Every story has a beginning V

Almost a month later, I’m back with the latest update in my series ‘Every story has a beginning’. As you can imagine, I’ve been working night and day gathering data for the project. Not long to go now! I’m also waiting for an appointment to visit the Norwegian government’s Science and Research Commission. That’s where we want to submit the results of our work. Hopefully we’ll win a grant and the institutional backing we need to take the final step. The step we’ve dreamed of taking for many years...

Marine sponge in the Cave of Niflheim, close to Odin's Keel.

But before we get onto that, I need to finish the story of how this adventure began. After our initial discovery, we managed to stop the Nordic Communications project while we documented the site where we found the remains.

We would have liked to stay there for longer, but the company put pressure on us to continue along the planned route. We marked the Niflheim Cave to ensure it was avoided when the underwater cable was laid. All our attempts to convince the NTNU that the discovery was of great importance fell on deaf ears. We were strictly ordered to finish the Nordic Communications project. However, they did say that the samples and data we had collected would be studied on our return. A decision would be made then about whether or not an expedition would be launched to study the remains.

On board we only had a basic microscope to examine the samples recovered from the Niflheim Cave.

Before leaving the zone we managed to recover small fragments of what we began to call Odin’s Keel. We didn’t have suitable equipment on board to study it in depth, only a small microscope. Even so, initial observations of these fragments fired our imaginations. Although we weren’t exactly sure how old they were, they appeared to be very, very old. What was more, we couldn’t determine their chemical composition. Odin’s Keel seemed to be made from a combination of an unknown metal and reinforced wood, the like of which we’d never seen before.

It’s hard to describe how frustrated Olve, Geir and I felt when we had to leave our discovery behind. By starting to work on it, we had exposed it to the changing conditions of the ocean and even if we could come back, there was no guarantee that the remains might not have deteriorated in the meantime. But we had no choice. We had to be patient, continue with the cabling tests and wait until we returned to the NTNU where the samples could be examined using better quality equipment. The carbon dating test was particularly important as it would determine the age of the remains.

We didn’t return until 12 July 2000, over a month after we had left. We returned filled with excitement at finally being able to research our great discovery properly. No one could have anticipated what the carbon dating test would reveal...

That’s all for today, I’ll continue soon but I’m afraid I have much to do. Thank you for your support and loyalty, as always.

Every story has a beginning IV

Yes, I’m still alive... Apologies for letting this blog lapse over the past few months but I promise I’ve had good reason. The summer campaign of 2011 exceeded all our expectations. Our dives near Jan Mayen revealed data and samples that have lent greater weight to our hypotheses. We’ve had to hide ourselves away for months while we gather together all the data, information and remains we’ll use in our report. We hope to submit it to the Scientific and Technological Commission of the Norwegian government in a few months’ time. If we succeed in convincing them and obtaining the funds we need, after many, many years we’ll finally be able to prove a long-held dream: that the Hyperborean civilization existed. But we mustn’t get ahead of ourselves. We have to tie up every loose end and submit the most persuasive argument possible. So please be patient. I’m afraid I can’t reveal anything specific here until we’ve submitted our work. Instead, what I’d like to do is continue my tale of how this adventure began, taking up the story from where I left off in May 2011. Volcanic fumarole located near the entrance to the Niflheim Cave. To recap, I was taking part in an expedition with my colleagues Geir Grønvoll and Olve Raaen that involved laying a submarine cable for Nordic Communications. During a dive by one of our submarine drones, Barracuda 1, we found something unusual in a mysterious underwater cave...

