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My week in Iceland concluded with two more rides. The first one led us through trails at the base of the mountains north of Hvergerdi, through “the forest,” and around geothermal springs. We returned to the farm and were able to ride around the long, oval track, on which the Icelanders work their horses.  I  had been hoping we would have the uniquely Icelandic opportunity to tölt in formation around the track.  A staff member patiently photographed us, as we practiced riding the appropriate distance apart, slowing and speeding up at the right time at each curve, so everyone was visible.

The  last day treated us with an incredible, longer adventure, which began on the black sands of the beach near the port of Thorlákshöfn and headed east toward the mouth of the river Ölfus.

I had long dreamed of riding on such a beach, but this was not a scene from the Black Stallion.  Just as the trailer that had dropped us off pulled away, Geert said, “Oh no.” Our hearts all sank. He was concerned that the tide was too high, making the passable area of the beach too narrow and the surf too rough.  But this was nothing – we survived the réttir, we were fine!  The waves were indeed crashing on the beach and did I mention that it was raining again and incredibly windy? But I did not care: I was riding on a beautiful volcanic sand beach on the northern Atlantic.  We walked on for 6 km, before we turned and headed over the dunes; the horses tired, as their hooves sank into the wet, soft sand.

In the distance Geert pointed out the volcanos Hekla and Eyjafjallajökull, the one that vexed European air traffic in the spring of 2010. His plan was to ride along the banks of the river and then cross – the quickest most direct way back to the farm. However, we found the two likely crossing points impassable, due to the recent heavy rains. (The Ölfus has the strongest flow of any river in Iceland.)  The sandbars, which normally create a pathway, were under water. The sticks that mark a safe passage were also submerged. The ride across this very wide river, which normally takes about twenty minutes, would be more of a swim today, a much more dangerous prospect than Geert would risk with tourists, no matter how intrepid.  So we took the long way home along roads and past many small farms. By noon the skies cleared and we were able to stop to eat our lunch with the horses tethered to a farmer’s fence. Horses in the pasture across the road looked over at us munching the delicious sandwiches and cookies we had stowed in our saddle bags.  We four riders were tired, but sad, as we knew that this was our last ride.  And of course, the weather would improve – for our last hour of tölting!

I rode my favorite horse of the week that day – Merkur, a compact, black, fabulously smooth gelding. He was a tölting machine, who carried himself so proudly and eagerly. His walk was the slowest tölt imaginable. I would have loved to sneak him into my suitcase the next day.

On both these last two rides we saw rainbows – rainbows everywhere we turned. They proved a fitting end to a fabulous adventure, as I prepared to say goodbye to Geert, Daniela, Karin, Charlotte, and of course, Goliath, Frida, and Merkur.

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