Iceland Feb 2015 - Day 9: From Vík to Þingvellir

I am definitely too old to stay in dorms, I discovered on this trip. I usually stay in a dorm on at least one night on my trips to Iceland, but I think this might be the last time. I set my alarm for 7am and crept across the hallway to shower. Once clean and dressed I carefully carried out my backpack, camera bag and filter bag into the hallway, in the darkness. I went back in for the rest of the stuff - iPhone, purse, car-keys, lipsalve, etc - that I'd kept next to my pillow overnight and tried to carry out my down jacket without making too much of a swishing noise. A hotel room just would have been so much easier! Upstairs I grabbed a quick breakfast and took the remaining food bag out of the fridge and set off towards Reynisfjara, where I was hoping to catch sunrise.

The skies were completely clear and starry, but there was no sign of northern lights lingering in the dawn twilight. It was extremely cold - by far the coldest day I'd had so far on this trip. The wind wasn't strong, but it didn't need to be for me to suffer! I was well wrapped-up though, as I'd checked the weather-forecast and knew it was going to be as cold as -15 deg C in Þingvellir (a little milder on the coast), and had an extra thermal layer on. As I pulled into the car-park I thought I was the first person there, but another photographer was already on the beach - he must've been staying in a nearby cabin. The stacks looked so stark in the twilight, as did the silhouette of the basalt columnar cliffs. The horizon was a dreamy pale red and the waves surprisingly calm.

After ten minutes another photographer arrived, an Englishman who'd got up in Jökulsárlón at 4am in order to drive here in time for sunrise! We chatted a bit and then I wandered along the beach to the cave to get a different view, which was accessible as the tide was out. Small icicles hung from the basalt columns of the cave, just visible in the morning light; had they been any larger I would've felt uncomfortable standing below them, in case one should snap off and hit my head. Also milling around the cave was the other photographer, who was German and didn't speak a word of English, so no chatting with him then.

I headed back around the cliff and back to the car to get the 100-400mm lens out - I couldn't carry that extra weight with me if I didn't think I was going to use it, plus I wasn't keen on changing lenses outside. Sitting in the car changing lenses gave me a couple of minutes to warm up too; it was absolutely bitter.

As I got back to the beach the sun was about to appear over the top of the layer of cloud on the horizon towards the south-east. I was looking forward to any warmth the sun might bring.

The German was down by the shore taking pictures of the waves and Dyrholaey to the west, with the pre-sunrise earth's shadow providing that wonderful blue and pink hue.

The warmth I was hoping for as the sun pierced above the clouds didn't come, but it was a stunning sight anyway, with the sunlight illuminating the waves crashing over the rocks near the shore.

The sun quickly rose, and passed behind the larger of the stacks for a short while. I moved along the beach a little to get a different angle, and then became fixated with another photographer in front of me - I love the scale a photographer can add.

I became quite worried about the state of my fingers, with my right thumb acheing quite severely. Had it not been for that I probably would have stayed longer, but I was also keen to get to the DC3. I sat in the car with my thumb wrapped in the warmth of my left hand and when it started to tingle I set off. I'd visited the DC3 the previous year, and had looked at Google maps to re-familiarise myself with the turn-off. There had been a light snowfall on the black sands so I was a little worried that I might not be able to find the tracks to the crashed plane, but I needn't have worried - since last year they'd put in some poles marking the route all the way there (as well as a sign saying that normal cars weren't allowed, only 4x4s - this reassured me that I wasn't breaking the law and driving off-road!).

When I arrived at the plane I was alone to enjoy it, lightly covered in snow, the sun shining on it - very different from the passing showers of a year earlier. I was the first visitor of the day, so the snow was still pristine. Within ten minutes a Spanish couple arrived and rushed around and on the plane taking photos on self-timer. By the time they left the place was littered with footprints in the snow! I hung around a little longer to get some more shots of the wonderful shadow the plane cast in the snow.

When my fingers began to get cold again I walked back to the car and drove back to the main road. At the entrance were two cars stopped, and as I drove towards them I worried that they might be police and that this wasn't a proper, legal road after all. It turns out that they were German tourists, waiting to ask me some advice on driving to the site - they had one saloon car and one van. The track wasn't very bumpy so I thought they'd be okay in the van. They thanked me and I headed off west towards Skogafoss.

