Manual Somber Until The Mountains

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But before I could string together enough words to deliver Amitai's message, and lip quivered as he looked up at me with curious but somber dark brown eyes.
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The only dicey area was the first mountain pass, just before the hut at Hrafntinnusker, where we would spend our first night. Snow and fog sometimes obscured visibility here. I hesitated. He had won the state champion in the 1,meter for his age group, but running on a track and shouldering a pack over mountains are different tasks entirely. Sebastian gently pushed me away. The expression on his face was so proud and earnest that I had no choice but to agree.

And so we began our ascent to Hrafntinnusker. We climbed up a series of gentle slopes through a vaguely lunar landscape. It was readily apparent why, in s, astronauts trained in Iceland for their visit to the moon. We soon gazed down into Vondugil, the so-called Wicked Valley — a place that shepherds historically avoided because of its evil spirits — and which seemed aptly named, as it lay shrouded in a gloomy mist.

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Sebastian was electrified by it all. When we saw puffs of vapor, in the distance, he bounded up the mountain until we discovered a blowhole where steam hissed. As we neared the mountain pass, the rocky terrain vanished, giving way to snow and ice. We could have been in Antarctica. The trail was marked with tall stone cairns, which flickered in and out of view, as low-lying clouds swept over us.


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Instinctively, we reached out and held hands. I felt Sebastian squeeze my fingers. I looked over at him — to make sure he was all right. His eyes were gleaming with determination. It was Sebastian who spotted the memorial for the young Israeli — Ido Keinan — a modest pile of stones with a metal plaque. The frightening part was just how close Keinan was to safety when he died.

Just a few hundred yards later we reached the Hrafntinnusker hut. The two wardens who maintained it — a young British couple, Katie Featherstone and Daniel de Maine — welcomed us. It was not fancy — a few spartanly furnished rooms and a kitchen — but it was warm, safe and dry. As afternoon turned into evening, the weather steadily worsened. The wind intensified, visibility dropped and the air grew colder.

Other hikers arrived, including a large contingent from South Korea, filling the small house to capacity: 52 people unfurled their sleeping bags in every nook and cranny. Spaces at these huts are hard to come by; typically, reservations must be made months in advance. Outside, a handful of brave souls pitched tents. Around p. They were cold, wet and spooked. If the situation turned dire, Katie said she would open the doors. It was a challenging situation, but one that she and Daniel were up to. Before coming to Iceland, they had volunteered at a refugee camp in Calais, France.

The next morning, shortly after 7 a. Our route would take us along several mountain ridges, down into a valley, across a river and finally to the lakeside hut at Alftavatn. We were the first ones on the trail and soon felt like the only two people in the world.

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Cold rain pelted our faces. We spoke little. Our only goal was to reach Alftavatn as quickly as possible. As we began our descent into the valley, whose slopes were covered with electric green moss, it felt as if we had emerged from the moon, and then the arctic, only to find ourselves in the glens of Scotland. When we reached the river, the water came up past our knees, and we had no choice but to take off our boots and cross in hiking sandals.

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The water, which was snowmelt, numbed our feet; when we reached the far bank, Sebastian was shivering. I knelt down, put his socks back on, and tied his boots — like I once did when he was a small child. We shouldered our packs and, as quickly as we could, completed the last leg of the journey, across the valley, to Alftavatn. We were the first hikers to arrive and had the bar to ourselves. It was a cramped, cozy space with the scent of chicken stew in the air and a guitar on the wall for patrons to play.

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Sebastian inhaled a brownie, and I downed a beer, while the two barkeeps — Maria and Anton, a young Bulgarian couple — talked about why they had chosen to live in Iceland. When you are in survival mode, you forget manners. An hour or so later, the weather cleared. Wind died. Rain stopped.

A somber Pelosi wields her impeachment power in ‘sadness’ — and with ferocity

Clouds parted. And then rich, golden sunshine poured from the heavens, while every last beleaguered hiker posted the same image to Instagram: IcelandicGodbeam and PraisedBeJesus. Our surroundings, which we could only now grasp for the first time, were jaw-dropping: green hills, snow-capped peaks and the lake itself — utterly still — a black, Tahitian pearl embedded in the earth.

That evening, in the hut, the South Korea hikers invited us to join them for a raucous dinner of fish, kimchi and vodka. Everyone toasted Sebastian for his stamina and he delighted in the attention. The next morning, Sebastian and I set off across a sprawling, black-sand desert, hemmed in by mountains and glaciers. As she has refused to engage him on impeachment, their clash so far appears to be a draw, a fact borne out in the polls.

In a letter to her own colleagues Tuesday, Pelosi called for prayer and reflection. While Trump has mastered the art of stirring controversy, Pelosi has skillfully generated moments that illustrate her power — putting on her shades as she strode out of a testy White House meeting in her burnt orange coat; towering over the President pointing an accusatory finger in a pose that exemplified female authority to Democrats.


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For many months, she has largely kept her caucus together, seeking to protect the 31 Democrats who must defend their seats next year in districts that Trump won. As she has corralled her restive members this year during the push for impeachment, Pelosi has carved out a persona that is the antithesis of Trump — somber, dispassionate and restrained. Reluctant to carry the burden of impeachment but compelled to do so by a sense of duty to her oath of office and the constitution.

Whether by coincidence or not, the most memorable female witnesses in the impeachment inquiry — from Marie Yovanovitch to Fiona Hill — seemed to take that cue from Pelosi, portraying themselves as unwilling participants in the impeachment spectacle, driven only by their sense of duty. In that way, Pelosi has forged a new image of the woman in power in the age of Trump — one agile enough to engage the President without becoming cannon fodder , and a force in her own right determined to rise above the fray.

And yet, tellingly, it was House Intelligence Chairman Adam Schiff, the face of the impeachment inquiry, who closed out the debate — with Pelosi reappearing only to preside over the vote, from the podium high above the floor. As she read out the tallies on the first article marking the impeachment of President Trump, some of her members cheered, defying her admonition to reflect the seriousness of the moment. With eyebrows arched, she glared at them with a look of warning, flicking up her hand signaling them to stop. You must be logged in to post a comment. By CNN.