We stumbled into the breakfast buffet at Fossatun groggy from our midge disturbed sleep. Other than @mini.turbodb, who slept soundly while the little critters munched on her skin, Dan (sweltering under a sheet in the cabin) and I (in the car, trying to escape the bugs) barely slept at all. Where we’d been alone at dinner, breakfast was full of European tourists, mostly Germans, which was change of pace from the other places we’d been in Iceland which seemed to have few Europeans. Breakfast was a delight - the best breakfast of the trip.
Breakfast at Fossatun also included two kinds of fresh baked bread, skyr, omelets, and cereal. We barely needed lunch
After breakfast, we decided to take a tour of the Fossatun troll stroll nature walk (free to guests!)
Just a troll, playing his drum, minding his business
@mini.turbodb attacks an unsuspecting village of astroturf sod houses on the troll stroll
Then we were off - first to the hot springs at Deidartunghver (which not only supply hot water and heat to the surrounding area, but also to the immediately adjacent Krauma Spa), which was relatively unexciting, and then to Grabok crater, which was definitely more interesting.
Stairs up to the top of the Grabok Crater
Volcanoes for days
Needing a little more exercise to get what was left our blood pumping, we hiked to the top the crater, which gave us an amazing view of the rift valley and the chain of volcanic cones that accompanied it. It reminded me of the cinder cones in the Mojave desert - if they were in a much wetter place.
Ruins below the Grabok Crater
The short, but steep hike to the top of the crater left me sleepier than before, so I was struggling to keep my eyes open as we passed through the land of the Laxadarnes Sagas, which were sleep inducing rolling hills. Of course, this land of the sagas was only interesting if you 1) knew the sagas, especially the saga of Laxdaela - the most famous love triangle in all of Icelandic literature, involving Gudrun, and foster brothers Kjartan and Bolli, and murder and revenge, and more murder, and 2) if you cared to know about these sagas. The fam obliged a stop or two to read a sign about the sagas - whose stories I already knew - but really, just being the area felt like enough. I could imagine Kjartan’s avengers riding over the green hills toward the place where Bolli was sleeping (to kill him, brutally, of course), and the spot where Gudrun washed clothes in the stream. Even though it was summer, it was a gloomy, foggy, rainy place - it would have been a rough life being a vengeful Viking in the Laxa Valley. So naturally, we decided to take a break and get some ice cream, which was delicious.
@mini.turbodb found a trampoline, as one does
The road across Breidafjordur
The West Fjords beckoned us through the fog
We continued on sleepy journey toward the West Fjords - the gangly appendage hanging off the northwest corner of Iceland. The West Fjords are not on the ring road that so many tourists use to circumnavigate the island, and as a result, they are much less visited and offered a chance to see Iceland as it might have been before all of us showed up.
The road meandered along the edge of the cliffs, before turning and going up over Kleifaheidi pass.
@mrsturbodb and @mini.turbodb with the Kleifabui statue at the top of the Kleifaheidi pass. Erected in the 1940’s, it was built by the roadworkers building the pass and was one in a chain of cairns that paralleled the road. We had already seen a few other cairns - and I’d like to think that those were built by Vikings on their way through
Upon descending down the pass, we had a choice: go to the left to a shipwreck or continue on our journey toward Patreksfjordur to the right. It was an easy choice.
Nothing to see here… (what kind of bird is this? We thought it looked like he had a carrot for a beak)
Gardar BA 64 Shipwreck
The ship was first launched in 1912 and served as a whaling ship in Norway until it came to Iceland, where it was the first steel ship. After many years of service in many different capacities, it was deemed unseaworthy and was intentionally grounded on this beach to serve as a tourist attraction (success! We were here!) - a “shipwrecked” boat on a remote beach. Very picturesque. So of course, we were not alone. Shortly after we arrived, so did another family, this one from Florida, and also with a teenager in tow.
It was time for a rest. Or a dip as it were. Having snapped our pictures, we regrouped and headed toward Patreksfjordur, the westernmost town in Iceland. According to Rick Steves’, the swimming pool, was not to be missed.
@mini.turbodb enjoying the hot tub in Patreksfjordur
The setting in the town rec. center was not exactly the remote hot springs or one of the fancy spas that Iceland is known for, but the facilities and the view of the fjord were excellent, even in the drizzle. (Note: we had passed a remote hot springs on the edge of the fjord but it was raining and I was asleep.) We even had fun playing keep away in the pool with a handball someone had left behind. Icelanders take their swimming holes very seriously and patrons are required to shower before entering - a fact @mini.turbodb and I were reminded of by a local we met in the locker room. There are even signs with instructions for how and which parts to cleanse.
