CHASING THE MIDNIGHT SUN
THE WIND WHISTLED lightly through the coarse sea grass above our heads. We were lying on a beach on Iceland’s Honstrandir peninsula at the end of a successful backpacking trip with my old student hiking group, next to a small, singular timber building once known as Heysteri’s Old Post Office. Our bellies were full of pancakes and copious amounts of sticky homemade rhubarb jam, and a feeling of contentment was ebbing its way around our bodies.
Two weeks of hiking through Icelandic wilderness, from the dark and foreboding lands of the barren south to the verdant alpine meadows of the Hornstrandir peninsula in the Westfjords, had meant a constant readjustment to our surroundings every day.
Looking out over the majestic expanse of green and blue, so iconically representative of the Westfjords, a familiar feeling rose up
