By Bettina Mehnert
This article received First Place in the 2023 GMO Newsletter Award for a first person experience article for GMOs with less than 75 members. It originally appeared in the November 2022 ASDS Newsletter, the newsletter for the Aloha State Dressage Society.
It was 2 am and Facebook asked what I thought about a horseback trek in Iceland. That sounded like a wonderful idea! The world was a year into the pandemic and most of us were ready for a jail break. Iceland was on my bucket list, and a trek seemed reminiscent of the magical rides of my childhood through the forests in the south-west of France. Those were the innocent, carefree and unforgettable summers of the ‘70s. I signed up, and two months later was on a plane to Reykjavik.
I chose to take the bus from the airport to town. The drive led through volcanic landscapes similar to the lava fields of the Big Island in my home State of Hawaii; and the heavy, wet fog felt like the wintery hugs of my German birthplace. I was in love.
To adjust to the time difference, I spent the next three days exploring Reykjavik. Iceland had just opened its doors to foreigners again and being here almost by myself heightened the feeling of remoteness. This was the land of breathtaking ruggedness, charming turf-covered houses, unique wildlife, thundering waterfalls, exhilarating volcanic eruptions and moving tectonic plates. Last but not least, it was the land of the seafaring Vikings and their famous horses.
The day I met my fellow trekkers, I felt apprehensive. What was I thinking? I am a bit of a loner, definitely not a group person, just started riding a year earlier after a 40-year hiatus, and while generally in good physical shape, I began to question my decision. Once I met my nine fellow riders, worry turned into gratitude: these women came from the U.S., Canada, and Europe, were oddly all about the same age, full of quiet strength, and with the perspective and humor that comes from the scars and joys of a life truly lived.
The following nine days were unforgettable, with the Icelandic horse forever holding a special place in my heart. Having been brought to Iceland by the first settlers over 1,000 years ago, this breed played an integral role in the country’s history. Uniquely kind and curious, they are small, sure-footed and very strong. Just don’t call them ponies! Beside their natural gaits of walk, trot, and canter, the Icelandic horse can tölt and do the flying pace. The tölt is an extraordinarily smooth four-beat gait, which is essentially bounce-free for the rider. My first time riding it was … magical.
Our trek was a loop in the south of Iceland largely following the Golden Circle. It took us along an old route on the slopes of the Ingolfsfjall Mountains with its breathtaking views; it took us into Marardalur (“the Valley of Horses”), and it ended with a ride at low tide on the firm black sand beach near the small fishing town of Thorlákshöfn. And while each of these experiences was unforgettable, the most memorable ride was the day we crossed the Lyngdalsheidi Moor on our way to Kringlumýri hut: in the morning, I helped corralling the horses into an area where we could catch them and saddle up. Running around in a huge pasture – how fun! A slight rain started, and the wind seemed to pick up. Usually, we would ride our horses for 1-2 hours, then give them time to rest and eat grass for a while. Each time, we’d switch horses so that by the end of the trek, we had ridden all of them multiple times, and, naturally, had our favorites. As we rode, the rain increased and so did the wind. It started to get miserable. The three shirts under my down jacket, under my wind/rain jacket, and yes, under another ORANGE colored wet suit, inexplicitly started to get wet. Lunch was in the open, in driving rain. Even our horses did not want to eat. We kept their saddles on, and while one of us held a couple of horses, the other got soup from the support van that had met us at a rendezvous spot. My hands were so stiff, it was hard to hold the container with the now lukewarm soup.
At this break, I was asked to switch my horse for a little mare that was known for not liking anything touching her ears. Her name was þátið (pronounced thou-teethe). She was sure-footed, strong-minded, and just sweet. And as we were about to find out, she was a fighter too. With the weather worsening, the horses’ survival instincts kicked in, and they did not want to move, but for everyone’s safety we needed to finish. The rain was whipping, burning our faces; it had become stormy and hard to breathe. The horses started to get faster, protecting themselves by staying as close to each other as possible. Riders’ legs touched other riders, other horses. There wasn’t much control until the horses suddenly stopped and whipped their butts into the direction of the wind, hunkering down. My little mare, with her sensitive ears was trying to protect them. I loved her effort and spirit more with every step she took. It started to hail, and the wind became blinding. We later determined that sustained winds were 45mph. I could tell my horse got tired. At one point the craziness of the moment overwhelmed me: I started to laugh and cry. It was one of the rawest, and purest emotions I ever experienced. This motley crew of riders, this very special group of horses, pushed themselves beyond what any of us ever thought possible. There was no room for errors, so there were none.
Kringlumyri hut was a one-room structure in the middle of nowhere. It had no electricity, just one outside toilet and a sink with ice cold water. A bunk row was opposite a long table with bench seating. There was a stove and a small kitchen in one corner – and that’s where our Icelandic cook was waiting for us with hot beverages, Icelandic wedding cake and the best arctic char dinner any of us ever had. We slept well that night.
Þátið has a special place in my heart. Of course, she became my favorite for the gallop on the black-sand beach on the last day. When she was put into the trailer, I cried. My fellow riders became friends, and we all remain in contact with each other.
Iceland, you, and your horses are magical. Your immeasurable beauty humbled me. I will be forever grateful. And yes, I admit, an Icelandic horse stole my heart. Just don’t tell Moonie.
