The frustration was extreme. I knew what the scenery that surrounded me was like, but again I woke up with zero visibility and a dreary, heavy drizzle. Not the best start to my second week in Iceland, but something I'd had to become accustomed to over the past few days. I was grumpy. I drank tea, ate my granola and Skyr, checked to see if the clouds had lifted (they hadn't) and felt more grumpy. I took the car towards Hvalnes to see if the conditions might be better around the headland; they weren't, so I turned around and drove back towards the cabin. I stopped at the car-park, and even the swans looked drab in the normally-lovely Lónsfjörður. Someone had drawn on the bird sign "Sophie was here" - it wasn't me, and it saddened me that people had defaced the pretty sign.
Every plant was covered in hundreds of glistening water droplets, but the endless drizzle made any photography painful, so I headed home, stopping only briefly to say hi to some horses.
The horses immediately came over to me as I approached from across the road. I felt bad that I didn't have any food for them; I never do :( (note to self: buy carrots on next trip).
I got back home and dried off, feeling very sulky still. The poor weather had now been going on for 4 days and I was truly fed up. The rain was supposed to have cleared up, but it didn't seem to be doing so. I drank more tea, had a cheese sandwich, reviewed and processed some photos, and moped a little more. I felt restless and decided to drive west, to see if it was any better in that direction - perhaps revisit Skútafoss. As I drove I started thinking about the missing knob on the tripod and decided I'd drive into Höfn to see if I could find a replacement bolt (driving slowly, mindful of the recent speed cops sightings; I didn't see them again). I turned off the road to drive up to the waterfall, but on seeing another car there decided I'd go to Höfn first. I then remembered that it was Sunday and the shops were unlikely to be open, which I confirmed on my phone, and then remembered that the following day was a public holiday, so the shops wouldn't be open then either. It was still drizzling, I was pissed off that it was Sunday, pissed off about the tripod, and so I drove home again. Another cup of tea would make things better. I stopped at the house to ask Sigurdur if he might possibly have a spare bolt, but he wasn't quite sure what I was asking for. I showed him the tripod and he said he'd have a look. It was worth a try - surely everyone has a drawer with loose screws and bolts that they haven't thrown away, thinking that they'll come in handy one day...
I sat in the cabin, looking out of the window and opening the front door from time to time to see if the drizzle had stopped or the clouds had lifted at all, and then went out to photograph some of the water droplets on the low grasses and flowers outside, in spite of the drizzle not stopping. The grasses looked lovely, and occasionally I heard the whistle of the whimbrels in the distance, laughing at my predicament, perhaps...
At around 4.30pm the rain finally began to ease and it brightened up a bit. From time to time I could just see the hills to the north, although no sign of Brunnhorn to the south-west, sadly. A little later on I headed out, deciding to drive to the two little derelict farm huts at Papafjörður, which I usually photographed from the other side of the fjord. I parked the car near the huts and had a little explore. Due to all of the recent rain I couldn't continue to the end of the road, as it was basically a river now. A plaque stood on the river bank, with a bit of history about the area, which had been a trading post for a few decades in the late 19th century, before moving to Höfn (actually taking some buildings out around the headland to the town!). I decided to go for a walk up the river valley, to see what was there. The valley, I found out later, is called Kastárdalur, and it is possible to walk all the up the valley and around the flanks of both Vestrahorn and Brunnhorn to get back to the huts. One day I will try that.
The river was pretty, but mainly I was just delighted that it had stopped drizzling and there was some visibility, if not much.
I took a few shots of the winding river before heading a little uphill and discovering that there was a little canyon - it was wonderful! The hillsides were also teeming with crowberry bushes, on which I gorged myself.
As I climbed along the top of the little canyon my mood lifted dramatically - I was so pleased to be back outside, enjoying the hidden wonders that Iceland always seems to deliver, taking photographs. I've always admired this v-shaped valley from the other side of the fjord, ever since I saw it for the first time, with stripes from the snow, back in March 2014, but I'd only once driven along this side of the fjord before. As I got to the top of the short canyon the river zigzagged off into the mist and I felt happy and relieved, the mood I'd been in due to the crappy weather having finally lifted. Holding the tripod to take long exposures was tricky, so I was still feeling a bit grumpy about that.
