After a rocky first week of geology field work in Chibougamau, pun intended, our fortunes were about to improve. You could say we’d hit rock bottom… Okay, I’m pushing it now with the dad jokes. Just to recap some of our mishaps: we lost one of our GPS devices somewhere in the forest, we lost one of the truck’s side mirrors, and we got it stuck in deep mud, requiring the other team to come pull it out. At least we were being productive and getting some rock samples. Well, at least Alexandre was. I couldn’t reach one of my primary targets due to the thick forest and overgrown roads.
But field work has a funny way of balancing things out. Just when it feels like the forest is determined to humble you, something finally goes right.
Heavy Duty Sampling
As we got more accustomed to the terrain and our new sampling routine, we were becoming increasingly efficient with our time. Regular geological field sampling usually involves finding a good representative outcrop and hammering off a few fresh pieces of rock from it.
Sampling rocks using various tools
In the Canadian Shield, however, the outcrops are most often flattened, rounded, and polished by ancient glacial activity. That makes it highly difficult to hammer any decent rock pieces out of them. Even when using a chisel, we would usually end up with thin, superficial weathered chips that would yield poor geochemical results. Hardly representative of the magmas that had crystallized billions of years ago.
In Canada, however, we had an alternative method of sampling, something I had never seen, nor needed to use during field work in Europe: a rock saw. Or a concrete saw, as some call it. Essentially a hand-held motorized saw fitted with a large diamond cutting blade. A chainsaw for outcrops, if you will.
The rock saw and water pump backpack tank we used
This thing… was impressive. It was big, heavy, loud, and an absolute pain on the lower back to use. But boy, could it sample. Instead of hammering on a flat outcrop for half an hour only to collect a few useless weathered fragments, we could cut thick slabs of fresh, unaltered rock straight from the interior of the outcrop. As an added bonus, the vibration and exhaust during cutting kept most of the bugs away. Suffice to say, it quickly became our preferred method of sampling.
The rock saw did have two major downsides. It required a nearby water source to fill the cooling pump tank, and it was quite cumbersome to carry on longer hikes deep into the dense forest. However, for the easier-to-reach outcrops, it was a no-brainer. It saved us an incredible amount of time.
The Needle in a Haystack
One day, after becoming quite efficient with our rock saw, we managed to finish the day’s sampling targets surprisingly early. With plenty of spare time on our hands, Alexandre and I decided to head back to the forest where our GPS had gone missing during the first week. Maybe, just maybe, we could find it somewhere near the road.
Cattails swaying where the boreal meets the bog
We only had an approximate idea of the location since there were no GPS tracks to follow back. Alexandre parked the truck in roughly the same area where we thought we had stopped before. We headed into the forest and began searching. Pretty quickly, though, it became clear that this was a hopeless task.
The forest all looked the same. Thick bushes and tangled underbrush everywhere. The ground covered in a soft carpet of leaves, moss, and rotting branches. We wandered around for five or ten minutes before Alexandre finally gave up. It was the very definition of a needle-in-a-haystack situation. Defeated, we slowly wandered back toward the truck, still half-heartedly scanning the ground as we walked.
As I neared the road and slowly put one foot in front of the other, something caught my eye.
A faint flash of bright orange beneath the leaves, right where I was about to step.
THE GPS.
Against all odds, almost as if guided there by sheer luck, my foot nearly landed right on top of it. My eyes lit up. My jaw dropped. I bent down, grabbed it, and with a triumphant battle cry echoing through the forest, raised it high above my head like a long-lost trophy. We couldn’t believe it.
Fireweed in the endless green
It was a moment of pure disbelief, followed by sheer amazement and slightly manic laughter. It felt like a sign. Fortune had clearly turned in our favor.
“Pluton de France” the Second Attempt
After that stroke of luck, I decided to take another shot at Pluton de France on my project’s next field day. Since we had failed to reach the outlined polygon on my map by car the previous time, I wanted to attempt it on foot instead. This was going to be a bold undertaking, as the bush in this particular part of the Abitibi looked extremely dense.
Alexandre wasn’t too keen on the idea of a long, arduous hike through the boreal jungle. Fortunately, Adrian happened to be free that day and was willing to join me. So for one day I swapped partners and headed back northeast toward the elusive intrusive rocks somewhere near the edge of the Abitibi Greenstone Belt.
