Iceland #19 - Day 9: Finally to the Incredible Stuðagil!

I woke up to more drizzle, and no view of the mountains. Given the lack of visibility I decided to give Stokksnes a miss, again, and hoped it would be better on my return journey. I packed up and popped in to see Sigurdur and pay, and was delighted when he presented me with a bolt to try. Neither of us expected it to fit, but I nipped back to the car, and lo-and-behold it fit in the tripod - my moving panning tripod problem was over! I still felt sad to leave, but it certainly hadn't been my most memorable stay there (I've had a few - incredible storms, northern lights, blowing snow, disastrous fall, etc..). 

My journey for the day was taking me to a place I hadn't stayed before which was extremely good value and looked very nicely located - just off the ring-road on the eastern/southern end of the 917 road, Litlabjarg guesthouse. Along the way I hoped to see a few new waterfalls and take a mountain road that I hadn't driven on before - the 939 (I do love a good mountain pass, even in the rain!).

I didn't stop at Hvalnes as the mountains were completed hidden by cloud, but continued on until a lay-by along the scary stretch with the steep scree slopes above. As usual there were the odd chunks of rock lying in the road from tiny landslides. It was particularly worrying driving along that section after or during rain!

I got past it safely and breathed the usual sigh of relief. I don't get as nervous as I used to, but it's still a bit pulse-rate-increasing for a few minutes of driving. My first stop was at a small waterfall set back from the road, called Barkinafoss. I got out and had a little wander and took a few photos, the drizzle falling gently.

I continued on, feeling excited that I might finally get to see the incredible basalt column canyon at Stuðlagil that day, which annoyingly I hadn't known about on my trip to the east/north-east back in September 2016 (no-one else really knew about it then either). It was still a way away, and whether I visited that day or the next depended on the weather and how much energy I had for the 5km-each-way hike to see it from the better side. 

My next stop was at a small beach just past Djúpivogur, near the Teigarhorn monument, where I'd taken a few shots of a ruined boat the one time I'd driven that route (March 2014). Sadly the nice pointy mountain to the north was shrouded with low cloud (what a surprise), but I had a nice wander along the beach to the boat anyway.

It was 11am by the time I left the beach and headed on my journey east, driving alongside Berufjörður. Before the turn-off up the mountain pass I noticed another left-hand turn towards Fossadalur, which I assumed meant waterfall valley, so I decided to go and investigate. I passed a couple of waterfalls in the distance, but it wasn't the easiest place to spot them or access them. I got past a youth hostel, had a little wander, couldn't see much as there was lots of private farmland, and then turned around again and drove back down the hill. I stopped before reaching the main road again and went for another little walk through a little pine forest to a waterfall. There were mushrooms, wet cotton grass, coloured heather and leaves, and more berries. The drizzle was thankfully laying off me for a change.

There's a waterfall just at the top of the first bend on the road, but I missed stopping in both directions - one to explore next time. Instead I continued on a short way and soon the road became the 939 and off I climbed up steep switchbacks and blindhæds towards the mist. After a few minutes I reached a car park to the left and pulled over, and slicing through the valley ahead of me was the magnificent Folaldafoss. The geology in the vicinity was impressive - with massive rocky layered shelves (which I've since learned is called trap terrain).

I wandered down towards the waterfall, armed with tripod, but the wind had picked up and it started to rain. At least I could tighten my tripod properly (although it did un-tighten when I walked with it, so needed to tighten it before each use). I took a couple more shots, enjoying the trap terrains, and then headed back to the car, where I sat and ate my cheese sandwich, the rain now coming down properly.

I continued on my way, up more fantastically winding, hilly switchbacks, the road disappearing in front of me beneath low cloud. Unfortunately the road was in the low cloud for a good few miles while I crossed the top of the pass, which was a shame, as I'm sure the scenery must have been spectacular! I could see more waterfalls around each corner in the distance, but the conditions were certainly not appropriate for stopping! I passed a few cars, but it wasn't exactly busy; not a place you'd want to break down or have brake failure!

The road eventually started descending out of the cloud and visibility was improved again as I turned on to the 95 and headed downhill towards Lagarfljót and Egilsstaðir. I was tempted to turn left towards Litlanesfoss and Hengifoss, but the canyon was beckoning me, and I'd visited them a couple of times on my previous trip. Instead I reached the ring-road, drove straight through the town, and onwards, across the big bridge between the turn-offs to the 925 and 917 roads. Again I thought about stopping when I reached Ryjúkandi-Eystri, as the weather had improved a bit and it looked quite lovely, but I had to get to that canyon! On my previous visit to the area I'd actually taken the side road (the 923) for a short while, but even 4 years ago the canyon was mostly unknown (having only been discovered after the river was dammed further up at Kárahnjúkavirkjun in 2008), revealing the magnificent basalt columns (previously I guess the river came up far higher and most of the columns were submerged). Apparently I was visiting at the exact right time of year on this occasion - with the water at its most turquoise (later on the reservoirs fill up and the water that flows into the river is more milky, brown glacial water. So even if I had gone in September 2016 it wouldn't have been so amazing.

