Iceland #10 - Day 9 - Driving West to Hrífunes

My penultimate day started early, with a trip down to Hvalnes beach for sunrise. The weather forecast was for clear skies, but obviously that never happens - and besides, a little cloud usually makes sunrise far more impressive. It wasn't going to be a spectacular one, however, and the intense light I was hoping would light up Eystrahorn as the sun broke above the horizon didn't happen. It still looked quite nice though.

I parked on the road to the lighthouse, as usual, and headed down to the beach on the east side. There was quite a lot of cloud around but the sun occasionally peeked through as it rose. A few rain clouds passed above the horizon. It was extremely windy, as usual.

It's a nice beach with some rocks which make for some pleasant water trails as the waves recede. The tide was in, so I could barely see the bigger rocks that sit a little further out, where I'd captured some cool shots of the water flowing down the steps of the rocks on my first visit there.

I kept checking behind me, and took a few shots of the clouds moving around the peak, but the sun just wasn't playing ball, stubbornly hiding behind low clouds on the horizon above the sea. Ominous rainclouds came and quickly passed.

After a while I wandered a bit further along the beach towards the rocks, where massive waves crashed against the shore every minute or so. I tried a few long exposure shots of the mountains behind, but the clouds weren't quite right for it.

The sun, at least, finally came out properly and made the mountain look rather special.

I walked on a bit and tried to photograph the waves. I've tried to capture them at that spot before, and it's pretty challenging to get a shutter speed fast enough to get the movement, and an aperture narrow enough not to have the foreground totally out of focus. The sun was now beginning to appear in its full glory, brightening up the clouds, making the task of photographing the waves even more challenging. Some of the waves were enormous.

It's a pretty exposed spot and eventually I had to leave as my fingers had frozen - a common occurrence. I say to myself "oh just a couple more" and my fingers then freeze up even more! Given the way my fingers felt slightly numb for a couple of weeks after I got back to London, I think I probably overdid it! I stopped to take a few shots of the mountain, upon which the sunlight still fell, before getting back in the car and heading back to my lovely yellow cabin to pack up.

Along the way I pulled in at the parking area and climbed down to the beach where chunks of ice had broken up and a few rocks lay on the surface. One thing I'd seen lots of before in Lónsfjorður were whooper swans, but now there were none and I hadn't seen any on my trip; it was obviously too early for them to be back in Iceland. My fingers were just about functioning again.

There was a lot of cloud over the mountains to the west, where I was heading; the best of the weather for the day was definitely behind me. As I reached the cabin I wanted to take a few more photos of the wonderful view down towards Brunnhorn and Vestrahorn, but the cloud was now obscuring the view.

After packing up the cabin I stopped by at the house to pay, and the owner, Sigurður, drove up from the farm (he has a lot of sheep!). His sheepdog is very cautious, but eventually lets me pet her before I leave each time. I promised to get a copy of the star trail photo for him, which he said he'd like to have on his wall. I'd left the key in the door, so no chance of forgetting it this time and a mad dash back to return it. As I left, the clouds had moved on a bit and the sun came out briefly over the farmland and the peaks in the distance.

The drive between Stafafell and the tunnel before Höfn is one of my favourite stretches of road, so obviously I had to stop a few times, even though I was excited to get back to Jökulsárlón for one last little session. The light wasn't great, with too much cloud, but occasionally a shaft of light would appear to illuminate a spot of the land near me.

After the obligatory stop before the tunnel I drove through and onwards towards Jökulsárlón. For once I didn't stop to capture the favourite tree, although I did make a very quick stop at the graffiti house, to photograph some reindeer, and at the line of trees a little further on.

Like the previous day the sides of the roads were lined with intensely blue ice pools, especially along the last stretch of the road before the lagoon.

By the time I reached Jökulsárlón the weather had totally deteriorated and it was sleeting. No worries, I had my rain cover and set off along the beach with the zoom lens only and the 6-stop ND filter - that should do it, I thought. There were a few icebergs on the beach of some size, but it wasn't massively inspiring, especially with contrast-less cloudy skies along the horizon. There was one rather nice iceberg, but otherwise there wasn't much to keep me there. The place was unusually deserted (actually it usually is when it's pissing with sleet). The sleet got heavier and battered at my back until I could bear it no more. I was drenched and freezing. I stayed less than half an hour - a very quick visit for me - and then headed off, hoping for something more inspiring on the road west, warming up and drying off in the car.

There wasn't much more to inspire me that day, and the drive was long and dull, through rain and high winds. I brightened it up by listening to some rather ridiculous music ('80s Madonna, for example - I don't think this is what she had in mind when she sang "Holiday"...), singing along, as usual. It seemed to brighten my mood a little, which is never great when the weather is poor. I stopped briefly at my beloved Lómagnúpur, the top of which was shrouded in low cloud. I realised that I'd never actually seen it before with a slight dusting of snow. What I could see of it looked lovely!

After passing Kirkjubæjarklaustur I pulled over again to take a few shots of the moss-covered lava, but the light was pretty poor and nothing looked very impressive.

I could've taken a detour to the canyon, but was worried about the snowiness of the roads, and didn't want to risk getting stuck. I continued onwards and soon found the turn-off up to Hrífunes, where I was spending the night. I passed more blue pools, but otherwise the landscape was fairly stark and dire. I drove straight to the guesthouse and checked in. I was greeted by a very friendly young woman, and was shown to my tiny room just off the dining room. It was nice to actually stay in a place with other people, having led a pretty solitary life the previous few days.

I headed back out to take a few shots of the surrounding area - there is a pretty river and canyon just down from the guesthouse, with a tight turning in the road down to a bridge. Part of the road had been washed away by recent rains, so driving needed a lot of care. I stopped by some of the blue pools, but the squally showers hampered any proper photography efforts. The snowy landscape was dotted with little patches of moss and small shrubs, and after a couple of handheld shots I soon headed back to the comfort of the guesthouse.

In the evening the place was packed, and we sat around two communal tables and ate dinner and chatted about our trips and the usual traveller conversations about where we were from and what we did back home. Most of the couples were English, but there were a couple of Canadian girls and a cute couple who'd met for one night in a bar in Switzerland months ago and had finally reunited in Iceland (he was French, she was American - and they were clearly smitten!!). I had a couple of the stouts and ended up feeling quite drunk - others were drinking too, so at least I wasn't alone. The biggest conversation topic, as is common among Brits and Icelandics - was the weather. One couple recounted a story of getting stuck in a parking area overlooking Þingvellir and having to call to get winched out, costing £180 - I'd clearly had a narrow (and cheap!) escape when I got bogged down in the Jökulsárlón parking area. As happened on the last day of my trip the previous February, a massive storm was forecast for the drive to Reykjavik; it was due to die down a little by the early afternoon, but  we were all a little worried. I went to bed listening to the wind and rain battering the place, hoping that I'd make it back to the capital safely.

Click here for my blog from Day 8 - Rain, Rain and then Vesturhorn!
Click here for my blog from Day 10 - A Stormy Drive Back to Reykjavík

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