Legend says that a magician once swam to Iceland in the form of a whale, hoping to bring the isolated North Atlantic island under his spell. But when he reached Iceland’s rocky shores, he abandoned his dream upon discovering that it was already inhabited by spirits who fiercely defended their lush green meadows, frigid ice sheets, and soaring volcanic mountains.

In Iceland: Fire and Ice, NATURE takes an inspiring look at the real spirits — both human and wild — that thrive in a challenging land where fire literally meets ice. Iceland: Fire and Ice offers a stunning portrait of this island of extremes, where some of Europe’s biggest glaciers cozy up to some of the continent’s hottest volcanic springs. And it profiles many of the remarkable animals, such as birds from the lethal gyrfalcon to the comic, clown-billed puffin, that bring vibrant life to an occasionally desolate landscape.

To Iceland’s earliest human settlers, who arrived from Europe sometime in the 9th century, the island’s ruggedly beautiful lava flows, smoking volcanic vents, and roaring waterfalls seemed inconceivably ancient. Some imagined them to be the sculpted remains of some timeless battlefield, where their immortal gods had waged a merciless war. In fact, however, Iceland is a mere child in geologic terms. It was formed by volcanic eruptions just 20 million years ago, as magma poured from the Mid-Atlantic Ridge, a tear in the seabed that marks the boundary between the North American and European continental plates. As the liquid rock oozed out of the tear and cooled, it produced the island we see today: a 300-mile-long, 200-mile-wide oval landmass that sits between Greenland and the European coast in the icy seas near the Arctic Circle.

Iceland has more than two dozen active volcanoes.

But Iceland’s construction is far from over. Today, it boasts more than two dozen active volcanoes that regularly erupt and add more lava and ash to the landscape. Indeed, Icelanders experience an eruption twice a decade on average, with the scenic Mount Hekla being one of the island’s most energetic volcanoes in recent years. While eruptions often consist of little more than a spit of smoke and a cough of ash, sometimes they can mean spectacular and dangerous geologic fireworks. In the late 18th century, for instance, Iceland’s Mount Lakagigar produced the world’s largest lava flow — more than 3 cubic miles of molten rock. Thousands of farm animals were gassed to death by the mountain’s poisonous fumes, and the eruption produced so much ash that the sky was dark for weeks. The eruption wreaked havoc on the island’s food supply, causing a famine; more than a third of Iceland’s people died.

Other memorable volcanic disasters aren’t so old. In 1973, the eruption of the Eldfell volcano threatened to entomb the nearby fishing village of Heimaey in magma. Boiling rivers of lava engulfed a third of the town before desperate islanders mounted a bold and creative defense against the mountain. Using hastily installed fire hoses and water pumps, the villagers sprayed the encroaching lava with streams of frigid seawater, forcing it to crystallize. The resulting rock dam diverted the lava rivers away from the town and into the sea. Ironically, by the time the eruption was over, the lava had formed a new spit of land that offered improved protection to the town’s harbor.

Vulcanism is not only one of Iceland’s hallmarks; it is also responsible for the island nation’s best-known contribution to other languages. The word “geyser” comes from a single celebrated spring in southwestern Iceland that every so often flings its waters, heated to boiling by the volcanic magma below, several hundred feet into the air. Today, volcanic fountains all over the world carry the name given to this Icelandic wonder, which has become less active in recent years. But many other hot springs continue to provide Icelanders with an important source of energy — and natural saunas perfect for a winter warm-up.

Volcanic fire isn’t the only elemental force shaping the island. Ice, too, plays a key role. Less than 8,000 years ago, geologists believe the entire island was buried beneath miles of ice. As these massive glaciers melted away, they carved Iceland’s remarkable steep-sided valleys and fjords, long, narrow glacial valleys that have been flooded by the sea. Today, ice continues to carve and smooth the land. About ten percent of the island is covered by glaciers. The largest, called Vatnajokull, is already more than a half-mile deep and covers about 3,000 square miles. It is Europe’s largest glacier. Indeed, all of the continent’s other ice caps would comfortably fit within Vatnajokull.

But the massive ice sheet isn’t Iceland’s only record-breaker. The island also boasts the continent’s largest and most powerful waterfall: the Gullfoss, or “Golden Falls.” Once, government planners had considered the 105-foot cascade a perfect place to build a hydroelectric dam. But folklore says a young woman threatened to throw herself over the falls if plans to destroy the natural monument went forward. Her threat worked, and today the site is protected by a national park. So, on a sunny day, the Gullfoss continues to sparkle with countless rainbows, drawing thousands of onlookers each year to view the spectacle. Like the early settlers before them, they can only marvel at the natural beauty crafted by the unlikely union of fire and ice.

To order a copy of Iceland: Fire and Ice, please visit the NATURE Shop.

Online content for Iceland: Fire and Ice was originally posted February 1999.

Gyrfalcon chicks

The people who settled Iceland had to be hardy and courageous. And they had to be creative, if only to find ways to pass the time during the long, dark Icelandic winter, when the sun disappears from the sky for much of the day. Indeed, it may have been the challenge of keeping cooped-up families entertained that produced Iceland’s rich and varied literature. From heroic myths to ponderous sagas, Iceland’s artists have produced a wealth of work that continues to entertain the world to this day.

