Arctic Surfers Iceland

When you fly into Reykjavik, the capital of Iceland, the first thing you notice is how straightforward the landscape is: fields of black lava, grey sea, grey sky, no trees. The houses are equally stark – a red cube with one window, a brown rectangle with a flat roof. The locals dress in modern designs without loud colors or flare, and their words, at least as far as I can tell on my taxi ride from the airport, are equally brisk. I ask if the economy is faring any better since Iceland’s bankruptcy in 2008, a casualty of the housing crisis that made Iceland about half as expensive as it used to be, meaning still very expensive. (A beer at a pub used to cost about $15 US; now it’s more like $8 -$10.) “Yes,” my driver says calmly, “better.” “Really, how so?” He ponders briefly, then says: “Yes, better.” If you come to Iceland, you should come for more than three days, but that’s all I have. Nova Scotian ripper, Logan Landry, asked me if I could meet him on his quest for empty Nordic waves. I only had three days before I had to be in Central America, but when I saw that the forecast was calling for a 23-foot at 14 second swell, a burst of hurricane Irene’s wrath, I got curious.