We drove as far as we could, essentially until we reached one of the old roads that had once led toward my target area. The road, however, had long since been reclaimed by nature. It was completely overgrown by dense alder thickets.
Right this way, sir… your target awaits just a couple of kilometers ahead. Enjoy your refreshing swim through the green foliage. Don’t forget your goggles… and a prayer
These alders seemed to thrive anywhere the forest had once been disturbed. Where logging had opened the canopy, they quickly took over the landscape. They grew like a strange hybrid between bushes and small trees—clusters of multiple thin trunks sprouting from a single base in the ground. Their branches were flexible, tightly packed, and tangled together into nearly impenetrable walls of vegetation.
Ironically, pushing through these alder thickets was often far more difficult than walking through the untouched forest. At least beneath the mature spruce and pine trees there was space to move. In the alder patches, however, every step became a battle against springy branches and dense foliage that refused to let you pass.
Swimming in Trees
We powered through as best we could, large tool-filled backpacks and all. This was easily the worst forest trekking of the entire field trip. We were legitimately fighting the forest inch by inch. Roots constantly tripped us up, while dense branches grabbed at our clothes and gear. This was the moment when I coined the phrase “swimming in trees.” The large sledgehammer sticking out of my backpack kept snagging on branches every few steps, which certainly didn’t help.
At least the trees provided shade from the mid-August sun
Still… we pushed on. Slowly. Extremely slowly. Fighting for every meter through an endless wall of dense bush. After a couple of hours of this, we finally reached the Pluton de France polygon according to the geological map.
And of course, there wasn’t an outcrop in sight. However, further ahead we noticed what looked like a small rise in the terrain. A hill meant there was a chance that bedrock might be exposed beneath the soil. So we pushed on. Eventually we reached a small incline and decided to start digging. We removed thick layers of leaves, branches, and soil until we struck rock. Finally!
The problem was that it looked… strange. Dark, heavily weathered, and altered by the soil to the point that I couldn’t immediately identify it. So we kept digging, clearing away more of the surface. When we finally managed to hammer off a few pieces, the truth became obvious.
A proud Adrien after we found and unearthed that first outcrop
It wasn’t what I was looking for at all. Not even close to what the map had suggested.
Pluton de Lies
Blasted inaccurate map, I thought. Still, we were close to the edge of the polygon, so I took a sample anyway and suggested we push a little farther toward the nearby lake that covered much of the mapped area.
Somewhere around that time another thought crossed my mind: this would be an absolutely terrible place to have a wildlife encounter. If we ran into a bear here, there would be no easy way to escape the sea of trees surrounding us. Then again, perhaps a bear would be smart enough to avoid pushing through such thick forest. Unlike us.
Some time later, deeper inside the target area, we finally found a small clearing near the top of the hill. To my relief there were even a couple of outcrops exposed there. Of course, they were perfectly flat and glacially polished—impossible to sample properly without the rock saw.
Hammering rock, only to find disappointment
And worse still… It was once again the wrong rock type. Dark, heavily altered basalt everywhere instead of the light-colored granitoids I had been hoping to find. What a disappointment.
More than anything, I was frustrated with the map itself. These geological maps, after all, are produced by the Québec Ministry during annual field campaigns. But even those teams can only cover so much ground, and sometimes the boundaries of geological units end up being… educated guesses. I marked the location on the map to note the discrepancy and kept the token sample from the previous location as reference.
Lucie later appreciated the effort, but she still had me discard the sample since it wasn’t useful for the project. All that effort. All that struggle through the forest. For nothing. But that’s field work. You win some. You lose some.
Roaming the Chibougamau Region
We continued our sampling campaign well into August. Alexandre’s project took us all around the Chibougamau area—from the high cliffs northeast of the lake to the far western stretches near Oujé-Bougoumou.
And once more we were close to a temporarily restricted area
On the western side of the Chibougamau pluton, we stumbled across several piles of trash near Oujé-Bougoumou. A sad and unfortunate eyesore in an otherwise vast and pristine wilderness. We also came across numerous animal tracks, mostly large canine ones. Likely local dogs, though wolves were certainly not out of the question.
