***  ICELAND  2017   -  WEEKS 16~18  ***

CAMPING IN ICELAND 2017 - Breiðamerkursandur, Skaftafell National Park, Fjallsárlón and Jökulsárlón glacial lagoons, SE coast from Höfn to Djúpivogur, East Fjords at Breiðdalvík, Stöðvarfjörður, Fáskrúðsfjörður, Eskifjörður, Reyðarfjörður, Kárahnjúkar Dam, return to Egilsstaðir and Seyðisfjörður for Smyril Line ferry to Denmark:

Eastwards from Kirkjubæjarklaustur:  before leaving Kirkjubæjarklaustur, we said farewell to the German couple who had been our neighbours in camp here, and whom we had seen up at Lakagígur craters yesterday. They had bravely driven the F206 mountain road in their little 4WD Lada, and we should see them again later in September since by coincidence they also were booked on the same return Smyril Line ferry from Seyđisfjörđur as ourselves. Having shopped for provisions at the little stores in Kirkjubæjarklaustur village, we set off eastwards on the Ring Road (click on Map 1 right for details of route)

Click on 5 highlighted areas of map for details of SE Iceland

Brunasandur and Brunahraun lava field:  it was a beautiful morning, with clear blue sky and bright sunlight picking out all the details on the escarpment-line of former coastal cliffs which extended along the length of the road across the coastal plain lowlands (see above left); here the Lower Skaftá River spread out across Brunasandur sand/gravel flood-plain through the many-channelled Landbrotsvotn estuary towards the southern coast. Farms and their lowland pastures lined the foot of the rocky escarpment that marked the downfall from the inland mountains. The escarpment's dark brown stratified Palagonite tuff rock was weathered into arrays of fantastically shaped towers and outcrops, and we paused close to where the Foss á Siða waterfalls tumbled over the brink of the escarpment precipice to flow on past the farm at its foot (see left) (Photo 1 - Former coastal cliff-line). We began the crossing of the Brunahraun lava field, now covered with Woolly Hair Moss (Racomitrium lanuginosum), and set against the backdrop of the distant Vatnajökull ice-cap and the nearer cliff-end of Kálfafell (see below right) (Photo 2 - Brunahraun lava field). The Brunahraun lava field was created by the second series of eruptions when the NE Lakagígur fissure crater-row opened up in late-July 1783, pouring out vast quantities of molten lava which flooded down the upper gorge-valley of the Hverfisfljót river, into the lowlands destroying and burying farms and spreading out into the Brunasandur sand/gravel flood-plain. The eruption lasted until February 1784, producing what is believed to be one of the most voluminous flows of lava in historical times, pouring out an estimated 14 cubic kilometres of basalt lava which covered an area of almost 600 square kilometres of territory.

Nupsstaður 1650 turf huts and chapel:  the Ring Road now approached the majestic mountainous massif of Kálfafellsheiði with its sculpted Palagonite rock towers and pillars, at the foot of which stood the Nupsstaður Farm. This includes several preserved turf-roofed farm buildings dating from 1650 and typical of farms of that period, and a turf chapel, one of the few remaining such turf churches. Although preserved by the National Museum of Iceland, the chapel at Nupsstaður is on private property and access even to the farm driveway was regrettably barred by a distinctly unwelcoming locked gate. The huts and church were set back far from the Ring Road and we could only peer from a distance.

The vast wastes of Skeiðarársandur sand/gravel glacial outwash flood-plain:  Route 1 now began the crossing of the mighty Skeiðarársandur sand/gravel glacial outwash flood-plain. The Icelandic word sandur, meaning a glacial debris outwash plain, is now used universally to describe this topographical phenomenon. Skeiðarársandur is the world's largest sandur, a vast waste of grey-black sands stretching 60kms west to east from Nupsstaður to Öræfi, and 40kms from its source ice-cap to the coast, covering an area of 1,300 square kms. It was created from all the silt, sand and gravel scraped up by the mighty Skeiðarárjökull glacier, the largest of Vatnajökull ice-cap's glacial tongues. This glacial and volcanic sediment and debris is then transported down to the coastal plain both by the Skeiðará River and a myriad of other glacial rivers, and by glacial flash-floods (jökulhlaup) fed by the Grimsvötn and Öræfajökull volcanic systems, and dumped across the huge desert-like flood-plain now devoid of any vegetation (see above left). From the time of Iceland's Settlement, there were farms in the region which over time have been swallowed up by the sandur. The great eruption of 1362 under Öræfajökull caused jökulhlaup flash-floods which laid waste the entire region. Skeiðarársandur was an impassable obstacle to travellers across the region until 1974, when the final section of the Ring Road was completed with a series of bridges constructed to span the complex network of turbulent, ever-shifting glacial rivers flowing out from under Skeiðarárjökull.

Our crossing of Skeiðarársandur:  the morning was bright and sunny as we began our crossing of Skeiðarársandur (click here for map of route), with perfect views across the awesome sand/gravel wastes to the distant Vatnajökull ice-cap (see above right) (Photo 3 - Skeiðarársandur glacial outwash flood-plain). The scale and wilderness of the surrounding sandur was fearsome enough, but the aggressively speeding tourist traffic made this an even more stressfully hazardous driving experience; despite our observing the 90kph speed limit, tourist cars constantly hurtled past. Given the overwhelming volume of tourist traffic, and the cost of maintaining this precious yet vulnerable route across the sandur's ever-shifting terrain, the Icelandic Government would do well to position frequent speed cameras across this 60kms stretch of the Ring Road. The revenue raised from speeding fines levied on tourists or their hire car companies would constitute a viable form of tourist taxation to contribute to the road's constant need for maintenance. The need for maximum concentration on both the road and the speeding traffic meant that Paul could have little appreciation of the fearsomely impressive surroundings of the flat sand/gravel wasteland, marbled by so many melt-water channels, the distant 40kms wide glacial tongue of Skeiðarárjökull, and the eastern skyline dominated by the Vatnajökull ice-cap. Three quarters of the way across, we were able to pull off into a lay-by for full appreciation to the wonderful vista of the distant ice-cap against the foreground of the sandur's desolate wasteland (see above left) (Photo 4 - Vatnajökull backdrop).

Almost across on the eastern side with the Vatnajökull vista looming ever larger (see above right), road signs indicated speed limits where the Ring Road was being re-routed onto a temporary unsurfaced stretch of road by-passing a new bridge construction on a lengthy embankment (see above left) replacing earlier bridges washed away by the disastrous 1996 jökulhlaup flash-flood. At the far side, we reached a parking area by the site of the original Skeiðarárbru Bridge that had once carried the Ring Road across the main channel of the Skeiðarár glacial river. The impressive structure of the almost 1,000m long Skeiðarárbru Bridge had been a major engineering feat when constructed in 1974~75, to complete the Ring Road's crossing of Skeiðarársandur. Before that time, the unstable terrain of Skeiðarársandur was such an obstacle to road construction that the Ring Road remained incomplete in this region. Prior to 1974, this had meant that anyone from Höfn wishing to travel west by road to Reykjavík had in fact to drive eastward anticlockwise all the way around the Ring Road via Akureyri to reach the capital. But despite its scale, the bridge was all to no avail: 20 years after its construction, in October 1996 Grimsvötn erupted again under the Vatnajökull ice-cap. Geothermal heat from lava and ash contained beneath the glacier melted a monumental mass of water which lifted the ice-cap 10m before finally, after a month of anxious waiting, the inevitable happened: the pressure of sub-glacial water outburst along a 300m wall of ice on 5 November 1996, sending 3 billion litres of water spewing across the sandur in a 5m high tsunami, sweeping away a 7kms stretch of the Ring Road, despite the long gravel dykes built to channel flood waters away from the highway. The Skeiðarárbru Bridge was washed away like match sticks in less than an hour. At its height, the jökulhlaup was surging down at 50,000m³ per second, carrying with it enormous chunks of glacial ice and boulders ripped from Skeiðarárjökull out across the flooded sandur down to the ocean. The twisted girders of the bridge, all that remained after the destruction, stand today as testament to the fury of the 1996 jökulhlaup flash-flood, which demonstrated how vulnerable this stretch of the Ring Road was (see above left) (Photo 5 - Destroyed bridge memorial).

