Broddanes-Akureyri-Aðaldalur

Today was mostly about driving, and at roughly 430 km was roughly twice the distance I’ve driven or will drive on any other day. Foggy, cloudy, rainy weather kept me from seeing much for the first few hours but the sun broke through for about an hour mid-day, giving me a glimpse of volcanic ridge-ringed farmland going almost to the ocean’s edge. I’d read that in this part of Iceland – the Northwest – horses outnumber people, and I knew I was in horse country when I stopped at a gas station-cum-grocery store, and found a variety of horseshoes and nails in the automotive section!

Towards the end of the day I took an 40 km side-trip in order to stretch my legs with a 4-mile hike to Aldeyjarfoss. This waterfall on the Skjalfandafljot drops 20m over a wall of columnar basalt and is accessible only after hiking over a lava field named Suðurárhraun, which was originally formed by eruptions some 9500 years ago. Most of the  field is just lumpy, barely eroded, coagulated lava but I saw more basalt columns, these lying almost horizontal, in a couple of places. Iceland just might turn me into a geology nerd! Further downriver are several other impressive falls that can be seen from the road, including the mighty Goðafoss. Best of all, I was fortunate to have, if not sunshine, at least no rain while I was taking photos at both these places.

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Isafjördur-Holmavik-Broddanes

Last night I stayed in a proper hotel, the only such of my visit here, in Isafjördur. There was a “function” in the banquet room and people in fancy dress milling about with goblets of iced wine when I checked in. Later in the evening, because I was apparently lodged just over the banquet room, I could hear a band and the crowd singing what must have been traditional folk and/or nationalist songs, for it seemed that many knew the words and were singing along. The folk tunes transitioned to some short speeches and were followed with a repertoire to include the Footloose soundtrack, various CCR and some Michael Jackson. Quite entertaining, especially since the band and its lead singer really weren’t bad!

This morning I was up early and thought I’d stroll around town, figuring it would be quiet of a Sunday morning and a good opportunity to take some pics. And so it was, for about a half-hour. And then, suddenly, hordes of people began pouring from the area of the docks, many of them dressed in matching anoraks, sporting cameras about their necks and maps in front of their faces. And lo, as I completed my tour of the fish processing warehouses (industrial areas can make for neat photo ops) and rounded a corner of the docks, what should I see but two – not one, but two – cruise ships. Suddenly my quiet, sleepy, remote Icelandic community had been overrun. All those alleys with neatly trimmed houses, serene on an early Sunday morning, were thronged with people. So much for photo ops.  Now, this cruise ship thing wasn’t entirely bad because many shops which I expected to be closed were now open… But they were stuffed with people and if there were beautiful wool products I couldn’t get to them. I settled on a loaf of bread from the bakery, gassed up the car and headed out of town.

Most of the day I was within a few minutes of 66o North, and it was definitely cooler today than it was my first few days a bit further south. Everything is changing color, the hillsides covered with a low shag carpet of orange and yellow and red, with some gaudy brilliant greens from the haying fields and mossy streams. And swans! I’ve seen quite a few since I got here, but I must’ve seen at least a couple hundred today. I just don’t think of swans as Arctic birds – they’re supposed to be on some slow-moving oxbow on the Thames, preening lazily in a hazy English summer. But no, dozens of them gathered on high Arctic tarns, arching their necks and calling loudly if I s topped too close.

And get this: Car washes (at least some of them) are free at the gas stations that have them! Twice already I’d seen people using what appeared to be free hoses, brushes, etc. Today I watched two drivers pull up to some bays near the gas pumps in Holmavik, scrub their cars and then leave. I decided I should take advantage of same, since Ol’ Rattler was looking a bit disheveled. Now my car is silver again but it still sounds like pieces are falling off it.

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Breidavik-Látrabjarg-Patreksfjördur-Dynjandi-Ísafjördur

This morning I stood at the westernmost point in Europe. The morning sun warmed the back of my neck as I searched, vainly, for Greenland in the distance. The silence was broken only by the occasional sighing of the wind, the staccato “whoosh” as fulmars cruised by on thermal updrafts and the lapping 1400′ below of the North Atlantic on a rocky shore.

Later, going back and forth, over and around vast fjords of aquamarine, I watched a seal rip and devour a freshly caught gull, red feet flashing amidst gray and white feathers before it was dragged under the sea. I saw numerous sheep grazing the kelp exposed by low tide. I watched a shag (that is, a European cormorant) try to swallow a fish that looked like a Yellow Irish Lord. That bird tried hard – it dropped the sculpin in the water, picked it up from new angles, tossed it about to get the head positioned correctly… And still that fish was just too wide! I saw a pair of swans with their young, in a high, high, mountain meadow. Every time I got out of my car I was amazed yet again by the stillness in the fjords… The only sounds I heard were birds, mostly eiders, and water.  Water lapping at the shore, water tricking down gravelly stream beds, water tumbling over rocky precipes…

And towards the end of this day, I came around a switchback and I got my first glimpse of Dynjandi. “OMG,” I thought. I went around two more hairpin curves and got my second view. “OMG,” I thought. And so it went, until I pulled into the parking lot at the base of the series offals that comprise Dynjandi. The size of this waterfall is absolutely unimaginable. It doesn’t seem real, and yet there it is. I hiked up about a hundred meters just to get to the base (supposedly 60m across), and once there just simply stood there, watching and listening (you can’t hear anything except the thunderous cascading of water) for a good quarter-hour. Looking at this waterfall, watching it tumble and rage its way unfettered by man, all the way to the ocean; to see nature at her most awe-inspring; be so insignificant and yet to have the opportunity to witness this, brought tears to my eyes. To still be able to feels his kind of wonder is a joyous thing.

It was a good day. Other than the hundred or so miles of potholed roads that make Captains Bay seem like child’s play… But still, the bruised kidneys are a minute price to pay.

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