Maybe someone should invest in a trash bin, or ten…
The only wildlife we consistently encountered, however, were the grouse, or as I liked to call them, forest chickens. We had heard plenty of stories about them beforehand, usually involving their questionable survival instincts. Instead of fleeing from danger, these birds, especially protective mothers, would often charge directly at the perceived threat in a rather unconvincing display of bravery. Not the best strategy when facing modern human inventions like trucks.
A mother grouse coming out onto the road to escort us away from her chicks
On foot, however, they were simply amusing. They would follow us around at a cautious distance, clucking and posturing, as if politely insisting that we leave their territory.
In the northeast, on the other hand, we encountered more “exciting” forest roads for our battle-hardened truck. At one point, a deep natural ditch carved out by a small creek abruptly killed the engine as the truck dropped into it—perfectly synchronized with the beat drop of the music playing in the car. No lasting damage, but plenty of dramatic effect.
The southern Wetlands
Whenever we shifted focus back to my project, we found ourselves driving farther and farther away from Chibougamau.
Only the best road conditions for us
One day took us deep south toward a small intrusion known as the Hazeur pluton. The landscape there transitioned from dense forest to open wetlands. At one point, the water had quite literally claimed part of the road. Alexandre, understandably, was having flashbacks to our previous encounter with waterlogged terrain that had left us completely stuck. This time, however, there was no mud, just firm gravel beneath the shallow water. We proceeded cautiously and made it through without issue.
The small Hazer pluton location. Still in doubt whether outcrop or boulder.
At the end of the road, a small outcrop, or possibly just a very large boulder, awaited us. The quiet swamp surrounded us on all sides. Far removed from any main road, it felt like prime territory for wildlife encounters. We spotted a few birds, including a large and majestic sandhill crane. In the distance, the eerie calls of loons echoed across the wetlands, occasionally interrupted by the faint howling of wolves.
A true call of the wild.
Zoomed in shot of a Sandhill Crane striding through tall grass in the Canadian wilderness
Despite that, there was no real sense of danger. We were working right next to the truck, heavy tools within reach. If anything, I felt completely at peace. There were barely any bugs, the scenery was wide open and beautiful, and for a moment it felt like we had stepped into a nature documentary.
Lesser Yellowlegs foraging stealthily in a marshy reed bed, blending perfectly with the surrounding cattails and reflections
To top it all off, I managed to collect several excellent sample blocks for my study. Easily one of the best locations we visited during the trip.
Blood for Samples
Another day took us west, past Chapais, toward a small syenite intrusion known as the Dolodau Stock. There, I finally managed to collect some of the best samples for my project. But the bounty came at a cost. Blood. We had wandered deep into black fly territory, and they were out in the millions. We were the main course.
Coming across blueberry bushes everywhere we went
Between hammering rocks and repeatedly drenching ourselves in bug spray, we uncovered one of the most fascinating outcrops of the entire campaign: a carbonatite unit, quite a rare igneous rock type, crosscut by sulfur-rich syenite veins.
Shiny disseminated pyrite cubes sparkled within the syenite. Grey magnetite blobs and black flaky micas stood out against the white carbonatite. Thick, blocky calcite veins cut across the outcrop like frozen rivers of stone. It was a geological treasure trove.
The large carbonatite unit, riddled with phlogopite (black mica) and magnetite
Throughout our field days, we often stumbled upon vast patches of wild blueberry bushes. Whenever we finished early, we would start gathering and snacking. Before long, we had collected an impressive haul, which we eventually brought back to base to dry and preserve.
The Final Days
The August days slipped by quickly, and our field campaign began drawing to a close. A few moments from that final week still stand out.
Prepping for a stroll along the northern railway
One of them involved walking along a set of railway tracks to reach a cliffside outcrop. It was a surprisingly calm day. No bushwhacking, no brutal driving, just a relaxed walk and straightforward sampling.
On another day, possibly our last, we aimed to reach one final target within the Chibougamau pluton. It was an easily accessible outcrop near a side road running parallel to the main road. However, the only connecting route required a long detour. Naturally, we decided to make things more interesting.
Killdeer standing alert and photogenic in short grass
After finishing our work, and soaking our boots while crossing flooded ground, I suggested taking a shortcut based on the map. Alexandre hesitated, but eventually gave in. I think we were both feeling a bit nostalgic about pushing our luck one last time. A sharp turn later, we found ourselves driving through a wet, sandy stretch just before a ramp leading up to the main road.