Hundafoss and Svartifoss waterfalls on Skaftafell:  we continued around the Ring Road, with the magnificent vista of Skaftafellsjökull looming ahead, the glacier snaking around between the crested ridges of Skarðdartindur and Hafrafell down from the high snowfields of Vatnajökull ice-cap (see above right). Turning off to Skaftafell National Park Visitor Centre, we confirmed routes for our planned circular walk this afternoon up to Svartifoss waterfalls and Skaftafell. We had imagined from the map this to be, if not a difficult climb, at least to involve challenging route-finding in wild country. In fact, as the lad at the Visitor Centre had advised, you simply 'follow the rubber mat road', meaning the broad trackway rubber-reinforced for anti-erosion protection, and the hordes of tourists! Kitting up at the parking area, we set off. The route began from the National Park Centre, sloping uphill onto the Skaftafellsheiði moorland and passing the Hundafoss waterfalls which dropped into a tree-lined gorge (see right) (Photo 6 - Hundafoss waterfalls). The fellside path gained height passing bushes of Angelica, to reveal increasing views eastwards across to the snowfields of Öræfajökull which graced the jagged peaks of 2110m high Hvannadalsnúkur (Photo 7 - Öræfajökull topping 2110m high Hvannadalsnúkur) (see above left). Further height gain brought a distant view of Svartifoss dropping into its basalt column-lined cove (see below left). Scrambling down into the hollow enabled us to examine at close quarters the magnificent vista of Svartifoss waterfalls dropping from the fellside above into the cove, surrounded by the most elegant basalt columnar array (Photo 8 - Svartifoss and its basalt columns) (see below right). Basalt columns are formed as contraction forces build up in rapidly cooling basaltic lava flow; shrinkage contraction causes the new igneous rock to develop fracture networks resulting in formation of the 6-sided columns. The columns always form at right angles to the cooling surface where heat loss is greatest (see diagram below right); this means that vertical columns are created when a basaltic lava intrusion flows into horizontal cracks in the bed-rock (sills), and horizontal columns when the lava intrusion flows into vertical cracks (dykes). Where the cooling surface is irregular, the columns radiate in many directions. Hexagonal columns are the most common since fracture patterns with 120º corners are the most efficient for stress resistance as in dried up muddy ponds, or freeze-thaw patterns in the ground. Hence 6-sided patterns are seen widely in nature as the most efficient close-packing use of space (eg honeycombs). Whatever the technical geological explanation of basalt column formation, there was no denying the beauty in their visual aesthetics and the elegance of the columns' symmetry, seen to best effect here at Svartifoss.

Skaftafell:  leaving the tourists to their silly antics around the falls, we crossed the stream descending from Svartifoss to begin the climb up onto the open heath-land of Skaftafellsheiði. As we crossed the foot-bridge, a little Icelandic Wren hopped around on the boulders beneath our feet. Emerging onto the open moorland brought us out onto a peaceful fell-side carpeted with low birch and willow scrub and a ground cover of Crowberry and Bearberry with its ripening red berries (see left) (Photo 9 - Bearberry). Our photographic attention was divided between the ground cover berries and the magnificent panorama N towards the Vatnajökull ice-cap, and NW over to the distant jagged, crested peak and ridges of Hvannadalsnúkur, Iceland's highest mountain at 2110m, and the nearer shapely ridge of Hafrafell which now divides Skaftafellsjökull from its neighbouring outlet glacier of Svinafellsjökull (see below left) (Photo 10 - Hvannadalsnúkur and Hafrafell).

Further height gain up the open heath-land slope brought us to the high point of Sjónarsker; from here a sweeping panorama opened up westwards to where the broad front of Skeiðarárjökull outlet glacier crept down towards the vast open outwash flood-plain of Skeiðarársandur which stretched away towards the coast on the misty southern horizon. Even further westwards, we could just make out the moss-covered Brunahraun lava field catching the afternoon sun. Beginning the descent, we followed way-marked tracks, still with much height to loose. The path descended through high birch scrub alongside the Bæjargil stream dropping down the deep, rocky gorge below Hundafoss. At the foot of this, a path crossed the beck on a wooden footbridge, leading back through the Skaftafell campsite to the Visitor Centre.

Svinafellsjökull glacier snout and lagoon:  back out to the Ring Road, we crossed the glacial River Skaftafellsá which pours down from the Skaftafellsjökull outlet glacier, and turned off onto a rough and pot-holed gravel track-way which led across the grey terminal moraine (click here for map of route). The roadway rounded moraine hillocks to end at a small parking area beneath the prow-end tip of the Hafrafell ridge, and from here a path led over the rocks to overlook Skaftafellsjökull's glacial lagoon. Misty cloud now hovered around the surrounding mountains, giving the enclosed snout of the glacier a gloomy and eerily silent atmosphere (see right). The grey, sediment-rich icy water was backed by the blue-grey glacial snout, with the occasional splash as chunks of ice fell from the glacier's end walls into the lagoon. We edged a way uncertainly upwards over the rocky side-shelf, to gain a clearer view onto the sediment-stained lower ice-field which was fractured by crevasses, the more open ice-cliffs glowing a vivid aquamarine blue. The only sound to disturb the eerie silence was the cracking and groaning of the ice, and the occasional splash as chunks of ice broke off into the lagoon. In the murky northern distance, the upper end of the outlet glacier's lower ice-field, enclosed by the craggy side of Hafrafell, rose seemingly vertical onto the main ice-cap of Vatnajökull (Photo 11 - Svinafellsjökull outlet-glacier) (see left and below right). This was a truly fearful, heart-stopping vista to savour in undisturbed silence. Edging our way back over the rock-shelf above the sheer drop into the lagoon's icy-cold, grey waters, we passed a lone young German visitor who, with quaintly charming, old fashioned courtesy offered Sheila an assisting hand, and took our photo against this astonishing glacial backdrop (Photo 12 - Svinafellsjökull glacier snout) (see below left).

Skaftafell National Park campsite:  we bumped our way back to the Ring Road and drove eastwards in now murky light to investigate what appeared to be the preferred campsite option at Svinafell Farm. Just off the main road under the brooding shadow of Hvannadalsnúkur and Öræfajökull way above hidden in the misty cloud, there had been a farmstead here at Svinafell going right back to Njál's Saga times. where settlers had attempted to eke out a living. The little campsite was well laid out with straightforward facilities, but unfortunately no power supplies. Although more attractive and better value than the National Park campsite at Skaftafell, to face days in camp in this chill, wet weather here at Svinafell without power was not an option. We therefore with regret returned around to Skaftafell, reaching the reception at 7-00pm. As with the equivalent Jökulsárgljúfur National Park campsite at Asbyrgi in the north, the National Park Authority exploited its almost monopolistic position to charge off-the-planet prices for camping here at Skaftafell: 1,600kr/person (no seniors' discount), 900kr for power, plus 500kr for showers, making a potential total of 5,100kr (£40). The lad at reception responded to our protestations in typical Jobsworth manner with I just work here, I don't make the rules. We had our own means however of dealing with such a monopolistic rip-off!

Fearing we should be hemmed in by camping-cars, we found a pitch in the corner of a formally laid out enclosure, with clear views over towards the two outlet glaciers of Skaftafellsjökull and Svinafellsjökull (see right); the intervening ridge-line of Hafrafell was topped by the serrated peaks of Hvannadalsnúkur and beyond, the upper ice-fields of Öræfajökull. With the trip's timescale ticking towards its conclusion and Iceland's autumnal weather now closing in, we lit the final barbecue for supper, and settled in on a very dark evening.

A wet day in camp at Skaftafell:  today was the first of several forecast wet days, to be spent in camp here at Skaftafell, catching up after an intensive period of travel. If only the National Park had provided facilities at its Skaftafell campsite of a commensurate standard with its grossly inflated prices, but of course it didn't! Given the size of the campsite, facilities were basic and unduly limited: just 2 WCs, with a queue of wet and bedraggled campers queuing outside in the rain to use them, 2 showers largely unused given the excessive additional cost, and one wash-up sink with lukewarm water. There were absolutely no cooking facilities or covered area for shelter for the large number of tent campers. Given this, and the extortionate prices charged by the fat-cat National Park bureaucrats from Reykjavík who run the campsite, Skaftafell was an absolute disgrace deserving the negative rating we gave it. But of course as with any monopoly, the consumer has no choice but to pay up, or like us play them at their own game!