From Patreksfjordur we continued on our trek north, this time to Bildudalur for dinner. The West Fjords, like Iceland of yore, is not chock-a-block with restaurants, as most Icelanders don’t typically eat out, so when we got to Bildudalur, we went to the restaurant, which was also a mini-mart, and the only game in town. Despite its captive clientele, our fish and chips and burgers were decent (with a mild hint of curry?) The town, like most towns on the coast in the West Fjords, was a fishing village, right on the water. The two boys at the table next to us were also from out of town, and we guessed that they were fresh off the boat docked in the harbor. Seemingly oblivious to our Americanness, they were practicing their English with ridiculous sayings between playing flick football with a napkin that had been folded for that purpose. “I’d like mustard for breakfast,” they said to one another, rolling the R in mustard, when not speaking to each other in something that sounded Swedish. They only straightened up slightly when their captain, who spoke Icelandic, came in and greeted the owner of the restaurant warmly.
Dinner completed, we wound our way around the Arnafjordur fjords, the land of the Saga of Gisli, who kills one brother-in-law to avenge the death of his other brother-in-law (basically, a hot mess of a tragedy). It was easy to imagine how Gisli was able to hide in and around the fjords here as a fugitive for thirteen years.
The first of several fish farming pens we'd see in Arnafjordur
Tendrils
The road along the fjords
Waterfalls everywhere
As we rounded a corner, we came upon a huge yacht anchored in a secluded fjord (it might even have been Geirthjotsfjordur where Gisli hid out). We spent the next few miles speculating which Russian oligarch might have owned the boat, opting only to take a picture at a wide distance.
Yacht hiding in a fjord
We then climbed up the fjord to the Dynjandi plateau and then down to what I knew, but managed to keep a secret, was an amazing waterfall (it had been a few hours since our last waterfall, so we were due).
Dynjandi Waterfall Is Enormous
@mini.turbodb at Hrivadsfoss waterfall below Dynjandi
Despite the ever later hour, the light remained a steady twilight, tricking us into believing it was earlier than it was. From Dynjandi, it was just through a tunnel and then over a pass, to the place where we would rest for the night.
Zoom zoom
Viking statues on the pass
Many of the roads were gravel, and it showed on our little Toyota
We stayed at the Holt Inn, in a bucolic setting that we would barely get to enjoy. Looking back on it, we could easily (and probably should have) spent two nights there - relaxing, riding bicycles along the edge of the fjord, spending time in the hot tub, not driving, but our itinerary was set, and we only spent one night here.
Holt Inn
The Next Day...
In the morning, we each woke up… itchy. Some more than others. @mini.turbodb was covered in bites. Dan was not faring much better, while I had the fewest. Were there fleas? Bedbugs? We frantically pulled off the covers of our bed looking to see if there were signs of bed bugs (there were none), or signs of fleas (again, none). No matter where the bites were from, and at that moment, we incorrectly blamed the Holt Inn, we were itching to leave. So after another fabulous breakfast, we were on our way.
Even in our rush, we were the last to leave
It was only later that we realized that the bites were most likely from our stay the previous night at Fossatun, and that it took over 24 hours for the bites from the midges to show up as our immune systems did their best to fight off their effects.
We were off to Isafjordur (Ice fjord town), but first we had to go through a weird one lane tunnel with an intersection in the middle to another far flung town of Sudureyri, that was once nearly wiped out by an avalanche - a big problem in the West Fjords. None of us had ever been in a tunnel with a stop sign in the middle of the tunnel. It added to the hobbit-like vibe of Iceland.
Once out of the tunnel, down a long hill, and then into a very foggy Isafjordur, we had a decision to make: did we want to go to Bolafjall, where (with a hope and a prayer) we might be able to see through the fog to Greenland or did we want to make further progress down the coast, given that a long day would be made even longer with a possible boondoggle of a side-trip?
Naturally, we took the side trip. We headed west through another tunnel and then up a winding pass to the top of a bluff above the town of Bolungarvik called Bolafjall, where upon reaching the top, visibility was comically bad. But we’d made it!
Bolafjall: I can totally see Greenland from here
The Bolafjall station where we were parked was originally a radar station built by the Americans but was now used by the Icelandic Coast Guard. We’d reached the furthest north that any of us had every been and may ever be - just shy of the Arctic Circle. We headed back down the twisty, foggy road, cruising by Bolungarvik, admiring their massive avalanche prevention berms, and then gassed up in Isafjordur, continuing our trek toward Holmavik.
