Authors: Warren Dalzell
Strangely enough, Marcie also wanted to get close to Jocelyn. After all, they were going to be roommates for the next three months and it would be hell if they didn’t get along. Trying to maintain a thick skin and ignore her companion’s hurtful remarks was trying her patience, though. She often wished the girl would just hop on her broomstick and fly back to Texas. There was no denying the trip would be a lot more pleasant without her, but Marcie was trying to adapt. She had no choice.
Beside her in the window seat, Spencer was absorbed in some sort of game on his computer. “Man,” she thought angrily, “if he wants to sit by the window, the least he could do is to appreciate the view.” She considered asking him to change seats but decided against it. Her view of the countryside was good enough from her current vantage point. Already the scenery along the route had changed dramatically from that of inner city to individual houses surrounded by verdant fields. They were rapidly leaving Reykjavik behind.
Morgan stood up from his seat in the front of the bus and turned to face his entourage. “Welcome, all,” he said cheerfully. “Sorry for the early start. I’m afraid we still have a couple of travel days ahead of us until we reach the shores of Eviskar Island. Hopefully, the ordeal of getting there will reinforce in your minds just how remote our dig site is and how intrepid were those souls who settled there 1000 years ago.” Morgan’s enthusiasm about their endeavor had an uplifting effect. The students paid close attention as he continued his speech as impromptu tour guide. “The good news is that I’ve been in touch with the
Stjerne
, the ship that will transport us the final 600 or so nautical miles to the island. They are on schedule to dock in Olafsvik early this afternoon. If all goes well, we should arrive at Eviskar the day after tomorrow.” He peered out the window and grinned. “In a few moments we’ll be in for a real treat. The Hvalfjordur tunnel is coming up. It’s one of the longest tunnels in the world. Here are some facts that may impress you.” Morgan produced a pamphlet and donned a pair of reading glasses. “It’s over three and a half miles long and dives to a depth of 165 meters. That’s over 540 feet below sea level.”
The tunnel entrance soon came into view. It was a giant hole in the Earth lying directly in front of a majestic expanse of water, a sight that was both incongruous and surreal. Its gaping maw seemed to swallow vehicles as they drove into its dark throat and disappeared from view. As the bus approached, Marcie noticed a change in Spencer’s demeanor. He’d stowed his tablet computer and was now sitting straight and rigid, both hands gripping his arm rest tightly. Spencer was scared.
Marcie became concerned. Clearly the young man seated next to her was upset, and as the bus approached the entrance, he seemed to slump in his seat. When their vehicle finally crossed the threshold, everything abruptly plunged into darkness. To make matters worse, the road grade dropped precipitously, propelling them down beneath the waters of Hvalfjordur Bay.
“...Note the rate of descent,” Morgan announced, “At depth, we’ll be about forty meters, 150 feet, below the sea floor...”
“Please, Dr. Holloway, please shut up,” Marcie thought as she monitored Spencer’s worsening condition out of the corner of her eye.
“…Imagine the tons of water right above our heads…”
Marcie felt she had to do something. “Hey, Spencer,” she asked, “think about all the cars that pass through here every day—without incident.”
“What are you implying, Marcie? You think I’m scared? Goin’ into the tunnel just took me by surprise, that’s all. I been tru’ the Lincoln tunnel plenty ‘a times. It’s no big deal. Just mind your own business, will ‘ya?”
Marcie wanted to protest, but held her tongue. Calling attention to his plight would itself do the job. She figured Spencer would fight to maintain control over his emotions in order to avoid embarrassment. They rode in silence for several minutes. The road was now flat and straight, a featureless void seemingly without end.
“Sure is dark in here. In New York the tunnels are well lit. You’d think they’d put a few lights in this place.”
“I’m sure the driver can see where he’s going,” Marcie replied wearily. “Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever driven through a tunnel before. There are none around Albany.”
“Humpf, Albany. It’s more like ‘Small-bany’ ‘ya ask me. S’not a city, just a town.”