Many of these wonderful stories highlight how Icelanders perceived their natural neighbors. Iceland: Fire and Ice, for instance, profiles three birds — the whooping swan, the ptarmigan, and the gyrfalcon — that figure prominently in Icelandic myth. The elegant swans that come to Iceland’s lakes and hot springs each year, island residents believed, were god-like Valkyries: beautiful maidens who chose which heroes were to die in battle. Some believed the hot springs carried restorative powers that the Valkyries could find nowhere else on earth — and, in a sense, they were right. Iceland’s thermal pools do provide a rich array of food to ducks and other swimming birds, making them favored feeding grounds. Indeed, Iceland’s Lake Myvatn supports more than a dozen species of ducks in summer, more than are found anywhere else in Europe. The birds are partly attracted by the hordes of insects that breed in the lake — which explains its name, translated as “lake of the flying midges.”

The tale of the ptarmigan and the gyrfalcon is more dramatic. Once, legend has it, the plump, ground-dwelling ptarmigan and the fleet gyrfalcon hunter were sisters. They lived side by side, playfully tangling at times. One day, the gyrfalcon accidentally killed her sister without knowing it. When she realized what she had done, an anguished cry filled her throat and sprang from her beak, echoing across the land. To this day, the lonely cry of the gyrfalcon can be heard in the hills of Iceland.

Like the swan myth, the story of the gyrfalcon does carry the thread of truth. For the hunter and its prey are inexorably intertwined: some gyrfalcons dine solely on ptarmigan. To protect it from predators, in winter, the ptarmigan’s white plumage helps the bird blend into the snowy ground. In summer, however, only the female’s feathers change to a dull brown that allows it to hide in the snowless hills. The male remains a sparkling white, making it an easy target if it is caught in the open.

Fittingly, Icelanders even have a myth involving the change of the seasons. Each spring, they say, Freyr, the god of sunlight, must battle the enemy forces of winter to retake the skies. Each fall, however, Freyr must retreat again — and Icelanders cozy up in warm living rooms to retell ageless stories.

Icelanders harvest feathers from eider ducks

Over the centuries, Iceland’s human inhabitants, today more than 250,000 strong, have forged close ties to the island’s wildlife. But the relationship has had its ups and downs. When settlers first arrived, for instance, Iceland was covered with stands of healthy forest. Within a century, however, the trees had been felled to provide fuel and timber to growing villages. Today, far less than 1% of the island’s original forest remains. Residents are now making efforts to replant imported trees. Similarly, humans haven’t been kind to Iceland’s thin glacial soils. For hundreds of years, they have herded sheep across their lands, harvesting valuable wool and meat. In fact, there are twice as many sheep in Iceland as people. Unfortunately, however, the woolly livestock overgrazed the thin vegetation and promoted erosion, reducing once green fields to rocky, barren lots. Up to a third of the country’s fields were seriously scarred.

Today, new management methods have reduced some of the damage. And Icelanders are increasingly aware that they bear responsibility for preserving nature, including some of the world’s most important bird nesting grounds. Near Latrabjarg, for instance, is the world’s single largest seabird-nesting cliff, while southern Iceland hosts the globe’s biggest skua colony. Iceland is also home to some of the world’s largest colonies of puffins, seabirds beloved the world around whose colorful, clown-like beaks are their most identifying feature. By protecting these remarkable natural sites, Iceland is not only helping to preserve the world’s biological heritage, it also helps promote a healthy economy. Increasingly, tourism, including bird watchers who come to see the colonies, has become one of the nation’s most important sources of income.

Protecting wildlife, however, does not always mean fencing it off from humans. For generations, some Icelanders have made a living acting as nursemaids to nesting eider ducks. As Iceland: Fire and Ice shows, the ducks benefit from the human attention, as the farmers protect the birds from predators. The humans, on the other hand, benefit from a feathery harvest: they gather the soft down that eiders use to line their nests once the feathers are no longer needed to insulate the eggs. The down eventually makes its way into some of the softest, warmest pillows and comforters around the world — souvenirs from the land of fire and ice that some sleepers may never realize they possess.

We recommend the following Web sites for those interested in subjects presented on the program. All links are valid as of December 17, 1999.

Iceland.org
www.iceland.org
News, information, and a host of links from the Embassy of Iceland in the United States.

Geysir
www.geysir.com/english/index.html
One of the largest sources of Iceland information on the net.

Icelandic Folktales
www.isholf.is/gardarj/folk/folk.htm
Tales and links from Virtually Virtual Iceland.

Volcanoes in the Iceland Region
volcano.und.nodak.edu/vwdocs/volc_images/europe_west_asia/iceland_region.html
Photos and descriptions of some of the island’s major smokers.

Go Iceland!
www.goiceland.org
Cultural and tourist tips from the Iceland Tourist Board.

Birdlife in Iceland
www.south.is/birdlife.html
Birding information from an informative site on South Iceland.

