Manser - Around Iceland on Inspiration An Epic Saga of Teamwork & Self-Discovery

Description

Around Iceland on Inspiration is the raw, unvarnished story of Riaan Mansers toughest challenge yet: circumnavigating Iceland by kayak, accompanied by Dan Skinstad, who suffers from mild cerebral palsy.

On his previous journeys, Riaan was a solo adventurer, but the journey around Iceland requires him to take responsibility for another persons life. Riaan and Dan are confronted by icy seas, harsh and unpredictable weather and physical exhaustion. The demands of the journey, and the life-threatening situations in which they find themselves, test the boundaries of their friendship, while logistical trails and the mental and emotional drama of tense team dynamics push the expedition to the brink of disaster.

Around Iceland on Inspiration is a story of the inspiration, courage and determination to tackle an adventure and see it through warts and all. Around Iceland on Inspiration will compel and inspire readers who enjoyed Around Africa on My Bicycle and Around Madagascar on my Kayak . Around Iceland on Inspiration is the raw, unvarnished story of Riaan Mansers toughest challenge yet: circumnavigating Iceland by kayak, accompanied by Dan Skinstad, who suffers from mild cerebral palsy.

Title Page

AROUND ICELAND

ON INSPIRATION

Riaan Manser

JONATHAN BALL PUBLISHERS

JOHANNESBURG & CAPE TOWN

Map

INTRODUCTION

INTRODUCTION

This was almost a book about paddling solo around the rugged coasts of Greenland. How and why it ended up as a story about paddling around Iceland instead, with a companion who not only had almost no real kayaking experience but also suffered from a serious physical disability, is not simple to explain. But thats what happened.

One thread of that decision was my philosophy as an adventurer. A philosophy is something a true adventurer needs, because often it will be the only thing that sustains him when times are hard and if there is one sure thing about adventuring, it is that sooner or later you are going to fall on hard times.

So, my philosophy is simple. Everyone talks about what it takes to see things through. But not many would-be adventurers actually manage to see things through: either they keep their dreams at the talking stage, or they actually venture forth and then give up part of the way along. Thats where the great divide opens up between the doers, who actually achieve what they set out to achieve (and sometimes die in the attempt), and the ones who dont. You might say that there is an ocean between saying and doing.

Which is exactly what I was telling my friend Dan Skinstad over coffee one day. Dan had approached me many times to ask if there was some sort of boot camp I could involve him in. I had always said yes, that I would try to involve him in my next effort, and I meant it. But it was more complicated than that. I was seriously considering a circumnavigation of Greenland (my plans had not yet crystalised at that stage), and what I envisaged was an extremely difficult and dangerous trip, not to be undertaken by any except seasoned kayakers.

The problem was that Dan had no experience of open-sea kayaking, especially in bad conditions, and on top of that suffers from mild cerebral palsy, which affects a persons muscle control, so that his every action is more difficult or more painful, or both, than it would be for a non-sufferer. It also affects his balance, and balance is a crucial part of paddling a typical narrow-gutted kayak. I found it difficult to summon up the guts to take responsibility for someone elses life. And that was the crux of the matter. It was not even a matter of whether he could manage the Greenland trip, but of whether he could survive it and that might depend on me.

Then there was me. I had undertaken a solo bicycle trip around Africa, which had turned out to be a physically gruelling, wildly interesting and frequently hair-raising venture that had brought me close to death and disaster on a number of occasions. Then I paddled all the way around Madagascar, which had provided another dose of the same. Yet, each time, I had crossed the mental point of no return after about 20 seconds of deep, decisive thought. Thats all it took. No crowds, hurrahs or razzmatazz telling the world about my plans. Just 20 seconds.

That happened to me once more when I headed up to the icy north with my long-suffering but greatest supporter, my girlfriend Vasti. An American exploration company, Quark Expeditions, in association with its South African partner, Unique Destinations, offered me two places aboard the Russian Arctic exploration ship MV Akademik Shokalsky , which was to visit the worlds biggest fjord, Scorbesund, on the central-eastern coast of the gigantic, ice-bound island of Greenland. There would also be a few days in Iceland on either side of the trip.

When Vasti and I set off, I was already considering a trip around Greenland, and I hoped the journey would help me to make a final decision. It was a mind-boggling and sometimes surreal journey, epic in its own right. We saw a polar bear and her cub, hiked across ancient valleys and paddled in brash ice (this is an accumulation of floating ice fragments up to two metres across) a few hundred metres from monstrous glaciers waiting to calve, or give birth to icebergs. When the airport at the famous Constable Point was snowed in, we had no option but to tackle the seven-metre seas in search of a more southerly airport. It was an amazing adventure, one that I feel privileged to have experienced.

Vasti and I soaked up the local culture in Icelands capital, Reykjavk, for a few days before returning home, and we spent some of the time discussing my next big venture. We agreed that it must be Greenland. I was excited at having reached a decision and set about preparing to speak to potential sponsors, first among them my friends at Windhoek Lager, who had supported my earlier ventures.

I knew it would not be a pushover: I would have to work hard to convince them to back me once again. If I could do that, I knew, the year would be an amazing one. I would attempt to battle an entirely new and different part of the world, a long way in every sense geographically, climatically and terrain-wise from my stamping ground in Africa. On the other hand, I had a good track record; I had undertaken two harrowing world-first trips and had come back in one piece, having achieved what I had set out to do.

So Greenland it was. What I didnt know, however, was that in fact I hadnt had those 20 seconds of decisive thought yet. But they would not be long in coming.

On the day of our departure from Icelands Keflavik International Airport, we boarded the Boeing 737, buckled up and settled in for the flight back to South Africa. The aircraft rose gently off the tarmac and started climbing. Entranced, I watched more and more of the icy volcanic coastline revealing itself as we gained height. The intricate shape of the Reykjanes Peninsula came into sight, and I found myself imagining what it would take to paddle safely around it.

Man alive! My heart began beating faster, and I knew that the 20 decisive seconds were about to strike. I sank into a comfortable self-discussion, which was partly a no-holds-barred pep talk and partly an argument with myself about why the trip had to be about Greenland, rather than Iceland, and why it absolutely had to be another solo trip. The debate went something like this:

Riaan, this journey doesnt need to be about the gorilla beating its chest. It doesnt have to be about you. If you buy into even a fraction of an ounce of what people tell you when they say that you inspire them, then you need to up your game. Come on, man! Tell a story about someone who doesnt have what you have, someone whose life would change because of a journey with you. And, above all, tell a story of real inspiration; the world is clamouring for stories like that it needs them.