By Neil Briscoe
Photos By Nick Dimblebly
It’s four in the morning and I’ve just crawled out from the frost-bound interior of my tent. The temperature gauge has hit –15 Celsius and I’ve lost most of the sensation in my nose and fingers, the only bits of skin that were protruding from the enveloping warmth of my sleeping bag.
My deep-frozen bladder has woken me and informed that unless I stagger across to the only slightly warmer toilet, there’s going to be a and icicle accident in the tent. Outside, the quiet is all-pervading, the kind of silence you just don’t get in our crowded island. Above, the night sky is filled with stars, all far brighter and more intense, thanks to the fact that the nearest electric light is about 90km away. There are faint traces of the Aurora Borealis tinting narrow swathes of the sky a pale green and the air smells faintly of sulphur. I have never felt as remote or lonely in the universe as I have at that moment, camped out under the glories of the cosmos in one of the most astonishing landscapes this planet possesses; Iceland.
Stumbling across the small campsite, the line-up of Discoveries, all in silver, catches my tired, freezing eyes and the lonliness evaporates. It’s impossible to feel desolate when memories of river crossings, snow climbing and steep descents in the big, bluff Disco come flooding back. It’s rather like spotting your faithful horse, sleeping quietly next to the tent, preparing for the next adventure tomorrow.
And an adventure it most certainly was. The normal sequence of events for a media motoring event is fly in, drive the car, have a press conference, have a sleep and fly home again. Land Rover generally does things a little differently, but never before this different. Over the course of two days, we covered about 500km in the Discos, and a great deal of that was vertical. To illustrate the effort required, it took about 12 hours of hard driving to cover the first 250km. Iceland only has one proper, paved road; Highway 1, and once you’re off that it’s lava sand and river fords a-go-go.
This was not a new model launch. We drove the Discovery 3 last year and the car hasn’t changed since. This was more of a demonstration, a challenge. Just how far can you push a car on some of the most demanding terrain in the world before it squeaks and begs for mercy? Further than you would ever imagine is the answer.
Iceland’s an interesting place. Despite the fact that there are areas of solid rock that are younger than me, it has some of the oldest culture going. In fact, Icelandic explorers set foot on North American soil some 400 years before Columbus was even thought of, and the first non-native child born on what would become American soil was Icelandic. The population is about twice that of Cork city but the country is home to the largest glacier in Europe, and is technically the furthest west point in Europe, although the residents of Dingle get rather miffed if you point that out to them.
More importantly for the purposes of this trip, that small population is mostly strung out along Iceland’s coast, leaving the centre of the country free for glaciers, mountains, lava fields and the kind of terrain that is a pure playground for Land Rovers.
The landscape ahead looks like a set from Lord Of The Rings and it’s sometimes hard to believe that you’re not some kind of CGI special effect, kicking up computer-created dust and snow plumes as you charge across the land. The mountains aren’t spectacularly massive, but they look foreboding and craggy, especially when the low winter sun lights up the rising curls of geothermal steam and it looks like the mountains are burning.
We’re high enough to be beyond the dusty gravel tracks now and are onto snow and ice-bound trails. River crossings are plentiful, about one every five minutes at one point, and one snow slope is so steep that the entire convoy has to be winched up. Getting the first car up was a real struggle, only achieved by one of the Land Rover experts taking a fast run and letting the momentum do the work that grip was shirking. Black lava dust was splattered liberally down the sides of all the cars and would by morning have become frozen solidly in place. It took a solid hour of effort to get fifteen cars up a 100-metre slope. Now that is adventure driving as it should be…
Off roading is normally conducted at a gentle, almost walking, pace, the better to judge the ground and to avoid damaging the vehicle. Not this little expedition. We kept up speeds on stretches of gravel and snow that would boggle the mind of someone who hasn’t experienced the awesome capability of the Discovery. Bumps and jolts that would rip the suspension off a normal family car were soaked up and dealt with, with only a thump and a judder to warn the occupants of what was happening at the tyre tread. In fact, it became very surreal to be gently nudging the Discovery’s nose into three feet of icy cold water while inside the cabin, the temperature was a comfy 23 Celsius and Pink Floyd blared from the iPod. To be able to cope with terrain like this is one thing, to be able to cope and make the occupants feel cosseted is something else again.
And it 4am, things really snapped into focus. Before dinner the next day we would scale the 750-metre Myrdalsjokull glacier and drive in frenetic convoy across a black lava sand beached garnished with the photogenic wreck of a US Navy Douglas C-47, but it was that moonlit bathroom call that did it for me. To be in a place as beautifully bleak, as perishingly cold and as stunningly remote as that was incredible enough. But to look across at the Discovery corral and realise that those vehicles that had effortlessly hauled us up here would effortlessly haul us home again, well, that was just magical...