Barracuda 1 stirred up the sand on the cave floor, offering us a glimpse of something unbelievable. Olve, Geir and I were astounded. We thought we must be hallucinating. Sure enough, we could see something sticking out of the ocean floor. A long structure that was definitely not formed by nature. Obviously, we sounded the alarm and immediately contacted Nordic Communications and the NTNU. The images we sent were concrete evidence that we had discovered a submarine archaeological find that not only meant the cable should be rerouted but that here was something that deserved its own research project. Viking Drakkar render. We didn’t expect an immediate reply but managed to stop the project for a week to gather as much information as we could and gather samples using the Barracudas, whenever possible. Our aquatic robots weren’t really designed for this type of work, but Olve managed to adapt their pincers so that they could grab objects. He also made their structure lighter so that they could carry samples back up to the surface. Viking Drakkar illustration

During the first few days we created a work perimeter and began to clear the ocean floor of sand around the structure. This gave us a better idea of its size and scope. On the fourth day it was clear that the find was something similar to the keel of a ship. If we used our imaginations, it reminded us of a Viking Drakkar. But it had significant differences and, most surprisingly, it appeared to be older. But until we ran carbon dating tests it was impossible to know its actual age. At that point, we would never have dreamed what we were about to discover...

I’m afraid that’s all I have time for today. I hope I can share the next part of ‘Every story has a beginning’ with you shortly. Things are rushing forwards now but the hardest part of the work is already behind us. I’m exhausted but hugely excited. I get butterflies in my stomach every time I remember that any day now I’ll finally be submitting the results of my greatest research project. Remember, I’ve been working on this for almost twelve years now. Will it be accepted? Will it shake the very foundations of archaeology? Will they call me crazy? 

All I can do is wait to discover the answer to these questions... Until then, followers of Hyperborea Exists, thank you again for your constant support. There are now over six hundred of you following me on Facebook. Best wishes to you all.

Every story has a beginning III

Here I am, back in the virtual world after a far longer absence than I would have liked. The truth is that things have been rather difficult over the past few months. I haven’t even had time to update this blog. Followers of Hyperborea Exists, I hope you’ll accept my sincerest apologies. Now that I’m back, here is a new entry in the series ‘Every story has a beginning’. In this series, I’m progressively explaining how I came to be professionally and academically involved in the Hyperborea myth.

As I explained in the second post in this series, the first week of our work and observational expedition was calm and routine with nothing out of the ordinary. The second week began very much like the first. No new developments. Until we reached the twelfth day of underwater prospecting. On the twelfth day, Olve, Geir and I woke up as usual. We were just finishing breakfast and having our first coffee of the day when we received an alert informing us that we had reached the next waypoint. That meant it was time to launch one of the mini-submarines into the water. It would show us the ocean floor before we laid the next stretch of guide cable.

Rise of Barracuda 1. After carrying out on-site observations with the underwater robot throughout the day, it had to be recovered in order to collect the samples gathered and perform maintenance.

After winching Barracuda 1 up and launching it into the ocean, we squeezed into the operations room where Olve was in charge of operating the robot by remote control. The submarine slowly descended to the ocean floor, almost ten thousand feet deep. It took half an hour for the robot to reach the bottom then it started to explore the area where the guide cable would be laid. This part of the seabed wasn’t flat; there was a mini-fault and several sharp drops so it was important to check the entire area carefully. We were at the far south of what is known as the Jan Mayen reef, about half a mile from Iceland.

The environment was rich in marine flora and fauna. Geir was thrilled, this was a great opportunity to observe the species that populated this small section of sea, even if it was from a distance. Fish tend to be extremely shy at these depths, so each animal we spotted was a small achievement for all of us. Geir’s enthusiasm was catching. He was focused on any living creatures that appeared before Barracuda 1’s cameras. Olve was concentrating on operating the submarine, no easy task considering the underwater conditions. Meanwhile, I was carefully examining the reef, rock and ocean floor formations in search of any pattern that might mean possible archaeological remains. I was very thorough, even if I was convinced that we wouldn’t find anything there.

We spent two hours observing the seabed. This phase had nearly finished and we were just about to raise Barracuda 1 back up to the boat when we made our first discovery. We spotted what looked like a well, an opening in the middle of a hundred-foot long ridge. I was keen to explore it. Geir was too. He thought there might be a rich ecosystem inside the well and perhaps he would be able to catalogue a new species. I was interested because I’ve always been fascinated by underwater subterranean formations. I wanted to see whether it was just a well or the entrance to a larger system of galleries.

Nyocema in detail. This elongated orange and very rare fish was seen both in the Niflheim cave and in other abyssal points of the Atlantic Ocean.

