Leaving Akureyri, it was still unsettling as to what direction we were heading in, but I followed the signs for Route 1 in the direction of Reykjavik. The first real settlement was the village of Varmahild just under 100 kilometres into the trip. The road passes through mountain passes with deep river gorges.
This area is the Oxnadalur a narrow thirty kilometre long valley.
The road rises to its highest point around halfway in, and then drops away to a wide open valley. Just before we reached the settlement of Varmahild we were heading north along a valley with a steep sided mountain on our right. The overcast conditions we had left in Akureyri had given way to blue skies and sunshine, and we came across a pool by the side of the road that was reflecting the mountain beautifully.
As I pulled over a pair of Black-tailed Godwits flew up from the pool, and flew across the road calling, settling down in the field on the other side. As I walked up to the pool to get the best reflection I noticed a couple of birds on the water. When I realised that they were Slavonian Grebes, all thought of reflections went out of the window. Using a small bush as cover I edged closer.
Absolutely stunning little grebes in dead calm water and sunshine. The sunshine if anything was causing problems, over exposing the golden feathers that make up the horns. I played with a few different exposures trying to compensate.
Named after a region in eastern Croatia, the adult Slavonian
grebe is one of the most attractive of all our waterbirds. It has a mahogany
and dark grey plumage, set off by crimson eyes with golden tufts of feathers
sprouting behind – a feature that gives the species its North American name,
the horned grebe. The species also has several intriguing folk-names, possibly
because of its bright red eyes: these include "devil-diver",
"hell-diver" and "water-witch".
Like other grebes – the most truly aquatic of all the
world's birds – the Slavonian builds a floating nest on small lochs, fringed
with plenty of vegetation where the birds can seek refuge from predators. The pair here were hardly ever far away from each other.
They allowed me to edge closer.
In the UK many of the lochs in Scotland where the grebes
choose to nest are also home to pike, which prey voraciously on the same small
fish – sticklebacks and minnows – which the grebe needs to feed its offspring.
Where pike are absent, the grebes thrive; where they are present, they do not,
many of the pools here are free of these predators and the grebes can be see
everywhere.
I can hear Helen calling me and I turn to see her pointed across the pool. I turn and follow her directions and there in the middle of the pool was a Great Northern Diver. A Great Northern Diver in perfect conditions.
I made my way around the pool hoping that the raised road obscured my head from breaking the sky line.
I edged closer and it seemed unconcerned, spending time preening and snorkeling in the water.
The light was wonderful, and the water colour lovely from the reflection of the backdrop of the mountain.
As it preened it positioned itself to raise itself out of the water, and then wing flap.
The back to just drifting
While I had been watching the diver I could hear and see phalaropes busying about on the edge. I decided to leave the diver and made my way back to near the car.
This male was the centre of attention from the females, and little squabble broke out as the females fought over him. Here both females
Another had just finished bathing.
Despite the beauty and presence of the phalaropes it was impossible to ignore the Slavonian Grebes again. The pair were tucked in to the shoreline.
The pair seemingly inseparable.
I edged ever closer still trying to compensate for the exposure challenges. But in doing so I spooked them and they flew, but only a short distance.
As I occupied myself with the phalaropes once again the grebes slowly made their way back to the edge of the lake, and I turned my attention once again.
Time was moving on so I had to pull myself away from the pool. I never did get that reflection photograph.
Back on the road we continued through wide open valleys, and turf farms. When the Norse settlers emigrated to Iceland in the 9th
century, the island's harsh climate and limited resources proved
challenging. The Vikings, however, had brought with them a solution: turf
homes, something already popular in Norway.
For the next millennium or so, these grass-roofed dwellings
protected Icelanders from blistering winds, rains, and even earthquakes. A
typical Icelandic turf farm was actually a cluster of between 2 and 30 buildings
connected by earthen corridors, a type of structure known as a baer, the
general word for farm. For support and
protection, the back of such a building was dug into the hillside, while the
front jutted out and had a pointed, mossy roof.
From Varmahalid the road tracks west, then north through Langadalur (the long valley), with Whooper Swans grazing in the fields and pairs dotted about on the grass banks by the many streams snaking through the valley.
