Posted on

ICELAND 2018 4 Final four days.

ICELAND 4 2018 June. Final four days.


Day 11 dawned grey and moody, like its predecessor, … so, we didn’t rush out of bed for sunrise photos (which was a bit of a relief: we were getting rather tired by now), and chose instead to just take the Horn in our stride as we continued east. We were nonetheless thrilled with what we saw. We stayed there so long that we needed lunch not too long afterwards, a meal had in a bunch of lupins with dark grey mountains observing our table manners.

I hadn’t done any research on the next section of our eastward journey: life would end at the Vestrahorn, all the rest was just marking time, I thought. Ha ha. The road was full of drama and wonder, and we also ended up having a fun game of hair and tortoise with a couple of other cars:
(Us to the Spaniards): “We’d better get a move on. The Germans have taken off already. They’re now in the lead.”
(Spaniards): “Don’t worry. You’ll overtake them. They’ll be distracted by the next lay-by”.
100 ms or so down the road:
(Germans): “Ah, you got us back.”
“Yes, the Spaniards bet we would. Look, they’re pulling over too.”
“We’re moving on now. See you at the next beautiful spot.”
“Yeah. In a hundred metres or so”.
We pulled out of the game when we hit the coast and got out to do some walking as well as photography.

Coast past Eystrahorn


Coast after Djupivogur
And then we met Jay and Lissa, who are still our friends. Lena the brava had already crossed this big wide river with slippery boulders at the base of the Sveinstekksfoss. I was pussy-footing around its edges and had just decided to go back to the car when another couple pulled over. I watched while they did some vacillating about exactly where one might cross. (Lena clicked away, undeterred). I was relieved that someone else was worrying about their equipment like I was. I went up to them to make friends and compare notes. In the end, Jay crossed. I stayed on the safe side with Lissa, deciding the photos on the other side weren’t worth the risk to my gear.


Sveinstekksfoss from the wuss side of the river.
I had already determined we would next photograph the bigger waterfall behind from above, so drove there, and the same two parked near us. We liked them, but I was concentrating on my task. This time it was Lena who did most of the talking. They were gone when I once more entered the world outside my immersion in the scenic moment. We had found out their names, but not a great deal more. That night we checked out Jay’s photos on the web (www.jaykerrphotography.com/). They were gorgeous. We were sad that we wouldn’t see them again.

The higher version.
Somewhere between there and our accommodation at Berunes HI (YHA), I became aware that my phone was missing. I decided I had dropped it at the cafe where we had had afternoon tea. We couldn’t do the “where’s my phone” trick, as we needed wifi for that, so pressed on to the hostel. I expressed disappointment in Icelanders. Surely someone noticed I’d dropped my phone.  Why didn’t they call me back? We eventually found it in the door of the car. This lead to a few stupid in-jokes about Icelandic phone thieves, in which we would giggle, but others were no doubt dumbfounded as to the point of our mirth. Don’t worry. I’m sure there are no phone thieves in Iceland. We felt delightfully safe there.

Our hosts at the fabulous Berunes HI were Steinn and Sigridur, so I have called this waterfall Steinnurfoss. It is on Steinn’s family’s farm. Hope he doesn’t mind the name.
We loved absolutely everything to do with Berunes: it was so delightfully isolated; the hosts so utterly friendly and lovely; the food, so extremely delicious. We wished we had arrived earlier, but at least enjoyed the tiny bit of time that we had allowed. The fish soup for dinner was exquisite. The cinnamon and apple porridge for breakfast (and fresh bread), just what anyone would dream about.
Day 12.


Steinnurfoss from a different aspect.

Gilsarfoss, also on the farm.
After these private waterfalls, our next goal was to go and see the puffins on the north east coast. Now, it is just a little failing that Lena and I share by bad genetics that we get so excited by the immediate happenings that we kind of forget practical little details like buying petrol. This was the third time this trip where the wretched petrol light went on in the middle of nowhere, putting us in mild panic. This particular nowhere was situated such that we knew we could not go backwards. We just had to hope that forwards would work. There was a name on the map, written in purple. Surely that was a good sign. Lena consulted Siri, who gave us directions. Hoorah, we made it over the mountain pass (always a test when low on petrol), and began rolling down the other side, still in the middle of nowhere. Siri announced we had arrived. We were laughing so much I had to stop the car. We would have had a terrible accident had I not pulled over.

Me playing with edges on the natural arch above Gilsarfoss.
What on earth were we to do? Well, we’d just have to go on until we ran out, and work things out from there. On we pressed. We saw yet more beautiful scenery, so pulled over to photograph it. Hey, you might as well run out of petrol with beautiful pics in the camera.  Who should pull over at the same spot but Jay and Lissa! We were overjoyed to see them, and said that if we make it to the puffins, and if there’s a cafe there, we must have coffee together. Meanwhile, Jay said he’d drive behind us to kind of mop up if we didn’t make it. This was a fabulous offer, and we felt very secure all the way to the funny little shed with funnier man who, unbelievably, sold us petrol.

