if necessary.

There was of course a conveniently located stream, where several of the ladies washed hair

and bathed in the cold water (and to be clear...  I did receive express permission from Donna to include this photo!).

David did double duty, rinsing his dry suit and washing his hair, too.

As Camille described the experience, “I have an ice cream headache, without the ice cream!”  But clean hair and bodies were the reward, so a little headache is a small price to pay!

The sun was out and there was little wind.  So….we were greeted by clouds of little midge-like black bugs that flew into eyes and ears and nose.  The good news:  they didn’t bite, only annoyed.  Fortunately for some of us, we’d ignored assurances that there were no bugs in Iceland, and had brought along a headnet, which proved quite useful here.  While the shelter provided a haven from the bugs, it smelled musty and damp from being closed up, and we chose to eat on the beach, bugs or no.

Barb, Nige and Jane chilled.

Gummi contemplated.

Guðni showed off what a fearsome designated hitter – Icelandic style - he would be!

It was time, then, for the modeling portion of the trip.  Icelandic sweaters.  You may have noticed Barb and Camille sporting ones (which they’d bought in a shop, of course).  Guðni  (girlfriend) and Gummi (mother in law) had sweaters with a more personal provenance.  While they all looked splendid, my skin felt itchy just looking at them!  

The one damper on an otherwise splendid day was the conclusion that while it was sunny and bright now, was finding out that the weather forecast had changed enough that a trip to the outside would not be in order.  There would likely have a stiff headwind on the way back, which Guðni was not willing to risk.  The outer coast journey is apparently a committed paddle with miles between landing spots.  Our fortunes thus far had been very good – despite its being the Worst Summer in 50 – no 100 – years, and pushing our luck made no sense.

And so we all retired to bed.  That’s my tent nestled next to the cheerful orange emergency shelter.

 

 

FRIDAY JULY 20  Day Seven – Day trip to whaling station in Hesteyrarfjörður

 

Our last day of paddling dawned chilly and drizzly.  I went for a walk to the cobble beach, bushwacking back through knee high Dr. Seuss plants.  At the last minute, right before I put my foot down on it, I spied this ground nest filled with baby birds.  Looking more closely, I could see the heartbeat in their tiny and almost bald bodies.

  

For hours thereafter, I was worried that I had dislodged the nest and scared off the mother.  We had discussed how fragile life must be here. Despite the summer abundance of birds, it can’t be an easy place to survive, and the notion that I might contribute to the demise of a nest of newborns was pretty intolerable.  I went back later to see if the birds were still there and alive, but couldn’t locate the nest.  I hope a fox didn’t find it.

This damp morning, we were glad to have the emergency shelter in which to gather for breakfast.

We sat on the wooden bunk benches and drank tea and snarfed down a load of snacks that people had emptied from their packs.

The day presented several options:  retreat to one’s tent for napping and reading;  remain in the shelter for tea and conversation; go for a boggy potentially ankle-breaking hike; or  paddle to an old whaling station in unloaded boats.  Paddling an unloaded boat?  Yes, please!

And so, while Donna, Jane, Camille and David decided for various reasons to remain behind, the rest of us set out for what ended up being in some ways my favorite day of the trip. We launched from the steep cobble beach in a light mist.

The paddling was easy with no wind, no waves and no weight in the boats. 

 Even the light rain wasn’t a bother.

Off to one side, a village of summer houses.  There’s actually a coffee shop here, but we didn’t stop…and I don’t drink coffee anyway so was pretty indifferent to the concept…

It was one of those rather magical gray days, where calm water and dark sky and mountains in the distance all melt together.

The rain picked up and I for one was getting cold.  We approached the whaling station halfway down the fjord.  Guðnihad told us that as recently as the 1970’s there had been an effort to keep this crematorium for whales in operation.  Approaching it on such a somber day seemed appropriate.  It was a deeply sad place, making more than one of us think of photos we’d seen of concentration camps with their tall and malevolent smoke stacks.  In this case, we were seeing the site of a whale holocaust.