Eventually we came to climb the bank of the valley at the western side of the valley where we came to the village of Blondus. We stopped here at a cafe, and had something to east and possibly the worst coffee of the trip.
We continued on, heading for the turn to Hvammstangi, again passing through and over wide open glacial valleys.
Hvammstangi is a sedate, slow moving village on the south western side of the Vatnsenes Peninsula. The appeal of Hvammstangi is the local seal colonies, and we drove through the village and onto a gravel road. The road follows the coast and rises and falls with the coast line. Eventually after 30 kilometres we came across a parking area at Illugastadir farm, a farm that has history well beyond just the presence of seals, but of a murder story too involved to tell here.
Even though the sun was out the wind was strong and very cold. We walked down the path with Snipe drumming above us. As we reached the shore there were Turnstone roosting in amongst the bladder wrack.
We turned right which proved the wrong decision, we came to a fence and all we could see was a very distant seal on distant rocks looking like a large slug. A drake Eider swam past.
We turned back and walked this time to the left and could see seals but before we reached them I was interested in the waders feeding in amongst the rocks and sea weed on the tide line. A Red Knot had flow by earlier, and one was feeding in amongst the rocks in a spanking summer plumage, some in its complete form I had never seen.
A stunning wader in summer plumage.
A Ringed Plover.
And a summer plumaged Purple Sandpiper
Leaving the waders the attention turned to the seals on the rocks. These were Grey Seals.
The seals were not doing much, but to our right there was an adult seal moving across the rocks with a smaller seal close by.
A mother and pup, the female trying to find a comfortable place on what were sharp volcanic rocks.
The pup appeared to be waiting for its mother to stop moving.
Then finally she was happy and so was the pup and it was able to suckle.
Just checking to see if you are alright.
The wind was brutal and we returned to the car. We opted not to continue around the peninsula, which in hindsight was a mistake, but we can't see it all.
On the way down the gravel road we had passed through an Arctic Tern colony. On the way back I stopped to try and get some close ups of the terns. The light though was not at its best, and I just managed one acceptable shot.
We made our way back to the ring road where we continued on. The road now took us into West Iceland. We entered into rolling plains and traveled along the Nordura river. The road climbs higher on to a plateau created by lava flows, now covered with bleached yellow grasses. The view across the plateau was excellent with stunning views of the Langjokull ice cap.
All around the plateau there were stunning views in the clear blue skies.
The road falls down, passing through birch forests dotted with summer houses and lupins, the lupins in bloom. Coming down hill away in the distance across the river deltas was a range of snow capped Hafnarfjall mountain. Pulling over a large group of blue lupins in the foreground added to scene.
After driving through the town of Borganes, the weather changed, clouds rolled in, and the task at hand was reaching our final destination. As a result we took the tunnel that goes aross the Hvalfurdur Fjord. The tunnel is 5.7 kilometres long, but descends quite steeply down under the water. As you drive around the coast you can see Reykjavik, but road wise it is still quite a distance. We actually went into Reykjavik, enduring the rush hour travel and narrowly missing an accident. When we arrived we decided to continue on to our final hotel in Keflavik.
The hotel was convenient, close to the airport for our early flight in the morning, functional describes it best, and it definitely was functional.
And so our Iceland road trip was over, seven days and over 1800 kilometres, every day a different weather experience, every day a completely different landscape. While the wildlife is not expansive, what is there is of high quality. The people are extremely friendly and approachable, if there are any complaints it would be about the lack of space to pull over on the roads to take in the wonderful scenery, and the inability to access some of the land, very minor though a wonderful country, and an amazing holiday
For the record our itinerary was as follows
Flights: British Airways, London Heathrow to Keflavik BA 800 & BA 801
Hotels:
25th May Reykjavik - Icelandair Hotel Old Marina
26th May Vik - Icelandair Hotel Vik
27th May Höfn - The Milk Factory
28th May Egilsstadir - Lake Hotel Gistihusid
29th - 30th May Akureyri - Icelandair Hotel Akureyri
31st May Keflavik - Bed & Breakfast Hotel
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