Skaftafellsjökull terminal moraine and glacial snout:  with a fine day forecast before the next lot of rain rolled in tomorrow, we planned today to walk out across the glacial outwash plain and terminal moraine fields to the lagoon and snout of the larger Skaftafellsjökull. The tongues of Vatnajökull's two southern outlet glaciers, Skaftafellsjökull and Svinafellsjökull, once merged along this valley below the leading prow-edge of Hafrafell's ridge as is shown on a Danish 1904 geological survey map (Click here for 1904 map of merged glaciers). But since that time, the two glaciers have retreated substantially during the 20th century, gradually exposing the land along the lower valley. Contrast the 1904 map with the equivalent 2017 map which shows the scale of the two now separated glaciers' retreat (Click here for 2017 map of glaciers' retreat). This 2017 map shows both the route of our earlier visit to the terminal snout of Svinafellsjökull along the rough track, and today's walk from the National Park Visitor Centre (Skaftafellsstofa) along Skaftafellsjökull's now exposed outwash plain to its glacial snout and terminal lagoon. Vegetation has gradually colonised the outwash plain and moraine left behind by the retreating ice with a succession of plant species. At the 1904 level of the retreating ice at the open outer end of the valley, the vegetation was now lush with birch and willow scrub and Crowberry ground-cover and Bearberry with its bright red berries. As we moved up the valley however, the vegetation became progressively less diverse and more stunted, with finally the most recently exposed moraine close to the terminal lagoon being bare grey gravel deposit.

We walked along the moraine valley at a leisurely pace enjoying the wealth of flora, and at the inner end rose up onto the bare ridge of moraine gravel. There before us was the most recent vast area of bare, grey gravel and sand, exposed from the glacier's terminal from 1980 onwards, the flatness of this 'new land' indicating that in the last 35 years, the ice had melted and Skaftafellsjökull retreated at a faster rate than previously. Earlier in the comparative shelter of the moraine valley, it had felt quite warm; but now on this higher, more exposed vantage point, the cold air blowing down from the higher ice-field suddenly hit us. We quickly donned jackets, muffs and hats in the now very chill breeze. But the view! Utterly awe-inspiring, looking across the broad glacial lagoon where small, recently detached icebergs from the glacier's leading edge floated in the sediment-laden, grey waters (see above left and right) (Photo 13 - Skaftafellsjökull glacial snout). And rising up from the lagoon, the nearest corner of the glacial ice snout was filthy grey with sediment. Further up, the crevasse-scarred, cleaner ice gleamed a bright aquamarine blue, while higher still, the upper reached of Skaftafellsjökull rose steeply in the distance towards the ice-field of Vatnajökull. We stood admiring this fairy-tale ice-scape and speculated on the causes of the snout end being so filthy: sediment scoured out from the bed-rock over aeons by the glacier's downward movement, ash fallout from nearby volcanic eruptions, or wind-blown fine particulate material from the moraine field all being concentrated at the glacier's melting leading-edge. Alongside the high mounds and moraine ridge where we stood, two large kettle-holes showed where huge blocks of ice, broken off from the glacier's snout at an earlier stage and left behind by the retreating glacier, became buried in the till (glacier-borne sediment) or fluvio-glacial deposits (sediment carried by glacial rivers); the ice blocks eventually melted to leave large depressions in the outwash plain which filled with water, forming lakes (see above left).

Around the top of the moraine ridge, an area of moss-covered boulders provided another unique spot for eating our lunch sandwiches, as we sat looking up across the glacier's tongue dropping down from the Vatnajökull snow fields (Photo 14 - Lunch on lateral moraine) (see above right). From here we descended onto the flat wash-out moraine field across to the edge of the terminal lagoon. Melt-water surged at a terrifying rate from under the leading edge of the ice (see above left), and further round sunlight picked out the floating icebergs giving them an aquamarine tinge (see above right) (Photo 15 - Glacial icebergs). Back up onto the high moraine ridge, we followed this around to a point which gave a fuller view across the ice-filled corner of the lagoon up onto the full sweep of the glacier's upper ice-field (Photo 16 - Skaftafellsjökull's full sweep) (see left and right). From here, escaping all the noise of the tourists now flocking along the valley in increasing numbers, we followed an alternative route back across the moraine-field; the further we moved away from Skaftafellsjökull's current leading-edge, the more lush the vegetation and flora became (see below left), and warmer the air noticeably felt.

Another wet day at Skaftafell Camping:  back at the Skaftafell Visitor Centre, we had hoped to see the video showing the devastation caused by the 1996 jökulhlaup flash-flood. But, a sign of the times, this was no longer available, replaced by a tourist-oriented, dumbed-down superficial film on the National Park; disappointed we returned to the campsite. Today had been a thoroughly educative day out at the glacier's edge, enabling good opportunity for glacial photography. As dusk approached and gloomy darkness fell, misty cloud gathered and drizzly rain began as a prelude to tomorrow's forecast louring rain; and the tourist hire cars and camping-cars swarmed in with much slamming of car doors until late into the evening. The following day was only fit for another day in camp, and the rain continued well into the morning; we still had much catching up to do and put the wet day to good use. The rain eased early afternoon and sky cleared a little, enabling us at least to get washing up done without a soaking, but early evening the clouds gathered again over the surrounding mountains, and rain began again driven by the south-easterly gale. The pouring rain continued all evening on a very dark and wretchedly wet night.

The Öræfi wasteland and turf-roofed church at Hof:  it rained solidly all night, but by the time we woke the following morning the sky was beginning to clear, and as we sat eating breakfast, the sun broke through bringing a restorative warmth. It was for the moment a beautiful morning after all the rain. Leaving Skaftafell (click here for map of route), Route 1 Ring Rind crossed the main, fast-flowing and sediment-laden Skaftafellsá glacial river pouring out from Skaftafellsjökull and Svinafellsjökull (see right) (Photo 17 - Skaftafellsá glacial river). We headed south under the slopes of the mighty peak of Hvannadalsnúkur and across the partly vegetated wasteland of Öræfi (see left) (Photo 18 - Hvannadalsnúkur, Iceland's highest peak). The peak's ridges, protruding from the equally formidable Öræfajökull (Photo 19 - Öræfajökull glacier) (see below right), form the NW edge of an immense 5kms wide caldera, the biggest active volcano in Europe after Etna. The glacier-covered Öræfajökull volcano erupted explosively in 1362 ejecting huge amounts of tephra, and obliterated the entire region with floods and tephra-fall and causing its total abandonment; the name Öræfi in Icelandic has come to mean Desolation. This had always been an isolated region, cut off by the impassable sandur to east and west, by the mountainous interior and ice-caps to the north, and by a harbourless wild coastline to the south.

Before rounding the southern tip of the Öræfi headland, the road reached the tiny farming hamlet of Hof which nestles into the protective mountainous cliffs; on a sunny morning with the clear sky a deep blue, the farmstead looked a tiny green oasis in this inhospitable wasteland, surrounded by its pastureland. We turned off Route 1 to the settlement to visit the little turf-roofed Hof church. Built on the foundations of an earlier 14th century church, the current church at Hof dates from 1884. The turf-covered roof slopes down to the thick stone side walls, and the 2 gable-ends are built of timber. The church and graveyard stood in a grove of birch and rowan and were backed by the Öræfajökull mountains, lit by the lovely  morning sunshine (Photo 20 - Turf-roofed Hof church) (see left). Having taken our photos, we returned to the Ring Road to continue our journey.