Marcie was mildly offended. She was proud of her hometown. “It
is
the State Capital, Spence.”
“I know; what a mistake. They should’a made New York the capital. I mean, really, that’s where all the people are. Governors only go to ‘Small-bany’ to give a speech once in a while. The rest ‘a the time they’re in the city. They hardly eveh spend time in the Governor’s Mansion.”
“Patterson did.”
“Yeah, whateveh.”
Jocelyn giggled again. She and Jack appeared to be having a good time. The sound grated on Marcie’s nerves. This trip was taking a turn for the worse. The thought of spending three months with a snide, claustrophobic city boy; a spiteful, southern dilettante; and a hunk who barely acknowledged her existence, dampened her enthusiasm.
I just have to get through this as best I can
, she sighed.
Maybe the work itself will be really interesting
.
The final stretch of tunnel led upwards toward the proverbial light at the end. Growing ever brighter, the exit beckoned them into a world of bright sunlight and turquoise sky. The psychological effect was palpable. Marcie’s melancholy and Spencer’s fear evaporated as the somber, brooding tunnel blackness gave way to an incredible landscape. Most conversation in the bus stopped as its inhabitants, visitors and locals alike, gazed appreciatively out the windows.
For the next thirty miles the highway followed the rugged, undulating Icelandic coast. Majestic cobalt-blue fjords lay to the west. Off to the right, lush, sprawling hills stretched far into the distance, yielding to permanently snow-capped mountains along the horizon. Rivers, with the occasional breathtaking waterfall, rushed under the bridges they crossed, thundering and churning on their way to the sea.
The coastal vistas soon gave way to rolling hills as the road cut across the Snaefellsnes Peninsula. When the ocean once again came into view, the bus hung a left at an isolated crossroads and followed another coastal road into the quaint fishing village of Olafsvik.
“This is the end of the line for us,” Morgan announced cheerfully.
Perhaps a dozen people, including the Eviskar group, debarked and crowded around the driver and an assistant who unloaded their belongings from the baggage compartment of the bus. Within minutes the bus was gone, heading for other maritime communities along the country’s northwest coast.
Across the street from the bus stop was a small hotel/restaurant. They all headed inside to use the facilities and get a bite to eat before the ship arrived.
* * *
“Anybody up for a hike?” Debbie was stuffing several fresh pastries into her backpack. “There’s a long boat ride ahead of us, guys; this will be your last opportunity to stretch your legs before we get to the island.” They were relaxing by the fireplace in the restaurant’s small dining area. The kitchen featured a marvelous bakery, and the weary travelers were finishing a sumptuous snack of fresh Icelandic cakes and tarts, washing them down with thick, creamy hot chocolate.
“I’m game.” Marcie was on her feet. Grinning broadly, she too started zipping up her backpack in preparation for an outing.
“Go ahead and leave your pack here, Marcie. Morgan is going to stay and watch our stuff. I’ll carry everything we need for the hike. Just hand me your water bottle. Anybody else?”
“What the heck, count me in,” Spencer replied. “I gotta burn off some ‘a these calories.”
Only when Jack moved to join the expedition did Jocelyn rise from her chair with an audible moan.
“Good, you’ll all appreciate the exercise. When you get a look at some of the local scenery, you’ll be glad you came.” Addressing her husband, Debbie said, “You’re in charge here, sweetie. We’ll be back soon.”
“Keep an eye out for the ship,” Morgan warned, “Remember, they’re only stopping briefly to pick us up. I don’t want to antagonize the captain or wear out our welcome. Transport to Eviskar is difficult to come by.”
“Understood. We’ll be back to help carry the gear to the dock.”
Debbie led the group out through the hotel’s main entrance and turned eastward along the main thoroughfare. The route took them past several marinas containing boats of all shapes and sizes. Most were fishing craft, but smaller, pleasure boats sat interspersed among them, their sterns displaying names the Americans couldn’t interpret.
