WEATHERING
HRINGVEGUR, ICELAND
We drive Hringvegur (the Ring Road) through climatic subarctic extremes. The cross-country weather reports earthquakes and eruptions. Daily.
Today Bárðarbunga erupts under Vatnajokull‘s watery icecap. How many jökulhlaups will it trigger? How far will its toxic plume balloon? For now we strive to cross Skeiðarársandur Bridge before ash-ridden gales hurl us into raging glacier rivers.
Down the road we risk ascending windy, winding, cascading Öxi Pass, traversing Odáðahraun‘s storm-darkening lava desert, coursing blindly through blizzards blasting down Eyjafjörður.
Even in relative atmospheric calm, we‘re rerouted by avalanches of burly sheep, geysers of boiling mud and fumaroles of poisonous steam.
Ísland, the only country in the world where our bathroom shower runs hot from the magma. Where icebergs drift by our car bumper. Where everywhere steamy, icy waters plunge, surge and pool in gorges, calderas and lagoons. Yet none so moving as Vatnajokull‘s melting tears.
dreaming
floeing
drifting
riddling
wildering
weathering
trolling
fjording
mistifying
haunting
northerning
thrumming
southerning
subliming
fishmingling
reindeering
jamboreeing
villaging
summering
wintering
whitening
fathoming
vacillating
slumping
miring
blueing
confluencing