Eastern Skeiðarársandur, Ingólfshöfði and Kviárjökull:  Rounding the southern tip of Öræfi, and looking out across the easternmost wastes of Skeiðarársandur, the skyline was dominated by the massive headland of Ingólfshöfði, the cape terminating the sandbar which extends along the outer width of the Leirur outwash-plain (see right). The headland is named after Iceland's legendary first settler, Ingólfur Arnasson, who is said to have made his original landfall here in 874 AD before sailing on to found his farm at what became Reykjavík. The isolated headland is now a nature reserve for nesting sea birds, mainly Puffins and Great Skuas, and the local farm operates tractor tours across the treacherous sandur and marshes. We paused at the turning from the Ring Road to gaze across the Skeiðarársandur outwash-plain at the silhouetted headland. Continuing on Route 1 (click here for map of route), rounding the sweep of dramatic glacier-topped mountains, with the weather now heavily overcast, we reached the turning for Kviárjökull, just before the bridge across the Kvíá river pouring down from the glacier. 300m along a bumpy dirt road, we paused at a parking area alongside the glacial river to eat our lunch sandwiches and to wait for a squally shower to pass. The sky had darkened and a rainbow spanned the misty fell-side and savage mountainous backdrop (see left) (Photo 21 - Rainbow over Kvíá glacial river). When the storm passed, we walked up over the hillocks of the lower valley for the magnificent vista of Kviárjökull, one of Öræfajökull's principal outlet glaciers, snaking its way elegantly down between the enclosing peaks, (see right) (Photo 22 - Kviárjökull, outlet glacier of Öræfajökull).

Fjallsjökull glacier and Fjallsárlón glacial lagoon:  a short distance along this desolate coastline, a turning led to the glacial lagoons of Fjallsárlón and Breiðárlón (click here for map of route). The first of these lagoons lies at the foot of Fjallsjökull glacier and the smaller adjacent Hrútárjökull both of which glaciers, along with Kviárjökull, are outlet glaciers of Öræfajökull. The neighbouring and broader fronted Breiðamerkurjökull drains down into Breiðárlón and Jökulsárlón lagoons. Both parent glaciers Öræfajökull and Breiðamerkurjökull, along with many other glaciers, themselves form outlet-glaciers of the grandfather of them all, the mighty Vatnajökull ice-cap; Iceland's largest glacier, Vatnajökull covers an area of over 8,000 square kms (8% of the country), 1,000m deep at its thickest point, and also Europe's greatest ice mass.

A rough trackway forked right to Breiðárlón, but we took the left fork to a parking area below Fjallsárlón. Climbing up onto the terminal moraine gravelly hillock, the magnificent vista opened up of the twin glaciers of Fjallsjökull and Hrútárjökull (Photo 23 - Hrútárjökull and Fjallsjökull) (see left); these both snaked down the hillside opposite between enclosing ridges, from the distant higher snowfields of Öræfajökull, down to the fractured and crevasse-ridden leading-edge of the grey-streaked and aquamarine-blue ice tongue above the huge glacial lagoon (see right) (Photo 24 - Fjallsárlón glacial lagoon). The lagoon itself was filled with ice-bergs of every size and shape, which had calved from the glacier ice's leading edge (Photo 25 - Icebergs floating on Fjallsárlón) (see below left), and now floated in graceful silence around the lagoon (Photo 26- Floating glacial icebergs). We clambered down the steep, gravelly slope to the water's edge to gaze out across the glacial lagoon and the floating armada of icebergs (see below right) (Photo 27- Fjallsjökull and distant Öræfajökull), many melted into fantastic shapes (see below left); one resembled a swan with curving neck, another a narrow stemmed mushroom. Every so often, the silence was broken by a distant rumble and crash just like thunder, as further huge chunks of ice broke from the markedly turquoise-blue leading-edge of the glacier's ice (Photo 28 - Fragmented glacier leading-edge), sending mini-tsunamis flooding across the sediment-grey water. A chilling cold wind blew across the lagoon from the glacier as we stood to take our photos (Photo 29 - Chill glacial wind). Chunks of the crystal clear ice floated onto the shore-line, and picking up these pieces of glacial ice (Photo 30 - Glacial ice), it was intriguing to wonder just how old they were or from which part of the glacier they had broken. Considering the number of tourist cars at the parking area, we were fortunate to enjoy a remarkably peaceful and undisturbed hour by the shore-side, looking out across the lagoon (Photo 31- Fjallsjökull glacial slopes) to the floating icebergs, and the glacial slopes and snow fields beyond.

Jökulsárlón glacial lagoon and Jökulsá River:  10kms east along the Ring Road brought us to the bridge over the Jökulsá River which drained down seaward from the Jökulsárlón glacial lagoon (click here for map of route). The parking area on the far side was over-spilling with tourist cars and tour-buses; we therefore turned off into the less crowded parking area on the western side of the bridge. Again we followed a pathway around the gravelly moraine slopes overlooking the Jökulsárlón glacial lagoon (see below right) (Photo 32 - Jökulsárlón glacial lagoon). Until the 1940s, all these glaciers were merged into one with its leading edge stretching right down to the coast where icebergs calved directly into the North Atlantic Ocean. As the glaciers receded, they formed their own individual identities over the last 70 years, each with their own glacial lagoon where the ice had gouged out depressions in the terminal moraine below the glacial tongue; these filled with sediment-laden melt-water and giant chunks of ice breaking from the glaciers' ends. The Jökulsá River, just 50m long, now drains down from Jökulsárlón to the sea, and smaller ice-boulders swirled around in the surging current (Photo 33 - Swirling ice-boulders), performing a merry-go-round dance where the down-flow of glacial melt-water met the opposing incoming tidal wash from the sea just 50m away. Across the Jökulsárlón lagoon, icebergs and ice-boulders of every size and shape, some massive, others just small chunks, floated around the lagoon water; some were stationary, others glided silently around. Some smaller pieces were sparklingly crystal clear, other larger pieces were streaked with volcanic ash fallout (Photo 34 - Volcanic ash-streaked icebergs), while others were vivid aquamarine-blue. This blue colour of the ice indicated a smooth surface with few trapped air bubbles, due either to having been subjected to severe pressure or having partially melted under water. Again many of the icebergs were melting into weird shapes (Photo 35 - Weirdly shaped glacial icebergs) (see left), and as the current picked up individual bergs, they moved rapidly towards the river's exit channel; most however remained stationary in majestic silence (see below left). Seals could be seen swimming around the lagoon among the floating chunks of ice, their snouts just protruding from the water, and Eider ducks bobbed around closer to the shore-line (see right). All of this was happening against the backdrop of the great sweep of the Breiðamerkurjökull glacier which loomed down from the higher ice-fields (Photo 36 - Breiðamerkurjökull glacier). We spent another hour walking along the moraine slopes above the lagoon taking our photos. Remarkably, despite the hordes of tourists who flock here in swarms, we managed to find peace and seclusion in this western area of the Jökulsárlón lagoon to enjoy this magnificent spectacle without disturbance or intrusion.

Ice 'diamonds' on Jökulsá River black sand beach:  back across the moraine fields, we crossed the Ring Road to walk the short stretch across the black sands down to the Ocean shore-line by the Jökulsá River's outflow into the sea. Here the air was filled with the booming roar of the mighty Atlantic surf which crashed onto the fine black sand beach. But even more of a remarkable spectacle was the array of glacial ice chunks which had floated down the river from the Jökulsárlón lagoon into the surf and now lay littered along the shore-line of black sand. Sparkling in the hazy sunlight like huge diamonds laid out on a black velvet cushion, these beach-stranded ice 'diamonds' made a noteworthy series of photographs (Photo 37 - Jökulsárlón ice 'diamonds') (see right).