Isafjordur sticking out into Isafjord
As per always, I had planned stops along the way, and as per always, I was overly optimistic and did not account for all of the unexpected stops we’d make along the way.
Valagil Waterfall: We could have hiked to you, but we were already behind schedule
Valagil from above
Valagil Estuary
I had casually marked a spot on our grand tour as “look at seals, whales, and canoes” without really a second thought, thinking it was unlikely that seals, whales, or canoes would be sitting still, waiting for our arrival to ogle at them. Turns out… the seals got the memo. We hopped the guardrail, garnering some strange looks from the other two tourists who had stopped at the “Look here at seals” sign on the side of the road and were carefully watching the seals from the edge of the road.
We carefully picked our way across the kelp slicked rocks toward the resting seals, making sure to keep a healthy distance. Once again, I was glad for my binoculars. I still don’t know why I thought there would be canoes, but it was nice to see the seals, and the baby seals were extra cute.
Hello cute little guy! Thanks for waiting for us
At this point, I knew our timing was off, but there was little we could do about it. We’d “eaten heavy” at breakfast, left relatively early, so by the time we were in a town with food (Isafjordur), we were not hungry. Like the fools we were,, we naively believed that there would be somewhere to eat along the way - despite the obvious lack of villages between Isafjordur and Holmavik, the next (only? Large?) town on the north coast. There was definitely nothing available at 2pm when our stomachs started to rumble. We had found ourselves in Rekjanes, where there was a school turned hostel with a restaurant that opened at 3pm. We did our best to avoid feeling hangry, and pressed on over the Steingrisfjordarheidi pass - and to the end of our journey in the West Fjords.
This hobbit house did not contain a restaurant
By the time we descended into sunny (!!) Holmavik, we were HUNGRY with a capital H. We felt so lucky to have three restaurants to choose from! The first option was the restaurant in the Museum of Sorcery and Witchcraft (which featured a replica of a pair of pants made from human skin said to give the wearer an endless supply of money), which featured soup (and possibly, only soup). Soup did not appeal, so it was on to the next restaurant, which was closed. The last restaurant was considered to be too fancy, so we opted to head to gas station/grocery store/restaurant of last resort: Kronindin. Here, we made a plan: we would eat lunch and get food to go, so we wouldn’t go hungry when there was nowhere to eat between Holmavik and our cabin for the night. Brilliant. Somehow, we’d neglected to notice the onward movement of time, tricked by the perpetual light of the far north, so “lunch” of the chicken sandwich/hamburger variety happened closer to dinner (4:30pm) than we realized. Oblivious, we grabbed some Icelandic frozen entrees and a head of broccoli - you know, for balance - and a tub of mint chip gelato, which we consumed immediately and entirely, further eroding our need for either the frozen entrees or the broccoli for vegetal balance. But having the food in our trunk felt so reassuring!
Stuffed, we continued over another pass (Throskuldur) arriving relatively quickly at our cabin for the night in Thurranes.
Thurranes Cottage #3
The sun was shining on the cottage as we arrived, with a view of Breidafjordur in the distance. Our home for the next 12 hours couldn’t be more inviting until it was. We were greeted by the best host of all, one of the cuddly variety. As soon as we parked the car, our “host” sauntered up, as only a cool male cat can do, and was immediately rewarded with pats and rubs, especially by certain cool male cat of our own. You see, Dan has a HUGE soft spot for kitties, and this one was particularly friendly. It was as though this kitty were waiting for us to arrive. He was not disappointed.
Well hello there
Oh that feels so good
A new shadow
Once he got us settled, and by that I mean, he got enough cuddles, rubs, and pats, our kitty host was on his way, leaving us to enjoy the rest of our evening. This meant it was time to take a dip in the hot tub and then consider dinner (and of course, none of us were remotely hungry).
You’d never know it was late (we didn’t!) when we got out of the tub, as the sky was still as light as ever. We decided to save our Icelandic frozen meals and precious broccoli (one could only imagine how far it must have travelled to have gotten to the northern rim of Iceland!) for breakfast and ate bagels we’d brought along for dinner (why didn’t we eat these for a snack/lunch earlier!! Doh!)
We’d embark on our frozen culinary adventure the following morning. It would not be pretty.
The Whole Story
The black and white bird with the orange beak is the Oystercatcher,
https://www.iceland-nh.net/birds/data/Haematopus-ostralegus/haematopus_ostralegus.html
Having been born and bred in Seattle, I have never intentionally gone to a similar climate, but your account has been very engaging, and Dan's photos are always great, including some fine aerial shots.