I took the gravel road that leads down along the river, having to overtake a few very slow cars on my way (there are plenty of very inexperienced drivers that drive at literally 20-30km per hour on these roads). There was a worrying amount of traffic, but I was expecting this as I'd read online a few days earlier that it was really busy there, plus it was the holiday weekend. I decided to visit the north/west side first, which requires a longer drive, but a lower amount of walking, although it does involve a lot of steps. I stopped along the way when I got a great view of the Stuðlafoss waterfall which is a couple of km before the canyon. The view from that side was fantastic, as you're above it, and get a superb view of the basalt columns, hinting at the treat that awaits you a little further on!

I drove the last few km, parked up, and was rather aghast at the number of cars in the car-park. The first glimpse of the canyon from that side is only really possible once you start descending a big, ugly metal staircase that has recently been added on that side. The canyon started to come into view, with basalt columns just everywhere, in every direction, and the most incredible fast-flowing, turquoise river below. I'd seen many photos of the place, but most seemed to have only one or two views, so I had no real concept of how big it was - it is huge! Or how incredible it was - it is incredible! Or how turquoise it was - it was so turquoise! The sky was cloudy and dull, but still the water glowed an unbelievable colour. The basalt columns must go on for 300-400 metres I think. I walked onto the platform and took a few photos without the tripod - it wasn't an easy place to set the tripod down. This was my first view, and they only got better!

Almost immediately, however, I heard the dreaded whine of a drone, which instantly ruined the experience for me, and I muttered something to that effect to the drone's owners as I tried to get away from it. I really do hate the noise beyond reasonableness; drones just put me in the foulest of moods! I took more photos, trying to recapture the glory and ignore the whine. The other side was absolutely teeming with people.

The canyon was spectacular from that side, but it's far more difficult to see the canyon properly from there. I took a few photos - playing around with the polarising filter in order to get the water at its most turquoise and non-reflective - before heading back up the endless stairs to the car, and then driving back the 5km to the other car-park. I hadn't driven all that far, but felt pretty exhausted, especially knowing that I had 10km round-trip ahead of me, lugging my heavy gear. The south/east side car-park was even busier, but I managed to find a spot, got myself geared up, and headed off across the bridge to start my long walk there. It was 2.45pm when I set off, and fortunately the biggest number of people were on their way back as I approached. It's a nice walk, with only a couple of gentle uphill sections, and within about half an hour I had reached the waterfall again, taking a few hand-held photos from beneath it.

I just wanted to get to the canyon, so hurried on, determined to get there in less than an hour. After 50 minutes from leaving the car I reached the eastern end of the canyon and there my adventure really began. It's a pretty overwhelming place for a photographer for the first time, with so many compositional options. I didn't know what to do with myself! I took lots of photos from different angles, clambering down the banks to explore among the basalt columns themselves, climbing up a few, doing some long exposure shots to get the frothy water smooth and pretty. By the time I left, two and a half hours later, I had taken just over 300 photos. All different, many extremely cool. Here's a selection of the wondrous place. I was in columnar basalt hexagonal heaven!

It was just after six pm when I dragged myself away, my shoulders aching like crazy from carrying the heavy camera and lenses, plus tripod, and I felt hungry and exhausted. I stopped at the waterfall and set the tripod up, trying to make the most of my time there - who knows when I'd be back, after all.

I drove back up to the ring-road, and headed east, towards my home for the night. I suddenly got a bit panicked as I hadn't confirmed exactly where the guesthouse was, and my phone battery was about to die (and the charging cable in the car wasn't working and I couldn't easily find the other!). Fortunately my memory was correct, and I had enough juice in the phone left to have a quick check on a map - it was down the 917. I arrived and a German guy who was staying there greeted me, before the lovely owner Elisa showed up a few minutes later. It's a great little guesthouse, in the middle of nowhere, with nice views of the mountains to the south, and old farm buildings everywhere. I cooked myself some tuna pasta and chatted to a couple of German women travelling with three kids, sharing stories of the places visited nearby.

And then it was to my room to pore through the hundreds of photos taken during the day, posting one of my favourite ones online for everyone else to enjoy. The weather forecast for the following day was mixed but mainly dry, so I spent ages wondering about where to go - situated where I was I could have driven all the way up to Dettifoss, or out to one of the eastern fjords, or perhaps back to Stuðlagil. Lots of wonderful options to look forward to.