Print Resources

Lacy, Terry. RING OF SEASONS: ICELAND — ITS CULTURE AND HISTORY. Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press, 1998.

Laskey, Kathryn. SURTSEY: THE NEWEST PLACE ON EARTH. New York: Hyperion Press, 1992.

McMillan, Bruce. NIGHTS OF THE PUFFLINGS. New York: Houghton Mifflin, 1995.

Perrottet, Tony. INSIGHT GUIDES ICELAND. London: Apa Productions, 1998.

Roberts, David. ICELAND: LAND OF THE SAGAS. New York: Villard Books, 1998.

Each spring, the skies above the rugged, volcanic shores of Iceland’s Lake Myvatn echo with the sound of whispering wings. Like ponderous ghostly kites, great white swans dip and glide to splashy landings in the crisp waters.

Wildebeeste migrate in search of food and water. Wildebeeste migrate in search of food and water. A continent away, great silvery fish leap frothy waterfalls. The sockeye salmon are battling their way upstream, back to their ancestral spawning grounds in Alaska. And on the other side of the globe, great herds of broad-shouldered wildebeest tramp across African plains, following age-old trails to food and water.

Spurred by seasonal changes, each of these animals is partaking in one of earth’s greatest, and most mysterious, rites: migration, the subject of NATURE’s Earth Navigators. It takes viewers along for a sometimes breathtaking ride on these remarkable treks, which can be as short as a walk across the street or as long as a 20,000-mile flight from pole to pole.

Wildebeeste migrate in search of food and water.

Four travellers are the stars of Earth Navigators. One is the whooper swan of Britain’s Norfolk Marshes, which takes off each spring on a hazardous 400-mile flight across stormy seas to nesting spots in Iceland. Another is the fragile Monarch butterfly, which can take a year and three generations to complete its 6,000-mile trip from Mexico to Canada and back. Africa’s wildebeest is a bit more robust, but its 2,000-mile circuit includes plenty of hazards, from hungry lions to ferocious crocodiles. Then there are the salmon, which have a sense of smell so acute, they can find the streams where they were born after years at sea.

But other travellers also take a turn in the show’s spotlight. They include the amazing Arctic tern, a seabird that each year flies nearly pole to pole in search of warm weather and adequate food. And the grasshopper-like locust earns some memorable scenes, in which it tranforms from a homely hopper into a seething million-strong swarm that can swoop down on a farmer’s field and devour the crops in just hours.

For many animals, the urge to move when the days change length and temperatures vary is programmed into their genes. Somehow, young birds can unerringly fly from summer nesting grounds toward wintering ranges they’ve never seen — and then fly back again the next year. Monarchs butterflies perform an even more amazing feat: the flappers that return to the wintering grounds in Mexico are actually the granchildren of those that left the previous spring. It takes three generations for the insects to complete the trip.

Just how these animals find their way around, however, remains mostly a mystery. Researchers have evidence that some migrating animals use visual landmarks — just the way people do — while others steer by the sun, the stars, or even by following smells and the earth’s invisible magnetic field. But “we don’t really understand how these things are actually done,” says researcher Howard C. Hughes of Dartmouth College in Hanover, NH. Even sophisticated sonars, computers, and satellite positioning systems, he notes, sometimes barely equal the navigational power of a bird’s tiny brain.

Some seabirds use “smell maps” to navigate. In his award-winning SENSORY EXOTICA: A WORLD BEYOND HUMAN EXPERIENCE (MIT Press, 1999), Hughes explores the highly specialized senses that may help some animals along their journeys. German researchers, he notes, have collected evidence that some songbirds carry biological compasses that detect magnetic fields. Each spring and fall, the scientists found, the caged birds they were studying became agitated, hopping and flapping about their cages. Careful observations showed that in fall, the birds typically tried to move south, while they seemed to feel the urge to fly north in spring. Somehow, the birds were able to maintain a sense of direction even when shut inside a room, away from clues provided by the sun, stars, or weather patterns.

When the researchers installed shielding that blocked the earth’s magnetic field, however, the birds appeared to lose their sense of direction. And, more tellingly, says Hughes, when the researchers used powerful magnets to alter the magnetic roadmap, the birds could be fooled into trying to fly in the wrong direction. Such exotic senses, Hughes says, may allow the birds “to navigate with astonishing accuracy.”

Similarly, the salmon and some seabirds use “smell maps” to navigate. Biologist Gabrielle Nevitt of the University of California, Davis, has suggested that such odor paths may be particularly useful to animals that must find their way over relatively featureless landscapes, such as huge tracts of ocean. Together with other scientists, Nevitt has shown that high seas birds known as petrels can home in on a gas emitted by tiny plants that grow in the sea’s surface layers. The birds are “navigating through an olfactory landscape,” she says. But it is unclear if the birds use the smells, which can be useful in finding food, during migrations.

Why haven’t people evolved similarly powerful navigation systems? “We’re not really a migratory species,” says Hughes. “We might be nomadic, but we don’t make these long trips on a seasonsal basis. So there was no [reason to evolve] a long range navigation system that would help us pinpoint our location on the globe.”