Iceland #10 - Day 8: Rain, Rain and Then Vesturhorn!

The rain continued overnight, accompanied with the usual high winds, and I woke up late to a miserable view out of the window.

I like staying in cabins in this kind of weather, but it's no fun to go anywhere. Visibility outside was limited, with not a peak in sight, and I didn't fancy taking photos in the rain just for the sake of taking photos. I didn't have far to drive, at least, as I was staying in Stafafell, but there would still have been plenty to photograph along the way in good weather. I stayed in the cabin all morning, watching the other two cabins' occupants impatiently peaking their heads out of the window frequently to see if the rain was subsiding, just as I was doing every five minutes. A couple of horses stood in the shelter of one of the cabins, looking inside at the guests, before wandering off across the snow. The rain showed no signs of abating any time soon.

Eventually I had to leave (check-out was at 11am) so rushed to the car laden with as much as I could so I only had to do the journey twice. I set off into the mist and rain, not quite sure where I might stop and what I might do until check-in at the cottage at 3pm. I was a little nervous about the exposed scree-slope section of the road, worrying that the heavy rain might have dislodged even more snow and rock and bringing it tumbling down onto the road (the avalanche risk was "considerable" but not "very high", at least). The road conditions weren't too bad before I got to the nasty bit, although at one point I was surprised by a huge truck overtaking me - it had crept up on me so fast that I hadn't even noticed it behind me. I was driving particularly slowly as there were gusty winds as well as rain and limited visibility.

Sneaky iPhone shot of the crappy weather

The truck later pulled over, so I passed it again, and drove the 4km behind another SUV, glad for the company in case anything happened, avalance-wise. I very much hoped the truck wouldn't come rearing up behind me again, and it didn't. My heart was definitely racing a little and I wished the SUV was driving just a little faster so we could get out of there sooner. I felt a great sense of relief to get to the end of that section and arrive at the headland at Hvalnes. I pulled in to take a comparison shot between then and the previous, glorious afternoon. I could only just see the first low peak of Eystrahorn - everything else was hidden by low cloud. It was pretty miserable, especially when you know what stunning peaks lie beneath the murk.

I quickly got back in the car - even that was very challenging with near-gale-force winds and driving rain - and continued my drive west. I decided that I'd just head into Höfn and have lunch there to kill a bit of time. I could have driven all the way back to Jökulsárlón, but didn't really have the energy either for the 130km round trip journey or to stand on a wet beach, especially given how disappointing it had been earlier in my visit on a couple of occasions. I drove past the yellow cottage, looking forward to returning there, and onwards towards the tunnel. There were amazing turquoise pools along the roadsides, where ice pools were beginning to melt. The colour was quite intense and I hadn't seen anything like it on previous trips. Again it was challenging to capture as the rain was pretty much horizontal and for some reason seemed to be coming in every direction. The hood on the zoom did little to keep raindrops from the lens. The rainfall was very heavy and in some places the pools were overflowing and beginning to flood the road.

In Höfn I drove to the Kaffi Hornið and treated myself to their speciality of langoustine (lobster tails) and a lovely porter.

iPhone shot of yummy langoustine tails - so many of them!

They weren't quite as delicious as the ones Scott had had in the Grillmarkaðurinn in Reykjavík, but were still pretty yummy (and garlicky, which I could taste for the rest of the day!). I hung around for a while, savouring my beer, killing time, and then drove back (feeling a little naughty for having had a beer) through the tunnel to the cottage. By the time I got there it was 2pm - a little early - but since I'd stayed there twice before and it was raining I hoped that the nice owner would let me check in early. He did; and I was in the yellow cottage again (for a third time). He told me how he'd seen the star trail shot of the cabin and loved it. 

It was great to be back in the cute little place again, a great spot to shelter from the weather, drinking mugs of tea. The weather was forecast to improve later on - at least being dry, even though the winds were still going to be strong (and getting stronger). I reviewed some more photos and had a short nap, and then lo-and-behold the rain stopped, so I geared up to get ready to drive to Stokksnes. 

