Iceland #16 - Day 1: A Rainy Drive to Reynisfjara

My journey to Iceland for my sixteenth trip was the usual one - hectic day working from home trying to finish a few things off, tube to Heathrow, fish and chips in the divine Perfectionist restaurant in the lovely Terminal 2, followed by a smooth dark plane ride (on a 737 Max 😮), sitting next to a sweet Australian girl who was on the last leg of a very long flight. I picked up a 6-pack of Garun in duty free, grabbed my backpack, picked up my rental Dacia Duster (which I nearly crashed in the car park by pressing the accelerator instead of the break, having seemingly forgotten how to drive a manual car), and drove to Alftanes, where the lovely little Jökull cat greeted me - his face at the cat flap looking somewhat freaked out that I was there.

The following morning it was rainy and grey and I had a quick catch-up with Sigrún and Johannes - and a couple of espressos - before heading off into Reykjavik where I was meeting a new Twitter buddy, a fellow Icelandophile photographer, Annelies Barentsen. It was already raining, and I ran from the car to the meter and back to the car and down to the café, where I ordered the most expensive cup of tea ever (I was still buzzing from the coffee earlier so no more coffee for me). Annelies arrived and we spent about an hour chatting about our mutual love of Iceland - she was taking it further and actually learning the language, something I've ashamedly made no effort whatsoever to do. We said our goodbyes and I headed to Orr, of course, to pick up a new piece or two (or three, actually). Next stop was a branch of Vinbuðin which stocked a couple of interesting-sounding beers that I wanted to try, followed by a supermarket run to stock up on food for the week (I'd be self-catering every night on this trip). And then the journey began - a long, dull drive in heavy rain!

My first brief stop was at a road called Dímonarvegur, just before Seljalandsfoss, where I noticed a small patch of light to the north.

Other than that, though, there was pretty much nothing to see. Soon I was approaching my favourite rocks and was shocked to find that they had gone! A bunch of rocks sticking out in a lagoon could not just disappear, but they had. There were only two possible options - someone had moved them (extremely unlikely), or it was a particularly high tide, higher than any other time I'd driven past before. I stopped and took a couple of photos, and noticed that the strange bra collection was getting bigger. Hopefully the rocks would reappear on my return.

I drove on, not stopping at Skógafoss, continuing for another half an hour until I saw some nice river braids (there are a lot!) just near Pétursey. It was absolutely pissing it down by this point, and fairly windy, so any photography was rather challenging, and being out of the car extremely unpleasant.

I soon reached my home for the night - a tiny little cottage right next to the entrance to Reynisfjara beach. I'd booked to stay there the previous March but had had to cancel as I'd changed my trip dates and they were full when I went earlier, in February. It was a cute little place, just big enough for a kitchen, sofa-bed, table and tiny shower-room - but perfect for one! I hung out in the cottage for a while, drinking tea (there was no kettle so I had to boil water on the stove - my only criticism of the place!), before getting kitted up and heading out in the rain. At least when the weather is rubbish there aren't as many people out and about on the beach - there was only one couple braving the storm. It was pretty late by now - 6pm - and with no sunset there wasn't much for people to see. I wandered along the beach a tiny bit, but my feet were quickly getting wet from the heavy rain (I hadn't unpacked my wellies yet). I took a few handheld shots of the waves, which were as incredible, dangerous and mesmerising as usual. I experimented a bit with some ICM (intentional camera movement) as the light faded and the rain got heavier. The weather was so ghastly, that I only managed to be out for fifteen minutes before heading back to the cosy cabin for the night.

I cooked some tuna pasta, cracked open one of the beers, downloaded the photos, recharged the batteries, called the hubby, all the while listening to the rain bashing against the roof and windows and the wind whistling and raging outside. It's nice to be in a cabin listening to a storm, although I imagine it would be a bit scary if it was one of the really wild storms that batter the area from time to time. It had been a really disappointing first day, apart from my coffee date and jewellery purchase, but the forecast for the following morning was good, so I set my alarm early enough to be out on the beach before sunrise - a lot easier when you're right there!

Click here for my blog from Day 2 - Driving from Reynisfjara to Jökulsárlón

Iceland #10 - Day 3: Heading East, Alone, to Disappointment

And so the photography trip began. With the boys safely on a bus back to Reykjavik, I headed towards the gloom in the east. There had been a strange bluey-grey cloud hanging over the coast all day, and now I drove into it. I crossed the first sandur and saw some strange hillocks that I've noticed before, so turned right off the main road to get a better look. I passed a photographer who I thought was shooting in a slightly different direction but who clearly wasn't, as he shouted "for f**k's sake!" as I obviously wandered into his shot, in search of my own. I apologised and retreated and a couple of minutes later he waved me on.

I continued onwards past the snow-covered mossy lava fields and Kirkjubæjarklaustur, and then the wonderful Lómagnúpur loomed into view, the clouds high enough not to obscure the top, for once. There was a glow on the horizon and even sun visible on very distant snowy peaks much further east. I stopped to take a couple of shots, but the light wasn't great and I was excited to get to Jökulsárlón, so didn't hang around for long. I pulled in again on the far side of the bridge, as the view of Lómagnúpur is far better from the east side.

