Words, Photos and Captions Megan Michelson Shaw and Kerstin Ulf have been speed-dialing Icelandair since Saturday morning when we arrived in Reykjavík, Iceland. It’s Tuesday and their ski bags still haven’t appeared. Fearing they may not show before our scheduled departure for a trip aboard a sailboat in the Westfjords, in the remote northwest corner of the country, we started searching for replacement skis. First, we tried the Icelandic version of Craigslist, but came up empty-handed. Next, we tried the most well-respected outdoor store in Reykjavík, but it was closed. Then, on the way back from dinner, we walked by an alleyway where, barely visible, we spotted two pairs of skis. Darcee Mond—another friend in our group of seven women hailing from Tahoe, Utah and Colorado—ran over, exclaiming, “They have tech bindings!” It was as if the heavens parted and sent a gift straight from Ullr: two pairs of well-loved skis mounted with Dynafits. Better yet, they were sitting next to a trash can. I started laughing. Kerstin took photos. Darcee began rationalizing why these skis belonged to us. Then, a curtain peeled back inside the closest apartment. A man peered out. “What are you doing?” he asked. He told us he worked as a guide at a local heli-ski operation and he’d skied that day, then set his skis by the dumpster when he took them out of his truck. “I’d let you borrow them,” he said, kindly, “but I’m going skiing this week and I need them.” His name was Loki, which happens to be the name of the Norse god of trickery. Turns out, the skis weren’t a gift from Ullr after all. They were a giant tease from Loki himself. And that’s how a bunch of American gals nearly became thieves in Iceland. KATE 064 The Ski Journal
The Ski Journal Volume 13, Issue 3: Page 64