As I set off there were still enormous grey clouds rolling around the tops of Brunnhorn and Vesturhorn and above, but there were patches of brightness and even glimpses of clear skies behind. The view from Stafafell always impresses me - I can't imagine living in a place and seeing the view of the wonderfully-shaped Brunnhorn every day! The drive was a little gusty, but I always enjoy the drive up to the tunnel, with the pointy peaks ahead and to my left.

For once I didn't stop along the way to capture the road winding up to the tunnel, as I was keen to get to Stokksnes as soon as possible. Once through the tunnel the dark clouds had gone and it was almost clear ahead of me to the west. I took the left turn, and drove along the meandering road with huge bird cliffs above me, a couple of reindeers flitting off to my right. I got to the Viking Café, did my usual half-hearted attempt to see if the man was there to collect money, and when he didn't come out within five seconds I continued on across the sandy spit. 

There were a couple of cars parked already near the dunes, and I noticed that black sand was being whipped across the road ahead, where I usually park at the entrance to the radar station. I decided to park before I reached that spot, hoping not to get any damage to the car's paintwork from the sand being hurled at it. Boy it was windy! I got my gear ready in the car, wrapping up tight against the wind, and then set off, being helped nicely along through the dunes by the enormous power of the wind. It wasn't even particularly gusty, just really strong wind all the time! This would be a little challenging for the tripod-mounted long exposures I had in mind (er, pretty impossible!), or indeed any photography.

The dunes were incredibly exposed, with the wind funnelling between them like it does between the skyscrapers in London, so I decided to head to the rocky area at the end of the beach, hoping it might be a little more sheltered. On my way I took a few handheld shots, with the sand racing past my face!

The beach itself was extremely exposed, with sand dancing towards the sea, and the rocky area wasn't much better. I did find a spot that I quite liked on the rocks, and I sat for a while with my tripod on its lowest legs and me behind it, protecting it from the wind. The wind whipped at my back, catching any tiny gap between the thermal tops and thermal bottoms (and was icy cold!). The mountain looked striking, with the slowly-setting sun upon it, and snow in some of the creases of the slopes, but the sky was an uninspiring blue (better for B&W conversions). The waves weren't massive, given the power of the wind, and the tide was out, so the opportunity for really cool wave shots and water trails over the rocks seemed limited. A couple of other photographers milled around, one trying - like me - to capture some shots of the beach using a tripod, and another couple heading out onto the exposed beach and trying the handheld option (even that was hard, especially when the wind was strong enough to move you off your feet a little).

The light was nothing like the fantastic, intense last-glimpse sun that had reflected off the mountain when I'd been there in Feb 2015; after that anything else is a little disappointing. The lingering clouds would've looked great with a 20-30 second exposure streaking them across the sky, but with the winds as strong as they were that just wasn't an option.

I managed a few long-ish exposures, holding onto the camera to prevent movement (which isn't usually advised as holding onto it itself creates movement). It seemed to work for a few seconds, but no more. The tide began to come in, as the last of the sun disappeared, swirling over the rocks below me. The last of clouds began to dissipate.

I stayed for a couple of hours, until the dusky light crept in, heading out along the beach before I left. The skies had almost completely cleared of clouds, which boded well for night photography later on (wind levels permitting).

The wind had made me pretty cold, so I had to give up before I lost use of my fingers (as usual) and walked back to the car, slightly sideways, with the hood on my windproof jacket pulled over the whole of my face. Walking into gale force winds that carry gritty sand is not pleasant and I was glad to get into the calm of the inside of the car (although the car itself was being rocked from side to side). I realised that at some point I'd lost a lens-cap, which was irritating, but there was no way I'd be going back out there to re-trace my footsteps to try and find it (besides, the footsteps would have been blown away by now!). I drove back along the spit, through the tunnel and back to my little cottage and cooked. I was getting seriously bored with tuna pesto pasta now, but at least this was my last night of it. 

