Ever since flying cameras have become popular among tech enthusiasts and photographers, drones feature the beauty of the Faroe Islands from every angle. Much-loved: footage of sharp mountain ridges, spiky sea stacks and epic coastal cliffs. Sweet temptation. It almost seems as if we could get to all these vertiginous places. To tell you the truth. As an average person: Don’t even think about it. All others: You better know what you’re doing.
The picture above: That’s me on my way to Trælanípa (a perpendicular 142-meter rock wall jutting out into the sea), approaching the deep – and a fundamental question. Which is: How close should I get to the edge? The image: No heroic deed documentation. Rather a graphic illustration of my cowardly attitude towards giddy heights.
Did you happen to notice my ingenious security strategy? Like: Distance to abyss being equal to length of stretched out body? That’s who I am. Close to the edge. As for me: this far and no further. Sorry to disappoint you, but you’ll never see me act as skyscraper window cleaner, tightrope artist, industrial alpinist or Island Spider Woman. I do the grassy slope of Stóra Dímun. I painted our chimney. But I would never ever have a seat on an overhanging rock, legs nonchalantly dangling over the yawning void.
I’ll never forget one day in Gásadalur. I was in the middle of taking pictures when my husband Francesco disappeared off the radar. Some time later, I caught sight of him again. He was sitting in a steep section of the cliff, cheerful, relaxed, smiling, together with a local bird catcher. Did you ever hear about a fleygastong? Broadly speaking: a net between two thin sticks on a 3,5 meter-pole, made for bird catching. Difficult to handle, especially when you’re sitting in a ragged rock face. Thank you, drones, for showing me such head spinning places. I wouldn’t go there for all the tea in China.