I always get very excited when I'm on my way back to Jökulsárlón, given that it's probably my favourite place in the world! There's so much to see along the way, though, so I don't like to rush it. I woke up early and headed out onto Reynisfjara beach. I didn't have to check out of my cottage until midday so had plenty of time to spend on the beach before heading eastwards. The weather forecast had been for clear skies, but of course there was some cloud in the sky. The storm, at least, had passed; the wind had dropped and rain disappeared. I wasn't the first visitor there - already a photography group was lined up, tripod-to-tripod, as is normal these days. They seemed a little close to the shoreline to me - given that the sneaker waves come pretty far up the beach. I headed away from the people, with the second stack coming into view.
There was a heavy band of cloud on the horizon, so any actual sunrise was out of the question, but the clouds turned a little pink briefly. The air was teeming with seabirds, flitting about above the cliffs. The waves were as powerful as ever, and the tide was high. I watched a man walk right down to the water's edge - as if all the warning signs had completely passed him by - and then scarper as a sneaker wave arrived.
I continued walking, and noticed a few white dots on the sand ahead of me. They were dead fish of some kind - I later Googled them and found them to be skate. The sight of them dotted along the beach made me rather sad; I wondered what had happened to them to cause their demise.
I looked back and noticed a group of photographers running from another sneaker wave. One person had left their camera on their tripod and I watched it fall over into the surf. It never ceases to amaze me how photography groups - with leaders who should know better - take risks like this. There are so many signs now at the entrance - both pictorial and with words, yet they keep on getting ignored. For what? The same picture that we're all taking, only a little closer to the waves! And then more people arrive and do exactly the same. It is really interesting to watch exactly the same human behaviour repeat, over and over. Everyone is lucky to get away with wet feet and maybe a wet camera (which will be ruined due to the salt water). Accidents happen, but it just appals me how little regard people pay to their own safety.
I looked behind to see the lovely dawn glow of the earth's shadow, the pretty little Reyniskirkja up the hill a little way. At the far end of the beach the lighthouse at Dyrhólaey was only just visible through some ground fog.
I continued walking, passing more dead skate, heading towards the fog. The sky was beginning to get more pink over the sea.
I looked behind again to see the first sun illuminating the smooth snowy top of Myrdalsjökull - it looked spectacular.
I walked further along the beach - it was nice to be away from everyone. The sea looked so beautiful - it has an amazing ability to look quite serene, in spite of its incredible power.
Eventually I got a bit cold and started to head back, the icebergs beckoning. The weather became a bit showery as I headed towards the cabin, with the sun making occasional appearances, the waves as impressive as always.
The weather was pretty grim by the time I got back to my cabin, with the next storm arriving. It's so nice to stay so close to a beach like this - being able to just walk back inside, out of the rain, kick off your boots and have a nice cup of tea. I showered and packed up, heading off at 12. I went back to the main house to pay, where two old Icelandic women sat in the kitchen knitting. One was making a scarf for a grandchild and the other was making small baskets for Easter eggs. I headed off, back up the road towards the pass, and down the wonderful sweeping hill that leads down into Vík. The village seems to grow every time I drive through, and yet another new hotel had been completed opposite the petrol station (no doubt advertised with sea views and views of the stacks, even though the first thing anyone could see was the industrial stuff between the road and the beach). I stopped briefly at Hjörleifshöfði, where the plants I'd seen in the autumn were mere stubble. The mountains to the north were shrouded with cloud. There were some patches of cloud illuminated by the sun over the sea to the south.
I stopped a little further on to capture a brief sunny period of sunshine on some lovely green moss. I was surprised that there was still very little snow - unusual for this time of year.
I stopped again a little way before Foss á Siðu, where a pretty waterfall brightened up an otherwise-dull brown hillside. The hills were dotted with these temporary falls, as there had been a fair amount of recent rain, reminding me of our first couple of days in the Faroe Islands the previous year.
I continued on until I reached Lómagnúpur; it looked its usual regal self, with a nice covering of fresh snow on its flanks, although nothing around the base. It was pretty windy still, so I didn't stay for long or do any long exposure or self-portrait shots.
The next time I stopped was just before the turn-off to Kvíárjökull, where I was also intending to stop for a while for a hike. The view before it was something I hadn't noticed before - perhaps the snow usually hid it - a very pointy mountain beneath Staðarfjall. The glacier behind was wonderful, spilling over and caught in the sun. Last-remaining patches of earlier snow created some interesting patterns in the craggy hills.