I wandered back down towards the car and noticed a couple of hikers along the fjord's edge - they had big packs on so I think they must've done the long trek - most of which would've been extremely wet. I picked some more berries and put some in a ziplock bag to have with my granola the next morning.
One of the upsides of the rain over the previous few days was that the hillsides were overflowing with picturesque little waterfalls and trickles, so on my drive back towards home I kept stopping to photograph more!
At this last stop I looked back and was blessed with a view of Brunnhorn - finally! - with a little remaining cloud lingering around the peaks.
I drove back to Skútafoss and was pleased to find no other car there. I headed up the hill and took some photos from above again. In the distance more little waterfalls trickled from underneath the fog which was still clinging to the mountaintops. Conditions were far more pleasant than the previous day without the rain to contend with.
I walked back down to the bottom of the falls and into the cave, hoping to be able to get a fully-framed view of the falls, which I'd not managed to do very well the previous day. I had to get myself and the tripod up against the back of the dripping cave wall and then hold the tripod steady (I really needed that bolt!). I managed a couple that I was pretty happy with, with and without the framing of the whole cave.
There are some lovely views a little downstream too.
It was 7.30pm by the time I headed off, just as a family arrived; the benefit of visiting in summer is that you have so many more hours of daylight to play with, so the photography window is a lot longer! I passed a sweet little meandering stream over grasses on my way back to the car.
Before getting back to the cottage I decided to take a little detour - up the F980 road that heads north just before reaching the bridge and big bend before Stafafell. I had the time (and daylight) to explore, and the scenery was pleasant with hills and farms on one side and the braided river off to the east.
It wasn't long before I came up to a manmade ridge in the road, got to the top of the ridge and noticed that the road disappeared into the river! I'd noticed the river-crossing warnings on the road-sign, and they weren't kidding!
There was absolutely no way I was driving across that, so turned around and headed back towards home. As I neared the main road there was a sudden intense glimpse of sunshine on one of the farm buildings at Stafafell in the distance. The light was back!
I drove back past Stafafell and headed towards Hvalnes, with patches in the cloud now allowing views of the colourful rhyolitic hillsides and distant, mysterious peaks. It was quite magical after the rain! Usually when I'm here the colours are hidden by snow.
I pulled in at the parking area just before Hvalnes and looked back at the view. There were lines of soft golden light illuminating the hillsides. It would have been even more spectacular had the sun been shining on some of the swans swimming around in the fjord. It was still pretty magical.
Again I could just make out the peaks of Brunnhorn; it looked rather surreal, partly hidden by thick fog, above, below and behind.
To the north the sunlight patch diminished, but there was still a bright patch, with some rain just visible. I headed a bit further on to the first parking spot at Hvalnes itself and took a few pictures of the road winding away towards the brightness. More magic...
I drove up towards the lighthouse and had a little wander to the hilly outcrop above the beach and stood watching the sky darken, the waves lapping against the black sand below me.
I drove home in the last of the light and took a few last shots of the little yellow cabin as a couple of local sheep scarpered away up the hill, and a couple of whimbrels flew away, startled by my presence.
It had been a decent end to an otherwise disappointing day. It was quite late, but I still managed to cook my salmon and wash it down with another tasty beer. I was sad to only be staying there for two nights - although even when I've stayed for four it never seems like enough time. I hadn't visited the Hvannagil canyon, I hadn't even been to Stokksnes, but at least I'd discovered a cute new canyon and had finally had some light! And at least I was coming back that way, so had another chance to visit Stokksnes again. The following day I was off further east, staying not far from Egilsstaðir, and finally going to Stuðlagil. I wanted to set off early, so had a fairly early night, feeling a lot less grumpy than I did when I woke up!
Click here for my blog from Day 7 - Rainy Drive to Stafafell
Click here for my blog from Day 9 - Finally to the Incredible Stuðlagil!
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