And… the truck got stuck. Again. This time, however, we were ready.
I jumped out to assess the situation while Alexandre quickly wedged traction aids under the tires. On my signal, he floored it, and the truck launched itself free, gliding across the remaining sand with ease. We had clearly graduated from the school of getting stuck in the mud.
The vast empty straight roads of the north
A Thunderous Roar Downstairs
Back at base, we needed to dry our soaked boots for the next day. There was a designated drying room, but it wasn’t quite enough for boots that wet. So naturally, we came up with a brilliant idea:
We put them in the dryer. The sound was… apocalyptic.
Meanwhile our blueberry bounty was drying in the kitchen upstairs
The machine roared and thundered as it violently tossed the heavy boots around inside, like drums announcing the end of the world. We closed every door we could, but the noise still echoed through the building like a distant storm. Miraculously, the dryer survived. And so did our boots.
The End of a Successful Field Campaign
On one of the final evenings, the sky was perfectly clear. No moon, no clouds. I suggested we drive out of town and stop at one of the abandoned quarries for some stargazing. After some hesitation, Nesrine and Adrian agreed. It was well worth it.
Above us stretched a breathtaking night sky. The Milky Way cut across the darkness, its bright star clusters contrasted by the deep shadow of the dark rift. As we stood there in silence, we once again heard wolves howling in the distance. It felt like the perfect ending to our time in the wilderness.
Under a crystal in northern Canadian wilderness
After 28 days of field work, we had collected 24 buckets of rock samples. Despite the rough start, we had successfully completed our summer campaign during one of the strangest years in recent history, 2020. A year when the world seemed to shut down. When uncertainty, isolation, and restrictions became part of everyday life.
And yet, out there in the wilds of northern Canada, things felt… different. For a while, we were free.
Free to work. Free to explore. Free to live something that felt almost normal again.
It wasn’t always easy. There were frustrations, setbacks, and long exhausting days. But there was also laughter, discovery, and moments that stayed with us. Moments that Alexandre and I still find ourselves retelling years later. And just like that, it was time to head back to Chicoutimi.
Messy beards, messy hairs and a truckload of samples after an adventurous month in the field
Back to our strangely constrained lives as PhD students in a world that hadn’t quite opened up again.
Following our rocky first day in central Iceland, pun intended, we returned to Akureyri to get our car repaired. With broken rear suspensions, it was a slow and bumpy ride back. All of our stuff was bouncing around for hours in the car. Tools and rock samples collided repeatedly with beer cans, which lead to quite the leaky mess in the back. By the end of the journey, our car smelled like a fraternity dormitory.
Our bouncy SUV with zero back suspensions
On our way back to northern Iceland, Paul took a little detour to show me a gorgeous waterfall spot with columnar basalts. For those who don’t know, columnar basalts are a tall hexagonal rock formations that form when thick lava flows cool and contract. This causes the rocks to crack and break into unique shapes resembling natural stone pillars. Columnar basalts are quite common in Iceland as well as other parts around the world with past or present volcanism.
Columnar basalts flanking a river and waterfall, northern Iceland
Several hours later, we arrived in Akureyri and immediately took our car to the mechanic shop. The mechanics soon realized they needed a car part to be flown in from Reykjavik so the soonest they could fix the car was by the next day. Thus, I ended up having a free day to explore Iceland’s biggest northern town.
Akureyri
Often referred to as the capital of northern Iceland, Akureyri is a charming little town nestled at the base of Eyjafjörður, Iceland’s longest fjord. Despite its small size, Akureyri has a good variety of cafes, restaurants and bars along its main street. There’s a beautiful cultural center and botanical garden in the town center as well.
Akureyri’s main street with bars, restaurants and trolls
Akureyri was founded in the 9th century by a group of Norse settlers lead by Helgi Magri Eyvindarson. It later gained prominence in the 18th century when Danish merchants established a trading center there. The town’s growth accelerated in the 19th and early 20th centuries, driven by its thriving fishing industry and favorable location in on the fjord, which provided a sheltered harbor for ships.
