At first it was snowing and then it started to rain and the day that the wave of landslides
begun I was waiting for a letter from a rescue team member regarding a file on casualties
in Iceland’s wilderness area. Namely, for a few years I had been working on a
documentary about an epidemic but it was supposed to be a “what if” documentary. It
had been set aside in the covid and instead I started working on a documentary about
catastrophic flooding in Iceland. While I was waiting for the report, I continued to look
at the weather chart and when I noticed a three-digit number in the pluvial column for
three consecutive days I decided to start evacuating. Pack, find a “go-bag”, wake up my
sister and book a hotel room. Uncomfortable but quite normal since we, like many other
people of Seyðisfjörður, have had to evacuate our house repeatedly. As I am loading the
power station in the car my phone rings and my friend tells me that a mudslide has fallen
on Seyðisfjörður. We set our home to an emergency phase, speed up the plan, skip all
extra equipment and drive off
When we reach Skaftfell we drive into the landslide that was leaking over the road almost
all the way to the sea. One did not have much longing to get trapped by this disgusting
flood so the only possible thing was to put the car in 4x4 and dirt track old Terrano over
the flood. We easily make it across the flood and í decide to park the car, step outside,
and look at the scene. (Perhaps this isn’t so bad). The area is deserted, there is darkness
outside, mud everywhere and new waterfalls can be heard from between the old houses.
The phone whistles: a message from the rescue team member in Reykjavík who says that
he is ready to send me a report about casualties in Iceland. After that it all became quite
comic. I realize that a young boy stands beside an empty police car at the end of the
landslide and he says that he is on his way home to his house that stands in the middle of
the landslide. Even though he protests, he is put in the car and we drive off down to
Herðubreið. In Herðubreið I find beautiful people, my friends run a community centre
there and the Red Cross is already there and is ready to set up a mass remedial centre.
I call my family in the south and then go to the hotel across the street. In the evening I
finally have time to assess the situation. No casualties, only water damage. Unpleasant
but far from being dangerous some wise men say. Idiots think that this is strange where
at least three landslides have fallen from the mountains, one over the town and the weather
forecast predicts rain, rain, and more rain (300-600mm in the next few days) or the most
rainfall ever to be measured in Iceland in such a short period of time, moreover in
December… but what do idiots know anyway? In the evening I write a log in my diary
where I describe how the feeling that God has forsaken Seyðisfjörður surrounds me. Later
that same evening I chuckle at the thought of how mellow-dramatic I can be. Even though
I try to calm myself with thoughts of how idiotic those diary logs are, loud rumbles from
the mountain can be heard way into the night which makes it hard to fall asleep.”
Kristjan Torr. (2020, December 27 th). A narrative and photographs from Seyðisfjörður, posted in order not to forget [status update] (is. Frásögn og myndir frá Seyðisfirði, birt til að gleyma ekki [stöðuuppfærsla]). Facebook. Retrieved from: https://www.facebook.com/KristjanTorr/posts/10158811460578540.