Olve carefully guided Barracuda 1 into the well. It was a tricky manoeuvre. If the robot bumped into the rocky sides, or was struck by falling rocks, it could be seriously damaged. And this visit wasn’t exactly within the remit of our mission. It turned out to be a fairly large cave measuring about sixty-five metres high, a hundred and thirty metres long by a hundred metres wide. The floor was covered in very pale sand. Small coral colonies were scattered across the cave and Geir made his first great discovery of the mission when a strange-looking, long orange fish appeared. It would later be named ‘neocyema’. We also found an unusual blue octopus that was extremely curious about Barracuda 1.

When the submarine robot entered the cave, its propeller blades stirred up lots of ‘dust’ that had been lying on the floor. At one point it became very hard to see, so we decided that as soon as the dust settled and our vision improved, we’d guide the robot back up to the surface. When Olve could finally see, he drove Barracuda 1 towards the exit. That was when I saw it. A reflection caught my eye. We hadn’t spotted it earlier because it had been covered by a layer of dust but now it stood out clearly. It was a small, spherical formation and although it was surrounded by coral it instantly grabbed my attention. It definitely wasn’t naturally occurring.

Abyssal Octopus. This animal showed great curioisty for the Barracuda 1 when it entered the cave of Niflheim.

We guided Barracuda 1 closer for a better look. When we were about three feet away, Olve used a robotic arm to get a feel of the formation. The arm stretched out and opened its pincers to grab the sphere. The pincers closed around the object and tried to pull. We were out of luck. Whatever it was, it was firmly stuck to the ground. However, we soon noticed that as the robot pulled, the ground around the object moved too. It appeared to be attached to something bigger, something that was neither the ocean floor nor rocks. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Everything pointed towards the discovery of strange archaeological remains. But the remains of what? I didn’t have the faintest idea.

Followers of Hyperborea Exists, I’m afraid that’s all for this post. When I return, I’ll explain what happened next and our first discoveries in the Cave of Niflheim. That was the name we gave to the cave, after a world that appears in Nordic mythology. Thank you for your support, as always, and above all your patience with my delays in updating the blog. Best wishes to you all.

Every story has a beginning II

Dear followers of Hyperborea Exists, it’s been over a month since I last wrote. It seems that the gods are determined to prevent me updating the blog more regularly but fear not, sooner or later I’ll always be back in touch. The truth must be discovered.  In my last post I started to tell the story of how I really became involved in the Hyperborea myth. Here is the second part.

As I explained, on 7 June 2000 I set forth from Bodø in northern Norway aboard the Blue Sea with Geir Grønvoll and Olve Raaen, my colleagues from the NTNU. Geir is a renowned expert in submarine ecosystems and Olve specialises in applied robotics. Olve was in charge of Barracuda 1 and 2, the submarine robots that would reveal first-hand what lay in the murky depths. I was involved in the expedition as an expert in submarine archaeology, just in case we discovered any remains along the proposed route. It was rather like building a motorway. Before you can begin, first you have to study the environmental impact and check whether or not the work will affect any archaeological remains.

Descriptive diagram of the elements that configure a submarine cable system. 

On this project we didn’t expect to find anything significant because the route was a long way away from all standard maritime routes and there were no records of any shipwrecks in the area. However, international regulations meant that these checks were compulsory. As you can imagine, my expectations were low. In fact, of the three of us, I was the only one who didn’t expect to find much. Greir was the most enthusiastic because the expedition served as the perfect excuse for him to closely observe marine environments that he would never have been able to study otherwise. The cost would have been prohibitive, after all, we’re talking about depths that range between ten and thirteen thousand feet.

The first week was fairly routine. Our route was north-northeast for six hundred nautical miles, at which point we would turn east-southeast until we reached Iceland. A direct route east had been ruled out because Nordic Communications hoped that this cable would be the first of two. The second cable would connect to Greenland. The point where we changed direction would be the location for an interconnector that would one day function as a bridge between Iceland, Greenland and the continent.

