Iceland, Following the Sagas

Three days around the west with the sagas for an itinerary, in weather that changed its mind hourly.

June 2013

The plan was to follow the sagas around the western half of the country. Ally had the book; I had the camera. Neither of us had a car.

A black rock shore running out into a flat grey fjord, cloud sitting halfway down the mountain opposite

A fair-haired man in a dark jumper and white collar standing in the middle of an empty road, hands on hips — Taking turns with the camera on the road out of town.

A dark-haired man in a mustard jumper on the same road, green field and a flat-topped hill behind him — Taking turns with the camera on the road out of town.

A flat-topped escarpment above a bright green field, the whole sky one sheet of rain-grey cloud

A farmer in a white shirt talking to four young people on a gravel track, a collie between them, the fjord flat behind

A small white church with a red roof and steeple alone on the grass below a brown hill

A morning swim off the rocks, in a sea fog that never lifted. It is colder than it looks, and it looks cold.

A man in blue shorts and walking boots standing in the long grass above the shore, sea and fog behind him — Before.

A man in black shorts and one striped sock grinning on the same bank, the water behind him white with fog — Before.

Two figures picking their way over wet boulders below a row of turf-roofed cottages in the mist

A crumbling earth cliff dropping to a stony beach, a flat-topped island just visible in the haze offshore

Cloud tearing across the face of a snow-streaked ridge, the moor below it almost black

A green headland running down into the fjord, mist halfway up it and snow on the tops beyond

Gulls scattered over open grey water, the far shore reduced to a pale line by the weather

A farm and its green home field on a spit between the sea and a chain of pools, mountains fading up the fjord

Looking out of a tent door past the back of someone’s head to a snow-streaked hillside in flat night light

The weather turned overnight and stayed turned. Everything from here was done in blue sky and a wind that took the warmth straight back out of it.

Three white gabled turf houses in a row, grass growing over their roofs and down their sides, under a hard blue sky

A white timber church with a red spire behind a picket gate, graves and bare trees either side

A long snow-streaked ridge falling away to a valley road, cloud breaking up over the top of it

A fair-haired man in a pale blue shirt on the roadside, snow still lying in the gullies of the peaks behind

A serrated black ridge above a wide brown valley, one small blue tent pitched in the middle distance

Two men squashed into a self-portrait at the roadside, both squinting into the sun

Cirrus drawn in long streaks across the sky above a snow-topped ridge and a flat green valley floor

Sarah stopped for us where the road met the fjord, drove us the rest of the way, and then came swimming too.

A woman laughing on the verge with a water bottle in her hand, sunglasses hooked on her collar, snow on the far shore

Two people jumping off a harbour wall hand in hand, mid-air over the water, the town and its mountains behind — In, and out.

Two heads in green harbour water, both swimming back towards the wall — In, and out.

A bare rounded summit with snow in its hollows, high cloud fanning out above it

A man in a grey jacket sitting against a boulder above a basalt gorge, river running out across the plain below

A wide horseshoe waterfall split by a rock in the middle, spray blowing up out of the pool

Looking down into a dark ash crater, its rim throwing a long shadow, a lake and a cone beyond

Two snow-capped table mountains standing out of a huge empty plain in the afternoon haze

A broken lava field running to the horizon, moss softening the shapes, a white-topped dome behind

Steam drifting low over rough grass at sunset, the sky yellow behind a black ridge