I knew we had a big day ahead of us, but I didn’t realize quite how big. I had carefully mapped everything, calculated n overall driving time, and it seemed doable, but would it be? I wasn’t sure, but I was sure we’d need to leave early - we had places to see.
With each passing day, there seemed to be more mist and fog, and this morning it felt like the clouds were attempting to touch the ground and stay there, which was not ideal when you want to take pictures of waterfalls with some degree of contrast with the sky. But press on we must, and we did.
Is there a mountain in there?
Markarfljot River: crossing it was the start of the adventure
First stop: Skogafoss. Foss means waterfall in Icelandic, and we would see many a foss. (Skogafoss is the waterfall on the Skoga river, next to the town of Skogar. I still have no idea what Skoga means.) Just 30 minutes from our little Bru house, it was easy to get there before the huge onslaught of tourists from Reykjavik showed up, which meant we could soak up the enormity of this, our first waterfall. We were all instantly a little giggly as we approached it.
Skogafoss
The fam
@miniturbodb zooped up the stairs to the top of the falls, leaving at least one of her parents huffing and puffing to catch up with her
Skogafoss from above
With the waterfall literally behind us, we had a decision to make: were we going to go to the plane crash site on the black sand beach that had piqued @turbodb’s interest when I had described it, or pass on it in favor of other better sights, as per the recommendation of Rick Steves? Silly question, of course we were going to the wreck - Rick didn’t get a vote. As we drove through the endless fields of lupine, we could “see” the wreck in the near distance. The book (and map, and GPS) all said the hike out to the plane was 2.5 miles, but it was right there! It turned out that there was a second plane that had crashed in the same area, and that our plane visit was to one we could not see. Of course, we’d use the drone and see both!
1942 DC-47 Dakota 3: You are not the plane we are looking for
The walk to the fuselage site was pleasant and easy, and uncrowded. Just as we were arriving at the spot where the DC3 went down, and it looked like we would have the desolate stretch of black sand beach to ourselves, a bus with oversized wheels rolled down the road past us and let out a crowd twenty people who ran to the plane (or what was left of it), and to my horror, immediately started jumping on the wings, the roof, squealing as they took selfies, dancing, doing gymnastics… Most of the poses involved looking like conquering heroes, everyone getting in front of one another’s pictures. And when that all seemed like too much, a set of ATVs pulled up to take more pictures of themselves - without even removing their helmets. I sat on a rock, faced the ocean and the miles of empty black sand beach. I needed a moment: It was a bit too Insta, about showing off than sharing a moment of quiet. It was anything but quiet. I consoled myself knowing the backstory of the plane: no one died, they all made it out, and slowly, the world was reclaiming what was left. Eventually, these bits of plane would all be gone.
Solheimasandur DC3
Solheimasandur close up
We left the crowd and walked back up the road just as another bus load of people arrived. I could tell that I was having trouble shaking my disgust at humanity - both at what had been done to the plane and what I saw being done to the plane. The walk back, for me at least, was more somber than the joyful walk out had been.
Fortunately, and despite the graying clouds, there was more to see that would lift my spirits. We drove along the green hillsides, cliffs, and endless lupine valleys. There were sod roofed buildings that looked like hobbit houses. Such sites restored my weary spirit.
Baggins? Are you in there?
We continued toward Dyrolaey Promontory, the southern (and southeastern) most point in Iceland. While this point of land that jutted out into the sea was crowded, we’d all come by it honestly - everyone had driven. This time, there was a sense of shared awe as not only were we surrounded by people speaking Italian, Spanish, Russian, Swedish, and English, but also by puffins and gulls throughout the cliffs just below us. And there was a sea arch too!
Puffins!
Dyrholaey Arches
A short trip around a lagoon and we were at another site we were looking forward to: Reynisfjara black sand beach. Right at the edge of the ocean were said to be basalt cliffs - of which I’ve seen many. But unlike the basalt cliffs of the Owyhee, these were purported to be white. Turned out that the geology did not disappoint.
White basalt pillars looking surreal
There were tons of people, but we could understand why - the white basalt was calling for everyone to take a seat, or a pose. They really did look as magical in person as they did in pictures.
As I started to walk further back, away from the mob scene around the cliffs, I started to notice that some people were not looking at the geology, but were instead looking up above them at the cliffs. Low and behold, the cliffs were teaming with puffins!
I turned away from the crowd to feel the ocean breeze on my face. I picked up a handful of the black pebbles that crunched on the beach; it was tempting to pocket a few, but I resisted - it is a crime in Iceland to take these particularly special rocks home. (I kept thinking of the book I had growing up If everybody did… and thinking, if everybody took home a handful of rocks… it would still look the same, which is not the moral of the story here.)
