Up to the line of clouds
We set off from our snug cabin on the Troll Peninsula, following a path that led us through the misty autumnal landscape. The ground was carpeted in red bilberries, their vibrant colour contrasting with the muted greens of the ferns and grasses.
As we climbed higher, we came to a rocky slope. We carefully made our way over the rocks, until we almost reached the line of clouds. Above us, the mountains were hidden behind a milky curtain. As we climbed higher, the rocks became more abundant, and the nature around us was cold and quiet. We pressed on, determined to reach the line of clouds that hovered just above us. The ground became increasingly wetter, with mud turning to water-logged grass. Soon, we found ourselves by a small lake, surrounded by mountains that had disappeared behind the clouds.
The lake was a blank canvas, the reflection of the sky turned white, creating the airy feeling of entering a dreamscape. In moments like this, when I'm surrounded by the wild beauty of Iceland, I can't help but think of folklore and stories, of a magical world beyond our own. I've always been one to look for everyday magic in unexpected places, but here, on the Troll Peninsula, it truly feels like I've entered a true magical realm.
What secrets do these ancient mountains hold? What creatures lurk in the mist? Fog and clouds always set my imagination alight. It's always the same way. In moments when you can't see anything, the imagination takes flight, like at night in a completely dark room, or here, surrounded by white clouds and gazing into the white reflecting waters of the lake.
We turned back and began our descent, walking through fields of red grasses dotted with white heads of Arctic cotton. The delicate flowers swayed in the strong wind. I couldn't help but imagine them to be herds of tiny trolls, wandering about their own business in plain sight, but invisible to our unattuned eyes. I could almost see them, their little woolly heads bobbing up and down as they trotted through the grass.
Traditionally, we celebrated the hike with a delicious cup of coffee from my husband's yellow thermos flask. We sipped our coffee and gazed out at the fjord, savouring the afterglow of our adventure. We had felt like we scratched the surface of a wondrous world and wondered what other secrets the Troll Peninsula held, and what other adventures awaited us.
MY BOTANICAL NOTES
Arctic cotton
Eriophorum
Arctic cotton or fífa in Icelandic delicate and resilient perennial herb that thrives in the harsh Arctic climate. Its slender, grass-like leaves and fluffy white seed heads are a familiar sight in the Icelandic landscape.
Arctic cotton is a member of the sedge family, Cyperaceae. It is closely related to other sedges, such as bulrushes and cattails. However, Arctic cotton is distinguished by its unique seed heads, which are made up of numerous long, cottony bristles.
The seed heads of Arctic cotton are a marvel of engineering. They are designed to disperse seeds over long distances, even in windy conditions. When the seeds are ripe, the bristles break off and carry the seeds away on the wind.
Arctic cotton is also a symbol of Icelandic culture and heritage. The plant has been used in traditional Icelandic medicine for centuries. It is also featured in Icelandic folk tales and legends.