Submarine cable. During our surveys we deployed hundreds of kilometers of Steel guide cable. This photo was taken by Barracuda 1, one of the two underwater robots that we used during this Project.

We woke up between 5 and 6 am each morning to start work just as the first rays of sunlight appeared over the horizon. Our routine was to move from waypoint to waypoint releasing the Barracuda robots at each location and observing the ocean floor and environment to assess the viability of the ‘path’. If a waypoint proved to be viable, the next waypoint was assigned and the Nordic Comms team released the steel guide cable. This guide cable would be used to lay the real cable once we had finished our job.

Among our observations, we focused on the following aspects: local fauna and flora, rock and coral formations and, for my part, any traces of archaeological remains. The Barracuda robots made our work far easier. Before they were invented, we would have had to carry out highly dangerous dives in pressurized suits. Or simply omit on-site checks, so that the workers who laid the cable would be unaware of any damage that they could cause. That first week was fairly calm and without incident. Things started to get interesting in the second week. 

But I’ll save that for the next update. That’s all for today, I’m afraid, duty calls. We’re making good progress and are closer and closer to revealing the truth behind the Hyperborea myth.

Every story has a beginning I

Dear followers of Hyperborea Exists, I hope that you’re having a good start to 2011. I’ve begun the New Year much as 2010 ended: working non-stop. Obviously that’s a good thing, considering these difficult times. Today I’d like to begin a series of posts that will progressively explain how I first became involved in researching the Hyperborea myth. As the title describes, every story has a beginning, and this is the beginning of mine with Hyperborea.

NTNU main building. Trondheim, Norway.

It all started over ten years ago, in the summer of 2000. Back then I had been working as a resident teacher and researcher at the NTNU for over eight years. My time was divided between teaching submarine archaeology classes and various field work projects that we were developing for the Norwegian government, other institutions and private companies. We had our own research to complete on top of that.

As I’ve mentioned before, ever since I was a boy I’ve always had a great passion for Nordic mythology, for the legends of my land. It was, and is, a subject that inspires me and I’ve always read, studied and researched anything I could find on it in my spare time. In an ideal world, a researcher like me should be able to live off researching their grand romantic dreams. But real life isn’t like that. So the field work that dominated my schedule normally had nothing to do with the area that fascinated me the most.

I don’t mean that I didn’t find it interesting to rescue 17th century shipwrecks or Second World War remains. Quite the opposite. All the projects I’ve worked on have been both important and personally satisfying. But there was always something niggling away inside me, telling me that something was missing. That I needed something more if I was going to feel fulfilled in life, on a personal level and also as a professional researcher and explorer. A challenge that matched my true interests.

It seems that fate heard my secret wishes for once. In June 2000, the Nordic Communications consortium contacted the NTNU requesting assistance with a study. It needed help assessing the viability of laying an underwater fibre optic cable that would connect the continental Nordic countries with Iceland and the Faroe Islands. The project proposed to use over 900 miles of submarine cables. It was unquestionably one of the largest projects in which we had ever been involved. Our role, in collaboration with the company contracted to carry out the on-site work, required us to study the best route for the cable, its environmental impact on the ocean floor and ultimately, whether or not the project was viable.

It would involve several procedures. First a sonar and radar study of the ocean floor along the route proposed by Nordic Communications. So far, the suggested route had been chosen because it was the most economical i.e. it was the straightest route possible. Once we had studied the results, if this initial route proved to be unworkable, we would then study secondary routes and repeat the first step. If the first route was viable, we then had to lay a basic steel test cable. This would determine the actual conditions on the ocean floor and reveal any high risk points that would require additional action when the real cable was laid.

So, after running some preliminary studies, we packed up our kit and boarded Nordic Communications’ chartered boat, the Blue Sea. I was joined by Geir Grønvoll and Olve Raan, colleagues at the NTNU, and two small but highly useful submarine robots: Barracuda 1 and Barracuda 2. They belonged to the NTNU and would be essential for observing what was happening on the ocean floor as we laid the steel cable in real time.

It was 7 June 2000. A long month of hard work on the high seas awaited us..