By the time we landed, it was pouring.  We were all wet and chilly and the boys set up a tarp for shelter.

We huddled under it and ate some lunch.

I wandered outside, looking at this now ruined place where whales were sacrificed for their oil.

After we had all had a chance for a wander, we packed up and launched.  It had stopped raining and we all paddled together for a time.

Lowering clouds touched the mountains.

John appeared lost in thought…

The paddle back was slow and quiet.  Our last day. And still no cod caught… Guðniannounced that he would try his hand at fishing (his first career, after all, had been as a fisherman) so as the rest of us paddled back to our camp, he headed out to deeper water to fish.

Jane and Donna waved to us from the beach, but Joe, Barb and I decided to keep going, down to the last headland that we could see from our beach – the direction we would have gone had the weather forecast cooperated.  (As it turned out, conditions would have been favorable for the contemplated outside trip, but there was no way  that we would have known that as the day started, and I was happy for what we ended up doing.)

We reached the last headland, stopping along the way to watch a family of foxes – parents and kits – frolicking on top of a large sheet of rusted metal from a wrecked ship.  A nice life affirming way to cap a day that had included such a sobering visit to the whaling station.

As we returned, we saw Guðni approaching from farther out.  He hung his head in defeat -  yeah right - then reached into his cockpit and pulled out three cod!  What a jokester! Here are two of them!

Here are all three!

Fish for supper!

 

 

We headed to the shelter to get good seats for watching Guðni prepare the fish.  As we patiently awaited his arrival, I started to take a portrait of the observers on the bench, when…photobomb!

Then Guðni got down to work.

The day that had started in a mist and progressed to pouring rain, ended with a window of dry weather, so we moved onto the rocks to watch the cooking of said fish on the all purpose fry pan. 

It was delicious.

As we sat outside on this last night, I looked at the boats and was glad we wouldn’t have to pack them again.  That was the only thing I was happy about as this special day, and week, wound to a close.

 

SATURDAY JULY 21 Day Eight     By boat back to Ísafjörður

 

We started the last day having breakfast once again in the hut.  Guðnihad arranged for a boat to come  - sometime between 10 am and 1 pm – and bring the boats, our gear, and us back to Ísafjörður.  I had all my gear packed into Ikea bags and the requisite expedition rock collection in a mesh bag that John had kindly provided (and I was so glad that I didn’t have to worry about luggage weight limits on the plane!).

So we sat in the hut, reading the log book that had been started almost 50 years ago, and then making a group entry.  I suspect I might have been the first to put “NSPN.org” in a log book in an emergency shelter in Iceland…  But this handwriting is a lot better than mine!

There was also time for goofiness…thank you Donna…

and eating

and sitting and staring into space.

Just before we left, John took a picture of me and the emergency shelter to go with the earlier one he’d taken of Joe and me at the other shelter.

And then the evacuation. The plan was to have the boys shuttle the Ikea bags out to the boat when it arrived.  The rest of us would paddle out, two at a time, to (attempt to make) the transfer onto the boat.  I had vivid images of attempting to stand up in the kayak, one leg in the kayak, the other up and on board the large boat as the two slowly separated…

The Ikea bags waited at the bottom of the cobble beach. 

 

Sometime after noon, we saw the boat approaching in the distance, slowing getting bigger and bigger. It was not a small boat…

Finally it was close enough for the Ikea bag shuttle to begin.  John later said that he had forgotten to secure the neck on his dry top, but was unable to take his hands off his paddle to fix it as paddling with the crazy load was quite unstable. But all went smoothly.  They started paddling backward off the beach

then turned around and headed toward the ship.

David and I were the first pair to head out for human transfer.

