would not be it was inside a US Navy Sikorsky LH-34 chopper.
I waved, and said to Elin, ‘It’s al right; you can come out.’
She joined me and we looked at the helicopter. A door in the side slid
open and a crewman appeared wearing a white bone-dome helmet. He leaned
out, holding on with one hand, and made a whirling motion with the other
and then put his fist to the side of his face. He did this two or three
times before I tumbled to what he was doing.
‘He wants us to use the telephone,’ I said. ‘A pity we can’t.’ I climbed
on top of the Land-Rover and pointed as eloquently as I could to where
the whip antenna had been. The crewman caught on fast; he waved and drew
himself back inside and the door closed. Within a few seconds the
helicopter reared up and gained height, the fuselage turning until it
was pointing south-west, and then away it went until it disappeared into
the distance with a fading roar.
I looked at Elin. ‘What do you suppose that was about?’
‘It seemed they want to talk to you. Perhaps the helicopter wil land
farther down the track.’
‘It certainly couldn’t land here,’ I said. ‘Maybe you’re right. I could
do with a trip back to Keflavik in comfort.’ I looked into the thin air
into which the chopper had vanished. ‘But nobody told me the Americans
were in on this.’
Elin gave me a sidelong look. ‘In on what?’
‘I don’t know, damn it! I wish to hel I did.’ I retrieved the carbine.
‘Let’s get on with it.’
So on we went along that bastard of a track, round and round, up and
down, but mostly up, until we had climbed right to the edge of
Vatnajokul , next to the ice. The track could only go one way from there
and that was away, so it turned at right-angles to the ice field and
from then on the direction was mostly down. There was one more
particularly nasty bit where we had to climb an outlying ridge of
Trolladyngja but from then on the track improved and I cal ed Elin
aboard again.
I looked back the way we had come and was thankful for one thing; it had
been a bright sunny day. If there had been mist or much rain it would
have been impossible. I checked the map and found we were through the
one-way section for which I was heartily thankful.
Elin looked tired. She had done a lot of walking over rough ground and a
lot of jumping up and down, and her face was drawn. I checked the time,
and said, ‘We’l feel better after we’ve eaten, and hot coffee would go
down wel . We’l stop here for a while.’
And that was a mistake.
I discovered it was a mistake two and a half hours later. We had rested
for an hour and eaten, and then continued for an hour and a half until
we came to a river which was brimming ful . I pulled up at the water’s
edge where the track disappeared into the river, and got out to look at
the problem.
I estimated the depth and looked at the dry stones in the banks. ‘It’s
stil rising, damn it! If we hadn’t stopped we could have crossed an
hour ago. Now, I’m not so sure.’
Vatnajokul is wel named the ‘Water Glacier’. It dominates the river
system of Eastern and Southern Iceland – a great reservoir of frozen
water which, in slowly melting, covers the land with a network of
rivers. I had been thankful it had been a sunny day, but now I was not
so sure because sunny days mean ful rivers. The best time to cross a
glacier is at dawn when it is low. During the day, especial y on a
clear, sunny day, the melt water increases and the flow grows to a peak
in the late afternoon. This particular river had not yet reached its
peak but it was stil too damned deep to cross.
Elin consulted the map. ‘Where are you making for? Today, I mean.’
‘I wanted to get to the main Sprengisandur route. That’s more or less a
permanent track; once we’re on it getting to Gey sir should be easy.’
She measured the distance. ‘Sixty kilometres,’ she said, and paused.
I saw her lips moving. ‘What’s the matter?’
She looked up, ‘I was counting,’ she said. ‘Sixteen rivers to cross in
that sixty kilometres before we hit the Sprengisandur track.’
‘For Christ’s sake!’ I said. Normal y in my travels in Iceland I had
never been in a particular hurry to get anywhere. I had never counted
the rivers and if an unfordable one had barred my path it was no great
hardship to camp for a few hours until the level dropped. But the times
were a-changing.
Elin said, ‘We’l have to camp here.’
I looked at the river and knew I had to make up my mind quickly. ‘I
think we’l try to get over,’ I said.
Elin looked at me blankly. ‘But why? You won’t be able to cross the
others until tomorrow.’
I tossed a pebble into the water. If it made any ripples I didn’t see
them because they were obliterated by the swift flowing current. I said,
‘”By the pricking of my thumbs, something evil this way comes.'” I swung around and pointed back along the track. ‘And I think it wil come from
that direction. If we have to stop I’d rather it was on the other side
of this river.’
Elin looked doubtful y at the fast rip in the middle. ‘It wil be
dangerous.’
‘It might be more dangerous to stay here.’ I had an uneasy feeling
which, maybe, was no more than the automatic revulsion against being
caught in a position from which it was impossible to run. It was the
reason I had left Askja, and it was the reason I wanted to cross this
river. Perhaps it was just my tactical sense sharpening up after lying
dormant for so long. I said, ‘And it’l be more dangerous to cross in
fifteen minutes, so let’s move it.’
I checked whether, in fact, the place where the track crossed the river
was the most practicable. This turned out to be a waste of time but it
had to be done. Anywhere upstream or downstream was impossible for
various reasons, either deep water or high banks – so I concentrated on
the ford and hoped the footing was sound.
Dropping again into the lowest gear possible I drove slowly into the
river. The quick water swirled against the wheels and built up into
waves which slapped against the side of the cab. Right in midstream the
water was deep and any moment I expected to find it flowing under the
door. More ominously the force of the water was so great that for one
hair-raising second I felt the vehicle shift sideways and there was a
curiously lifting lurch preparatory to being swept downstream.
I rammed my foot down and headed for shal ower water and the opposite
bank. The front wheels bit into the bed of the river but the back of the
Land-Rover actual y lifted and floated so that we got to the other side
broadside on and climbed out awkwardly over a moss-crusted hummock of
lava, streaming water like a shaggy dog just come from a swim.
I headed for the track and we bucked and lurched over the lava, and when
we were final y on reasonably level ground I switched off the engine and
looked at Elin. ‘I don’t think we’l cross any more rivers today. That
one was enough. Thank God for four-wheel drive.’
She was pale. ‘That was an unjustifiable risk,’ she said. ‘We could have
been swept downstream.’
‘But we weren’t,’ I said, and switched on the engine again. ‘How far to
the next river? We’l camp there and cress at dawn.’
She consulted the map. ‘About two kilometres.’
So we pushed on and presently came to river number two which was also
swol en with sun-melted water from Vatnajokul . I turned the vehicle and
headed towards a jumble of rocks behind which I parked, out of sight of
both the river and the track ? again on good tactical principles.
I was annoyed. It was stil not very late and there were several hours
of daylight left which we could have used for mileage if it hadn’t been
for those damned rivers. But there was nothing for it but to wait until
the next day when the flow would drop. I said, ‘You look tired; you’ve
had a hard day.’
Elin nodded dispiritedly and got out of the cab. I noticed her favouring
her right arm, and said, ‘How is the shoulder?’
She grimaced. ‘Stiff.’
‘I’d better take a look at it.’