Höfn Camping:  crossing the Jökulsá bridge, we began the 80kms final section of today's long drive around the southern coastline towards Höfn (click here for map of route). Route 1 initially crossed an area of vegetation-covered sandur before reaching farmland, running between coast, where lines of breakers crashed onto the shore with a constant distant roaring, and inland a backdrop of spectacular mountains capped by the ice-fields of Vatnajökull. The road now crossed the flat coastal farmlands of Mýrar, backed by a hinterland graced with a mighty triple array of glaciers, Skálafellsjökull, Heinabergsjökull, and Fláajökull, with their intervening nunataks (an Inuit word meaning exposed, jaggedly crested and ice-free rocky ridges projecting above a glacier) of Hafrafell and Heinabergsfjöll. The Ring Road now turned northwards away from the coast (see left and below right), to sweep more than 30kms around the bay of Hornafjörður. Finally down Hornafjörður's eastern shore, we turned off onto Route 99 into the port-town of Höfn. Höfn Camping was a large site along Hafnarbraut, tiered up the hillside, with what seemed pleasant turfed areas for tent campers on the lower levels. We found an area with power supplies on one of the higher gravelled tiers, and with some difficulty managed to level George with his chocks. The view from this higher position, looking across the town outskirts in the now bright late afternoon sunshine, was simply stunning (see below left) (Photo 38 - Höfn Camping mountain vista), with a northward 180º skyline of mountain peaks and ridges, graced with intervening glaciers and all topped by Vatnajökull's snowfields. But the price of facing out across this spectacular outlook was that a chill northerly wind now blew directly into the open slider.

Having pitched, we walked down to book in. As at all the campsites along Iceland's southern coast cashing in on a seemingly insatiable tourist demand, prices were greed-driven and unduly expensive: adults 1,650kr, power 750kr, and 2 minute showers 50kr, making a total of 4,150kr; we managed to negotiate a seniors' discount of 3,450kr. But despite the high charges, facilities were basic, totally inadequate given the size of the campsite, and with disgraceful showers. As dusk and darkness fell mid-evening, huge numbers of hire-campers, camping-cars and hire-cars flooded in, with traffic driving around in search of a space and constant slamming of car doors until gone 11-00pm, along with the noise of traffic along the main road; if you stay at Höfn Camping, even in September, don't expect to get any sleep! It was one of the most overcrowded and noisy campsites we had stayed at, and with its unduly expensive prices and sub-standard facilities, only the magnificent setting saved Höfn Camping from being given the lowest negative rating.

Visit to Höfn harbour:  we were woken early, not by our alarm, but yet again by the noise of slamming car doors and loud shouting from un-neighbourly nearby tent campers. Fortunately the campsite emptied quite quickly, leaving us to enjoy a peaceful morning; the sun shone brightly in a clear blue sky, but with the keen, northerly wind still blowing. Perched at the tip of a narrow neck of land extending out into the stormy Atlantic, Höfn is now the main town and only port along this part of the south coast; today we should take a walk around the harbour and the Ósland marshes and peninsula out towards the coast. The town only began to develop in the late 19th~early 20th centuries as a trading centre for the farms scattered along the south coast; its name Höfn meaning Harbour is derived from being sited at this coastline's only natural harbour and deep water anchorage, though the harbour needs regular dredging to prevent silting up. Expansion followed with the 1950s fishing boom and the establishment of a fish processing and freezing factory, still the town's major employer. These days lobster has become the main luxury catch at Höfn, selling at unimaginably high prices in local restaurants. Tourism has also increasingly become a mainstay of the local economy.

We drove down the main street, Hafnarbraut, to its end at the large harbour where a few boats, including the local lifeboat, were moored (see above right) (Photo 39 - Höfn harbour). Nearby in a prime position by the harbour front, Gamlabúð (meaning Old Shop), an attractively refurbished 1864 wooden warehouse, which had once been the original trading centre's shop, now serves as Höfn's Visitor Centre and Exhibition on Vatnajökull National Park. The Exhibition was not only free entry but, to our delight, was also showing the 1996 documentary film on the Grimsvötn sub-glacial eruption and disastrous jökulhlaup which had washed away a section of the Ring Road, destroying the main bridge at Skeiðarársandur. The film included wonderful aerial footage, filmed at great hazard to aircraft and pilot, of the Grimsvötn eruption, the build-up of sub-glacial melt-water, and eventual burst-out of the flood. It also included incredible footage of the jökulhlaup's destructive tsunami across the Skeiðarársandur outwash-plain, smashing its way through the Ring Road and toppling the bridge like matchwood, with house-sized chunks of ice weighing 100s of tons borne along by the flood. We expressed our thanks to the attendant for having this valuable archive film available here, when it was no longer shown at the tourist-oriented Skaftafell Visitor Centre. She even taught us how to pronounce the Icelandic word jökulhlaup, something like Yer-kul-hleup. But even with our earnest practising, the Icelandic au diphthong is a sound we simply do not have in English, sounding more like the French eu in feuille.

Coastal walk around Ósland marshes:  having eaten our lunch sandwiches by the harbour side, we set off to walk the footpath around the marshes of the Ósland peninsula down at the coast. In the clear light of a sunny day, the landward panorama northward across the Hornafjörður lagoon was absolutely stunning (see above left), with an array of four glaciers, left to right Skálafellsjökull, Heinabergsjökull, Fláajökull and Hoffellsjökull, gracing the mountainous skyline, and Fláajökull's full length sweeping down to the coast (see above right) (Photo 40 - Hornafjörður vista of Fláajökull). To the eastward beyond the harbour, across the width of Skarðsfjörður, the jagged ridges of Vestrahorn descended to the coast (see above left) where Stokksnes lighthouse was just visible. We followed the footpath alongside a small bay off Hornafjörður with the mountainous and glacier-strewn panorama becoming even more dramatic (see above right) (Photo 41 - Glacier-strewn panorama). Out onto the tip of the grassy peninsula with its central marshy pond, all the Arctic Terns which nest here in the tufty grass in early summer had long since departed for their long migration to the Antarctic; you would need a hard hat to walk out here earlier in the year to protect your head from aerial attack by the Terns defending their nests and young. But at this late stage of the summer, there was little bird-life to be seen other than a few Eiders as we followed the path around the outer side of the peninsula. What we could hear however was the thunderous roar, even at this distance, of the Atlantic surf crashing against the unseen outer face of the sand-bar which encloses the far side of the lagoon (see left). Every now and again, monstrous columns of seawater spray would rear up above the sand-bar as gigantic unseen waves pounded the outer coastline, filling the air with their roar. The return path led us around the marshy pond and over a hillock back to the shore-side path to the harbour, where a perky little Northern Wheatear hopped from rock to rock, inviting us to take her photograph (Photo 42 - Northern Wheatear) (see right).

Back at the harbour-side, we drove along to the Netto supermarket to stock up with provisions for the next 4 days, before returning to Höfn Camping for a second night. We earlier had identified a corner position, tucked away on an upper side-tier, and having re-filled our fresh water for the final time in Iceland, we pitched George there. The campsite at 4-30pm was still peacefully empty, and with the sun still shining, we sat with the slider open gazing landward to the wonderful array of mountains and glaciers along the Vatnajökull skyline. As early evening drew on however, the campsite began to fill again and as darkness fell, even earlier now, the late arrivals flooded in with all the inevitable cacophony of slamming car doors which went on until well after 11-00pm when we had long turned in. But at least we had enjoyed a flaring sunset above the northward skyline of mountains (see left) (Photo 43 - Flaring sunset).

Eastwards around Skarðsfjörður to Vestrahorn and Stokksnes Head:  leaving Höfn, we re-joined the Ring Road eastward around the shore of sand-bar-enclosed Skarðsfjörður. Ahead loomed the jagged ridge-line of Vestrahorn, the westerly of the pair of mountainous 'horns' projecting into the Atlantic and enclosing the 30kms wide Lónsvík Bay (click here for map of route). The massively peaked ridge-line of Vestrahorn appeared to present a formidably impassable obstacle to further eastward travel, and the scree-covered mountainous flanks of Fjarðarfjall extended almost 900m from the craggy ridge-line vertically down to road level (see above right). Before 2005, the only passage eastward for the Ring Road to negotiate this mountainous barrier of Fjarðarfjall was via the steep and narrow Almannaskarð Pass between Hornafjörður and Lón. During winter, the pass was often closed by snow, blocking traffic to and from East Iceland. Work on construction of a new tunnel cutting under the former pass was begun in early 2004, and the 1.312km long Almannaskarðsgöng Tunnel opened in 2005. As we approached the tunnel's western portal, the old gravel road up to the former pass was visible rising steeply up the mountainside; it looked a truly formidable route.