I love Skogafoss when the weather is bad, as it seems more atmospheric, as well as being less crowded. I planned to stop there, but I was too early to catch the sun on the falls, so decided to just drive on. I had photos of the falls in rain and shine, but I didn't see the point of more photos of it in shade! I stopped a little further on at a derelict farmhouse, where there are a few rocks out in a bay, with Vestmannaeyjar in the distance. I've driven past many times and only stopped once, so pulled in and wandered down to the beach to get a few shots. The shore was lined with ice and more wonderful ice patterns.

In the field next to the derelict farmhouse were some cows, which apparently is a fairly unusual sight at this time of year. It was such a lovely day that perhaps the farmer had thought he'd give them a breath of fresh air.

My next stop was Seljalandsfoss, which I'd also photographed in rain and shine, and knew that it would be in the shadow for a good few more hours. I pulled in there anyway to take a few shots of the crowds from the grass near the car-park, but didn't go any closer. I could not believe how busy it was!

I drove back into the sunshine, and continued on the glorious drive west, passing through tiny Hvolsvöllur and Hella, making a quick petrol stop to keep me going for the next day. I made a quick detour to Urriðafoss, where I sat in the car and ate my cold pizza. A couple of photographers were battling against the wind above the falls. When I'd eaten I headed out, but didn't go very far as I knew the wind was strong enough to rock the tripod. I took a few close-up shots of patches of ice on the water before the bitter wind got the better of me. It was challenging to get a sharp shot too, as I was using the long lens - definitely not ideal on a windy day! Sometimes I forget just how much the cold can drain my motivation too.

I turned off the ring-road and headed north on the 30 towards Geysir. My plan was to try to visit Brúarfoss, if the conditions of the road permitted, and if I could find it. The drive was glorious, with the sun shining behind me, the landscape looking beautiful with a light covering of snow, and with snow-capped mountains ahead of me. Before reaching Fluðir I took the left turn on the 31 which was completely empty of people and cars. I stopped to look at a couple of horses that were drinking from a snowy puddle.

After a couple of miles back on the main road (the 35) I took another left turn down a rather snowy 255. At the entrance to the road a couple of cars had stopped so I asked them if the road was okay. Just snowy, the man said, so take it slow. I wish I'd stopped to take some photos along that road because it was just lovely. Everything around me was white, the sun was shining, with pale blue skies, and the car was handling the snowy roads just fine. I was sad to come to the end of the road, turning right to rejoin the 37 towards Geysir. Almost immediately I reached the collection of summer houses that marked the location of Brúarfoss (it's tucked away behind them), although the first road I turned into was blocked off. I took the next - and only - turn and drove into the strange area along a snowy road with huge piles of snow that had been ploughed stacked up on each side. I had to reverse a long way back around a corner at one point when I met an oncoming car. I carried on, hoping to find a left turn that would lead me to the starting point for a visit to Brúarfoss, but just ended up next to private cabins. There was nowhere to park, just one turn-around spot, which I knew I couldn't use as a parking spot. I could see the river valley off to my left, but just couldn't find how to get somewhere that I could stop. In the end I gave up and drove back out again, annoyed that I hadn't researched the location a little better (I did look at a map when I got home and deduced that the road that had been blocked off was the one I needed, and therefore it wasn't easily accessible at this time of year, perhaps because of the snow. Had I found anywhere to park I could've walked, but there was so much snow everywhere and nowhere to park). Next year, perhaps.

Obviously disappointed I continued on, deciding that I'd just go straight to the cabin I'd booked for that night, overlooking the lake at Þingvellir. It cost enough, so I decided that I should get my money's worth and spend a decent amount of time there! I rocked up at about 3pm and called to let them know I'd arrived. The cabin was open so I went on in, shortly before a woman arrived to greet me. She warned me of a storm that was coming in (another one!) which for some reason I hadn't been aware of, in spite of my usually manic checking of weather-forecasts. The storm would be worst along the south coast (with strong gales and possibly hurricanes forecast for the area west of Vik and near Skaftafell), but strong winds were also forecast for the south-west, including Þingvellir.

The wind wasn't strong now, but it was still bitterly cold, possibly colder than down on the coast, so any time I was out to take photos of the view I had to rush back inside quickly to warm up. The cabin was delightfully decorated, with large windows overlooking the lake, and the afternoon sun streamed through the window. I had a few cups of tea (again, tiny cups!) and popped in and out taking pictures of the view and the cabins. The woman came back a little later to take my payment and said I could stay the next day as long as I wanted, and even the next night. She warned me to take care driving in the wind the following day.