Commercial buildings lined jetties all along the harbor. Some had large, open bays that revealed more boats sitting in dry dock. Others were obviously fish processing facilities, their function divulged by the pungent aromas wafting in on the offshore breeze.
Turning inland, Debbie took a side street through a residential area. The road wound uphill through a neighborhood of small wood-frame houses painted in a bright rainbow of colors. A quarter mile from the sea, the road, and the town, ended abruptly. A signpost marked the beginning of a trail that wound southward towards a promontory that overlooked the bay.
“I fell in love with Olafsvik when we came through last year,” Debbie mentioned. She was slightly out of breath because the slope of the path they were on had increased significantly. “It’s not just a scenic fishing village. I wanted to bring you all out here to see the view from the crest of that hill up ahead.” After a glance back at the harbor, she continued the climb. “What Morgan said about the boat is important. It’s an ocean-going military craft that patrols along the west coast of Greenland. They’re scheduled to arrive in about four hours, and we have to be at the dock, waiting, when they pull in. Although it flies the Danish flag, many of the crew are Greenlanders, and it’s only because the Eviskar dig is important to Greenland’s authorities that we’re allowed to hitch a ride.”
“You mean, the boat has, like, guns ‘n stuff? It’s part of the Navy?” Spencer tuned in to what she’d just said. Although he’d seen US naval vessels in the New York harbor, he’d never imagined sailing on one.
“Yes, but the bad news is that means our accommodations will be quite Spartan. This will be no luxury cruise. The good news is that we won’t have to worry about being boarded by pirates.”
After negotiating several long switchbacks, the party reached the crest of the hill. The view back towards the sea was breathtaking. All had to admit that Debbie’s assessment of the town was spot on. It was indeed an idyllic Scandinavian village, remote, lonely, situated along the vastness of the North Atlantic. But the view in the other direction, to the southwest, was even more impressive.
Debbie smiled when she saw the looks of awe on the faces of the students. “That, my dear friends, is mount Snaefell.” Before them, rising into a layer of cloud, was a singular mountain that commanded the low-lying terrain around it. “It’s the volcano that lies at the heart of the Snaefellsnes National Park. One of these years I’m going to climb it, if I ever get the chance to break away from this archeological project, that is.”
“It must be an extinct volcano,” Spencer offered. “Look at all that snow on top.”
“What you see is actually the Snaefellsjokull Glacier. They say that to climb the mountain safely you need a guide. There are dangerous crevasses along the way. Falling into one could seriously ruin your day.”
“So is it extinct, the volcano I mean?”
“I’m no expert, Spence, but from what I’ve heard, the answer is ‘yes’…and ‘no.’ The last eruption occurred in about 200 AD, so, yeah, it’s not currently active, but like most volcanoes in Iceland it will probably erupt again in due time. Four years ago another one erupted that profoundly affected air travel between the US and Europe. The ash it threw into the air posed a threat to the jet engines on aircraft.
She looked at each of the students and smiled, “Now, can any of you name the famous book in which Mount Snaefell plays a central role?” When she received nothing but blank stares and shrugs she continued, “Have any of you read ‘Journey to the Center of the Earth’ by Jules Verne?”
“Oh yeah, I read that,” Spencer exclaimed, “So, this is where they stahted? This is the volcano?”
“Yep, this is the mountain where Professor Lindenbrock, his nephew Axel and their Icelandic guide Hans began their epic journey. Following the writings and signs left by the explorer Arne Saknussemm, the trio overcame a multitude of hazards, traversed a huge subterranean sea and dealt with prehistoric beasts.”
“I remembeh the dinosaur parts. It was an awesome book.”
“I agree. When I was a girl about your age it was my favorite story. I had vivid dreams about going on a journey like that.” She paused for a moment to reminisce. “You know, in a way our Eviskar excavation is a bit like that Verne novel. It takes place on a remote volcano…but we aren’t going to run into any prehistoric animals there or anything like that. We’ll have to be content with discovering things about the people who lived there a thousand years ago. A millennium is a long time in human history, but it’s hardly worthy of note from a geologic perspective.”