History of Nordic Mythology IX: Freyr and Gerd, the giant

Dear 'Hyperborea Exists' followers, I am here again with you to continue with this basic history lesson about northern mythology. Today, I wanted to fully dedicate this update to the tale of Freyr and Gerd, the giant, which I'm sure you'll find as interesting as I do.

The tale of Freyr, Gerd and Skirnir is told in the poem 'Skirnismal', found in the Edda. Snorri Sturluson tells us a shorter and more idealized story in Gylfaginning. This tale begins in Asgard. Freyr, god of wealth and fertility, rests in Hlidskialf, Odin's house, from where he contemplates the rest of the worlds in the universe. Watching over the giants' world he sees Gerd, a beautiful giant, in his father's property courtyard, and instantly falls in love with her. Freyr sighs for her love.

Wild boar and wolf. by Friedrich Gauermann (1807-1862). In the northern mythology, many gods are linked with animals. Freyr's cart is pulled by two wild boars: Gullinbursti, whose hair shines in the dark and Slidrugtanni. In battle, warriors consecrated to the cult of the wild boar fought in wedge formation with their two paladins on front, forming the rani (snout).

They sent Freyr's servant, Skirnir, to ask him what's wrong with him. Freyr tells him, but he believes that his passion is doomed to be left unsatisfied. Skirnir offers himself to travel to the land of the giants and to woo Gerd in his name. He borrows Freyr's magic sword and his horse. After travelling across mountains and skipping a fire ring that surrounds the land of the giants, he reaches Gerd's home, but he finds his way blocked by fierce guardian hounds. Gerd, nonetheless, decides to greet him in his canopy.

 Skirnir tells her about Freyr's love and gives her as incentives golden apples and Draupnir, a golden magic ring that multiplies on its own, but Gerd has all the gold she needs and refuses to accept the presents. Skirnir then threatens her (and also her father, the giant Gymir, if he dared to intervene) with killing them with Freyr's sword, but Gerd resists. Skirnir tells her about the curse he will bring down on her if she insists on rejecting Freyr's generous love offer.

The curse will be engraved in runes in a 'taming rod', and according to its terms Gerd will be doomed to a dead life in the land of the giants. Skirnir describes her life under the curse as a mock about the life she would have if she accepted Freyr's hand. She will live in the border of his world, as Heimdall, the keeper of the gods in Asgard does; but whereas Heimdall watches his world to prevent an attack, Gerd will be a prisoner. She will always be looking at the outside, dreaming of an escape that can only lead to her death.

Fro, statue of fertility, Sweden, XI century. The main nordic gods of fertility wre Freyr (Fro) and her sister Freya. They arrived to Asgard with their father after the defeat of the Vanir against the Aesir. It is often said that in Ragnarok, Freyr will be the first to fall, because he lended Skirnir his magic sword in gratitude for his help in achieving Gerd's hand.

Her only beverage will be goat's urine, a prescription with will be even more severe when she remembers that the gods get an excellent mead out of the udders of the goat Heidrun, who browses the tree's leafs all around the world. In this nightmarish world, everybody else will see Gerd as a freak, and if she decided to marry, the best man she'll be able to get will be a three-headed giant called Hrimgrimnir. Her days will be neverending, and she will always be haunted by trolls, who will be her only companions. Tears will come flooding, and desire will take over her with an uncontrollable force.

Gerd only collapses when Skirnir begins to engrave the runes that will make this horrific panorama real. She agrees to find Freyr nine nights after that day in Barri, a place described as a 'tranquil grove'. Skirnir comes back with the news and the poem ends with the god complaining about the amount of time it took Gerd to accept their union.


Although there are many different interpretations, perhaps the most widely accepted is a symbolic reading about the fertility in the fields, according to which Freyr, known before as the god of fertility, represents the Sun, and Gerd, the unfertilized land. Skilnir would be the intermediary whose name means 'the shiny', and represents the rays of the sun, which allow the crops to germinate.


