Episode summary:
I travelled to the Snæfellsnes peninsula in Iceland on a cyclonic day to meet petrified trolls. After braving truly atrocious weather and perilous ‘sneaker waves’ on Djúpalónssandur beach I made it to Dritvík beach to see the ghostly stone trolls. Then, just for a few seconds, the weather cleared and I had a beatific nature experience. If you’re wondering ‘is it safe to swim at Djúpalónssandur beach’ [answer: NO!], ‘is it worth visiting the Snæfellsnes peninsula?’ [answer: YES!], or ‘how difficult is the hike to Djúpalónssandur’, this podcast might give you some pointers.
Listen to a podcast about the petrified trolls of Iceland’s Dritvík beach.
Transcript – S2 E5: Meeting Iceland’s petrified trolls
This week, we’re walking with the ghosts of trolls on a treacherous beach in Iceland.
The weather forecast tells me to expect rain – heavy at times – and gales, possibly cyclonic. Perfect. Fair skies, sunshine and a light breeze just wouldn’t be right for where I’m going. I’m heading for the volcanic black sand beach of Dritvík on the far western tip of the Snæfellsnes peninsula in Iceland. This finger of land, the remains of an ancient lava flow from the nearby Snæfells volcano, juts out defiantly into the North Atlantic Ocean. Next stop, Greenland.
I first have to pass the more popular beach of Djúpalónssandur, where visitors can test their strength by lifting four different sized boulders. Legend has it that when this was a major fishing centre, sailors had to be able to lift the second heaviest one, the half Halfdraettingur, weighing 54 kilos (or 119 pounds) before being allowed behind the oars of a fishing boat. Usually there are plenty of visitors here, tempting hernias by trying to lift the stones and ensuring their family and friends get the best photos of them doing it. Not today. Even for windswept Iceland, this is a wild day, so the stones lie unlifted and unharassed, glistening with rain and salt spray. The car park is abandoned and the beach is mine.
Alone in a raging gale
I walk past the stones and crunch along over millions of shiny pebbles which are known as black pearls and which, like many natural assets in Iceland, are protected. At the far western end of the beach is a collection of messy, bulbous volcanic outcrops. So ugly and contorted are they that generations of Icelanders have believed them to be trolls turned to stone. On this possibly cyclonic day, I tend to agree with them. From certain angles, you can see what might be the pained expressions of ogres raging at the world as they are petrified forever. Just as long as they stay turned to stone, I’ll be okay.
At low tide, you can just about get round from Djúpalónssandur beach to Dritvík but if you’re in any doubt, head up to the much safer clifftop path that joins the two. And when you are here, pay great attention to the state of the sea and the waves. This is one spot where Iceland’s famous ‘sneaker waves’ can strike without warning, rushing up the beach, knocking over unsuspecting walkers and dragging them back towards the deep. It happens.
Approaching the trolls
The sea is pounding in today, smacking the beach like thunder claps and sending surf racing over the pebbles and then rasping angrily as the waves drag back. I don’t like the look of it, and I feel the ghosts of the trolls watching, licking their lips in anticipation of a wave consuming me and sucking me under. So I head up to the low cliff behind the beach and battle through the wind and rain to Dritvík.
I drop down onto the black sand and make my way along, looking for the lava formations my guesthouse owner has told me about. Apparently there’s a troll human who protects the Snæfellsnes peninsula, a ship and a troll church, although I wasn’t aware trolls were church-going beasts. Anyway, the argument is academic as all I can see are curtains of grey rain washing in from the ocean and drenching me.
Nature shining its light
I reach the end of Dritvík and feel like I’ve walked thirty rather than three kilometres and am about to give up and trudge back to the car – if it hasn’t been blown halfway to Norway by now – when the sky suddenly brightens, just enough to give way to a flash of sun. I can see up through a chasm that has opened up above me revealing numerous layers of clouds. I’m looking through the very belly of the storm. Out of this scene floats a lone sea bird silhouetted against the light – a large gull I think. How come even in the maddest maelstroms there’s always a seagull wandering about, seemingly not bothered by possibly cyclonic winds? I know they must be used to it but still, it takes some guts and some pretty spectacular flying skills.
Suddenly the troll’s ghosts seem timid. Nature has shone its light on them. Had I been here a few minutes earlier, I’d be back in the car now, driving to my guesthouse. I would have missed this beautiful scene. Maybe it’s my lucky day after all.
© copyright Matthew Brace
