Snæfellsnes Peninsula, North West Iceland

Leaving our base in Reykjavik once again, Sergey and I headed to the north western point of Snæfellsnes peninsula—sitting beneath the active, glacier covered Snæfellsjökull volcano. We stayed in Rif for a couple of nights in a hostel renovated from a fish factory, a tiny settlement once home to a much larger fishing village. We had rented a small Mazda 3, and set off in the afternoon, 200 kilometres out of Reykjavik to the north west. It was an awesome trip with beautiful weather, which meant we stopped many times along the way to photograph the landscape. For much of the trip we enjoyed an Icelandic house radio station FM-XTRA 101.5, however once we were well beyond the city limits, we ended up with the choice of a demonic childrens radio station, or what could only be the Icelandic pottery and knitting talkshow. Riveting stuff, even considering the complete language barrier.

I cut together a rough video of all the short clips I collected while in Snæfellsnes. Sergey and I were sharing his camera, so I had free hands for once.

The first morning we set off around the peninsula, stopping off the main circuit on many unmarked gravel roads. We trailed a snow covered path a couple kilometres off to the coast (nearly getting the small front-wheel drive stuck), where we found the isolated bright orange Öndverðarnes lighthouse with nothing around but rugged Icelandic coastline, volcanic tundra, with brushes of moss and tufts of weed. There was spongy moss that stretched over the cliff face, so it was an interesting walk out to the edge. We managed a few neat photos atop a large hole in the rocks sitting next to the Svörtuloft bird cliffs, as we listened to the waves tunnel beneath us. We then drove from the North West point, down to the South West, driving through private property to another Lighthouse near Dritvík. The ground was strewn with sea urchins that had been picked through by coastal birds, and the coastline was covered in weathered debris that had been washed ashore, trapped on the black rocks. There was an old bottle, half full with frozen seawater, the rest Rum, that had been mangled by the ocean and left on the rocks, probably travelling far from a sunken pirate ship... Surely. We also spotted a flying-fox which seemed strange in such an isolated area. Heading now east along the southern coast we stopped off at Hellnar and Arnarstapi, part of the region riddled with myth and folklore. There was a great stone statue of the guardian spirit Bárðar Snæfellsáss, deity of Mt. Snæfell—The saga telling he wandered the region "in a grey cowl with a walrus-hide rope around him, and a cleft staff in his hand with a long and thick gaff," which he used when walking on glaciers, now keeping watch from above. We were lucky with the visibility, and could see the formation on top of the mountain with the statue in the foreground, which made for a neat photo. There was a small pathway around the cliff edge, referred to in English as the secret walkway, and after just a small time spent here you can understand Icelands fascination with Huldufólk (Icelandic hidden people), the Elves of Icelandic folklore. There are construction projects, even in downtown Reykjavik, that are altered due to the location of certain stones, believed to be homes of these Elves.

Leaving Anarstapi, we made our way again over the mountain pass— this time with much better conditions, and daylight to guide us. After the pass, we tracked east to Grundarfjörður, the most well known town in Snæfellsnes, where a number of films have been shot including most recently The Secret Life of Walter Mitty. We stopped at Mt. Kirkjufell, one of the most photographed mountains in Iceland, and were lucky enough to have a fantastic glow of the sun, hiding behind the clouds as a backdrop. We stopped off at the Vínbúð (Grog store), which only opens for an hour a day, making it with only a couple minutes to spare. We quickly found the cheapest Viking beer, and twenty 500ml cans set us back 57.000 ISK ($57 NZD). Now heading back to Rif, we heard an Icelandic cover of Get Down Tonight, which I snapped a quick video of.

