DIVE IN ICELAND: STILL OR SPARKLING?
By Andrew Evans
Washington, D.C.-based travel writer, author of "Iceland" (Bradt, 2007)
Imagine diving into a giant glass of mineral water: it’s cool, perfectly clear, and absolutely untainted—there are no additives, preservatives, or artificial sweeteners, and no calories either. The bottle’s back label is a long list of zeros—this is purity in liquid form.
That’s what diving in Iceland feels like. Admittedly, even I was skeptical at first. Scuba diving? In the Arctic? How is that possible and why? As an avid diver, I’ve been to tropical islands in the Atlantic, Pacific, and Indian Ocean. I’ve swum with bright-colored fish that were bigger than me and seen some of the best coral reefs on the planet. Why would I want to go diving in a country that doesn’t even have palm trees (or any trees)?
Well, as with so many things in Iceland, there is always an exception to the rule. In other words, the diving there is exceptional. Dressed in a comfortable and warm dry suit, the cold water only touches your mouth, much like sucking on an ice cube in the summer.
Yes, this is fresh water. You can dive in the sea if you’d like, but nothing beats the crystal depths of Lake Thingvellir. Iceland’s largest lake is famous for many reasons—the history of the country and modern government goes back to this, the world’s first parliament. The dramatic rifted landscape also marks the split down the center of the earth—the place where the continents divide.
After plunging into the depths of Silfur, or the ‘silver’ underwater canyon, I floated like an astronaut through a giant rocky fissure. The black chunks of house-sized basalt looked as if they’d been split with an axe. Kicking with my fins, I stretched out my arms and let my fingers graze the smooth stone on either side of me. On my right, I was touching North America, on my left, Europe. I exhaled and blew a stream of silvery bubbles up through the canyon.
Down here was another world: gooey orange strings and fluorescent green algae moved in slow motion. Unconcerned trout swam by, giving me a brief stare before moving on. The flora, fauna, and underwater geology were all fascinating, but the main attraction by far was the water itself.
The visibility in Iceland’s pristine volcanic lakes is utterly extraordinary. The cool temperatures, natural volcanic filtering, and total lack of pollution makes this some of the clearest water on earth with visibility measured often at over half a mile (compared to 70-100 feet in the tropics). In other words, in Iceland, you can often see better underwater than you can above.
When I reached a bottom depth of 60 feet, I kneeled in the soft white sand, removed the regulator from my mouth and drank in a mouthful of melted glacier. I don’t know of any other place on earth where you can do that. “They should bottle this stuff and sell it,” I thought. (Actually, they do.)
I stayed kneeling on the lake bottom for several minutes, staring up at the shiny surface above me. It felt like being in a cathedral—one where the ceiling was made of glass and the sky above was a row of distant mountains. The feeling was both ethereal and simply refreshing.
Part of Iceland’s primordial allure is the raw expression of the four elements: earth, fire, air, and water. Visitors can breathe the most unpolluted air, climb the magnificent mossy landscapes and feel the heat of fiery volcanoes. As for the water, the best way to experience it in my opinion, is drinking and diving. (Editor’s note: One way to experience the thrill of diving in Iceland is through www.diveiceland.com)
