It was the final day of the Iceland Workshop, and it felt like we had some locations to catch up on. Although the storm had faded, it left a sky that couldn’t decide if it was going to be a backdrop of interest or a curtain of gray. We’d try to make the most of it before heading back toward Reykjavik and the departures at Keflavik.
We dropped to the beach at Vik where dawn unfolded. The shore was blue and breezy as wet mist clouded the sea-stack Trolls just off shore. I worked a variety of compositions and played with exposure times, long and short, trying to capture the trolls in their habitat. The muted sunrise kept the scenes somewhat flat, the foamy sea providing the only highlights against the dark rocks. High clouds would bloom with color momentarily, but their distance relative to the rocky subjects made them feel disconnected. I worked hard without much success.
I then noticed Jeremy or Erno, can’t recall whom, maybe it was Mike or Quinn, shooting straight down at their feet. The troll scenes had called for the telephoto, so pointing my 100-400mm at the repetitive texture of the perfectly rounded beach gravels, uniformly dark with misty highlights, created a mesmerizing but relaxing composition. I loved it. Here and there, a random red stone highlighted the gray-black clasts, and a wet sheen revealed a self-reflection in each of the million stones. Oddly, one of my favorite compositions of the trip, right at my feet and I might have missed it had others not suggested a look.
Then came the waterfalls, the icons of the South Coast. Having been a generally rag-tag workshop group operating mostly away from the crowds over the past several days, it was disheartening to pull into the crowds of Skógafoss (I can’t imagine the summer scene). I know we are an element of the crowding and the falls are certainly an accessible attraction, but being surrounded by the bustle of busses and their denizens changed the vibe of the day.
Quinn at his craft; seeing it differently.
The light had turned flat. I waded into the stream to work some foreground rocks and ice into the looming Skógafoss. I could not get the mid-ground figures—sightseers and photogs at the iconic falls—out of my frame. Worse, and all my fault, I did not pay attention to the mist collecting on my lens and all my images were spotty, even though I was happy in the moment with the live view on the camera-back. This haunted me endlessly as I reviewed my waterfall photos later. Nick had warned me, but I didn’t dry the lens often enough. When I did remember, it wasn’t the composition I’d hoped for. When I’d forget, the composition was good. No keepers from Skógafoss!
Thor had a better idea. We’d drive a short distance south and hike the similarly short distance to Kvernufoss. It is wonderful how the necessity of a hike allows an escape from crowds—and this was not a long or difficult hike. I got a little mojo back as the walk invigorated our small group, and the sharp falls pouring through a small grotto appealed to me more than the massive curtain-like falls. I waded into the stream to capture the energy flowing at me. It was amazingly fun. Leaving the stream, I climbed along an icy trail behind the falls to gain a perspective I’d never experienced before at any waterfall. Back streamside, I watched from a distance as Ken lost his grip on his Nikon D850. It tumbled toward the rapids, but he and Quinn dove toward the water, Ken grasping the fumbled camera on its last bounce before the water. The two men sprawled on the grassy terrace, water flowing at arm’s reach. That was close!
Portraits at Kvernufoss. Photos by Nick Page.
On our short hike back, Quinn and Jeremy scattered along a field to get a composition of a languid Icelandic pony. The horse was pretty far off, but their effort established the idea of looking for some close-up horses to photograph. I think plenty of folks were hoping to capture a few pony images so we were soon traversing some side-roads and approaching small herds grazing in winter pastures. The afternoon light was kind to our group and several folks took to it happily. However, we soon realized our light was fading on our last day and we had at least another iconic waterfall to visit. So, with a little more scurrying we were soon at Seljalandsfoss. This typically popular spot wasn’t too busy in the fading evening and I was able to wander the paths and enjoy the light. Ice coated the viewing platforms and, in one exhilarating moment, Randy, Robert, and I found ourselves skating and scrambling for foot-holds, crashing together on the wood planks, tripods skittering. We carefully retreated.
And then the quiet drive to Keflavik. We’d done a lot on this last workshop day. Maybe too much, trying to fit in several stops and a variety of scenes as we traveled to the end. It was nice to see the sights, and I love my intimate beach gravel image, but it really wasn’t a day for mindful photography. We had experienced many gifts from Snaefellsnes to Vestrahorn; you can’t win ‘em all. That’s a given with photographic journeys. Our group gathered late into the evening at the Keflavik guesthouse, reminiscing and trading stories about future plans. An endless, own-rules snooker game kept Ian and I occupied. Most were soon packed for their stateside returns, but a few of us prepared for one additional excursion to visit an icon. Tomorrow, we were on our way to Kirkjafell.