Statue of Norse settlers Helgi Magri Eyvindarson and his wife
During World War II, Akureyri served as an important Allied base, contributing to the town’s development and infrastructure. Post-war, Akureyri continued to expand, becoming a cultural and educational hub in northern Iceland.
Eyjafjörður, Iceland’s largest fjord
In modern times, the town has kept its historical charm with well-preserved wooden houses, museums like the Akureyri Museum and Nonni’s House, and landmarks like the Akureyri Church, designed by Iceland’s state architect, Guðjón Samúelsson. This blend of history, culture, and natural beauty makes Akureyri a unique destination in Iceland and one that I’m glad I got to briefly explore.
Akureyri Church near the town center
For those interested to read more about the town and Iceland in general, I recommend having a look through guidetoiceland.is.
Northern Iceland
The next morning we eagerly awaited to get our car back from the shop and head out into the field again. Our planned early morning start had to be pushed back as our Landcruiser was still undergoing repairs. The delay wasn’t too bad considering our targets for the day were in northern Iceland, just a few hours drive east. However, Paul was becoming quite impatient. Finally, after a couple of hours, we got the car back, suspensions and all, and quickly drove off towards Gæsafjöll.
Gæsafjöll, northern Iceland
Getting the job done
Gæsafjöll was a relatively obscure hyaloclastite mountain about an hour drive northeast of Akureyri. Just next to it, however, was a much more renowned active volcanic caldera named Krafla. The road took us past Lake Mývatn, a famous tourist attraction in northern Iceland. We then had to take a series of dirt-roads that may, or may not have been private roads.
Different rock layers at Gæsafjöll reflecting different eruptive events
It wasn’t our intention to trespass of course, but the closer we could drive to our mountain, the less time we’d have to waste walking. Finally, we reached a closed gate. So in true explorer fashion we simply let ourselves through. There was nobody around to ask for permission anyway… After getting as close as the road would allow, we parked the car and set off on foot. Within an hour we managed to reach the mountain, sample several outcrops and finish our work in the area.
Collecting my rock samples from Gæsafjöll
It was a beautifully efficient day thus far and we only had one more target to the southeast with plenty of time to spare. When we got back to the car, I noticed cylindrical red piece of plastic in the grass: a shotgun cartridge. It was time to leave.
Still not sure if we were on private property or not, but we didn’t want to stick around to find out
The hunt for Bláfell
Our second and last target for the day was Bláfell, another large hyaloclastite mountain located south of Mývatn. To try to reach it, we’d have to take another one of the F-roads into the Icelandic highlands. But before we’d venture back into the desolate grey lands, we stopped for a nice lunch at a cool little pizzeria on the way!
The perfect lunch stop along the way
After a good meal we hit the road. Trying to figure out the right road once we got off the paved ring road was challenging. We were using what maps we had of the area and our GPS point of where Bláfell should be. We chose to take a road called Grænavatnsgrundir, heading towards Sellandafjall. Bláfell was supposed to be parallel to Sellandafjall and we were hoping the road would curve around the first mountain and get us close to our target.
Our GPS target spot was supposed to be somewhere in those mountains
The all too familiar Icelandic wastelands
Once more we were back in the bleak alien world extending into central Iceland. Apart from some sparse weeds, the vegetation was gone. So was the clear blue sky. As if to mirror the dark desolate rocky wastes, the sky turned a grey overcast.
As the road took us further south, we could glimpse what we thought was Bláfell in the distance to the east. However, it was quite far away with several mountain ridges and a vast terrain of basaltic flows separating us from it. We kept on driving in hopes we’d have the chance to turn towards it at some point. However the further we drove, the more it became clear we were getting further away from our mountain. At that point the road was also just basically a set of old tire tracks we were following.
Driving further south trying to find the end of the massive lava flows to our left
Off-roading had crossed our minds, but considering the extensive wall of lava flows that was flanking us, it seemed quite impossible.
Should we push our luck?
Finally, we reached what looked like the end of the lava flow. However, we were now very far from Bláfell. The road pretty much disappeared by this point. There were still some tire-marks left, but they looked more like dirt-bike or quad tracks rather than car tracks. The only potentially possible way to continue was to cross a fairly steep sand dune and off-road it from there. However, with our previous car troubles and prospects of getting stuck, we weren’t too eager to push our luck. We got out of the car to scout around and our prospects weren’t looking good.
