Place Lag
North Iceland Troll Peninsula - April 2015
Am I really here?
I have place lag. Its like jet lag, yet more disconcerting, as after an elongated journey of cancelled planes and snowdrift roads my splitboard travels have led me to this wild shoreline. Yet I feel out of place, somewhat out of time.
It’s midnight and there’s nothing to my north other than the foreboding Arctic sea, churning an oil slick black. The sun skims the far horizon, swaying my backdrop between ashen blues and blood reds.
My broken journey now long forgotten, I turn toward the van, mindful of the ride ahead and thankful that only splitboarding could have led me here; here to this moment.
It’s midnight and there’s nothing to my north other than the foreboding Arctic sea, churning an oil slick black. The sun skims the far horizon, swaying my backdrop between ashen blues and blood reds.
My broken journey now long forgotten, I turn toward the van, mindful of the ride ahead and thankful that only splitboaring could have led me here; here to this moment.