David was the first aboard. As each of us rafted up at the stern of the boat, a jovial crew member reached down and positively levitated us out of our boats and onto the secure footing of the boat deck.  There had been nothing to worry about.  Here’s David, safe and sound.

Here comes Donna.

Once enough of us were aboard, we started pulling boats over the stern railing, carrying them upstairs to the upper deck.

Here’s Guðni towing my Explorer, filled with Ikea bags, up to the boat.

And John, with the last load…

And Barb,

and Nige,

and Joe, 

and Gummi.

And here’s the cheerful levitator, who ignored everyone saying, “I’m good,” as he reached under armpits and hauled us, one after another, aboard.

Not all the boats were on the upper deck.  Some were below in the warm passenger cabin furnished with picnic tables.

Time for portraits.  Nige, John and Gummi.

Ben, John, Gummi and me.

Donna photobombing Barb and Camille.

And snacks, they provided really nice pastries for us!

It was nice to be on solid ground (even as the boat rolled in the swells) in a warm boat.

After the pastries were gone, one last portrait up top.  The guys who awarded me my four star...and hopefully didn't live to regret it on this trip!

.

The trip was over; there would be no more paddling together for our group.

It was hard to see anything behind us…

And then, an hour or so later, we were back where we had started, at the Kayak Center in Ísafjörður,surrounded again by disorganized bags of gear, wheelie suitcases and boats from which bits of this and that still needed to be removed.

 

The trip officially ended with a two-choice dinner - burger or fish soup – at a local restaurant.  Guðni's computer hooked up to a large TV screen allowed us to see some trip photos, but more amusingly, to allow everyone to select YouTube videos of favorite music.  Choices ranged from Icelandic (Bubbi Morthens) to familiar (Louie Armstrong “What a Wonderful World” from Good Morning Vietnam); Janice Joplin “Me and Bobby McGee;” to wonderfully strange (Disturbed’s version of “Sound of Silence” [wow!]); and Donna's most recent inspiration for her annual Bajafest song  (The Clash “Should I Stay or Should I Go”) and on and on it went.  Beer and wine, music and laughter, stories and reminiscences.  A perfect ending to a most special trip.

I can only conclude, after being privileged to journey in a kayak in Alaska, California, Mexico, Wales, Scotland, New Zealand, Croatia and Greenland, that this was by far...

The. Best. Trip. Ever.

Obviously in writing this, I am speaking for myself.  But I am confident that these thoughts and sentiments about our adventure are not unique to me. The Worst Summer in 50 – no 100 – Years in Iceland;  water and mountains; waterfalls and bogs; wildflowers and trout streams; meals and campfires; seals and birds (oh my! the birds!); fog and wind and mist and rain and even some sun; patchy snowfields and a distant glacier; rivers and rocks (my garden at home now the better for two major additions!); wet shoes and damp gear; cold and warmth (but trending strongly to the cold…); days and nights of light; foxes and the three cod that gave their lives for a last fabulous outdoor meal; sharing snacks (chocolate, cookies, more chocolate, fig rolls, nuts, even more chocolate, Twizzlers, dried fruit, chocolate and and and…); and finally emptying out our food bags of unnecessary excess to leave for Nige and an arriving friend, who would be paddling another week, starting where we finished along the forbidding rocky outer coast.  And where list of thingsends, another list – of the personal attributes of everyone that contributed to the smashing success of the trip – should start.  So as not to end on a mawkish note, although many of you know I am quite capable of sentiment and reddened eyes… I won’t attempt include that list.  We all know what it would include.