 

Click here for my blog from Day 8 - A Wet Day Around Stafafell 

Iceland #15 - Day 6: Exploring around Stafafell

I managed to get myself up pretty early, although by the time I set off the sun was beginning to rise; even a 7am sunrise is a struggle for me! I headed east, stopping at a pull-out a few kilometres from the hostel. I noticed that the moon - which had been full the previous night - was just about to set, and looked enormous above the hills, which were glowing slightly red as the sun began to rise. I couldn't be bothered to get the tripod out, so just ramped up the ISO and took a couple of handheld shots.

I drove onwards, keen to get to Hvalnes to see the rock (hopefully) lit up as the run came up. I stopped up near the little lagoon and watched swan families gliding gracefully in and out of the shadows.

I drove on and parked up near the lighthouse. It was empty. I didn't venture very far, but took a few shots of the slopes of Eystrahorn.

And of course I had to take a few self-portraits - I always do here. And it was a nice still morning, so I was able to strip down to the lopapeysa and hair wasn't flying everywhere.

Next stop was Fauskasandur, where I'd stopped back in the winter. It's not an easy spot to find a decent composition - or perhaps I just need to explore a little. I ended up taking most of the shots of the stack from the headland.

I must return at a time other than sunrise, as that also limits what photos work - eg. shooting out to sea with the sun behind just results in lens flare. There are some interesting rock formations just offshore, so perhaps at lower tide it also might reveal more.

As I stood on the headland I noticed that when a particularly big wave hit the rocks below me there was a massive boom audible, and I think I could feel the ground move a little. Not sure if that's possible, but that's what it felt like. It was quite incredible! The power of the sea never ceases to leave me awe-struck. It is so relentless, the waves continuously smashing against the shore, over and over. I took a few shots of the waves with a filter or two on to slow the movement down a little.

As I left the rocks an Asian couple arrived and the woman exclaimed how scary it was, giggling as she went. It is not a scary cliff in the slightest (for me) - amazing how different people's perception of danger is. I walked down onto the beach and took a few last photos of the waves crashing against the rocks that I'd been standing on top of.

I could've spent all day there really, exploring the area a bit more, but I was planning on a long hike into the canyon later, so headed back home. I stopped at one of the pull-outs along the scary raised section, where a tour group had just pulled in. The view back along the coast was wonderful.

I drove on past Hvalnes, and then stopped at a spot where I had a lovely view of the swans, with the backdrop of the mountains on the far side of the lagoon; the light was magical on the autumnal grass.

Just before the very tight bend I stopped again as there were some pretty autumnal trees at the foot of a small hill. I walked back along the road to try to get a better view, but it wasn't really working. I did find a lone lupin, though, which was nice. It must look magical in the summer when the lupins are in full bloom.

I got home at 9.40am and had some breakfast, before making myself a packed lunch and setting off for the big hike. One of the main reasons for this route (along the south coast to the south-east) in the autumn was to be able to visit the Hvannagil Canyon, which lies north of Stafafell. In the winter it is inaccessible (probably), so I've never ventured there before. I knew that there were colourful hillsides with rhyolitic rocks. I set off at around 11.15am. The walk there was glorious; it was such an amazing day, with little wind, and not too cold. I headed uphill for a while and then the walk just meandered over smaller hills, the views around just divine. At one point I could see down to the braids of the Jökulsá í Loní river - how I love those braids!

It wasn't long before the rhyolitic hills came into sight; they reminded me of the Bolivian altiplano, but without the cold and the altitude to contend with.

I passed various little valleys that led down to the main river; birch trees dotted around the hillsides.

After just over an hour of walking I reached a spot with a view of a lovely waterfall falling in an interesting ravine - one day I will get a bit closer and explore more.

I got quite excited as I approached the top of the canyon, the colours and shapes began looming into view.

I finally reached the end of the approach walk and stood at the top of the canyon wall. The colours and shapes of the eroded valley were incredible. The light was tricky with harsh shadows, given it was the middle of the day, but it was still striking.

At first I couldn't see how I was going to get down, but eventually a path came into view as I walked a little along the top of the canyon on loose stones. The path down to the canyon floor was pretty steep - I was glad I was going down and not up it! A river flowing at the bottom seemed a very long way down.

The colours of the canyon walls varied - lots of blues, greens, purples, oranges and yellows, with veins of rock passing through. A geologist would have a field day here.

As I reached the floor I walked through autumnal birch shrubs. Some areas above the river were grassy; it was quite lovely, and being alone made it even more special.

It was a glorious day and a wonderful hike. I wandered along the edge of the river, crossing over from time to time, marvelling at the formations I passed.

From time to time the scenery became devoid of plants and reminded me again of the Bolivian altiplano. Just stunning!