Surrounded by lava flows, our last option to reach Bláfell was going off-road
I was cautiously encouraging Paul to try to brave the sands. As long as we steered clear of the jagged basalts, our car should be fine. However it was also getting late in the afternoon. Considering we had to drive back to Akureyri, we couldn’t afford wasting too much time in the desert. Nor could we afford risking getting lost, or damaging the car again…
Bláfell in the distance with a maze of sand and lava flows between it and us
Paul weighed our options carefully. Whatever he’d decide, I’d be onboard. With a heavy sigh and a defeated smile, he decided to give up on Bláfell and turn back. The mountain had won this day.
Hverir: a living land of color, heat and gas
On our way back to Akureyri, we made one last stop at Hverir, a geothermal spot near Mývatn. Easily accessible from the ring road, Hverir is a popular tourist attraction in northern Iceland boasting an eerie landscape with vivid colors, bubbling mud pots, hissing steam vents and more.
A surreal landscape of color, heat and gas
The first and probably most striking feature of Hverir is the colorful landscape. Vivid shades of yellow, orange, red, and brown are a stark contrast to the barren surroundings. These colors are due to the high concentration of minerals such as sulfur and iron in the geothermal deposits. Due to the extreme geothermal activity there, the land is also devoid of vegetation.
Mud pots, fumaroles and hot springs
The area is dotted with mud pots, which are essentially pools of hot, bubbling mud formed by geothermal activity. These grayish mud pots are created when the acidic geothermal waters dissolve surrounding rocks into a fine clay, which is then brought to the surface.
Bubbling mud pots at Hverir
Another feature that Hverir is famous for is its fumaroles. Fumaroles are basically steam vents that release sulfurous gases from the Earth’s crust. The steam rises from cracks in the ground, often at high temperatures, and the air is thick with the smell of sulfur, giving the area a characteristic “rotten egg” odor. The corrosive sulfur also creates vivid yellow vuggs in the rocks creating an unsettling dissolution texture.
Vuggy dissolution textures in rocks with corrosive, yellow, sulfur-rich rims
There were also hot springs in the area, though they were far too hot for bathing. These springs contribute to the steam that rises from the ground, adding to the area’s steamy, surreal atmosphere.
Steaming fumarole at Hverir
The constant flux of heat, steam, and chemicals gradually erodes the surface rocks constantly reshaping the land and the size of its fumarols and mud pots. Due to the extreme temperatures of the ground and steam vents visitors are asked to stay on the marked paths.
I was very happy we got to take some time to go sightseeing at Hverir
After leaving Hverir we drove past several other attractions including the lava fields at Dimmuborgir and the phreatic tephra cone, Hverfjall. I wished that we had more time to explore the wonders of northern Iceland, but for the time being we had to return to Akureyri and prepare for our next field day which would take us back into the heart of central Iceland.
The three things you wouldn’t normally expect to hear in the same sentence are warm, sunny, Iceland. Yet this pretty much sums up the entirety of our two week field trip to the north Atlantic island.
Just to briefly recap: my whole going to Iceland actually started with a late-2015 proposition from my soon to be MSc thesis supervisor, Paul Martin Holm, to do a project on Argentina. Then after the Argentina project ended up being a bust due to some financial miscalculations, Paul Martin was quick to offer me another possibility: the Iceland project.
Grass-covered basalt layers and volcanic edifices – a taste of what is to come
Thus, I was fortunate enough that in early August 2016, I was flying together with Paul Martin, on an all expense covered field trip to Iceland. As it turned out, that August would be one of the sunniest and warmest periods Iceland had had in quite some time. Fortune was truly in our favor!
Airport shenanigans
As I was on the metro heading towards the airport on the day of our trip, I suddenly got this nose bleed out of nowhere. Alright, no big deal. I thought, it should stop by the time I actually got the airport. Nope! It kept on going, no matter how much tissue paper I stuffed up in there. I don’t know if it was stress, or what, but this was really out of the ordinary for me…
Some time later, I meet up with Paul Martin in the airport. He’s there all cheerful and happy and here I come leaking blood all over the place. He started asking if I was alright, if I was good for the trip. I was more annoyed than anything else because I couldn’t stop the nostril faucet and enjoy our upcoming trip. Too much excitement?
