My trip begins in Reykjavik the world's northernmost capital city. It is Sunday and people are worn out from the Runter, which translates indirectly to 'wild all-night pub-crawls' which occurs every Friday and Saturday. Gossip has infiltrated the globe with reports that gorgeous Icelandic women outnumber the men seven to one at bars; the boys on my trip are hoping to get lucky. If you are planning to stay in the city on the weekend and want to sleep during the night you will need earplugs, and depending on the time of year, an eye mask, to block out the midnight sun. Reykjavik is teeming with budding musicians and artsy folk. The inhabitants are stylish, friendly, highly educated and speak better English than I do.

On our way to the surf break, we drive on a two-lane highway across windswept lava fields cloaked with bright green spongy moss, passing by stacked rock formations and steaming mountains. Heavy clouds hang in the sky by the time we get to the beach, but its not raining. The ocean is glassy and I am going surfing in Iceland! It is really cold. A blanket of slimy seaweed deceptively covers the slick rocks. At last, expecting the worst I plunge into the sea and am surprised to find that it's not as cold as I thought it was going to be. Feeling more like a seal insulated by a thick layer of blubber than a surfer, I duck dive through the translucent icy-blue water on my way to the line up. Trading waves, the surf is bigger than it looked and it’s fun and barreling. The mighty North Atlantic tosses me around like a rag doll and my body takes a few relentless beatings. A frigid breeze starts to blow piercing my wetsuit, and all of a sudden I find myself as cold as I thought I should be. My friends go in. I am shivering alone, waiting on a decent last wave when a gigantic seal pops its spotted head up and peers at me with bulging, concentrated eyes before sinking back down beneath the surface of the water. Time to go in! Back in the car rain pelts the roof. I am informed that local Icelandic seals are curiously friendly, however once in a while an aggressively mean one will migrate over from Greenland. I imagine that my pinniped friend with whiskers and fangs was only a curious local.

Due to the nature of any island, somewhere will always be offshore, unfortunately in Iceland it is often gale force offshore. Powerful waves emerge from deep water breaking on the volcanic shoreline. There are reefs, points, black sand beaches, jetties and river mouths. Surf shops do not exist in Iceland and there are only about 15-20 full time surfers who frequent the breaks.

Being highly volcanic, Iceland is famous for hot springs and almost every town has at least one open air geothermic swimming pool with hot pots. An outdoor aquatic complex in Reykjavik has Olympic size lap pools, a recreational shallow pool equipped with basketball hoop, a twisty waterslide, an eggy steam room and a selection of hot pots that vary in temperature. Lounging in a hot pot surrounded by chitchat spoken in the language of the Vikings, I spy the thermometer from the corner of my eye and the air temperature is one degree. Swimming is the one thing in Iceland that is cheap, costing less than a measly hot dog to gain access to the warm water. Be aware, you will be asked to follow a strict pre-dip bathing regime before you can even stick your toe in. Don’t even try to cheat!

Weather changes frequently here. One session I paddle out to glassy peaks, and within a half hour the swell picks up and the conditions turn into victory at sea. Another day, the rain clouds part like heavy velvet stage curtains revealing the brilliant sun and it becomes delightfully warm. As we surf in this pristine ocean, offshore plumes streak across a cloudless azure sky.

Partly responsible for Iceland’s unpredictable weather is the Gulf Stream. This ocean surface current carries warmth from the Gulf of Mexico as it travels up the east coast of North America and along the west coast of Europe before finally reaching Iceland, bringing with it relatively mild weather given the countries geographical location. Reykjavik’s latitude is 64 degrees north. Off the west coast of Iceland the warm salty current collides with less saline Arctic waters and sinks into the depths of the North Atlantic, essentially forming an underwater waterfall. The global warming trend is of particular interest to Icelanders because if the salinity of the Gulf Stream is diluted with melting ice, by laws of chemistry and physics it will stop sinking causing the conveyor belt bringing warmth to come to a grinding halt. If this happens, Europe will have a mini ice age and Iceland will live up to its name becoming uninhabitable, frozen over and entrapped by polar ice.

The sun comes out for the last week of our trip, but this time it does not bring warmth and the surf goes flat. Thermometers plummet, puddles freeze over and icicles cling to jagged cliff faces. Chilly wind blows down from glaciers and snow-dusted peaks. Joe and I leave our base in Reykjavik and head east on the ring road to do some serious sightseeing. Landscapes are spectacular and around every corner Joe mutters, “wow…” or “impressive…” We see visible rifts between tectonic plates, steam holes, geysers and bubbling pools of mud. Waterfalls cascade down mountains and ruins of ancient turf houses rest peacefully alongside the road. Glacial tongues slither down valleys, and in one place into a lagoon that has doubled in size over the last few years as the glacier retreats. Bluish chunks of ice break apart and bump together as they drift out to sea creating a soothing clicking, crackling sound.

In this harsh environment any creature would have to be extremely determined to live without the comfort of modern conveniences such as grocery stores and central heating. The only indigenous land mammals are the arctic fox and the occasional starving polar bear that sails over from Greenland on an ice floe. Upon arrival, fates of the transient bears are gloomy because sheep farmers exterminate them. Bears visited more often in past centuries because there was more polar ice. The presence of polar ice comes and goes; the last time it menaced the coast blocking ocean traffic and bringing freezing weather was 1979. No one has seen a Polar Bear in Iceland since 1988. Other land mammals including: stowaway rats and mice, feral minks and introduced reindeer manage to survive the somehow survive. On the contrary, the unspoiled ocean is crowded with life upon which a plethora of nesting seabirds, seals, whales and humans feed. While I am in Iceland, despite international protest, commercial whaling resumes.

Iceland is a magical place. The countryside reminds me of J.R.R. Tolkien’s depiction of Middle Earth and I almost expect to see hobbits emerge from turf houses. Folklore goes that trolls caught in an evil deed by the sunrise have been turned to stone, and more than once I see the lava rock silhouette of the unlucky creature. Along with local Icelanders, I am now a firm believer that the wee people do actually existence in this mysterious land and I think its better not to bother them, choosing to live harmoniously with them instead.

Even though the northern tip of the country extends slightly into the Arctic Circle, thanks to the Gulf Stream Iceland is not entirely covered with ice. Regardless, it is still quite cold and unless you are a Viking or of direct Viking decent, I would strongly suggest taking the following advice, “There is no such thing as bad weather, just bad clothing.” Come prepared. Quality surf breaks are already on the map, and with 3,100 miles of largely unexplored coastline more are waiting to be discovered. Once you get your bearings the secret to getting good waves is to check the conditions often, since the weather seems to change about every five minutes.

On my way home I am funneled through a tourist shop crammed with plastic horned Viking helmets, woolen knitwear, reindeer pelts, canned pure Icelandic air, troll figurines and Bjork CDs. Passing it all by, I leave this pristine geological wonderment with the unforgettable memory of the prettiest ocean watercolor I have ever seen in my life.