The Prince of Iceland
This story was written based on a writing prompt about listening. I listened to the advice a friend gave me to get outside while I was in Iceland. By the way, I loved Iceland!
I listened carefully, and this is what happened. I listened to my friend who said, “While you’re in Iceland this winter, make sure you enjoy the outdoors.”
I was tepidly in favor of this suggestion, but I listened and decided if an outdoor adventure came my way, I would be game to try it. In a million years, I couldn’t image how cold it would be, but winter is all about attitude: refreshing air, invigorating crispness, the silence of snow, wood-smoky aromas, warm bowls of soup, and cozy candle-lit evenings. Forget about the back-breaking shoveling, dirty-brown slushiness, endlessly dark nights, dangerous ice, and freezing temperatures. Think positively. Embrace the cold.
Growing up in the shadow of Mohawk Mountain Ski Area in Northwestern Connecticut, I learned to ski, both downhill and cross-country, but I’m not very good. That doesn’t mean I don’t have fun trying, but I know my place in the lodge in front of a blazing fire. On my first visit to Iceland, I learned that the world of outdoor, cold weather sports is more than just skiing, snowmobiling, snowshoeing, shoveling snow, and drinking hot toddies.
The first thing I tried was “Four-wheeling on a Glacier.” That is the actual name of the sport. To be truthful, I couldn’t distinguish the glacier from the other snow-covered areas, but I kept that my secret. The driver said, “Last week Colin Powell sat in the same seat you’re sitting in now.”
“Really?” was about all I could respond because what do you say? (If you think of something more insightful, let me know.) I can’t say I ever really got the hang of the sport. I didn’t know what was more fun: plunking my rear end down in the same spot as a famous person, or riding in the warmth of the huge white truck as we spun around in the white snow avoiding the craggy, black rocks sticking up out of the earth. It felt a bit like a tilt-a-wheel with less tilt and more wheel, and by that, I mean wheels skidding across the ice. You know you’re doing the sport correctly when you come away with a few bruises from the seatbelt.
During another adventure-packed day, I rode the feisty little Icelandic ponies. This activity is much colder than doing donuts in a 4 x 4. What keeps you warm is trying to stay on the horse, keeping other Islenzki hesturinn from nipping at you, and fantasizing about the geothermal hot spring where you’re going to soak your tired muscles and sore backside later on.
Once I had warmed up to the bitter cold, I was ready to try dog sledding, the prince of all Icelandic sports. What could be cozier than sitting on a sled and letting the cute doggies do all the running around? The musher was originally Danish by way of Greenland where he had acquired the dogs, and he told me that he had moved to Iceland’s tourist trap capital, Reykjavik, to set up his dog sledding business. I didn’t ask if this was a lucrative way to earn a living, but judging by the price of admission, he wasn’t going to go hungry today.
Two other athletes had joined me for this hearty adventure—a couple from England, whom I’d never met before. The outdoor adventure outfit we signed up with probably thought we’d look good together on a sled. Once we got to the site where the sleds and dogs were waiting, we jumped down out of the warm truck and onto the snow where a parked van overflowed with blue (all blue, very blue) snow gear. We had to wear every blue thing the guy gave us: a blue suit with blue hood, blue boots, and big blue mitts.
Our musher fitted the three of us (instantly best buds in blue), onto the sled, with me in front. He cross-country skied alongside the three of us stacked tightly together on the sled. We, silently shivering, and he, gliding effortlessly on very long skis. He called commands to the dogs who were all clipped together with webbing which had their names embroidered on each lead. I had fallen in love with Prince, a very charming, husky-looking black and white dog, his velvet ears pricked for any sound coming across the snow or from his mates. From the first “mush!” his ice-blue eyes and “Let’s go!” yip pieced my dog-loving heart. I watched the ruff of his neck, whiter than the snow, bobbing and blowing in the wind, the young dog’s shoulder blades pulling in sync with his teammates as they powered over the glacier. Very charming Prince, indeed.
Truth be told, my eyes were always focused forward on the dogs. But that wasn’t my fault. Looking to the right or left entailed turning my entire body so I could see around my blue periscope-parka hood which stuck out about four inches all around my head. While preventing any peripheral vision, the hood helped to protect my face from the stinging onslaught of tiny flecks of ice borne on the gusty wind and kicked up from the running dogs.
Suddenly, in mid-sentence with the dogs about some dog-sledding thing, the musher fell down, and one of his skis went flying away down the glacier. As he went to retrieve his ski, he let go of the rope tethering him to our sled, and away the dogs went, racing at top speed across the endless white snow (which I knew from glacier riding in the truck had black craggy rocks sticking up out of it). “Stop!” “Whoa!” “Alt!” We tried yelling at the dogs in American English, then in British English, but while our musher was multilingual, his dogs were not.
In the distance, we could hear the musher calling to the dogs, but they were too busy barking and running madly away across the vast whiteness, finally free to let the lead out. That Prince could run! And while the dogs ran in a fairly straight line, there was a bit of sway to the sled. I prayed we wouldn’t tip. The woman behind me cuffed her arms around my waist, shivering from cold or fear I wasn’t sure. Since I was in front, there was nothing to hold onto—think of a short Michelin Man blown up in blue trying to keep his arms at his sides.
The musher finally got our attention and shouted for us to grab the rope he had dropped and which was sometimes dragging along in the snow and sometimes flapping away in the breeze—I suppose it’s still a breeze at 20 below?—and throw it under the sled and to move up toward the front of the sled closer to the dogs. With my free arms, I grasped the rope and threw it under the sled. We eased our way up toward the front of the sled on our blue bums. It worked. The dogs slowed down with the extra drag on the sled, and our Danish musher caught up with us on his immense skis.
After a few minutes, the musher stopped the dogs, and we all took a break. I got to formally meet and pet Prince, the dashingly handsome dog, who had no qualms about running away with me into the great unknown.
On our trot back to the van, the dogs a bit tuckered out from their free reign, we learned what happens when you sit directly behind ten dogs that have a bit of gas leftover from breakfast. No amount of crisp cold air prevents that smell from wafting over a frozen glacier to a frostbit nose.
I’m glad I listened to my friend, and you should listen to your friends who recommend something seemingly outlandish. Forget the dog days of summer. Take a vacation in freezing cold Iceland, get outside and give the dog days of winter a crack. It’s a blast.
You can hear the wind in the video I took below on the dogsled in Iceland.
Writing Prompt
This piece was written from a prompt. I chose the second option. Choose one of these prompts to begin your piece.
If only I had listened...
I listened carefully, and this is what happened.
I wish someone had listened to me.
To tie the piece together, begin and end with “listening.” I started the first paragraph with:
“I listened carefully, and this is what happened.”
and I finished the last paragraph with,
“I’m glad I listened...”
My story had a good outcome, so the ending makes sense, but you can take your story in any direction.
My story was about travel advice someone gave me, but yours can be about any topic. Here are some ideas:
Someone gives you advice about:
travel or a place to visit
school — a course to take
a book to read
a movie to see
something to try (restaurant, food, sport, etc.)
Someone gives you directions to follow:
to get somewhere
to cook something
to make something
You give advice to someone, and everything goes sideways.