Chasing Light Across Iceland
This journey around Iceland was more than just a photo trip — it was a reminder of how alive and unpredictable the world can be. Every day brought something new: changing weather, shifting light, and landscapes that refused to look the same twice.
The First Steps – From Keflavik to the South
The journey began in Keflavik, under a heavy sky that promised both rain and light. I drove south toward Urriðafoss and Gluggafoss, my first encounters with Iceland’s restless energy. The air smelled of wet moss and volcanic rock, and the camera stayed in my hand almost the entire time.
That first night at Árhus Cottage and Camping was quiet — the kind of silence that feels thick and comforting. Outside my window, the light never truly faded, just softened into blue.
Hidden Gems and Black Sands
The next morning, I found one of my favorite places of the entire trip — Kvernufoss. Tucked behind cliffs and reached by a narrow trail, it felt like stepping into another world. You can walk behind the waterfall, and the air is filled with mist that catches the light like fine dust.
Further along the coast, I explored Reynisfjara, the black sand beach where the ocean breathes in long, slow waves, and Dyrhólaey, where seabirds dance in the wind. Later that day, I stopped by Vík Church, standing alone on a hill, bright white against dark skies — a simple, almost spiritual sight.
I spent the night at Guesthouse Carina, sorting through photos while rain whispered against the windows.
Eastward – Ice, Mist, and Silence
The next morning, I set out early toward the east. The drive between Fjaðrárgljúfur, Fjallsárlón, and Diamond Beach was like traveling through different planets — one green, one blue, one black.
At Diamond Beach, time disappeared. Icebergs glowed under soft morning light, scattered like glass across the dark sand. I stayed there for hours, just watching the light shift and fade.
That night at Old Cottage – Reynivellir II, I fell asleep to the sound of waves, the wind tapping softly against the windows.
The North – Power and Peace
From there, the road turned north, climbing toward the raw, volcanic landscapes that define Iceland’s heart. Dettifoss was overwhelming — not just to photograph, but to experience. The earth trembled beneath my feet, and the spray carried the smell of stone and power.
Later, Ásbyrgi offered the opposite — calm and still, a giant horseshoe-shaped canyon filled with birch trees glowing in autumn colors. I spent the night at Bjarnastaðir Guesthouse, grateful for warmth, quiet, and a chance to dry my clothes.
The next morning, I reached Aldeyjarfoss and Goðafoss. Both waterfalls, though smaller than Dettifoss, had their own rhythm — elegant, textured, and framed by lava columns that looked carved by time itself. In Akureyri, I stopped for a coffee and a moment to look back through the week — already feeling like I’d seen a lifetime’s worth of landscapes.
The West – Lava, Light, and the End of the Road
The final leg of the journey took me west, where Barnafoss and Hraunfossar flow side by side, each born from the same ancient lava field but entirely different in character. The water seemed to glow from within — pale blue veins cutting through black rock.
In Snæfellsnes, I found peace again. The small black church of Búðakirkja, standing alone against mountains and sea, captured everything I love about Iceland — simplicity, solitude, and a quiet kind of strength.
My last night at Hotel Langaholt was calm and golden. I walked outside after dinner and watched the light stretch across the horizon, knowing it would be the last sunset of this trip. The next morning, I returned to Keflavik, tired but full — with memory cards heavy and a heart even heavier with moments I didn’t want to leave behind.
Reflections
Iceland is not a place you simply visit; it’s a place that happens to you. It challenges your sense of time and scale, and it rewards patience with light that feels almost alive.
For me, this trip wasn’t just about capturing landscapes — it was about slowing down, finding stillness in chaos, and remembering why I fell in love with photography in the first place.