Now we could relax photographing puffins with Jay and Lissa; now we could enjoy the over-an-hour having coffee when we really should be driving to our next accommodation, which we finally reached at quarter to eleven when the owners had gone away (but, never fear, it worked out fine). Driving into Seydisfjordur with ice and snow and steely gloom was very atmospheric. This was our final day of pure pleasure. The next two days would involve a huge drive west to get us to the airport in time.

A wretchedly truncated stop by the fabulous Gufufoss as we set out from Seydisfjordur. Don’t worry beautiful foss. I will be back next year to give you more time!
Day 13. This day was earmarked for driving as far as Vyk. This seemed to me a daunting task, and I was very tense at breakfast time. We did not really stop much anywhere along the way (apart from at the Gugufoss, right at the start of the day), which was great as we arrived at Vyk, somewhat dizzy but alive, around 2 in the afternoon.

This thrilled me, as I really wanted to see Dyrholaey, and now we had the chance. It was fun up there watching the lowering sun, and enjoying the cliff edges.

Dyrholaey and its fabulous cliffs.
Day 14. This was such a sad, sad day: our last full day in Iceland, but we were too busy enjoying it to think much about sadness. We began at 4.50 a.m. with a climb up the Reynisfjall, to shoot the Reynisdrangar from above as the sun rose in the sky. It was utterly exhilarating up there. It was also rather cripplingly cold, but we managed. Beauty invigorates somewhat.

The rewards of climbing a mountain at 4.50 a.m. are many.
Our last full (delicious) breakfast in Iceland, and off we headed west again, bound for the airport, but with a swim at an historic hot pool, fed by a thermal spring in the mountains – a pool (we had been told by Timea) that was the oldest in Iceland. Lena swam while I climbed up high to a beautiful area above. We had some delicious soup for lunch not too far away, and then full speed ahead for the airport.

The famous Reynisdrangar from above. This perspective dwarfs them. A human does not even come up to the first and bottom bump on these giant rock towers.
Our very last night was utterly hilarious, mainly due to the discrepancy between expectation and reality. I don’t want to offend the owner of the accommodation, who, I assume, does everything she can to make it work, but the situation gave us so much mirth that tears ran down our faces, and we clutched our aching sides with the hilarity of it all (not in the owner’s presence). Instead of a final celebratory meal (to be had in a town that didn’t exist), we had a few scraps from our food box and more laughs. “The last night and the last meal are never good,” says Lenie.


Selja River, above the famous pool. Lenie swam; I explored the higher ground … both quite predictable. Farewell beautiful Iceland. I will be back!

Posted on

ICELAND 2018 2 Days 5-7

Iceland 2018 The second three days


Day 5. Sadly, sadly we bid our farewells after breakfast, and headed for Vik. As neither of us likes sitting in a car all day, we decided that when in Vik, we’d climb the big cliffs off to the left as you approach. They looked so very alluring with their craggy precipices poking into the clouds. Just to check on available information, we went into the Tourist Office in Vik, and were advised to do some pathetic granny stroll around town. We thus, of course, ignored all the information we’d been given, and set out into the unknown, determined to reach the top of whatever it was up there, the name of which emerged to be “Hatta”.  It had glorious cliffs to peer past into the abyss below, massive drops that were not to be accidentally gone over, misty towers of rock hiding in the gloom, and, every now and then, a view, like in the photo above. See those cute little rock stacks in the ocean? They are the massive giants called Reynisdrangar. All big things are tiny relative to something mightier than they are. If only humans could recognise this – especially ones in politics.


Visibility was not exactly good, but I had seen from a map that if we stuck to the ridgeline (carefully avoiding its knife edge), we would eventually arrive at the summit. Hopefully we could recognise it in the white out. If tourist offices sold decent topo maps instead of dispensing the advice to stay at home and wrap oneself in cotton wool, that would actually keep people much safer.


And here is our wonderful summit view. Actually, I’d much prefer this to a vast but murky vista. This one has the appeal of the obscured embedded within.
So, that killed the time until lunchtime.
After soup in Vik, we headed off further east, with Timea’s list for the day close to hand. Her next piece of advice was an amazing gorge, Fjadrargljufur, with stunningly blue water flowing way below in a deep green gorge, with a waterfall at the end.


