Giljalandi-Skaftafell-Giljalandi

Svartifoss, in Skaftafell National Park

Skeidarársandur

Skaftafellsjökull Glacial lagoon and outflow

Skaftafellsjökull with Öræfajökull in background

Northern Lights from Giljalandi

My first night in Iceland, a French woman who has made 26 visits to this country told me about a Norwegian weather site that, according to her Icelandic friends, provides much more accurate forecasts than the Icelandic service. I have been using both of me and honestly haven’t seen much difference – they’ve both forecast fog, clouds, wind and rain, every place that I’ve been. Well, this morning I awoke to more of the same at my cabin. But the Norwegian weather service, unlike the Icelandic one, said it would be partly cloudy becoming sunny at Skaftafell, about 60 miles away and one of the places I really wanted to visit. I took a chance with the Norwegian forecast and lo! A (mostly) sunny day had I! Everything was muddy from all the rain of previous days, but the sun was mostly out and I had beautiful views of Morsájökull, Skaftafellsjökull, Svinisfellsjökull and Öræfajökull glaciers as I wound my way along a ridge between two of them.

I had passed Skaftafell yesterday but due to the weather and lateness of the hour had not stopped. The approach to it from Jökullsarlon, and from it to Kirkjubæjarklauster, is across miles and miles of black sand left by retreating glaciers and seasonal floods. I learned today that this area, called Skeidarársandur, is more than 1000 km2. Thats enormous..!  to cross all the sand and braided rivers was so dangerous and time-consuming that people uused to “detour” into the mountains and cross the glaciers instead. Treading about the engineering that went into the bridges that cross this ever-changing expanse was also interesting – they are, essentially, designed to fail in a manner of speaking, in the event of once in a century flooding since the expense of building something to withstand that was far too great.

Last night I poked my head out the door of my cabin just before bed and saw that it was clear (how’d that happen?!). Various websites say the best time to see the Northern Lights is somewhere between 2100-0100, so I stood outside for a while watching the sky. Sure enough, about 20 minutes later there they were! I watched and took photos for about an hour, until encroaching clouds obscured my view. Tonight is forecast to be clear with moderate aurora activity so I’m keeping my fingers crossed for another opportunity to watch them.

Berunes-Jökulsárlon-Giljalandi

Vatnajokull

Jökulsárlon glacier lagoon

Jökulsárlon glacier lagoon

Icebergs flowing out from Jökulsárlon glacier lagoon, under the N1 bridge

Icebergs from Jökulsárlon glacier lagoon on the beach

Jökulsárlon glacier lagoon

Foggy, cloudy, windy, rainy. Did I mention it was raining? Yes, pissing down rain, with more in the forecast. Today was primarily a driving day, and for the first two hours I drove through a foggy downpour. Muddy, swollen rivers roared under bridges and frothy white lines stask against the bare black flanks of mountains I’ve yet to see. And then… First there was light in the distance.  And then it stopped raining. And then the clouds began to lift, and they kept lifting… The sun shone on me for about two hours and it just happened to be the two hours that included my approach to Vatnajokull and Jökulsárlon. Am I lucky or what?

Vatnakojull is enormous. I’m not sure I saw all of it, for there were still clouds above it, but what I could see was huge, a giant massif sitting atop a vast plain of undulating black volcanic  sand, with massive blue, black and white glacial fingers snaking out through shadowed mountains. Seeing it, especially afterward so many days sans vistas and having no expectation of seeing much of anything today, was rewarding to say the least.

Better and better, I arrived Jökulsárlon while the sun was still shining and was able to spend the next two hours pacing from the lagoon to the beach and back, watching icebergs flip and flow and grind. The water in the lagoon, unlike that of all the swollen rivers I crossed all day, was crystal clear and deceptively calm, making for some nice reflections.

And finally, just before it started raining again, I saw a large flock of Barnacle Geesemin a meadow alongside the road. There’s only a very small breeding population here and the migrants from Greenland pass through just a couple quite specific areas in Iceland – one of which happens to be just where I was driving today. In any event, I slammed on the brakes and after Ol’ Rattletrap slithered to a stop (crappy tires), I was able to see that there were in fact hundreds of geese in the meadow – the meadow appeared to be moving, there were so many of them. So, another new life lister for me!

Berunes-Djúpovigar-Berunes

Falls on the Fossá River

Lava rock along the Fossá River

The Eggs of Merry Bay

Woodsman, Hálsaskógur

Rettir near Kelduskógur

Rettir near Kelduskógur

Rettir near Kelduskógur

I chose a path at random, knowing not where it might lead. A farm track took me up the Fossa River, rock colonnades of black and gray and green guarding the near side of the valley and heath spreading away to the distant wall. High country fields, bright with late-season hay, appeared ’round bends in the tracks and sheep trotted away from their foraging, panicked at the sight of a human walking in their midst. I passed multiple waterfalls, each larger than the last, and came at last to a ridge which, once climbed, revealed yet more of the Fossa climbing ever higher into cloud-covered distance. Most glorious, there came a time when I could see my shadow on the path in front of me… Yes, the sun shone, albeit briefly, upon me as I walked!

That was my morning. I got back to my car literally seconds before it began raining. Ah, Iceland… So much like home. In the afternoon I looked at oversized carved eggs, some 34 of them, set around a harbor near Djúpivogar. They are not to life as regards color, for the stone doesn’t lend itself to such, but are accurate as regards general shape and scale and are each labeled as to the species they represent. That was followed by a short walk in some woods (woods here are few and far between) and then , mere miles from my hostel, I came upon the tail end of a rettir! The sheep had already been driven down from the high country and were gathered in one large pen, from which they were manhandled, identified and separated into smaller pens representing the various families to whom they belonged. bleating ewes, butting Rams and yearling lambs seeking out their mothers competed for attention from the dozen or so adults and half as many children. The rettir is clearly a community event to which all are welcome; my camera and I were no exception, the only ‘payment’ being that I email photos as those participating were too busy for such frivolities.