My greatest thanks go to Guðni and Gummi for introducing us to, and so competently leading us in, their home waters – while giving us pretty free reign to roam a bit and explore.  It was a privilege to experience it all. And to John, for all the work he did to make the trip happen, and more importantly, for being the hub of the wheel that over the years has brought together a disparate group of strangers and made us friends; and Nige and Ben for their willingness to join our ragtag group – it wouldn’t have been the same without our Welshmen.  And last but not least thanks to David (who continues to amaze me!); Donna (who was reluctant to go because it would be Too Cold and who ended up agreeing that it was The. Best. Trip. Ever.); Jane (who inspires with a spirit for adventure that never lets up for more than a week or two); Barb (with whom I shared hours of pre-trip angst and whose smile almost never left her face once we finally got going); Camille (what can I say…you just gotta love someone who irons in Iceland!); and Joe (last to join the trip, but first up every morning to explore on land and convincing me every time he pronounced an Icelandic place name that he had it completely right).  Best place.  Best group I’ve ever adventured with.  Let’s do it again!

Let me finish with a quote from Joe, who I think beautifully summed up the success of the trip in these words:“We had the perfect ingredients: a stunning location, great guiding and planning. good weather... but, most of all, a group with a warm, lively and generous spirit. It all added up to one extraordinary experience.”  Amen to that.

 

 

For those who might be interested, some final word on birds, gear, food and a few other things.

BIRDS:  I mentioned that the birds were pretty amazing.  I am not a birder (but wish I were) but benefited from the keen eyes of others, most notably Guðniand Barb.  Birds were everywhere.  Great flocks that either exploded or water walked into flight at our approach.  I am sure we all carry an image of a line of birds silhouetted only feet off the water in front of us…  The following list may not be complete, but it’s what Barb came up with for me.  We saw:  puffins (lots and lots of puffins!), skuas, harlequin ducks, Artic terns, lots and lots of eiders and guillemots, oyster catchers, fulmars, white tailed eagles, meadow pippits, and swans – lots and lots of white swans that looked so odd in the wild when as a city girl, I’m used to seeing only a pair in a city park pond.

GEAR:  Tents:  As I’ve already said, 11/12’s of us in Hilleberg tents – one person, two person and more.  As always, they performed admirably in wind and rain.  You get what you pay for and I am glad to have invested in my Soulo, as was everyone else who had one.  Sleeping bags:  Many of us had 15 degree sleeping bags, which seemed to be perfect for the conditions. Some slept in layers of clothing with socks and hats on the coldest night.  I was fine in one thin night layer without socks or hat.  A liner helped.  Many of us had them. The coldest night was down into the 30’s, with a bit of frost in the morning.  Sleeping pad: Three of us benefited from David’s research.  I have had two Exped Synmats fail on expeditions – once in Alaska and again in Greenland.  I won’t buy another.  I bought David’s recommended pad – a Sea to Summit Comfort Plus.  It was super easy to inflate (with my Synmat Schnozzle) and was very comfortable.  Hiking poles: I was the only one who brought a pair. I know my unsteadiness on cobbly wobbly ground.  David ended up using one and I the other.  I kept the pole under the bungies on my rear deck so it was ready to snap into place the minute we landed.  I was also glad to have a Crazy Creek chair knockoff.  Most of us had JetBoils.  I think we could have doubled up on them and saved room in the boats.

WATER:  While I carried an MSR dromedary bag, I never had to paddle with it filled.  Water was everywhere!  It didn’t require any filtering; we drank water straight from the rapidly flowing streams and rivers we found at every campsite.

FOOD:  I made a lot of bad choices.  Note to self:  next time, bring or buy in country real food, not just freeze dried dinners.  Sausage, cheese and crackers are good.  I can only tolerate oatmeal for about three days, then I’m done with it.  What did I end up eating in the morning?  Nuts and dried fruit?  I brought lots of both of those – too much.  I ended up leaving dried apricots and pineapple and smoky almonds.  And chocolate.  Brought too much!  I was very happy to have lots of teabags (ginger lemon) and instant lemonade.  The latter was really great for making hot lemonade, which I had in a thermos every day on the water.  I was not the only one who benefited from it on the coldest days. Sips warmed others as well.  For lunch, peanut butter crackers and energy bars. The boys had bought dried soups in Ísafjörður and they were nice enough to share.  Hot soup was good.  Next time, I’ll plan for it.