Oh, and someone had lost their balloon in Kastrup Airport… Tragic!
So we end up talking to airport staff who connects us to a medical person they had on the line. We ask the person on the line weather it’s safe for me to get on the plane with my stupid nose bleed. The person gave me the all clear and finally, by the time we get to security, the bloody leaking stopped. We were off to a “fantastic” start, I said to Paul Martin…
Arrival
Luckily the flight was fairly uneventful and once we were above Iceland we got to have a decent areal view of the fantastic landscape below.
Flying above the volcanic chains of Iceland for the first time in 2016
As I recall we spent quite some time at either, or both the airport and the car rental agency. There was all sort of paperwork for Paul to fill out and waiting around for other people.
One thing with Iceland is that they are, or were, very rigorous about what goes out of the country. Especially when it comes to rocks. The country doesn’t want tourists to be taking rocks from their National Parks away as souvenirs. Since we were on a geological research project and it was kind of our business to take rocks away, there were all sorts of forms to sign and people to notify.
Then the car rental people were slow with delivering our car. Just as a heads up, Iceland is an extremely expensive country and renting cars is no exception. So Paul went with the cheapest agency he could find that rented out SUV’s. Finally, after a few hours, we had our Toyota Landcruiser and were heading to our hotel in Reykjavik.
Exploring Reykjavik
I had the rest of the afternoon off and was planning to meet up with my Icelandic friend Bjørn from Denmark, who was back home in Reykjavik.
Beautiful, Sunny Reykjavik
The weather was fantastic. Slightly breezy, but sunny and warm. Nothing like what Bjørn had described to me with his doom and gloom build-up to my trip. The moment I meet up with him he was upset. He was angrily exclaiming that this isn’t fair! I’m not seeing the real Iceland. It’s supposed to be cold, rainy and super windy, always! Well… Not when I’m there, I said to him laughing out loud.
Bjørn then took me around the main attractions of central Reykjavik. We started off with the iconic Hallgrimskirkja, a towering 74.5 m high church that stands as one of the tallest structures in the country. It’s unique exterior design resembles that of columnar basalts found in various parts of the country, as well as other volcanic regions around the world. In front of the church is a statue of Leif Eriksson, the famous Viking explorer thought to have been the first European to reach North America.
Hallgrimskirkja with the statue of Leif Eriksson in the front
Harbor area
From Hallgrimskirkja we walked around the small center briefly touring the University of Iceland’s campus. Afterwards we headed towards the Harpa Concert Hall and the harbor area. Here ran across Minør, a small preserved steam locomotive. Part of the short-lived Icelandic narrow-gauge railway, it was used in the early 20th century in constructing the Reykjavik harbor.
Minør the steam locomotive
Finally, we went over to Bjørn’s place, which was close to the harbor. Everything just seemed close in Reykjavik, one of the smallest and neatest capitals in the world. After meeting part of Bjørn’s family, we headed up to a rooftop terrace where a splendid city view welcomed us. We proceeded to enjoy a couple of cool drinks and soak in the warm rays of sunny Iceland.
Having a beer with Bjørn in Reykjavik
From student to colleague
In the evening, I met up with Paul Martin and we went out to a restaurant of his choosing to have dinner. This would be one of the last day we had a high quality cooked meal, as for the next two weeks we’d be traveling across Iceland and eating mostly canned foods and sandwiches.
Paul asked me if I’d like to share a bottle of wine with him. Seeing the extravagant prices around me, I sheepishly replied that I would, but considering the rule we had in our Gran Canaria field trip that students pay for their alcohol, I was reluctant to pay the hefty sum out of my barely recovering pockets. The man smiled and replied, but you are not a student here anymore, you are my colleague, so that rule doesn’t apply. I loved this guy! He always knew how to brighten my mood. We continued on to have a wonderful dinner with drinks and jolly banter.
The next morning, we packed up the Landcruiser and drove all day north to Akureyri.
The long drive north to Akureyri and the start of our Iceland adventure
In my previous post I mentioned how I went to EUGEN Switzerland in 2008. I also said I would showcase the field trips I went to during the week there. Now again, because of how long ago this was, I sadly can’t recall the names of any of the places. Perhaps one of my EUGEN friends, Gaudenz, who was one of the organizers for EUGEN 2008, can help out in the comments.
