Its August 1997 and I'm in Iceland looking for my tent. Maybe it has blown into the future... a katabatic breath pushed it down valley while we were exploring. Returning to camp we found only Chris's tent survived unscathed. The ShopKo tent. Other tents scattered across the terminus of the Svinafellsjökull ..French tourists rescued our luggage saving our thermals (to wear well into the next few decades). And we stayed in a hostel with warm-faced blond people. Icelandic winds are hostile. While the land is forgivingly warm...soothing geothermal pools. (below- growling at the glacier that ate my tent...)