I got to one bend in the river and realised that there was no way to jump across the whole section. The options were to take my shoes off and roll up my trousers and wade through, or to just try the jump and hope for the best. I did the latter, and it wasn't very successful. One foot ended up getting completely wet, so I sat down on the beach, took the shoe and saturated sock off, wrung it out and laid it on the beach to dry in the sun for a bit. I'd brought a spare pair of socks and a small travel towel, thinking this might happen, and I tried to absorb some of the water in the shoe with the towel. I got out my sandwich and just sat there for a while, enjoying the view. At one point I decided to lie down - not something I do very frequently outdoors. I lay on the hard stones, looking up at the blue sky, watching a few clouds waft past, feeling quite blissful. When I felt the shoe was dry enough I've walked up a little hill nearby and had a view of the river zigzagging up into the canyon.

I continued on a little way and came to a rather odd bit - the river just stopped. It was flowing until the point at which it just stopped, which I couldn't understand; I guess it must've gone underground a little, as it continued to flow further down the beach.

Not only was I fascinated by the river ending, but I also noticed the wonderful zigzags behind me - with layers of rock and the river sharply changing direction. I was in love with the place, that's for sure. Definitely worth the visit in the autumn, although who knows what it might be like in winter... A few self-portraits were taken, until the wind picked up and I got nervous that the tripod might get knocked over.

I checked my watch; it was 2.30pm. I wanted to head to Stokksnes for sunset, so I did have a bit of a time limit, and I still had a very long walk back to the hostel. I was out of the canyon pretty quickly, and was sad to say goodbye to it. The view back towards the opening of the canyon was also spectacular, with huge cliffs reaching upwards from the wide river valley.

I'd read someone's trip report saying that the walk back from the canyon wasn't very interesting, so I was prepared for another 7km or so without much to photograph. The person was wrong; it was a lovely walk! Almost immediately I saw summer houses nestled at the foot of hills, the braids of the river reaching out ahead of me, autumnal trees everywhere. It was a long walk, and being along a gravel road made it a little less interesting than across hillsides of moss and shrubs, but the views were still spectacular. There were lots of different rock formations along the way.

The snowy peaks were visible above the trees from time to time.

Occasionally the view of the river braids would be better as I rose a little above the river bed. The wonderful Brunnhorn also returned to view.

There were even some basalt columns to make me really happy.

It was certainly not a dull walk.

I was pretty exhausted by the time I reached the road, but relieved knowing that I only had a few more hundred metres to go, passing the farm and then the pretty little church opposite the hostel's entrance.

I got back just after 4pm, so the whole hike took just over five hours, which wasn't bad going since I had stopped a fair amount. It was an incredible hike, and made the whole trip (and decision to come on this route) worthwhile. I had a cup of tea, and relaxed for a while, but headed out just after 5.30pm, as I wanted to get to Stokksnes beach for sunset, camera and phone batteries all recharged. I paid my entrance fee at the café (which now gives you a ticket with a barcode that operates a barrier across the road) and then drove across the spit to the parking area just before the entrance to the radar station. There were quite a few people there, unsurprisingly, but it is a big place, so enough room for us all, I suppose.  I wandered down the usual route, along the path near the fence, past the little pool, and onto the rocks at the far end of the beach. It was magical as usual, although I could have done with being there about twenty minutes earlier...

I wandered along the beach a bit and took the usual selection of photos, mostly with a couple of filters on. At some point, disaster struck (more on that later).

The beach at Stokksnes is a wonderful place for photography, with waves over rocks on the beach, pools and wet sand reflecting the mountains, incredible jagged peaks, cool black sand dunes with tufty grasses blowing in the incessant wind, and of course the panorama of the whole mountain range that is possible to capture with a wide angle. It is also a difficult place to capture something original, as every angle has been covered before. I notice that all of my shots look similar to a previous visit. Oh well, it's still bloody nice!

The light faded and I was a bit exhausted after my long and eventful day - the tiredness of walking 10 miles (plus a bit more) had caught up on me. The northern lights forecast was disappointing and I didn't have the energy to take any star shots. I walked back through the dunes to the car and heading down the spit. I stopped about half way down as I noticed some rocks in the lagoon and the moon just peaking over the horizon. The moon rose up behind scattered clouds - it was wonderful, like the night at Jökulsárlón, but I had to tear myself away eventually as the tiredness was growing and I still had a twenty minute drive home.

I got home and cooked the last remaining piece of fish and reviewed my photos from the extremely long day. As I went through the last ones - taken with the wide-angle lens at Stokksnes - I noticed that across the top right of each photo taken at less than 30mm there was a massive hair visible. The photos weren't totally ruined, but photoshop was necessary to rescue the sky. I was so annoyed with myself for not having noticed. The weather forecast for the morning was good, so I set the alarm for 6am and got an early night.

My route from Day 6, including the 10m hike to Hvannagil Canyon

Click here for my blog from Day 5 - Jökulsárlón to Stafafell
Click here for my blog from Day 7 - Stokksnes and Friends