As we wound our way along the coast of the north Atlantic in Iceland we came across a boat yard. There was no gate and it was a Saturday and they were not working, so I drove in. Huge modern boats sitting on dry land, steel ships being built, repaired, renewed. Then there in shadow I noticed a handful of old- some very old wood boats in various states of decay and repair. We are over a thousand miles from the kind of trees that it would take to build a boat like this and here it is, on it's side in the breakers yard. Someone hearty souls, men of iron, built it and sailed it here to this island in the middle of the far north Atlantic. The bards sing about iron men and wooden boats, thinking about what it takes for this boat to be here, I know what they mean.