I should really have taken the opportunity to go back down to Öxarárfoss, which I'd planned to visit on my return, but my energy had gone. After nine days of pretty-much-solidly taking photos I'd lost the motivation I needed to get myself away from my comfy cabin. I could just about drag myself out of the cottage a little way down the slope to capture the view, but even that became more and more of an effort. I played around with the filters again, but the cloud conditions weren't really conducive, and it was too damned cold. Mainly I stayed inside, drank more tea, and reviewed the photos from earlier that day and the previous few days, only popping out occasionally for another shot. Sometimes I just have to stay put, even when I know that the next day I probably won't be able to take many photos because of the weather. The clouds were building up and the light eventually faded; the sunset wasn't dramatic, although it was still pretty.

After a dreadful pasta dish (I had no tins of tuna left, so just had pasta with sour cream, olive oil, garlic paste and cheese) I contacted my friend Sigrún in Reykjavik about meeting up the next day and we messaged back and forth about the weather. The forecast was for serious storms - not just everyday storms, but the kind that result in road closures and advice to stay inside all day. I got a bit nervous, given that I was flying out of Keflavik first thing on Monday morning, so I really had to be out of there before the next evening. The hourly wind forecast did show signs of a reduction in wind speed after around 2pm, so it looked as if I'd be okay. As I skyped my hubby at 9.30pm the winds suddenly hit - one minute it was calm, the next minute, bam! The cabin turned out to be quite draughty, with all those windows, and the wind was coming up from the lake and howling around the wooden structure. The radiators in the place weren't massively effective, but there was at least a blanket to wrap around me. I felt a little nervous too as I hadn't worked out how to lock the door properly (I needed to lift the handle up, but hadn't figured it out), so was worried that someone might break in (ridiculous, I know). I took all my valuable camera equipment and laptop into the bedroom with me, just in case, put in ear-plugs against the wind, and set the alarm for a very late 9am start.

Click here for Day 8 - From Höfn to Vík
Click here for Day 10 - From Þingvellir to Garður

Iceland 2014 - Day 8: Vik to Reykjavik

I woke up really early in my beautiful hotel room in Vik, feeling sad as it was my last full day in Iceland and knowing that I had to leave the south coast behind and head back to Reykjavik. I got dressed and headed out to Vik beach, a short drive away. 

The last time I'd driven to that beach was on my last day the previous year when the small town was covered with snow. This time it was grey, the air heavy with moisture. The clear skies forecast had again failed to materialise.

I was surprised to find that I was the only person there when I arrived, in spite of the presence of another car in the car-park. I plonked my tripod down on the beach and became mesmerised by the waves breaking over the occasional large, smooth black pebble as the water returned to the sea towards the beguiling stacks on the horizon. There was no dawn/pre-sunrise glow as the clouds were too dense, but after the sun had officially risen (behind those clouds) a break in the cloud appeared on the horizon allowing a small amount of colour to light up some of the otherwise grey clouds in the distance. The colours were subtle, but worth getting up for, I decided.

Half an hour after my arrival a van of photographers arrived, all settling into similar spots no doubt to take similar photographs, I imagined (I shouldn't judge as I'd never been on one of these organised photo tours, but I couldn't really imagine anything worse (photography-wise)). This year there were no interesting patterns of snow and hail on the beach, no dusting of snow on the black hills beyond, no sunlight glinting subtley on those hills, and no oyster catchers at the shoreline to amuse me. Just the sea. Even that was fairly tame, compared with my first visit there two years earlier; I will never forget the noise of the gargantuan waves breaking against the black pebbles and dragging them back with them (quite deafening, it was!).

Just after the photographers arrived it started to rain. I'd seen the responsible clouds coming in from the east for a while, and as sure as it always does in Vik (for me, anyway), it rained. I continued on for a while until my gloves were soaked and my feet cold. I had a tight schedule again, with an arrangement to meet my Icelandic friends Sigrún and Johannes at their house just outside Reykjavik between 4 and 5pm, which meant that I had limited time in some places. I headed back to the hotel, and tucked into the cold pizza - surprisingly good (and useful as I'd irritatingly left my Skyr and granola (not to mention the remaining ham and cheese) in the fridge at Hali). Out of the enormous window I watched kittiwakes on the bird cliff behind - it was a great view, but I hoped it didn't affect them, having this massive hotel with bright lights just in front of them.

