The Last Ice - Skaftafell Glacier

[Melting Point: Planet Iceland] Vol.2 The Last Ice - Skaftafell

The Snowscape of Genesis

Leaving Reykjavík, the first place I encountered was Þingvellir National Park. A place where tectonic plates meet and the earth is torn apart. White snow warmly blanketed that massive rift, and a vast stream flowed beside it. A landscape that effortlessly evokes the word magnificent. A piercingly blue sky and an endless stretch of snow fields. Trudging through the ankle-deep snow, I was as excited as a little kid.

"Wow, this is absolutely insane."

The beauty of genesis that felt as though it would last for eternity. A colossal snowscape that seemed like it would remain right here, at least for my lifetime. Deep inside, I kept promising myself that I would bring my loved ones here to show them this sight.

Two Pictures of Truth

A few days later, I arrived at the Skaftafell Visitor Center for a glacier tour. While waiting for the tour, I absentmindedly looked at the photos hanging on the wall. Two pictures taken at the exact same location.

In the photo marked faintly with '1989', a massive tongue of ice extended right up to the parking lot. Conversely, in the photo right beneath it, that very spot was an empty gravel field. The glacier had retreated far back halfway up the mountain.

Iceland glacier boundary line. by Gudmundur Ogmundson. (Replaced with another photo. I suppose I was too lost in thought to take a picture at the time.)

The number '2020' on the right side of the photo, which I had initially brushed off as simply being taken in a different season, sat there mercilessly.

'Oh no.'

Only then did the guide’s explanation register in my ears.

"Where we are standing right now was inside the ice just 40 years ago."

A chill ran down my spine.

'Future generations will only see this landscape in photographs.'

The thought that the dazzling scenery I saw a few days ago in Þingvellir might not be a given reality flashed through my mind. My mind grew heavy at the thought that the awe I felt, the breathtaking snowscape I witnessed, might have been a glimpse of the last ice—one whose expiration date is fast approaching.

The Fierce Battle at the Frontlines

I fall deep into thought. The geothermal power plant I visited a few days ago comes to mind. The Hellisheiði Power Station. Paradoxically, the people utilizing the boiling earth in order to protect the vanishing ice.

Efforts to borrow the heat the Earth naturally exhales instead of fossil fuels, all to survive on this land where glaciers are melting away. Watching the steam rising above the massive pipelines, I thought to myself: This is a desperate battle at the frontlines.

'Because they live witnessing this disappearance every single day, they must be struggling more desperately than anyone else to protect it, right?' 'Even though they probably aren't the main culprits melting this land...' Simply because they stand on the frontlines, feeling it directly on their skin.

Will I Be Able to Touch It Again?

"Yung! Let's go!"

I stopped my thoughts and set foot on the glacier. I hurried my steps to catch up with the rest of the group who had gone ahead. How much time had passed? The guide's shout to head back made me restless.

"I'm just going to take one picture here before I go."

Afraid they might say no and I’d lose the chance, I hastily climbed atop the glacier. On that back, so transparent it was almost fiercely blue—and unsure of when it might vanish entirely—I spread my arms and lay flat. The biting cold seeping into my back felt like the pulse of a colossal creature taking its final breaths.

Lying there looking at the sky, I thought.

'If I return here when I'm old...' 'If my children come here...'

By then, instead of this ice I’m lying on, there might only be the desolate gravel field I saw earlier. Both the snowscape of Þingvellir, and this ice currently supporting my back. The epitaph from the Perlan Museum echoed in my ears once again.

Atop the final pulse of the ice, I make a fervent vow. Whether we will ever be able to touch this beauty again depends not on someone in the distant future, but on me right now. It depends not on technology yet to be developed, but on the efforts we make today.

Before I knew it, the chill seeping into my back began to subside, replaced by something resembling warmth. As if it understood my heart. Like a final breath—

(The Last Ice - Skaftafell Fin.)