With all this we have reached the end of this chapter dedicated to Freyr. In our next 'Hyperborea Exists' update we will bring in Thor and his hammer, Mjölnir, and his relationship with the Germanic warriors. And, after having taken this step, we will focus on the longest of the related myths about Edda in prose, the one about Thor's expedition to Utgard.

As always, I wanted to thank you for your support and for telling to your friends about 'Hyperborea Exists', we are constantly increasing our numbers and with every new reader I feel more and more energy to keep this project going.




Thank you very much for your support, 'Hyperborea Exists' followers!!!!

History of Nordic Mythology VIII: Descendant of the gods

Dear Hyperborea Exists followers, I’m here with you again to bring you another chapter of the history of Nordic mythology, to complete this cycle of updates in the blog step by step. Today I’m going to make an introduction to the so-called descendants of the great gods, a series of tales about some of the most relevant mythological Nordic figures after the great father, Odin.

Many Germanic tribes had myths that they linked its reign with the gods. Often it was Odin, the most powerful of them all. One of the most antique and well-known Germanic myths reaches us through the Long Bard historyographs (?) in the VI and VII centuries, and tells us a battle between two Germanic tribes: the Wandali (Vandals) and the Winnili. The Wandali asked their main god, Godan (Wodan or Odin), to grant them victory. On the other hand, the Winnili were led by Gambara, the wise and old mother of their bosses, Ibor and Aio, who prayed to Godan’s wife, Frea (Frigg).

Frea advised the Winnili warriors to stand on the East in the morning of the battle and that their women went with the men to the front, and put their long hair across their faces. Godan had planned to grant victory to the first army he saw at dawn. The next morning, after looking through his favorite window that overlooked the East, he saw the Winnili already set up and asked: “who are these Long Bards?” After he named them, Frea said that he was obliged to grant them victory, and after that name they built their kingdom in what was to be known as Lombardy, on the north of Italy.

Angel, on an altar of the Lombard king Rachis, VIII century. The Long Bards originally came from the south of Sweden, but they established themselves in Italy and gave name to the region of Lombardy. Some tales explain that, when they became too big in number, the Winnili divided between three groups and draw between them to stay in their territory. The group headed by Ibor and Aio lost, so they left in search of a new land.

In this tale, the authors reveal some influences on their interpretation of the classic couple that governed the gods, Zeus and Hera. But this tale, undoubtedly old, proves that even halfway through the first millennia of our era, Wodan or Odin and his wife Frigg already were the powerful ancestral deities from which the royal Germanic families, along with entire tribes, wished to born.

Although it is Odin the one who always appears as the divine ancestor in the Germanic royal families’ genealogy, at least in Sweden they honored the god Freyr, as ancestor and as guardian and protector of the royal house of the Ynglingar, house of which the Norwegian royal family deducted a while later.

Even when he was often considered as the god of fertility, mostly because the statues in the Viking era and the pocket-held talismans represented him with an erect dick, in reality he was considered as the archetype of the Swedish royal family, represented by the kings of the antique Uppsala (center of the Swedish power in the VI century and later on, and even nowadays a religious and cultural focus). His characteristic virility was surely related to that image of a young and powerful king, just as his attribute, the wild boar, another symbol of strength and wealth.

The soldiers that formed the Swedish royal guard in the VII and VIII centuries had helmets decorated with a metallic wild boar. Their link to the Ynglingar house could be seen even in the nickname they gave to Freyr. Yngvi-Freyr, that maybe is a very antique name that comes from the Germanic tribes mentioned by Tacitus, who they called themselves Ingaevons.

And with this we reach the end of this chapter, the next will have as protagonist the tale of Freyr and Gerd the giant, that is a part of the Skirnismal poem from the Edda in prose by Snorri Sturluson.

I want to use this also to share with you that the Hyperborea Exists page has already gone over the 100 fans. See how every week more and more people show their interest in knowing more about our history and the mythology is something really rewarding.

Thank you so much for your support, Hyperborea Exists followers!

Note. You can find some of the info included in this series of chapters in the book Mythology/: Myths, Legends and Fantasies/ by Global Book Publishing, a great work to introduce yourselves into the general mythology of every culture in the world.