I then had what I can only describe as the best shower I'd ever had (a rain-shower head a foot in diameter with a separate hand-held head for rinsing my hair). It was the only place I'd stayed on the trip that provided decent shampoo and shower gel in a little bottle; all that the other guesthouses had provided (in shared bathrooms) was generic "hair and body wash" (hint: always take your own shampoo and conditioner if you're staying in guesthouses!). After about 10 or 15 minutes of wallowing under the hot waterfall I eventually packed up my stuff and headed out through the strangely half-finished hotel to the car to continue on my journey west.

My next stop was Reynisfjara; there was no way that I could visit the Vik area without popping in on my favourite basalt-column-cliffed beach, in spite of the dull grey skies. As I pulled in a coach was just pulling out (it was later than I'd thought) and the beach was - briefly - mine. For the first time ever I was there at low tide, and was able to walk around the edge of the basalt columns and have a look up in awe at the caves. The beach wasn't gouged out as it had been last year. Soon a few other people arrived, climbing up onto the columns for photos; I took a couple of self-portraits too (in the blue jacket series!).

It was 10.45am before I left the basalt beach behind and continued on my journey westwards. My next stop was one of my most exciting ones: somewhere new, and somewhere a little bit risky. I'd read about a crashed United States Navy DC 3 that lay on the black sands just past Vik, 2km south of the ring road. I'd found someone's blog which showed exactly where it was (thank you vividscapes!), and although I didn't want to pay to get the GPRS on my iPhone, I'd pinpointed the site on Google Maps and taken pictures of the map, and looked on Google Street View to familiarise myself with the exact location of the turn-off (you can also see the plane if you zoom right in on Google Maps). In the end it was easy enough to find as someone else turned off the road just as I approached and then in the distance two vehicles came towards us, so we knew we were on the right track. I overtook the car in front, as they were pootling along very slowly, and in my slightly higher 4WD I was able to coast along over the black sand, following the previous visitors' tracks.

After a couple of kilometres the surface of the flat black sand began undulating a little and again I was glad to have the car I had (in spite of the ongoing irritation with the failing remote starting mechanism, which made me curse every time I tried to start the damn thing). After a few ups and downs over the bumpy track the ominous vision of the crashed plane loomed into view, strangely white-looking against a back-drop of black sands and dark clouds. I parked nearby, got out and started photographing the magnificent ruin before the other car arrived. It was spitting, so the filters had to be wiped off after every few shots.

The engines and the wingtips had been removed, but the shell was in pretty good condition, with wires and pieces of the ripped fuselage dangling and swaying slightly in the wind. Graffiti covered the plane's body, visitors wanting to leave their mark. The other car arrived, they took a few photos and soon drove off again (check!). I was there for about an hour, during which time about 4 or 5 other jeeps arrived, including a super-jeep with the huge blown-up wheels, which whizzed over the sand, dumped its passengers for a quick stop, a wander around and through the plane, a few photos, before whizzing away, bumping over the wavy black sand towards the sea nearby.

As I was there the light rain eventually stopped and the sun even came out briefly. There were still reasonably fast-moving clouds with good contrast, so I put on my 10-stop filter and did a couple of long exposures (since converted to black and white). I loved the place; especially after everyone else had gone and it was just me, my car, my camera and the majestic ruined plane.

 

 

I had to tear myself away; the time was right for the sun to shine on Skogafoss not far away, according to the trusted Photographer's Ephemeris (TPE). The journey back over the sand was easy too, following the tracks my car and others had made, heading towards the hills inland. I easily reached the track that led back on to the Route 1 and off I went towards the falls. It was still pretty cloudy, but as soon as I reached Skogafoss the skies had cleared to the north, and the sun had come out, creating an amazing rainbow to the side of the falls! Previously I'd seen the falls under mist, rain, drizzle, shade and generally grey skies. To see it - finally - in its full glory, with the sun reflecting in the spray, was a great privilege. As I parked I noticed some brightly-coloured outfits glinting in the sunshine and as I got out of the car I realised that a tai chi class was about to begin, made up mainly of children; it was quite a bizarre - if fortuitous - event to stumble upon. After the earlier sights of the day, made up of brown, black, grey and white, it was great to see not only the colourful outfits, but also the rainbow and the blue sky behind.