Just before the tunnel, we turned off onto a gravel track which ran for some 5kms around the western foot of Vestrahorn out to the coastal headland of Stokksnes. The public road ended at the Viking Café, operated by the owner of the farm who makes a small charge for entry onto the private lane leading across the black sands of the lagoon out to a parking area by what was once a NATO radar station. From the marram grass covered dunes, the view eastward at Stokksnes Head was simply staggeringly beautiful: the Atlantic white surf crashed onto the sweep of the black volcanic sand bay, backed by the fearsomely majestic, scree-draped, craggy ridge of Vestrahorn, all lit by soft morning sunlight (see above left) (Photo 44 - Stokksnes Head). The combination of black sand beach, pounding Atlantic surf, and jagged peaks presented a classic South Iceland coastline scene. Returning around the gravel track from Stokksnes Head to the Ring Road also gave beautifully lit vistas of these formidable mountains rearing up to their jagged crests (see above right).

Through Almannaskarðsgöng Tunnel, around Lónsvík Bay to Eystrahorn and Hvalsnes:  re-joining the Ring Road, we approached the western portal of Almannaskarðsgöng Tunnel, a tiny opening dwarfed by the massive, craggy mountain face into which the road now plunged (see left) (click here for map of route); the passage through this mighty mountain was so straightforward compared with the former hazardous route over the steep and narrow pass, to emerge into the upper Lón valley (see right). The two mountainous capes of Vestrahorn and Eystrahorn enfold the 30kms wide estuary whose mouth is enclosed by a sand-bar causing the bay to silt up into lagoons. The main glacial river of Jökulsá í Lóni flows from the inland savage mountains down into Lónsvík Bay, its broad sandur gravel-bed criss-crossed by multiple channels (see left).

The road travelled deep inland, rounding the head of the bay to cross the Jökulsá í Lóni at Stafafell farm, and continue through the flatter and more fertile farming district of Lón. Passing inner the bay of Lónsfjörður, we approached the mountains on the far side of the delta where the formidable, scree-skirted, jagged-topped cliffs of Eystrahorn loomed ahead. The now narrow Ring Road rounded the tip of the mountainous cape near to Hvalsnes lighthouse and continued ahead on a restricted shelf cut across the unstable, steeply sloping and scree-covered face of Eystrahorn and Krossanesfjall (see right). Safety fencing on the seaward side gave a limited feeling of security with the sheer drop down to the rocky coast, but on the landward side, a low wall seemed little protection from rockfalls from the precipitous, scree-covered slope looming overhead. It seemed fearful and unstable terrain over which to maintain this road. In addition to the hazardous nature of the terrain, we were harassed by homicidally speeding tourist cars attempting to force a way past on the narrow, winding road. Cautiously we rounded this unstable section of rockfall-prone road, with little opportunity to glance around even briefly at this fearful coastline and the sea-stacks of Stapinn (see left).

Þvottá farmstead, Áltafjörður, Hamarsfjörður, approaching Djúpivogur:  at the far end of this fearful mountain shelf, the Ring Road passed Þvottá farmstead (click here for map of route). It was here that in the late 10th century the militant missionary zealot Þangbrandur, sent by Norwegian King Ólafur Tryggvason to convert the Icelanders from paganism to Christianity, first landed. Þangbrandur is said to have spent his first winter in Iceland at Áltafjörður, making his first conversion at Þvottá farmstead (the name means Washing River from this baptism), before setting off to battle against fierce opposition to his Christianising zealous bigotry from pagan stalwarts. The road rounded into Áltafjörður bay where Whooper Swans nest, and as we passed the inner bay of Krossvík, a flock of Whoopers was gathered on the shore. Around Áltafjörður, we crossed the two glacial rivers Hofsá and Geithellaá and along the far side of the bay, we rounded the cape into Hamarsfjörður. Crossing the next glacial river Hamarsá, which flowed down the steep-sided inner valley, the road returned along the far side of the bay to approach Djúpivogur which was set at the tip of the promontory just round into Berufjörður.

Djúpivogur Camping:  turning off into Djúpivogur village, first impressions from the neat rows of houses were of a thriving community. We found the village shop, and just opposite the fishing harbour (Photo 45 - Djúpivogur fishing harbour) (see left and right), drove up to the campsite; this had a flat and grassy camping area overlooking the harbour and sheltered on both sides from the chill wind by rocky bluffs. We pitched George just by the huts, plugged into power, and walked down to explore the village and harbour. Djúpivogur (meaning Deep Bay) with its 350 residents, is the southernmost of the East Fjords settlements, and the oldest port having been founded by German Hanseatic merchant-traders in 1589. The Danish developed the fishing in the 18th century, and fishing and fish-processing still provide the principal employment, along of course these days with tourism. The small off-shore island of Papey is thought to have been briefly occupied by hermit Irish monks (called Papar meaning Father, giving the island its name) in the 8th century before the arrival and settlement of the Norse Vikings.

We walked down to the harbour and watched as a couple of boats drew in. The small fishing boat Glaður unloaded her catch at the quay (see left) for crating and transportation over to the fish-processing plant (see right), as we had seen at other Icelandic fishing ports in the north and the West Fjords (Photo 46 - Unloading today's catch). The elderly skipper busied himself filleting haddock and laying them out on deck, along with a row of dead Guillemots (see below left), before taking the boat around to dock with other smaller boats at the moorings. We followed him round, and hesitantly approached to ask if we could buy some fish for our supper. The skipper fetched a plastic bag and handed us a large haddock fillet, refusing to accept any payment (see below right) (Photo 47 - Haddock fillets from Glaður). Humbled by such kindness, we talked with him to learn more about hand-line fishing; he described in good English that, with hand-line fishing, the lines were not baited (as in long-line fishing), and that the fish are simply attracted by the fish-shaped weighted sinkers attached to hooked lures. Asked also about the Guillemots, he explained that a few were shot for eating during autumn to control numbers, and in fact tasted very good; we took his word for that! Thanking him for his generosity, we walked back up into the village. Up by the village school and health centre, we found the handicraft workshop of Jón Friðrik Sigurðsson, a little Aladdin's Cave of polished stones, carved wood and tourist ephemera; we had been told about this eccentrically interesting character by the German couple we had camped near at Kirkjubæjarklaustur. Originally from the northern port of Siglufjörður, he had worked on the fishing boats and settled here at Djúpivogur in 1973; he had shown no surprise at our knowing his home town.

Back round at the campsite, we booked in: facilities were brand new with a well-equipped kitchen, but again the price was unduly expensive at 4,650kr (seniors' discount 3,850kr) We quickly settled in with a chill northerly wind blowing, and brewed tea. Dusk and darkness fell even earlier now so that by 8-30pm it was fully dark, as we cooked supper of the deliciously tasting local haddock fillets, freshly caught this afternoon and given to us by the skipper of Glaður. Inevitably again our late evening was disturbed by car door slamming late arriving tourists; oh for a peaceful campsite free from the scourge of wretched tourists!

A quick repair of George's puncture at Djúpivogur:  on a heavily overcast morning with chill northerly wind, we were just preparing to depart from Djúpivogur Camping when we discovered that George's rear off-side tyre was flat. After all the rough, stony gravel roads he had driven during the last 4 months, his tyre had let him down at this stage. But if it had to happen, at least we were not driving and at some remote, isolated spot miles from anywhere. We were safely at a camp site with a tyre repair workshop in the village just down by the harbour. The garage was a one-man operation, and the rather reticent owner was clearly busy with other vehicles. We explained our problem and he promised to come up to the campsite in 45 minutes; we could not ask fairer than that. Within the hour the garage owner drove up, jacked up George and removed the wheel, offering to leave George up on the jack and take the flat tyre back to the workshop for repair. Within 15 minutes he returned with the puncture repaired, and replaced the wheel (see left). All in all, with the gift of haddock for supper and prompt tyre repair service, Djúpivogur had served us well.