Back at the fish factory, we started on the first beer, waiting tentatively for the clouds to clear, as the forecast for the Aurora Borealis was strong that evening. Just as we were about to begin powering through the beers a fellow traveller from Germany came running into the building yelling about the lights. We quickly packed up, jumped in the car and set out to our remote spot en route to the orange Öndverðarnes lighthouse, 15 kilometres west. Half way we were hit with a massive snow storm, but luckily we trusted our understanding of crazy Icelandic weather, and powered through, hoping it would clear. Driving close to 10 kmph on what was hopefully the gravel road (driving by feel), we stopped about halfway knowing the rest of the path would be impassible in these conditions, and soon enough the snow storm cleared and we could again see the Aurora painting the sky. We were a stone throw from a black sand beach, covered in rounded snow covered rocks. I opted mostly to leave my headlamp off, and let myself be guided by moonlight, but that had me a couple times knee-(and nearly waist-)deep in large pockets of snow that looked solid, as I walked up and around the embankment while the Russian and German set up their tripods and caught the show. I disappeared into the darkness a short while up to a rocky point of the cliffed coast, which gave me an awesome view all the way to Snæfellsjökull, and the moon level with its peak, sitting peacefully with my legs hanging roughly off the edge, looking out to sea, with the Aurora floating above the now-dwarfed lighthouse. Unbeknown to me, the Russian caught me in one of his photos—I thought from there I was invisible. With the light show over, we then made our way back to base, ready for another round of dinner.

The next day we had plans for a famed shark museum further north in Bjarnarhöfn, as well as stopping off in the large port city of Stykkishólmur, where again many scenes were shot in The Secret Life of Walter Mitty. A massive storm however had set in for the day, so our first stop was a petrol station 5 kilometres from Rif, where we were stranded for a couple of hours. We then spent an hour driving through 30+m/s wind, carrying horizontal snow and ice, with only a couple metres visibility, a few kilometres to the next petrol station where we were stuck for another few hours. It was now about 4pm. We spent the next few hours, as roads re-opened, making our way back to Reykjavik, (cancelling our hostel reservation for Borganes), arriving back around 9pm. Without a booking we found ourselves a couple beds in the Hostel, and finished off about 8 litres of beer between us, before hitting the town for Sergeys last night in Iceland. It was an insane weekend, and we were absolutely lucky that our dart on the map approach led us to Snæfellsnes, now understanding why it's known as miniature-Iceland.

The majority of these photos were taken by Sergey, with either his 10-20mm Sigma Lens, or my 18-35mm Sigma Lens. We've decided these two, plus perhaps a 50mm prime lens is all anyone would ever need, and what we captured over the three days below hopefully proves it.

The Golden Circle and road to Vík, Iceland

Iceland car rental can be quite expensive, and while visiting the country without a car is do-able—with a nearly endless list of day trips and multi-day excursions taking you to all corners—however that then becomes extremely expensive, so car rental with a group is the best bet. I met up with another solo-traveller, Sergey from Saint Petersburg, Russia, who was keen to divide the cost of a rental and spend a week travelling. He also knew another Aussie from earlier travels who happened to be here for the weekend with a bunch of Kiwi/Aussie ex-pats living in London, as well as a few Brits which totalled 12 people. They had two spare seats in one of their cars, so we were able to tag along and visit the main sites, on the cheap, in the short weekend they were here. The most popular tour in Iceland is The Golden Circle, made up of a trip through a geothermal area with the Strokkur geyser, a visit to Gullfoss (Golden Falls) on the river Hvítá, and a trip through Þingvellir National Park, where the American and Eurasian tectonic plates meet, allowing you to trek across continents, and disappear into a 7 kilometre wide dead-mans-land. We also made a trip to Vík on the southern tip of Iceland, arriving at night the following day, making stops along the way at Seljalandsfoss falls, Skógafoss (Forest Falls) and Kirkjufjara, a volcanic black sand beach. Driving through Þingvellir National Park was fantastic, and it was great leaving the civilisation of Reykjavik. From the alien surrounds of Icelandic countryside, looking at the morning moon, it was too easy to fall into the idea we were in a completely different star system, looking out to any planet or moon—certainly far from Earth.