 

The falls looked much more beautiful and picturesque than I'd seen them before, if a little chocolate-boxy. I took a number of photos, playing around with the filters (which again had to be wiped after every couple of shots). The rainbow was pretty impressive and pretty intense, and a second one could just be seen. The spray, however (the reason for the rainbow) was coming forward and making it tricky for all the photographers to get a shot clear from tiny water-droplets. I took a few more self-portraits in the blue jacket before tearing myself away.

The other striking waterfall along the coast is Seljalandfoss, but I knew I'd be arriving too early for the best of the light (most of the falls would be in shadow). True enough, just the top of the falls poked out from the shadow of the steep cliffs, so I stopped only briefly to get a sandwich and visit the loo before heading on (didn't take a single photo, which is very unlike me!). I'd visited it the previous year when the time of day and light conditions had been perfect, so didn't feel the need to take a bunch of sub-par shots here!

The rest of the drive back to Reykjavik is a little disappointing, after the grandeur of the scenery further east, but at least I didn't feel the need to pull over at the side of the road every five minutes; the sky was filled with high clouds and the light was poor, so it was just as well. The only other stop I had planned between there and Reykjavik was Urriðafoss, one of my favourite waterfalls in the country, and one that's barely in the guidebooks. I kept expecting to come to it, as I reached the tops of hills, as I had a vague memory of where it was from last year. Finally I turned the bend, went over the bridge (it sits just downstream from the main road where it crosses a massive river), and took the left turn down to the parking area. A couple of cars were there when I arrived, but pulled away as I got out. I walked along the path downstream from the falls to get to the little rocky hill that sits below them and from where the view is best. A huge slab of snow sat upon some rocks at the top of one of the falls. The water was as intensely green as I'd remembered, presumably from the glacial waters that it carried down to the sea.

The falls, unusually, had looked better with grey skies the previous year, but I managed a few shots, trying out - as always - a combination of filters and shutter speeds. I left just as the sun disappeared behind more clouds, at 4pm - meaning that I'd be lucky to get to my destination past Reykjavik by 5pm. The traffic always picks up at Selfoss, not far from Urriðafoss, but it wasn't bad and there were no major delays, other than a little slower driving up the enormous hill past Hveragerði. The pass takes you up onto a high plain where last year I'd met driving snow. This year there was just old snow lying on the ground, but the road was clear and my journey to Hafnarfjordur was a quick and easy one. Again, I'd taken pictures on my iPhone of the directions to my friends' house, and managed to follow these without much problem, and arrived on the quaint peninsula of Alftanes at 5pm on the dot. It was great to see Sigrún and Johannes and their two young children, who'd moved back there from London last summer. We scoffed delicious waffles that Sigrún had just made, smothered in strawberry jam and whipped cream and then the children ran around the house giggling like crazy; they were displaying "guest behaviour" Johannes told me (there's a word for it in Icelandic which roughly amounts to a cross between playing up and showing off!).

As the light began to fade and sunset neared I headed back in to Reykjavik, having left it just a little too late for the best of the sunset. I stopped briefly opposite their house at a small beach before parking near the Solfar back in town, now able to navigate my routes in Reykjavik much more ably (I have got lost there on a number of occasions previously). I should have stopped at the pond, where the sun was falling directly behind and the swans and ducks pottered about on the ice, but I didn't stop in time and it was too far to walk back from my parking spot. The light wasn't very interesting at Solfar so I wandered along to Harpa, the magnificent theatre and opera house. The remaining light on the clouds reflected in Harpa's many windows as hoards of people arrived to enjoy a Saturday night out there.

I wandered back past Solfar for one last look before driving the very short distance to my accommodation, the Welcome Apartments, where I'd stayed a few times before. I'd hoped to meet up with another friend, but hadn't managed to get hold of him, so I headed out to Café Solon, alone as usual, with my iPhone for company (with free WiFi and an iPhone, who needs friends?!). The skies were clear but the forecast for northern lights wasn't great, so I headed to bed just before midnight, hoping to get up bright and early for a last sunrise at Solfar. As it happens the lights were apparently quite good, but I was so exhausted there was no way I could have gone out in search of them again.

Click here for Day 7 blog
Click here for Day 9 blog