Around Berufjörður, Breiðdalsvík and Stöðvarfjörður:  with low cloud touching the surrounding peaks, we left Djúpivogur and re-joined the Ring Road eastwards around into the long arm of Berufjörður (click here for map of route). Despite the gloomy light, the shapely 1,069m high pyramidical peak of Búlandstindur stood out clearly, with its distinctive rhyolite stratifications streaked across the face of the mountain (see right). Following the winding shoreline, the road headed into the inner depths of Berufjörður, and around the head of the narrow valley, reached the Ring Road's only remaining 10kms stretch of unsurfaced road. At the apex of the valley head, Route 939 branched off along the Berufjurðará side-valley, a short-cut route linking with the on-going Route 1 to Egilsstaðir but climbing over a steep, winding and narrow 700m high pass, and of course unsurfaced. Most of the tourist traffic followed this route; we continued ahead around the far side of Berufjörður, picking up tarmac again. The weather was now gloomier than ever with rain beginning, making the terrain appear so forbiddingly uninviting (see left). It made you realise that the first Viking settlers must have been desperate to find new lands to come ashore here and attempt to establish their settlement farms in such a bleak landscape. The road passed along the broad southern coastal strip, with gloomy mountains looming overhead and water courses tumbling down the dark face of Núpstindur. Rounding into Breiðdalsvík Bay, the road crossed the shallows of the bay mouth on a made up natural sand-bar causeway; ahead the darkened spiny ridge of Lambafell looked gloomier than ever, a formidable obstacle to the ongoing road (see right). Across the far side of the bay, the designated Route 1 branched off inland along Breiðdalur; we continued ahead on Route 96, turning off into the small settlement and fishing port of Breiðdalsvík. On such a gloomy morning, the village looked a sad backwater of a place, but then in such weather even the most attractive of places would! We rejoined Route 96 to continue our journey.

The road passed around the tip of the cape, clinging to the unstable, steep mountain slope and fenced on the seaward side where the scree-covered, rockfall-prone mountain-side plunged sheer down to the sea below. The gloomy weather made the surroundings seem even more forbidding than ever. The cape extended seaward onto flatter ground, ending at the Kambanes lighthouse. Thankful to be clear of the unstable slope, we turned along the southern shore of Stöðvarfjörður. Rounding the head of the narrow fjord, we returned along the northern shore-line into the fishing village of Stöðvarfjörður, which extended along the road. Perhaps because the weather seemed a little less gloomy here, this felt to be a brighter, more cheery village, with its small fishing harbour by the fjord-side set against the impressive mountainous backdrop of the narrow fjord (Photo 48 - Stöðvarfjörður fishing harbour) (see left). We paused to inspect the little campsite at the far end of the village; although a Camping Card site, facilities were very basic with no showers, so we continued, rounding the headland along the southern coast. Although there was no pounding surf here, the grey Atlantic looked so forbidding. In the distance, just off the mouth of Fáskrúðsfjörður, the sheer cliffs of the towering rocky islet of Skrúður rose from the sea, home only to Gannets and Puffins.

Fáskrúðsfjörður and its campsite:  passing the squat Hafarnes lighthouse, the road rounded into the long, narrow Fáskrúðsfjörður, shelving along its southern shore-line (click here for map of route). Around the head of the fjord, where the on-going Route 96 branched off along Daladalur towards the tunnel through to Reyðarfjörður, we turned down the far shore-line into Fáskrúðsfjörður village. In the late 19th~early 20th centuries, Fáskrúðsfjörður port was a busy seasonal base for fishing fleets from Northern France. The French built a trading-base, hospital, and even a cemetery where 49 French and Belgian seafarers are buried, and the town once had up to 5,000 French residents. All of this has long gone, but the heritage is commemorated by the modern village with bilingual Icelandic~French street signs (see above right), and a 4 day Franskirdagar (French Days) Festival in July; houses in Fáskrúðsfjörður sport the twin flags of Iceland and France, and the village is twinned with Gravelines on the French Channel coast near to Dunkerque.

We found the straightforward campsite near the end of the village, a rather muddy, grassy area with trees for shelter, and a stream trickling through down to a shallow fjord-lake (see below left); facilities seemed basic with hot showers in a woebegone hut. Along in the village, we gave George his final fill of Icelandic diesel, shopped at the rather sparse village shop, and took a couple of photos down at the harbour. Here the mountains on the opposite fjord-side, still with residual snow cornices, created perfect reflections in the water (Photo 49 - Fáskrúðsfjörður fishing harbour) (see above left). But there were few fishing boats left now compared with the days when this was a lively port, and the village had a rather sorry, passé air. Back along at the campsite, we found the only flattish spot alongside the stream and settled in. We had hoped for a more peaceful evening, being off the main Ring Road circuit, but early evening as dusk fell the inevitable tourist car door slammers piled in, fortunately choosing to camp on the far side of the brook. Darkness fell quickly by 8-00pm now. A local lady with her little children called round for payment, and we were able to use the 26th slot on our Camping Card. Even the power supplies at Fáskrúðsfjörður Camping had a French connection with continental sockets and highly dubious polarity.

The following pleasantly sunny morning, we washed up at our picnic table, drawing hot water from the facilities (see above right) (Photo 50 - Fáskrúðsfjörður Camping). But the best feature of Fáskrúðsfjörður Camping was yet to come. It felt as if we had not managed to get satisfactory showers if at all for some 2 weeks, given the series of unduly expensive or inadequate campsites along the entire length of the SE Iceland coast. Despite the apparently semi-derelict shower hut here at Fáskrúðsfjörður, the showers not only delivered unlimited supplies of refreshingly hot water, and were included in the very reasonable price, but also the cubicles inside were clean, heated and equipped with bench and plenty of hooks. All that you could ask for, and not available at any of the other SE Iceland campsites. This not only rescued Fáskrúðsfjörður Camping's reputation but secured it a +4 rating! We also still needed a 2017 camp photograph of us both alongside George as a comparison with the photo in front of our tent taken on our 1972 expedition to Iceland. We therefore positioned George against the backdrop of fjord-side mountains in order to take a time-delay photo to include both of us (see above right) (Photo 51 - Camping in Iceland 2017).

Through the Fáskrúðsfjarðgöng Tunnel to Reyðarfjörður:  we finally left Fáskrúðsfjörður after our unexpectedly pleasing stay, and turned off on Route 96 along Daladalur with the peaks surrounding this long glacial valley lit by a bright morning sun (see above left) (click here for map of route). The valley head enclosed by its wall of encircling mountains seemed to present an impassable barrier, but the road suddenly curved into the projecting concrete portal of Fáskrúðsfjarðgöng Tunnel (see right). The 5.85kms long tunnel, opened in 2005, cuts a straight course directly through the mountainous ridge which separates Fáskrúðsfjörður from Reyðarfjörður, greatly easing land communications in the East Fjords by avoiding the long and hazardous coastal route. The tunnel emerged into bright sunlight directly above the fjord with the port of Reyðarfjörður spread along the far shore (see left).

Reyðarfjörður and the Alcoa Fjarðaál aluminium smelting plant:  rounding the head of the fjord, where the on-going Route 92 continued along Fagrídalur towards Egilsstađir, we turned off into Reyðarfjörður. We had no great hopes of the campsite here, believing it to be in an unattractive setting in the town outskirts. In fact however on investigating, it seemed a very pleasant site surrounded by trees alongside a small ornamental lake, with reasonable facilities and accepted the Camping Card. It was certainly a contender for our rest day tomorrow if the campsite at Eskifjörður proved unsuitable. We drove into Reyðarfjörður, and found the Icelandic WW2 Museum based in Nissen Huts above the town. Unfortunately closed at the end of August, the Museum documents  the British and American occupation of Iceland from May 1940 until 1945, and the impact this had on local people. Reyðarfjörður became another huge Allied land-forces and naval base along with Hvalfjörður in West Iceland visited by us earlier. During WW2 some 4,000 British, Canadian and US troops were based around Reyðarfjörður, overwhelming the local Icelandic population of 300. Reyðarfjörður had begun life in the early 20th century as a trading post and fishing port, but had fallen on hard times as the fishing industry declined.