The Geyser was what I had expected, but still something that had to be seen. The smell however, was not what I was expecting — it was nothing like RotoVegas, and was quite pleasant comparatively. Getting there from the carpark was a small challenge, the continual stream of steam almost immediately freezes in the air, leaving inches of clear, slippery ice in a large area surrounding the hot spots. But first we created a now-patented sandwich assembly line, consisting of 7 specialists, each with an area of expertise. Best sandwiches ever, but enough mustard to kill us all. There were ingredients included which were flown from all corners of the globe, whatever we brought in person. We then made it to the main Geyser, and watching all the different techniques of tourist photographers was quite a laugh, most in an uncomfortable pose, with their shot held perfectly framed for several minutes on end like statues, far to early for the 5-8 minute intervalled show. I was lucky with the tripod and wide angle, and managed to get quite a few neat shots with my remote trigger.

We then continued round the circle to Gullfoss (Golden Falls), which was unbelievably cold and windy. Only the Russian and I made it out of the carpark, with the rest of the gang making a b-line for the Cafe for beers. People were being blown over; hats and scarves lost, and I was worried my camera and tripod were going to take off like a kite. Cleaning the lens was futile, so unfortunately a lot of the photos came out a bit rough.  When we got back to the carpark we saw a massive specially modified 10-wheeler had pulled up, and it looked perfectly at home.

That rounded up the day trip, but we were able to stop off at a fence line along Route 1 and watch a team of horsies from afar. They came trotting over, nuzzled up against us and said hello. I was surprised, but this ended up being the highlight of the day. Somehow there were pieces of apple buried just beneath the fresh snow (explaining their friendliness), so the couple of us that braved the cold were able to give them a bit of a snack. The horses were profound, beautiful creatures, with deep spiritually captivating eyes, leading to a familiarity I haven't quite understood while of sane mind, perfect in the quiet Icelandic terrain. I managed to get a couple pictures of cuddles and horsing around, but they didn't turn out as crisp. We hit the road again, which quickly became quite hairy in parts, with very minimal visibility as a snow storm rolled through. At one point the tires dipped slightly off-road into the snow bank, which quickly triggered hilarious flashbacks of terrifying car-wash's experienced as a child, with chaos enveloping the entire 4WD. We made it back however, around sunset, with about 4 minutes spare to make a dash to the bottle-o, the seven of us making two trips each to lug all the beer back to the car. And at 351 ISK a 500ml can ($3.50NZD), we had to make sure we began drinking as soon as we had the receipt in-hand (bar the drivers) to ease the financial pain.

After probably the 4th or 6th straight night of intense drinking, and very little sleep, we started out quite late the next day, once the drivers in particular could sober up completely, and we could make sure there were enough $0.60 energy drinks (the only cheap thing in Iceland!) to go around. We headed in the opposite direction this time out of Reykjavik, en route to Vík, essentially the most southern part of Iceland. We were light one person on day 2, so the sandwich assembly line was ruined. Luckily there were enough Kiwi's and Aussies on-board to crowd source a bit of No.8 wire thinking in the snack department, and with me there to translate between Bro and Mate as the Kiwi/Aussie translator, it all went smoothly. There was a lot of sleeping in the car in that morning...

We didn't have a game plan at all, and were lucky to hit most of the main stops. The first being Seljalandsfoss, a fantastic waterfall tucked away a tiny distance from Route 1. You're even able to walk behind the waterfall and watch the sunset, but in Winter it's impossible without ice cleats. I'm actually heading back here with gear, so that'll be something to look forward to. We also managed to get a couple great photos of the full group including Car #2, which rounded this off as a great first stop.

