If yesterday, we just met it, today, the Hekla dominates everything. We progress slowly and with difficulty, the ground being made of sandy ashes. With each step, the majestic silhouette of the volcano grows larger…
We are getting closer and closer to the door of Hell… Above us, the sky changes frantically, clouds rolling and unfurling on the Hekla’s summit, while we slowly cross the great black plains, or walk along an eerie, crystalline (very cold!!) lake.
The Hekla is still there, quite imposing, but now we turn our back to it and go on: we won’t get any closer. The Door of Hell is closed to the public.
Trolls
This day, we cross a few lava fields: you have to stay close to one another; it would be quite easy to get lost in those, and progress is quite difficult. The lava, while cooling down, stopped and formed some weird misshapen heaps on top of which a pretty tender moss struggles to grow. Not easy to describe.
Or to take pictures of
Let’s imagine… Imagine a troll army. Not any trolls though: trolls of the Tolkien species.*
The eruption has already started. The earth is rumbling and shaking. The sky is blackened by ashes and volcanic dust hiding the sun. From the gigantic craters of the Hekla is pouring a dreadful flow of thousands upon thousands of trolls running from the fury of the volcano, she-trolls, children trolls, taking with them weapons, bundles of food, clothes, and all the possessions they can carry. Watch them closely as they flood the plain: they are of all sizes, some as tall as 3 or 4 Dwayne Johnson**, others as small as a chicken. Some are riding their troll-horses, most progress by foot. Watch the terrible spectacle unfolding in the darkness before you, as they abandon their villages and face the deathly day, so lethal for their race, forced by danger and despair to leave their home.
But now look: what is this silhouette, facing the Hekla, outlined by a strange glow in the unnatural blackness? It is their enemy, the great wizard. Watch him now, as he lifts his staff to the sky, and with a powerful incantation, scatters the black clouds.
You shall not pass! Neither shall you flee a certain death!
Ashes violently whirl and disperse, and suddenly, a ray of sunlight pierces through the dense darkness, followed by a strong surge of dazzling light. The trolls try to flee in every direction, shoving, pushing, screaming in their terror of despair, their horses wildly tramping the smallest and those who already crawl and moan on the ground… Not for long: already they are forever silent and frozen, changed in stone.
The passing millennia soften their tortured shapes, smooth them, and it becomes more and more difficult to recognize the creatures. Dirt and ashes cover them, and eventually, a pretty moss grows on them.
However, if you go there, and look at them closely, you can still see them, forever frozen in stone. At night, their descendants come down the slopes of the Hekla to pay their respects to their ancestors, and if they catch you there, profaning their elders, they will eat you.
Boiled or roasted, that I couldn’t say…
For real!
*According to Wikipedia: In The Hobbit, they are described as very tall (10 meters high – 33 ft), powerful, ugly and very stupid. Their very thick hide protects them, but they turn into stone during daylight. They live in caves, kill for pleasure, and eat men, hobbits, dwarves or elves whenever they can.
**The Dwayne (The Rock) Johnson is a unit of measurement expressing not only the height, but also the width and circumference. The Dwayne (The Rock) Johnson can also be used as a charisma unit, in which case the trolls are at a mean value of -45.
Note: The Blue Owl boldly and strongly disapprove of wizards (or anybody really) committing genocide.
And we keep on walking: the landscape slowly takes back green hues as we go farther away from the volcano. Our group spreads out, each walking at his own pace. It is impossible to get lost when you can see the whole world around you. Everything is quiet, peaceful, beautiful, when suddenly…
The Sheep
The story of Bob, the Icelandic sheep
Bob was a young sheep at the eve of his first fall, who had spent his life peacefully frolicking with his family on the grassy plains surrounding the Hekla. He only knew from life the sweet delicious taste of the aromatic sprouts of his native country, and had never ever, never ever had the least ordeal to go through.
Yuuuummy!!
The day was so sunny and so bright that Bob had decided, in a spur of independent spirit, to separate from the herd and explore the green, delicious wide world. Everything was quiet. He had spent some time ruminating while watching goose teaching their goslings how to fly and keep in line, and was unconcernedly taking his steps toward some particularly mouth-watering lichen, when there suddenly appeared, on the horizon, out of nowhere, HUMANS. A whole herd of HUMANS.
His heart pounding in his woolly chest, Bob froze. It was the first time he was so close to humans, and he didn’t even have the protection of the herd! He trembles. The scary tales of older sheep come back to his mind: will the humans catch him, shear him, and abandon him, naked, on the mountain? Or worse, will they take him to the place from which no sheep ever came back?
What could he do?
While Bob hesitates, the humans pass in front of him and disappear beyond the horizon. This unfreezes him, and, not daring to move yet, he shouts:
“MAMAAAA!!”
The familiar voice answers immediately.
“Bob !! Where are you Bob? Careful Bob, there are humans running wild!! Come back to us!”
Bob’s Mama (center)
Bob, greatly relieved, starts to trot towards the voice, but stops abruptly, petrified: the menacing outline of a neon blue human is inexorably advancing, cutting his way.
“MAMAAA!!
-Bob! Come quickly!!
-Mamaaa! I can’t, there’s a human on the path! A hideous, monstrous, horrendous human!
-Bob you can do it! I know you can, son, I know you can!”
I have to, thinks Bob. In the name of all that is woolly. Goodbye, cruel world! And Bob, running for his life, goes straight to his Mama, and therefore, straight towards the human (who happened to be right between the one and the other).
The human stopped its innocent rambling and pondered: huuuh is it me, or is this sheep charging me? … no, no, he is charging me… Why?? What did I do? Did I angered a sheep God by doing something? And… more importantly… what is the procedure to follow in the case of a Sheep Charge??
From the Owl perspective…
In his frantic rush, Bob shouts as loud as he can “HERE I COOOOOME MAMAAA” and whizzes past the dumbfounded human, very very close to him. As soon as he had rushed by, the human recovered his senses, pulled out his camera and immortalized Bob’s hindquarters for posterity.
Bob’s backside
Bob, unscathed, is safely back with his herd. His mother has a short heated discussion with him – with some serious “I told you so” here and there – and the herd disappear. He learned an important lesson from his ordeal: independence has a cost.
The human learned an important lesson too: a sheep is funny while running, but funnier while running from you than when running towards you!
Extracts from my notes:
I wonder if the Icelandic sheep know that they live in such a beautiful place…
It was my favorite day.
Welcome home.
This evening is more relaxed, as if we had known each other for a good ten years, and not 2 days. The guides light a fire outside, in a hole in the ground (lots and lots of wind in Iceland) and everybody sings (except Alain and Claude, who go to bed early). Brassens, Brel, worse things. They make me sing, too. I sing an old Blue Owl lullaby which blends itself nicely with the wind and the crackling of the flames. This is it. We are officially family.