I raced on, passing the turn-offs to Skaftafell and Svínafellsjökull, only stopping to fill up with petrol at the station near Oræfi; otherwise it was straight on towards the ice. The glaciers were just visible, although covered with snow, so not as blue as usual. The roadsides were also incredibly snowy, and I never seemed to get any closer to the strange yellow glow in the distance.

Taken while driving, hence blurred - oops!

I soon passed the track up to Fjallsárlon, which was completely covered with snow - there was no way I'd be trying to drive up there until the snow had melted a bit - and then the pylons began converging towards the horizon on the right, and the moraine hills began rolling alongside me to the left and finally the top of the suspension bridge over the river at Jökulsárlón reared into view in the distance - I was back!

It is a very disappointing feeling to rock up at a place that is so beloved to you, only to find it missing the one thing that really makes it special. And this was how I felt after driving over the bridge, past a lagoon devoid of floating icebergs (there were some in the distance but not many), and then down a bumpy, potholed, snowy track to park at a beach in great anticipation, only to see almost no icebergs. I was bereft. Jökulsárlón beach with no icebergs! What was I to do?!! At least it wasn't raining, that would have rubbed salt into the wound. I wrapped up in all my warm gear and set off with the tripod down the beach anyway, to see if I could salvage anything from the afternoon.

It was still clear to the east, and the bottom of the Vesturhorn mountain and some other higher peaks to the north of it were illuminated by the sun - if only I'd been there instead... There were a couple of scrappy bits of ice on the beach but they were horribly dull, covered in patches of black sand and very unphotogenic. I felt pretty devastated. The fact that there was no ice floating under the bridge to the sea left me pessimistic for my few days there - the ice had to come from somewhere.

In addition to the lack of ice, I also realised - for the first time that trip really - that I didn't have the right equipment with me; I had a bit of a lens problem. I'd had a little accident back in December with my 24-70mm lens taking a little tumble against the side of the coffee table, resulting in a slight dent to the filter ring. As a result, I can no longer screw in any filters. As I hadn't got round to getting it fixed yet, I decided that this would give me a good opportunity to try out the next model up (the Canon 24-70mm f/2.8 II which has had rave reviews) to see if it was special enough to buy (and the wonderful Lenses For Hire always has a 50% offer if you book your rentals in February). I knew it wouldn't be perfect for the trip, as the filter thread is 82mm and all of my filters are 77mm. I bought an 82mm circular polariser and already had a step-down ring from a similar experiment a couple of years earlier with a rented Zeiss lens that I could use to put the smaller filters on. I tried them out when the lens arrived, only to find impossible vignetting at any focal length other than 70mm (ie the filters were pointless!). The other problem I discovered when the lens was delivered was that this newer model has a shallow tulip-style hood, different from the large, deep hood of the older model, which provides a decent amount of cover from the rain. Therefore this lens was unlikely to work for Jökulsárlón, given that I liked to use filters and needed the hood to protect the glass from errant raindrops or salty wave splashes.

The only lens I had with me that had any kind of weather protection, then, was my 70-200mm f/4, which had a similarly enclosed, long hood as my trusted, but dented, 24-70mm one. The problem with this lens, though, was that I have no filters for it, and it has a 67mm thread for filters. I have a step-up ring so I can use all of my filters without a hood, but with a hood I can't use any. Or so I thought. I'd had a bit of a brainwave thinking that the 77mm filters might just fit inside the hood, if I could somehow manage to attached them with the step-down ring, with the hood already attached. It turned out that it was just possible, sliding my fingers carefully in and moving the filter around in small motions to get it to catch onto the threads and tighten - enough to hold, but not so much that I wouldn't then be able to move it. I also had to avoid getting any fingerprints on the glass, also a challenge! It was all a bit of a rubbish set-up and I longed for my old un-dented 24-70mm (I must get it fixed!!).

As it wasn't wet I could live without the hood for now and was able to use the 70-200mm lens with any of the filters, so I set about trying to take some long exposure shots of the waves. The weather was still strange - with the intense bright patch along the horizon to the east, taunting me with its clear skies, and the thick bluey-grey clouds above me.

It was grey and uninspiring once the golden patch disappeared, to say the least, and even the waves were pretty dull.

There wasn't really any compensation for not having the icebergs there, so my time capturing the waves was definitely a bit begrudged. I got some moody shots, which matched my own mood. I was not a happy bunny.

The skies darkened and the weird light faded to nothing, so I headed the 13km east to Hali - my tiny home away from home, hoping for better weather and iceberg luck the following morning. It's always nice to get back to my tiny, cosy room there. The cloud cover that evening was 100%, with sleet or snow all night, and the forecast northern lights - fortunately - still hadn't arrived, with the data now suggesting that they would arrive the following night, when there might be a small patch of clear sky to the west. It was forecast to sleet until around 11am so I treated myself to a lie in, setting the alarm for 9.30am.

Click here for my blog from earlier in the day: Day 3 - Playing Tour Guide on a Snowmobile
Click here for my blog from Day 4 - Some Icebergs and Some Lights!