I was recently asked what draws me to landscape photography; what fuelled my passion for it. I have always loved travelling, and the desire to capture what I see must have driven my desire to improve my photographic skills. I remember the days - prior to digital photography - of that excitement of getting pictures back from Boots or Snappy Snaps, and then that disappointment that they weren't really very good, but were still nice reminders of wonderful places. Now I travel a lot less, and a lot less far-afield, but am rarely disappointed with my photos, because the passion has driven me to learn how to take better ones; to be critical, to understand photography properly, to edit and pick the right shots. I also don't have to wait for the results, so I can be disappointed immediately ;) I don't travel as much any more, partly because of the dog, partly because of the husband, partly because I have a day-job that I'm happy with, but also partly with less desire to venture as I get older. My love of photography is still very much there, but I'm less interested in exploring new places, and more focused on just going back again and again to the place(s) I love. Iceland is obviously one of them, and my fourth day on my recent trips was one of those days that just reaffirm why it is I love photographing the Icelandic landscape. Simply put, it is just a marvellously satisfying feeling to be in a place that is totally magical to you, and for the conditions to be magical too. Capturing the beauty of a place makes me feel that life is worth living. And when people enjoy the photos later on, that just tops off the joy of the whole experience!
And so the day began early, managing to get up before sunrise and getting down to the beach at 7.30am, half an hour before the sun might appear (it didn't - there was lots of cloud, as usual, in spite of clear skies forecast). The beach was crammed again with icebergs, making getting to the shoreline tricky. There was a large blue berg sitting higher than the others, so I headed there and started the usual routine - various shots with various filters, different shutter speeds, different angles, different focal lengths. The clouds were moving quickly and it was pretty dramatic. In spite of no stunning sunrise it was still spectacular and I was happy, after the rather miserable previous day. It's not my favourite place in the world for nothing...
It was moody and a bit eerie, with huge waves pounding against the icebergs - particularly the big ones right at the edge of the shoreline.
Sometimes I get a bit transfixed with the crashing waves and forget to move along to find different icebergs. But who could blame me - just look at it!!
Above me the clouds began clearing - bringing the blue skies that had been promised. A few clouds glowed pink in the pre-dawn light. This is the view looking east - icebergs as far as the eye can see.
Some icebergs just fascinated me and I spent ages waiting for the perfect water trails over them. The light reflected through or blocked from the icebergs as waves crash over them changes their appearance completely.
I wandered along the beach to look at a few other icebergs, noticing an interesting black one. Many of the icebergs have black streaks in them, from dirty moraine, but occasionally I notice pure black ones, like the animal-like one the previous day. Not the prettiest, but still interesting.
I found another blue iceberg which was being battered by pretty-much every wave - it was quite fun to watch. Difficult to capture, as the berg was moved by the power of the water and ended up blurry mostly.
I noticed that the water was beginning to glow a little from a patch of sun, which was struggling through the stormy clouds in the distance. I was in heaven.
I could've stayed in that one spot, watching those two enormous icebergs being slowly but surely smashed to pieces, for hours. As it was I stayed a fairly long time!
By 9.30am the sun was higher, the clouds were moving quickly, creating some crepuscular rays on the horizon.
I started to concentrate on the patterns in the surface of the icebergs, before getting the macro lens out again.
I found an incredible feather-like structure inside the ice - tiny, of course, and impossible to capture, given that it was inside the iceberg, at an angle, with small pebbles on the surface. It has about a hundred little ice tubes, some with little bubbles at the end. The world of macro is just sublime!
People always give me funny looks, as I crouch on the ground, a little contorted usually, the tripod as low as I can get it, camera shoved up to the edge of the iceberg. Some people ask me what I'm capturing (I would think it's fairly obvious - close-up shots of the ice!) and I sometimes point out the tiny structures I can see beneath the surface. It is amazing how few people look beneath the surface...
I found another iceberg with a similar tentacley, feathery form - again so tricky to capture and do justice to (but I have my memory of it...).
I noticed a fleck of colour in one iceberg and got a little closer. It was a tiny speck, presumably as a result of some kind of oil trapped in the ice, but suddenly I was treated to an array of colour, like a miniature aurora display, but not in the sky, but inside an ancient piece of ice. I was quite overawed by it.
I looked at my watch and noticed that it was already 11am - time really flies for me when I'm on that beach. I headed back towards the car-park, with the second battery about to die. I found a last big berg with some nice little bubble patterns inside, and took a little video.