Magical rocks and seastacs
Meanwhile, @mini.turbodb had decided to chase the surf, and as we had been warned, this part of Iceland is rife with “sneaker waves” (which are not full of athletic shoes as one might hope!) and she got the bottom of her pants and her shoes a little wet. They’d dry in the car.
Around the corner from the pillars was halsanefshellir cave where the pillars had eroded from below
Back in the car, we headed to Vik for lunch at what felt like the end of the earth. For most of the tourists, many on buses, this was the last stop before turning around and heading back to Reykjavik. For us, it was a stop on a longer journey. The teenager made very few requests during the trip - to go shopping one day in Copenhagen, to see the Design Museum - so it was relatively easy to satisfy her few wants. On this day, she requested to see the “Diamond Beach.” From Vik, it was another 3 hours to the beach, but really, there was no reason not to go - the pictures looked amazing. So off we went! (And we were glad we did.)
Like the rest of Iceland, the East was yet another dynamic environment shaped by volcanoes (and lava flows), glaciers (and their melting ice), and moss. We were entering a completely different landscape that had formed in the 1700s when another volcano blew creating the largest lava field in the world - Eldhraun.
Skaufabersbru bridge
Not long after passing the Skaufabersbru bridge, we were deep into the Eldhraun lava field, one of the largest of its kind in the world (~218 sq miles of bumpy uninhabited lava field). Naturally, we had to stop to get a closer look. The moss here takes decades to grow, so we were careful to walk only on pre-existing paths. Like many similar places in the western US, it is a very fragile environment.
Moss of Eldhraun Lava Field: As soft as it looks, and much softer than Icelandic wool, which is not at all soft
We passed Kirkjubaejarklaustur, with its twin falls Systrafoss, and its gas station, a fact that we’d note and ignore later, while we continued on our mission toward “Diamond Beach.” Diamond beach is a black sand beach covered with beautiful melting blocks of ice, also known as former icebergs that had calved from one the many tendrils of Vatnajokull glacier into a Jokulsarlon, or “Glacier Lake” - our first destination.
Kirkjubaejarklaustur and Systrafoss waterfall in the background
Our little Toyota with the glacier
So that’s where all the waterfalls are coming from…
What humans build up, nature tears down; Icelandic perseverance is a marvel in itself
Jokulsarlon - “Glacier Lake”
We arrived at Jokulsarlon around 6pm, the sun still very much up. Having parked on the south side of the outlet to the sea meant there were fewer people (most of the tourists here were heading south on the Ring Road; few were coming north), and more space to admire the ice bergs and the wildlife.
Duck and Duckling
Icebergs
Ice-arch
Ducks preparing for duck battle
It was not long ago that the glacier reached the sea, but now, at every point that it used to reach the ocean it had receded, creating a glacier lake (it turned out there were several) where it would cave icebergs which would float, and turn and melt as they floated out to sea. The scene was both beautiful and a bit heartbreaking: we were literally watching climate change in action, and in no small way, having driven and flown all the way here to watch it, we and everyone else here, had contributed to the problem. And yet, it was mesmerizing to watch the ice turn and shift, get stuck and then unstuck. When we weren’t looking at the colors of the ice, we watched as different species of waterfowl taunted each other and protected their young. Once we got our fill of the birds and the big icebergs floating on the lake, we decided to follow them out to sea, as they spun and shrunk, and eventually, disappeared. We also wanted to see how many floated up on the beach.
Diamonds on the beach
There were diamonds on the beach! As we photographed the chunks of translucent ice, there was a sense of giddiness and camaraderie among the tourists - the thing we had come to see was real and we were all seeing it together. People were courteous and kind to one another; it was busy, yet quiet. As a light rain began to fall, we, like the rest of the crowd, made our way back to our car and onto the long journey back to our little bru-guesthouse. Diamond beach had been worth it.
The drive back was relatively uneventful except for one moment of gas panic. The car was a hybrid, and as it was new to us, we weren’t really sure how that worked and how long our gas would last us. We had mentally noted that there was gas (and likely the last gas) in Kirkjubaejarklaustur, and that we should get gas there when we drove through, but when the time came, we blew through assuming that we would make it easily back to Vik, the next spot of civilization. As we continued back through the Eldhraun lava field, Dan noticed that the “kilometers left until empty” was ticking away at an alarming rate. We pulled over to discuss, only to realize that we were equidistant from either town, and thus gas station - ~35 km - with our kilometers left until empty approximately the same. We decided to press our luck rather than turn back… and to take every gas saving measure available. The Icelandic gods shined on us this time, and we made to the gas station before our little Toyota ran out. Phew!
We made it home late in the evening and enjoyed our last night in the Bru guesthouse with a big salad. It had been a sweet place to stay. Little did we know how much we’d miss our little cottage!
The Whole Story