The skies were forecast to be mostly clear that night, but the northern light forecast was only Kp 1, at best. I decided to try some Milky Way and star shots, although it was far too windy still to try to set up a series of long exposures (there was no way I was leaving the camera out on the tripod, which could easily have been taken to the ground by a gust). I took a few shots of the cabin and stars (which weren't that intense), and noticed that there were, in fact, some northern lights out after all. I took a few more shots from behind the cabin, towards the hills, nearly slipping over on treacherous ice a few times, and the northern lights came out to play briefly. Eventually they disappeared behind the hills, the cloud level increased above the horizon, so I called it a night. After a dreadful start to the day at least I'd got some good shooting time on the beach and of the night skies.

Click here for my blog from Day 7: A Glorious Drive East
Click here for my blog from Day 9: Driving West to Hrífunes

Iceland Nov 2015 - Day 8: From Höfn to Vík

The weather-forecast for the morning of my last day in the south-east of Iceland was for near-gale-force winds, dying down a little after 10am. I almost decided against heading back to Stokksnes, thinking it might be too dangerous, stuck out at the end of an exposed spit. But I went anyway, hoping again to match the stunning light that I'd had on the previous trip. The wind was so strong along the way that waterfalls coming over the edge of the cliff under which the tunnel goes were blowing upwards. Not like I've seen at Foss á Siðu, where the wind takes the water upwards a little, but fully upwards over the cliff. I didn't stop to take photos, as I was on a tight time schedule, but managed a couple of rubbish ones from the car on the iPhone.

(iPhone 4S photo)

I pulled up at the café and again the man wasn't there (it wasn't that early - post-sunrise, so I'd expected to see him) so I didn't have to pay the fee, again. The wind wasn't bad along the spit, after all. I parked near the radar station and as I was getting my gear together I noticed a key ring sitting in the centre console pocket. I picked it up, wondering where it was from, and soon remembered that it was the front door key from the yellow cabin, which I'd clearly failed to hand to the owner when I checked out! I was then faced with three options: drive the 30km back through the tunnel and return it to the man by hand, mail it back to the man from Reykjavik (or Vik), or pretend I'd never seen it. Obviously the first option was the only one, even though it meant that time would be even tighter, with an extra 60km added on to my drive.

Feeling annoyed with myself I locked the car and wandered past the pond and down to the beach. A low fast-moving cloud constantly shrouded the top of Vesturhorn, but tiny glimpses of sunlight came and went on the scree slopes below the peaks from time to time. I was using the 60D as the 5Diii was packed away, awaiting its new home of rice (I left before the supermarket opened, so would have to wait until I got to Vík to sort out the rice), meaning that I couldn't get the super-wide shots using the 16-35mm lens (because of the 60D's cropped frame). I used some filters to capture the fast-moving clouds' movement, but there wasn't a great deal of contrast. The tide was out, and again there were no small pebbles to make the cool wave trails; the compositions just looked a bit uninspiring. The sky began to brighten up, but the mountain still looked grey and drab.

After a while I went down on to the beach, took a few from there, then wandered along to the dunes. The sun came out on the grasses and then disappeared. The wind was a little stronger there, so any shots including the grasses showed them blowing around.

I knew I had to leave by around 12pm if I was going to have time for my little detour back to Stafafell and then drive all the way to Vík in time for the pre-sunset golden hour (around 4pm), so I dragged myself away, even though the sun had just come out and now everything looked far more spectacular. A quick stop to take a few last shots of the waves, then back to the car. The first of the other photographers arrived; until then I was alone.

The wind had died down but the waterfalls above the tunnel cliff were still being blown upwards as I approached.

Back through the tunnel I went and continued on towards the yellow cabin. When I was about 5km away I pulled aside to let a car with trailer pass, and noticed that it was the cabin owner with his sheepdog in the passenger seat; he didn't see me. I raced across the bridge, found somewhere to turn around and then sped towards him, chasing him! I soon caught up with him (he was driving at the speed limit - definitely a good idea in windy conditions with a trailer). As I approached I flashed him, then overtook and drew alongside him and waved, before indicating for him to stop. He looked confused but the recognised that it was me, as I ran back to his car waving the key. He wound down his window and thanked me and said, in his usual slow, delivered way, "I did notice that it wasn't there". I apologised and ran back to the car and continued back on my journey towards Vík. Had I left Stokksnes about twenty minutes later I would have passed him closer to Stokksnes, or maybe not at all. Feeling happy that I'd done the right thing I drove onwards.