Fjadrargljufur
We had been spoiled up until now, for thus far we had had the privilege of dancing on the abyss to our heart’s content, going to the brink of infinitude, but being allowed to determine for ourselves (and with a strong desire to live in mind) our own level of risk-comfort. Here, all independence and self-direction was removed. This was a tourist site, complete with wide, smooth, tarred trails, railings, keep out signs and a million warnings telling us that if we leap four hundred metres, we will surely die a the end of the flight. It even had a dragon lady at the start to remind you to stay on the trail and other suchlike rules.
We did not enjoy this level of supervision or removal of our autonomy. We walked to the end and back unimpressed, but now I am home and can see my photos, I do have to admit that this place is very beautiful, and that the tourists do need to have somewhere to go. Much better to channel them all into something like this and let the rest of wilderness be wild. And if you are going to have crowds all chatting to each other and skylarking around while they take their selfies, heedless of those around them, then you also need to keep them away from dangerous edges.
I am terrified in the presence of people who seem unaware of their surroundings, as I have been bumped nearly into oblivion by such people on more than one occasion. Better to save cliff edges for solo or near-solo efforts. So, here is a sacrificial pawn serving the tourist industry, conserving the people from their own irresponsibility. Such pawns are necessary.


Next marvel on Timea’s list was a turquoise waterfall by the name of Stjornarfoss. Here is Lena, deciding whether or not to take a swim at about 4 degrees.


Our next “falls” were not on anybody’s list, and neither were they named. They had little height, but made up for it with massive colour and breadth. We found them utterly charming, so I slammed on the brakes and out we hopped. Now, we get pretty involved once we’ve set up our tripods and thoroughly immerse ourselves in the nature we are capturing. We are at one with it, and tend not to notice extraneous objects, like a farmer wanting to shoot us, an approaching bull with smoke issuing from its nostrils, or a mob of forty tourists who decided that if these two people with tripods were were shooting it, then it must by definition be good. In this instance, it was the third of these that happened. When we “woke up” from our trance of being soaked in beauty, we noticed to our complete amazement the very large number of people who had gathered to shoot this nameless wonder.
On the way during the remaining drive, we found some more Icelandic horses,


one of whom photo-bombed Lena, who, the horse felt, was discriminating unfairly in the favour of blondes and brunettes, and shamelessly ignoring dark-haired beauties like her.
I was a little tired by the time we arrived at Vagnasstadir, where our Youth Hostel was. I was so tired, I even wanted a bit of a nap before I threw myself at more driving and another long sunset stint. We had no room yet, and I relaxed on the couch waiting for permission to enter. Off I dozed. I needed it.
Maybe it’s good that I was fresh when they showed us the room, or I might have been bad tempered. Instead of the two beds we’d ordered, the room had one tiny bed called a double, but double for sticks only. For a mother and pregnant daughter, booked in for three nights, this was really not what we were expecting or wanting, especially considering the price. The view, however, was wonderful, and Lena wasn’t upset, and I guess I was more concerned that she would be cross than that I would be. If she was happy, so was I , so we made do with this extraordinarily inadequate excuse of a bed in a room that allowed about 30 cms space around its perimeter and laughed our way out of the situation. At least we had a gorgeous view out our big window, and breakfast next day was excellent.


On on we pressed, driving back after this minor setback the 30 odd kilometres to Jokulsarlon to do what I had always so very, very much wanted to do since I saw my first-ever photos of this region: to photograph the ice floes at Jokulsarlon. The first evening was more a learning experience than anything else. I learned that these bergs move, even in a four-second exposure; that they move more if they run across your line rather than towards you; I learned exactly which shutter speeds did it for me so that when I went back on successive evenings, I could do it all better.
Day 6.
This was the first of several days that we devoted to icebergs in one way or another, with short hikes up mountains and visits to waterfalls acting as punctuation marks in the real purpose of the day.


I was impatient to see Breidamerkursandur, or Diamond beach as it is known to those who like to translate everything into English. We had enormous fun playing “What’s the time Mr Wolf” with the waves, and dashing to safety when the waves declared it to be “dinner time”.  It was such a lark, and even served as an interval training session, sprinting away from being monstered by a wave, hand clutching a camera attached to its tripod, giggling of course.

Day 7 began with a visit to a “secret” waterfall shown to us by the waiter at Fjallsarlon who sold us soup the day before. Mostly, however, as with the day before, (and apart from some down time in the afternoon, and some walking to this or that spot of natural beauty) our focus was on ice.


A diversion from ice while waiting for low sun.


And at last evening came. Jokulsarlon is only one of many lagoons with icebergs, so we enjoyed visiting several of them in these days. We loved the fact that I had designed our trip to involve our spending several days in each location to have opportunities like this.


And at the end of each night’s shooting, we had the half-hour drive (a tad under, in fact) back to Vagnasstadir in the marvellous twilight of the midnight zones. We both adored the midnight tones of Iceland. It was such a pleasure and a privilege to be out and about in the middle of such beauty.
For part 3, the link is
http://www.natureloverswalks.com/iceland-2018-3/