As with each EUGEN event, there were a number of field trips to choose from during our week long stay. Some of them are organized twice, so that people have a chance to do all, or almost all of them. All the field trips are worthwhile, but we each have our own preferences for what we’d like to do and see. For me, it was hiking. I wanted to go out there and walk up some Swiss mountains and see some geology on the way! There were two perfect options for this. One of them involved visiting a big dam and then hiking for most of the day around that region. The second one involved a hike up a fairly tall mountain peak.
Hiking in the Swiss Alps – 2008
I believe the name of the place with the dam started with an L, so let’s just call that the L-dam. Then the mountain… all I remember is that there were cows and horses on the way, so I’ll go with cow-mountain.
The L-dam
The morning of our trip was fairly chilly and cloudy. We were all so tired in the morning. The late night partying combined with the early wake-up was a drag. Even now I can hear the organizers walking through camp in the morning, beating on metal pans and pots to wake everyone up. The horror…
My tired friends in the mornings, Switzerland 2008
I recall we took a fairly long bus trip to reach our destination. I also specifically remember the road was very winding with many sharp turns. This, because every time I tried to fall asleep the bus would turn and I’d end up banging my head against the window… concussion number 45.
Then finally, about two hours later, we arrived at the L-dam. The place must have been beautiful. Too bad we couldn’t see much due to the clouds. Ok, I’m exaggerating, but to be fair, it was pretty damn cloudy. At least for the first part of the day.
My friend Daniel in the clouds
We sat out on a trail following the lake. On the way, we had a few stops at several rock outcrops. I recall one of them had a bunch of nice garnets and, everyone took a piece with them. For the non-geologist readers, garnets are basically cool looking minerals that are sometimes used as gems. They kind of look like little mineral balls with nicely shaped geometric faces. Some of these garnets can even grow to a few centimeters wide. Take two of these big garnet balls and a long staurolite in the middle and you have a recipe for an obscene Bachelors dissertation project “wink, wink”.
The L-dam, somewhere in Switzerland
The weather started improving during the day and finally we got to see our beautiful surroundings. Gorgeous mountains on each side of the trail and the lake behind us. It was a wonderful field trip that I would gladly do again.
Hiking around the L-dam lake
Cow-mountain
On our second field trip in Switzerland we had the perfect hiking weather. Beautiful clear skies on a warm summer’s day, with just the right amount of a cool mountain breeze to keep us fresh.
The perfect weather and scenery for a lovely mountain hike
We started our hike from an already relatively high point and had to reach a peak of around 2500m. On the way we passed a bunch of horses and cows. For whatever reason this images stayed with me, hence why I decided to name it cow-mountain. Maybe it’s due to all the old “Milka” chocolate commercials with the cows and the Swiss Alps. Does anyone remember those?
Our EUGENeers gathering for some field geology
I recall our geologist professor/guide for the day had quite the hefty pace. So much so that some people had a hard time keeping up with him. I can’t remember what else we did during this field trip, except for walk, walk, walk, higher and higher.
Slippery terrain and impressive rock outcrops weathered by the elements
As you may imagine, the hike was absolutely worth it. The views we had on the way and especially from the top of the mountain were incredible. We even got to see some glimpses of snow here and there. Remnants of old glaciers, now just a thing of the past.
Me and Daniel: the brotherhood
Heading home
After the wonderful week in Switzerland we embarked on our multi-train journey back to Romania. All was going well, until we had to board the final train in Vienna. The second class cars were so packed that some of us had to upgrade to first class at extra cost to get on the train. When I mean packed, I don’t just mean all the seats were occupied, but that so many people were squatting on the train car hallways everywhere that there was simply no room.
It was an over night train ride too, so since I was very tired after the long week and the previous train rides, I agreed to be one of the guys to pay the 50 euros extra for the upgrade to an actual bed. That didn’t stop me and my volunteer friends from moping all night about the expensive ticket. However, we found a satisfactory solution. This first class premium service included a complementary 0.5 liter bottle of water. We simply told ourselves that it was that damned bottle of water that cost us the extra 50 euros.
Us and our 50 euro water bottles
In my next post I will jump ahead one year to EUGEN 2009, which was held in The Netherlands. So stay tuned for that!