The clouds along my journey were really fantastic from time to time. I wished that I'd had more time, or that sunset was a couple of hours later, as I just wanted to stop all the time! I pulled off the road a few times when something particularly caught my fancy - like the view of the wonderful Eystrahorn, a couple of reindeer (the only ones I saw on the whole trip, and only because of my detour), the graffiti house with mad clouds above, and the little pond near Hali.

By the time I turned the bend in the road that lies parallel with Jökulsárlón beach the rain that I'd seen in ominous clouds for the past hour hit me. It was torrential, with very little visibility. No stop there this time then - I certainly wan't going to risk ruining another camera with water damage! I drove across the suspension bridge with sadness - it's hard not to stop somewhere that you love so much! I continued on in the rain until I reached the petrol station at Svínafell, where I always stop for one of their yummy burgers (another of my Icelandic road-trip traditions). I didn't hang around long, keen to continue, still fighting with the time to get to Vík in time for the last light. On the weather board there it showed strong winds ahead, so I took it carefully and drove a little slower. At Lómagnúpur I just pulled the car off to the side of the road and took a couple of very quick shots before carrying on. The top was covered by cloud, and there was a vague glow in the distance that I wanted to reach.

From time to time the light was absolutely incredible, with the sun bursting through and lighting up a small patch of the landscape, contrasting vividly with the darkness of the sky and rest of the view. There were some magnificent crepuscular rays in the distance. Iceland at its best!

I pulled off the road at Foss á Siðu and was interested to see that there was a "no entry" sign in front of it. I remembered clambering up the slippery, mossy bank on my first visit, a few years back, so that I was practically underneath the waterfall - that clearly wasn't possible any more (if one paid attention to the rules, anyway). The view from there was lovely, with the sun pouring golden light onto the landscape to the west.

I continued on, now feeling quite rushed if I had any change to get to see any light at Vík. And then the light would be beautiful, so I'd have to stop, setting me back even further.

I was still making good time, and now the rain had stopped and the wind died down it was easier to drive at a decent speed. I slowed down through Kirkjubæyarklaustur, knowing that there were always police cars around. Indeed there were, so driving at 90kmph was definitely sensible. As I drove up and out of the town through the mossy area I noticed some smoke in the distance. Eventually I reached it and noticed a little hut with a fire raging through it, and a bunch of fireman standing around it. I turned round and drove back so that I could stop and get a better look. My friends thought it might have been an exercise for the firemen.

I finally reached Vík at 4.45pm - the same time as sunset. The intense light I'd seen earlier had gone, as the sun had disappeared behind clouds low on the horizon and there wasn't a great deal of sunset light. I headed straight down to the beach, where they'd built a bigger carpark. The beach looked the same as ever, except for a large hay bail that had made its way down to the shoreline, which I tried to avoid capturing in any of my shots. The waves were a bit frothy, so getting some nice shots of the water receding didn't really happen. Doing some longer exposures with filters on seemed to work okay, as the clouds were moving quickly.

As last year I tried to get some good wave shots with the stacks in the background. Once I nearly got covered by a wave that came in about 20 metres further than any other - luckily I saw it coming, picked up my tripod and scarpered up the beach to safety. The light faded quickly, and it started to rain. The wind picked up too, making it not only unpleasant to be out in, but also difficult to take clear photos, as rain was blown onto the filter. A patch of light did appear near the horizon for my last couple of shots.

I called it a day and headed back through the town to the supermarket to get some rice and then on to my lovely hotel - the Icelandair one. I ate in the restaurant there - a bit pricey, but tasty, and then put the 5Diii in its new home for the next few days - a bag of basmati! From my hotel room I could see the stacks (if it were light) and the petrol station, and there was definitely no sign of northern lights. Thick clouds covered the skies and rain belted the windows.

Click here for my Day 7 blog - Back to Jökulsárlón in the Rain
Click here for my Day 9 blog - From Vík to Álftanes