The beach was packed by the time I finally left, at 11.30am. The clouds had nearly gone overhead, but it was still cloudy out to sea and the beach looked dull. Definitely time for a break.
As I got back to Reynivellir the sun came out again and I noticed a little white ptarmigan in the snow, rootling around for food. I stopped the car and approached it slowly, but it didn't let me get very close, always striding off as I got closer. I didn't get a great shot (this is cropped a fair bit), but at least I saw it. I'd seen a few of them there on my first stay a few years back so was glad to see that they were still around.
I plugged in the batteries and started to download the photos (there had been a few hundred taken, as usual!), and made myself some lunch. I was rather horrified to find that someone had stolen half of my block of cheese in the fridge! I doubted it was the tour group as they had tons of leftovers, so must've been a Slovakian group who were also staying the previous night. I was really annoyed - who steals other people's food in a guesthouse?! Grrrr! Feeling a bit exhausted I gave myself a few hours off, reviewing the photos, drinking lots of tea, rehydrating. The light outside had become a bit harsh, so it was the best time to be inside (but I always feel guilty if I'm not taking photos when it's light and dry outside!).
I headed back out at about 3.15pm and stopped briefly at a pull-out a little before the bridge. The snow had mostly melted from the few hours of sun, revealing the dull brown winter grass. Some whooper swans paddled about in a nearby pond - they were early this year, given that it had been a relatively mild winter.
From there I looked down to the ocean and noticed the most wonderful sight - massive waves breaking, with huge white plumes blown backwards by the wind, all illuminated by the sun. I found another turn-off, parked the car, and walked down towards the whitecaps. I sat upon the small hill at the end of the iceberg-filled beach, where I'd sat and captured the waves a few times before. It is a great vantage point, away from anyone else. I stayed in that spot for about an hour and a half, absolutely transfixed as the wind carried away yet more waves as they broke. The waves seemed to arrive in slow motion, gentling poking the water in front of them with their tips as they broke; sometimes it looked as if they were racing a neighbour wave to the beach. The light was perfect for it too, with moody clouds on the horizon but a low sun to the west lighting up the spray. It was magical.
Most of my shots were handheld, with no filter, but I did try out a couple with ND filters on - also wonderful!
As the sun dropped towards the mountains to the west I walked back up to the car, wanting to get a bit closer to the waves, and see what the icebergs were up to. The walk took me under the massive pylons that run along most of the ring-road.
I drove across to the west beach, and hurried down to the shore. The sun was disappearing, but there was still some reflection on the breaking waves ahead of me. It was quite challenging to capture, as the sunlight reflected off the waves was so intense. When breaking, some of the waves appeared to be viscous, oozing slowly as they broke open; others looked almost metallic, liquid gold.
The light was obviously lovely on the icebergs dotted around at the shoreline too, so on went a couple of filters to slow things down a bit.
The beach is often nicknamed "Diamond Beach" and this was one of those occasions where this felt pretty apt. It was glorious in the late afternoon sun, sparkling diamond icebergs everywhere.
As the sun disappeared, the remaining clouds began to turn a dusky pink. I wish this light would last all day long! It wasn't a super-spectacular sunset, but it was still lovely.
I stayed around a while longer, enjoying the peaceful blue hour. It is such a treat to be there with conditions like this.
Eventually the light was too dim and too blue, so I called it a night.
I got back to Reynivellir and unfortunately didn't manage to find more people to generously cook for me, so I made my own pasta, washed down with one of my lovely Icelandic beers. The skies were reasonably clear, so I checked the aurora forecast every once in a while. Just after 10.30pm I headed out to see if there was anything, as the aurora were facing south. There was something, but in spite of being in the middle of nowhere there was too much ambient light (there's a waterfall above the guesthouse, which for reasons unknown to me, is floodlit). I headed down the track towards a little river and was able to get a slightly better view. There was limited activity, and clouds were growling above the mountain tops, but there was some purple glow and the odd green streak.
The clouds increased, so I headed in to get some sleep. The forecast for the following morning was for much the same - mainly clear with a bit of cloud, so I had to get up early! I was grateful that the conditions had been so much better than the previous day - it is very disappointing to be in your favourite place and for it to look a bit 'meh'!
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Day 3 - A Grim Day in JökulsárlónClick here for my blog from
Day 5 - A Wonderful Drive from Jökulsárlón to Stafafell
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