The stretch of road between Seljalandsfoss and Skógafoss (Forest Falls), was completely different again.   Full of interesting volcanic peaks, intense contrast between the rich brown grass and light blue skies.  None of the colour in these photos varies from what we could see in person.  We reached Skógafoss at the most perfect time, with the sun starting to disappear behind some of the mountain peaks we had just passed.  Looking back, after a short hike uphill, I grabbed this photo — another one of my favourites so far:

There was a great, but strenuous jaunt (in our condition) up to the top of the falls. At the top we were able to go off track a bit and within a few metres disappear completely into the landscape. Sergey and I managed a couple neat selfies and then we made the easier walk back down. There were another handful of Icelandic Horses, whom like their friends from the previous day came to meet us at the fence line. The rest of the group retreated to the beer-source, and I set up my tripod. While taking the shot with me in it, the horse out of frame gave my lens cap a toothy nibble, knocking it over, looking rather pleased with itself. Silly horsies.

Now, there is an excellent reason why despite being lost in the most beautiful landscape, I only have a few remaining photos of the day, which I'll get to... We stopped off next on a fluke to Kirkjufjara, a volcanic black sand beach. I stood on the southern point, with a compass in hand, trying to visualise the perfectly straight line that would take you across only ocean to meet the South Pole in Antarctica. Again, it was a crazy and profound moment, which soon led to some perfectly terrible judgement... However it brought me back to one of my favourite songs from Bon Iver: Holocene, which happens to have an awesome music video, which was shot in Iceland... ♫♫ I could see for miles, miles, miles.

I sat for some time watching the waves roll in, seeing the set waves, and the larger waves, and felt safer to move closer to the cliff edge. By this time the group had moved further around the coast, out of earshot, but were still visible. I set up my tripod as night began its journey, and sat peacefully despite the chaotic crashing below. That's when I heard the most thunderous, consuming roar. I recall turning slightly, seeing black, and being picked up by a towering column of water that dwarfed me by at least 2 metres. I was firmly braced, but I just crumbled. I was dragged, dumped and then pinned near the cliff face, twisted in a few well placed rocks. Soaked through completely, bleeding, dangling above death below. I must have switched into survival mode, I remember hearing the guys (who thought they just saw me die) yelling from afar. I walked, shaking back to the car, stripped off, and realised what happened. My camera was done and dusted, salt water just ripped through it. The lens survived (the expensive bit), but the electronics were toast. Only my hands were gashed, with my body getting what looked like gravel rash through the thick layers, and luckily I walked away without adding concussion number 6 ...or 7. That considered, I was really quite pleased with the whole ordeal. We continued on, and for the rest of the night I was sporting some real NZ beach wear... soaked underwear (undies, undies, undies, togs) and an Icelandic wool jumper is what my outfit entailed. The locals were quite puzzled when we soon arrived in Vík, on a more colder night, seeing this strange bearded foreigner wearing close to nothing.

In complete dark out, we left Vík, and headed back to Reykjavik, full with a handful of famous hotdogs, with hopes of spotting the Northern Lights. Which we did. My phone survived, so I was keeping up to date with the Aurora forecast, keeping a keen eye on the sky. I managed to spot them, but it took some convincing for us to stop so I could prove they weren't just clouds. We got a couple shots, which glowed incandescently green thanks to the long exposure of the cameras sensor (from all cameras but mine), before continuing down the road. That's when I spotted the lights directly above, in full bodied green, dancing — you could almost hear them like heavenly windchimes. We all piled out of the 4WD (me wearing just about nothing), no shoes, in what would have been -25°C with windchill. There were 5 or 6 visible columns that stretched out like fingers across from the southern ocean on the horizon, towered above us, and hit the opposite horizon. We were jumping around like giddy idiots at this point, like 2 year olds discovering the magic of bubbles. Soon I realised I began feeling quite warm, which scared the hell out of me, so I jumped back in the car and set the heat to roaring. We watched the lights for probably half an hour, opened the box of beers, and trucked back to Reykjavik. I'll never forgot walking in just underwear through downtown Reykjavik in a snow storm, nor will quite a few locals I'm sure.

I recall seeing 1:40 am as I hopped out of the shower, put on some new clothes and joined the group exploring in Reykjaviks crazy-awesome nightlife. I felt alive. These were definitely the greatest days I've had so far in my life, 16769 kilometres from home, in the most wonderful place in the world.