I turned off again at Kvíárjökull, glad that the short gravel road up to it was mostly snow-free. Usually when I visit in the winter months all of the side roads in the south-east are covered in too much snow, and I daren't risk getting bogged down, so I was glad for the accessibility the lack of snow afforded me.
I headed off, without tripod, across the terminal moraine towards the lake, and then walked along the left side. It looked completely different from my trip the previous September, but the weather was far less threatening. I started off with my long telephoto lens on the camera to capture the ice in the distance.
There was a little more snow here than I'd encountered so far, but still not a great deal. I headed as far as I'd been on my previous visit, to the muddy ice at the end of the trail. It was a bit different, as some of the ice had moved in the intervening five months, and I was able to walk a little further on the moraine. The water was a deep brown from the mud, unlike most other glacial lagoons I'd visited.
Time was getting on, and my yearning for the beach was increasing. I walked back to the car, stopping briefly when I noticed some cute ice formations over some grasses.
The drive from there to Jökulsárlón didn't take long, passing the Fosshotel (which was being extended to add an additional wing) and the entrance to Fjallsárlón, and soon the electricity pylons began to converge and the top of the suspension bridge came into view. As I approached the landscape was covered in snow - it always amazes me how much it can suddenly change: one minute no snow on the ground whatsoever, then the next minute it's all white! I parked on the west side of the bridge, where they had they finished building the road access, which was already potholed. I noticed that they'd redesigned the access on the opposite side too, creating a new road winding down from the main road to the re-opened car-park - no long walk from the main car-park required any more. There was the usual crowd of tourists and photographers pottering about in-between the icebergs, of which they were hundreds crammed on each beach. There was some nice golden-hour light as I'd arrived pretty late - only half an hour before sunset. Hundreds of birds flitted around in the surf, above the icebergs on the opposite beach, hoping to catch what was splashed up by the crashing waves. A man stood on the hill watching the sunset, tripod ready to capture that perfect moment.
The composition wasn't really working for me, with too many icebergs being bashed around in the surf, moving all the time, so I headed back to the car to try the other beach. On the way back I noticed a rather cool crinkly iceberg sitting upright, glowing gold when viewed from behind, backlit by the setting sun.
The road down to the east car-park was far better designed, sweeping gently down the hill, rather than a steep drop, like the last road, where I'd helped some Chinese girls push their car free when it had slipped off the road trying to get up that hill. I parked and walked quickly back down to the beach, conscious of the dropping light; the sun had more-or-less gone behind Staðarfjall to the west by now. This side was equally crowded, with both people and icebergs, again making composition challenging.
The sky turned a little pink as I wandered further along the beach in search of some icebergs in the surf. I found a few arrangements that I liked, and watched (and captured) the waves crashing against the icebergs. As I did, some of the clouds to the south glowed a wonderful dusky pink.
I had the usual challenges with the waves moving the icebergs, creating unwanted blur, but occasionally I got just the right moment and the bergs were sharp. The light faded fast, but I stayed for a bit longer, happy to be back on this incredible beach.
Eventually I was struggling with the light - even with filters removed I was having to do 10 second or so exposures, so I decided to call it a night. It had become pretty cold too, so I headed back towards the car. There was still some distant light to the west, so of course I had to stop a few more times...
I drove to Gerði to check in and then back to Reynivellir, where I was staying in the usual single room. I opened a beer and made myself some avocado salad (my, how the choice at Icelandic supermarkets has improved in the last seven years!) and chatted to some other guests there. I was about to start making some pasta when one of the guys offered me some of the pasta he was making. He was a Brazilian guy living in Reykjavik, travelling with his mother and a travel buddy from the US, and we chatted for a couple of hours. It was nice to have some company, since I hadn't really talked to anyone the since I'd left Sigrún and Johannes' house the previous morning. Eventually I headed upstairs, keen to download my photos and have a look through them. It had been a wonderful if tiring day, starting at one of my favourite beaches, and ending at another. The forecast for the whole of the following day was pretty grim, so I set the alarm for 9am and had a nice long sleep, broken only by the annoyingly loud doors opening and closing as people came and went.
Click here for the blog from
Day 1 - A Rainy Drive to Reynisfjara
Click here for the blog from
Day 3 - A Grim Day at Jökulsárlón
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