By Mike Nikolich

(This article first appeared in the November 1981 issue of DX Probe)

In the middle of the vast Northern Atlantic lies Iceland. Bigger than Ireland and the last European country to be settled, it became a stepping-stone in a westward thrust by intrepid seafarers in search of lands beyond the horizon. From the air terminal at Findel, Luxembourg, it only takes a few hours to fly to the international airport at Keflavik, Iceland. A bus took me from Keflavik to Reykjavik – a 45-kilometer journey. Those first few moments riding along the Icelandic soil are almost indescribable. Compared to the lush, green terrain of Europe, and the hustle and bustle of its cities, Iceland looks like another world. Large mountains dot the horizon to the east, the Atlantic Ocean to the west. Along this small, two-lane blacktop road, there are no trees or bushes. In fact, the only form of vegetation visible was tiny clumps of coarse grass or weeds. Other than the one or two houses we passed, the only life forms visible were the sheep that grazed freely along the roadway.

Approximately eight kilometers from Reykjavik, things begin to change. A small shipyard appears to the left. The long wave antennas of the Iceland State Broadcasting Service appear on the right. Off in the distance to the north, houses – thousands of them.

Fifteen minutes later, the bus stopped at the Hotel Loftleidir, Reykjavik’s finest. From there, I walked to the city’s only youth hostel. It turned out to be but a few blocks from the radio station. I spent the evening walking about Reykjavik. About midnight, I went to bed, wondering if the 24-hour daylight would keep me awake. It didn’t.

Following breakfast the next morning, I packed my camera and notepad, and briskly strolled to Skulgata 4, address of the Iceland State Broadcasting Service.

The station was initiated in 1930, following a special law granting it the monopoly of broadcasting in Iceland. It currently runs a 100-kilowatt long wave station in Reykjavik, but there are relay stations in various parts of the country, one long wave station in East Iceland, and 42 smaller relay stations broadcasting on medium wave and FM. Although the station originally had a short, two hour per day broadcast schedule, today programs are on 17 hours daily. Shortwave transmissions commenced when Icelandic ships began fishing in the North Sea for herring, as a means of bringing these sailors a portion of the home service. Today, these broadcasts can be heard throughout the world from 1830 to 2000 GMT on the new frequency of 13797 kHz (replacing the old frequency of 12175 kHz). All broadcasts are in sideband.

Iceland was not an easy country for me to hear in the Chicago area. I remember firing up my Hammarlund HQ-180 one morning and dialing up 12175 khz, like I usually did, Nothing, Then, I switched the receiver to upper sideband. Suddenly, I heard something. It was a voice marker for the Reykjavik point-to-point station. I stayed glued to that receiver, and about 15 minutes later, the point-to-point transmission ended, and music and announcements were made. I hastily wrote down program details and mailed in a reception report. Two months later, a QSL was waiting for me.

With the thought of that morning of long ago on my mind, I entered the building at Skulgata 4, literally bubbling over with excitement. I proceeded up to the fifth floor, and was no sooner through the elevator doors, when a woman greeted me, saying, "You must be the American, Mr. Nikolich. Welcome to Rikisutvarpid. We were expecting you."

I was floored! The woman was Margret Ludviksdottir, an employee of the foreign relations department at the ISBS. Before I left for Europe, I wrote a letter to the head of the station’s foreign relations department, and he had informed Margret of my visit. In fact, she had mailed a letter to me after receiving word. It was waiting for me in the mailbox when I returned home.

Icelanders are fiercely independent individuals, and are extremely proud of their language and heritage. This fact is exemplified by the programming of the Iceland State Broadcasting Service. Despite the fact that most Icelanders speak English as a second language, all programming is in Icelandic, a language that has remained virtually unchanged since the 12^th century. Because the station only provides one channel, its programs have to appeal to all Icelanders, young and old, with various interests. A typical broadcast day will include news (9 times a daily) and news-oriented programs, weather reports, special children’s programs, radio serials, education programs, jazz programs, pop and classical shows, too. The station also plays a large amount of locally recorded music too, including classical music recorded and performed by the country’s only symphony orchestra (which the ISBS owns, operates and runs).

The fact that Iceland is a relatively large country with a small and scattered population makes the ISBS very important to its listeners. Its significance is magnified when you consider that television is considered more of a luxury than necessity in Iceland. With a ate of inflation as high as 50 percent per annum, the government has been forced to cut back the station’s radio and TV budget, ruling out television on Thursdays, as well as the entire month of July. That’s why the radio service is unparalleled in its ability to provide up-to-the-minute news, weather and info.

One major fact that has kept the radio service intact is the revenue generated through the sale of advertisements. At last count, according to Margret, advertising accounted for 50 percent of the station’s annual revenue. But if you think the ads on Rikisutvarpid are similar to the slick-sounding tape-recorded sports of stations like Radio Luxembourg, think again. They are read back-to-back, between programming segments, at fixed hours, six times per day. Yet, because of the station’s large audience, the advertisements are quite effective.

Following our discussion, Margret led me to the main broadcast studio, where technician Bjarni Bjarnsson was engineering the 1100 GMT home service. A beautiful classical music program was playing and Bjarni switched much of the music himself, by operating one of two reel-to-reel tape recorders. Staff announcer Aevar Kjartansson was doing the talking in the next studio. He was visible through a glass window.

Equipment-wise, the centerpiece of the studio was a brand new, Norwegian built Tore Seem professional broadcast console. This impressive machine provided a stark contrast to the mostly older, but well-maintained equipment used in the station’s five production studios and one news studio. According to Bjarni, except for the Shure phono cartridges and a few miscellaneous microphones, virtually all of the equipment used by the ISBS is made in Norway.

After seeing the various studios, Margret led me to a very impressive recording studio that the station uses to record soloists and ensembles. This large room featured a variety of boom and stand-mounted microphones, and enough chairs to accommodate a good size audience. I imagine excellent sound music has been recorded in this studio.

I was hoping to visit the Iceland Post and Telegraph transmitter site, which is located in the northern part of Reykjavik, but time ran out. I had a flight back to Chicago to catch. I’ll have to see that some other time.

But in the meantime, I’ll keep listening to 13797 kHz. Every time I hear the station, my thoughts drift back to the past summer – Reykjavik – and the ISBS.