CLOTHING:  I brought too much.  I always do.  When will I ever learn?  But most days,  two layers on top (base layer and a midweight wool or NRS  fleecy synthetic thing) and one on bottom (wool) worked under the drysuit. I only used two pairs of socks on the whole trip – one pair every day for paddling; the second for on land. Pogies!  A mixed blessing, but on some days absolutely necessary.  Kokotat Goretex storm cag. On land: I wore Kokotat Goretex paddling pants (over the wool bottoms I’d worn under my drysuit every day) because they were loose and comfortable and waterproof both for when it was raining and when it wasn’t but when I needed to kneel in soggy grass for tent set up or hair washing or whatever.  On land, on top, I wore the same base layer I wore under drysuit, a microfleece quarter zip top, Patagonia nano-puff jacket; and a light Goretex rain jacket that fit over everything and was handy on both rainy and windy days. Hats!  I brought too many hats, but ended up wearing the same one most of the time – on both land and sea.  A warm fleece Mountain Hardware hat that stayed warm even when wet.  Hiking shoes.  I had low hikers that had lost their waterproofedness, but were fine nonetheless, even when soaking wet.  I rarely wore anything on my hands on land.

 

Prudence

 

Edited August 7, 2018 by jason
Updated per e-mail from Prudence, removed duplicate.

[Inverseyourself]

Typical "Prudence's latest Expedition Report-is-out"-kinda day at the office: Realize that the report has been posted upon arrival at the office - thereafter minimize contact time with customers to get to the next paragraph/picture - hasty lunch - then back to reading it all again in more detail.

A truly awesome report of a stunning trip yet again, Pru!

While I was impressed by Greenland (only via you Pru, of course), reading about this trip gives me much more of the warm-fuzzies, probably because I know most participants and how much you must have appreciated and supported each other. A really, really great adventure to read about - and great pictures. Even on the rainy, overcast days you probably had it better than folks here in the muggy, sweltering heat. I wish it turned a cool, clear fall already!

Many questions for you guys when I see you back on the water!

Andy

P.S.: David, I at first took that picture of you washing your hair and rinsing your suit flat on your back in the bog as the opening scene of "Reykjavik CSI" - until I read the caption.

[kate]

What a mighty fine trip, Pru. I am deeply envious. I seriously looked at this very trip over the winter, with great longing, wondering if maybe, someday...  Now I wonder even more. Thank you so much for documenting it all for us.

Botanical notes:  the purple flowers are wild geranium - they grow here too but probably different cultivar. Yellow flowers look like celandine poppy, which also grows here (lots in my back yard) - they like wet places. The Dr Seuss flower looks like Angelica which it seems was used as an herbal medicine in Iceland. 

Kate

[Phil Allen]

Once again Pru, all I can say is wow.  

Phil

[Jeff Charette]

Prudence, another fabulous trip report from another fabulous trip. Thanks for taking the time to share this experience with us. 

[Lallen]

Thanks for sharing your journey with us, Pru!  Envious of your amazing trip! 

[Suz]

As always, read every word.  Loved your trip, your feelings about the trip being special as it was with people you knew and cared about.  That is what made the trip the.best.trip.ever!!!   I agree - that is what make the trips that I have done so special too.  

Thanks for taking the time to write it up.  Well documented!

Suz

[jason]

Looks and sounded like an incredible trip.  I am glad you shared it with us.

-Jason

[jmcotton]

Thanks Pru for a wonderful trip report and all the photos. I'm getting a late start to my day off due to sitting reading it all...but worth every minute! 

Janice

[Paul Sylvester]

Great that it all went so well in such a wild and scenic country.  Very happy for the group. Thanks

[Daniel Carr]

Prudence you write a great trip report.  What a wonderful trip.  Glad to see you had Camille and Barb along which guarantees good humor and fun.