It’s been a few months since I was in Cave Vatnshellir on the Snæfellsnes Peninsula in Iceland looking at the bones of a fox who died there hundreds of years ago. However, I’ll find that, quite often, I’ll randomly think about this fox which found itself in the Underworld, or, as it’s called in Icelandic Undirheimarnir, before its time.
I imagine what it would have been like for this animal – who weighed less than the carry-on bag I took to Iceland – not to be able to find a way out. I imagine it treading carefully through the darkness, nosing wet lava rock, hearing its own heart thump. I think about the time it would have taken for it to die in a darkness so complete it’s impossible to comprehend unless you’ve been down to where the daylight can’t reach.
Yes, the lava formations in the cave were riveting to see, and yes, the dark was exhilaratingly absolute when the flashlights went out, but the moment we saw the bones, I was all about the fox and I wanted what our guide couldn’t possibly give me – its life story.
I want to think others have walked away from Cave Vatnshellir with the fox on their mind, that I’m not the only one preoccupied with the life and death of this Northern nomad.
Northern Fever 