Today however Reyðarfjörður with a population of 1,100 has a prosperous air as the largest settlement in East Fjords, following construction and opening of the controversial Fjarðaál aluminium smelting plant in 2008 operated by the American company Alcoa. The quiet fjord-side former fishing village was selected by Alcoa as the site for the Fjarðaál aluminium smelting plant because of ready access along the deep-water fjord for the huge ships importing raw bauxite ore from Chile and all round the world. The enormous smelter one kilometre in length was constructed by the fjord-side at Reyðarfjörður between 2004~2007 by the Bechtel contracting firm using 1000s of mainly Polish workers (see above right for aerial photo of the controversial fjord-side smelting plant). At one point Reyðarfjörður had the highest concentration of foreign residents of any community in Iceland. The plant still employs a mainly Polish workforce of 450; in the Reyðarfjörður supermarket, we had spoken with a Lithuanian who had worked at the Fjarðaál plant for 11 years and seemed resigned to life here with his family. Despite objections from conservationists about the plant's impact on the local environment, the smelter reached full capacity in 2008 and now produces 940 tons of aluminium a day. Alcoa moved their aluminium smelting from the USA to take advantage of Iceland's low-cost availability of geothermal and hydro-generated electricity. Aluminium electrolytic smelting requires enormous quantities of electricity, and the Fjarðaál plant was the principal reason for the even more controversial construction of the Kárahnjúkar Dam and flooding of vast areas of wilderness land at Vatnajökull by its reservoir, to drive the hydro-electric power station in the Fljötsdalur valley (see below for details of the Kárahnjúkar Dam). HV power lines connect the HEP station over the fells to power the Reyðarfjörður aluminium smelter. Although the aluminium smelter employs little local labour, its presence has clearly brought an affluence to Reyðarfjörður which, along with Eskifjörður and Neskaupstaður, is now part of the Fjarðabyggð municipality.

We shopped at the Kronan supermarket in the town's shopping centre, then continued along the fjord, following the tell-tale trail of power lines to find the  Fjarðaál aluminium smelting plant (click here for map of route). Some 4kms along, we reached the enormous fjord-side complex, and hesitantly edged down towards the docks where the bauxite ore is shipped in (see above left). The lane ended at security gates with little to be seen here (see above right). Continuing along Route 92, the one km long smelting factory came into view (see above left), with the power lines from the hydro-electrical generating plant over in the neighbouring valley of Fljótsdalur all leading into it (see above right). At the far end, we took another side road leading down to the factory, and from here we could see only half the length of the one kilometre long plant. But at least we were able to get some impression of the scale of this gigantic factory's full length (see left) (Photo 52 - Fjarðaál aluminium smelting plant). It was unlikely we should get any closer look or be able to visit the smelter, but at least we had been able to see the controversial plant.

The fjord-side port of Eskifjörður:  the far side of the bleak and otherwise deserted fjord was lined with vast basalt-tiered mountains, and we paused at the prominent look-out point of Hólmanes looking along the length of Reyðarfjörður, the longest of the East Fjords. Standing here, it was evident why Reyðarfjörður was chosen as an Allied naval-base in WW2 given the security of the deep fjord; it was tragic that 50 years later, the peaceful terrain was now sullied by such an intrusively incongruous blot on the fjord-scape as a kilometre-long aluminium smelter. Rounding the point of Hólmanes, the road sloped down the flank of the inner side-fjord of Eskifjörður (see right). Just before crossing the head of the fjord into the town of Eskifjörður, a new road continued ahead curving towards the concrete portal of a new tunnel under construction, cutting through the mountains to replace the present ongoing Route 92 which winds over a hazardous mountain pass ending at the large township of Neskaupstaður over on Norðfjörður. The new 7.5 kms Norðfjarðargöng Tunnel was due to open in November 2017 so we had just missed the opportunity to reach Neskaupstaður.

We rounded the fjord head into Eskifjörður where the local football team was playing a home match in the small stadium. Ahead, the town's modern church was dwarfed by a magnificent series of waterfalls cascading down the tiered basalt cliffs (see left) (Photo 53 - Eskifjörður church). The church unfortunately was locked so we were unable to see the east window behind the altar which looks out directly onto this natural masterpiece. Eskifjörður is one of the only East Fjord ports still managing to maintain a large, industrial scale fishing fleet of ocean-going trawlers, and the large fish-processing factory dominated the waterfront along the fjord (Photo 54 - Eskifjörður fishing harbour) (see right). It is also the only town in the East Fjords with a geothermal borehole which provides hot water to heat homes and the swimming pool. We drove along Strandgata, with the enclosing mountain-sides towering above the narrow fjord, and pulled off into the docks to photograph the fishing boats and fish-processing factory (see left); a boat moored at the quay was registered at Fuglafjørður in the Faroes where we had camped 5 months ago (see below right). The town still had a purposeful air as we drove through, and the views of basalt-tiered mountains towering around the fjord were magnificent. But the municipal campsite at Eskifjörður, which we had favoured for our rest day tomorrow, was tiny and right by the busy main road; Reyðarfjörður was much better.

A final day in camp at Reyðarfjörður Camping:  we returned around Route 92 past the aluminium smelting plant, back to Reyðarfjörður and settled into a corner of its campsite in the shelter of mature birch trees (see below left) (Photo 55 - Reyðarfjörður Camping). We truly hoped that, being just off the main road to Egilsstaðir, the little campsite would remain quiet tonight. The evening grew dusky and by 8-00pm it was fully dark as we cooked supper of the last of our Djúpivogur haddock fillets. A pleasant local lady called round to collect payment, and we used the 27th slot on our Camping Card. The campsite remained delightfully peaceful, the first evening for months without any disturbance by tourists and slamming of car doors, but it was a dark, chill and miserably wet evening, typically Reyðarfjörður weather.

It was still wet and chill when we woke the following morning for our final camp day in Iceland, which we should spend winding down and preparing kit and food lists in readiness for the ferry from Seyðisfjörður on Wednesday evening. During the morning, a snipe with adult plumage was seen sheltering under the hedge close to our camp. It made no attempt to fly away even when a car passed by, and its only response to our presence was to tuck its head under its wing, suggesting it was injured. We could only leave the poor bird in peace (Photo 56 - Snipe sheltering under hedge) (see right), and later it had disappeared. We both enjoyed refreshingly relaxing showers in the newly renovated facilities hut; it was such a welcome change to have piping hot, unlimited showers included in the basic charge. Although overcast and dull, the weather was stable all day, but late afternoon Fagrídalur valley to the north filled with threateningly murky rain cloud, and a stormy, very chill northerly wind blew up. We were pitched sideways on to this, blowing into the door, but thankfully our screen of birches gave good protection. The lady called round again after supper for payment, and we used the final, 28th slot on our Camping Card; it had in fact by careful planning served us well. But experience showed that, with the seniors' discounts available at most campsites, the Camping Card is only worth buying if like us you are camping for several months in Iceland with opportunity to use all its 28 slots. Reyðarfjörður Camping had also served us well and, along with Djúpivogur, was certainly the best of the East Fjords region's campsites. Tonight we battened down for a cold, stormy and very dark night.

Over the Fagrídalur Pass to Egilsstaðir:  on a heavily overcast morning, with low rain cloud spreading a mournful gloom over the surrounding hills, before leaving Reyðarfjörður we drove up to the town cemetery to pay our respects at the graves of 8 British soldiers who died tragically from exposure in January 1942, when they became lost on a winter training exercise in the mountains between Reyðarfjörður and Eskifjörður. The men were buried in a Commonwealth War Graves Commission plot at the cemetery along with a Canadian soldier who was killed the year before in a shooting accident (see left).

With the rain cloud gloomier than ever, we set off northwards for the 32kms drive over Fagrídalur Pass to Egilsstaðir, following Route 92 as it turned into the long valley approach (see right) (click here for map of route). Here the HV power lines feeding the aluminium smelter led off over the fells towards the Fljötsdalur underground HEP generating station close to tonight's campsite at Fljötsdalsgrund Farm. The road up Fagrídalur gained height steadily for some 20kms up into these empty, bleak fells; once clear of the valley floor, there was not a farm or any other building in sight, save for one derelict refuge shelter towards the watershed. This was a good road leading directly in almost a straight line up the 20kms length of the valley. Just over the long watershed, the unsurfaced Route 953 fell away down into Eyvindardalur towards Mjóifjörður, while the main Route 92 dropped down in less than 10kms to the outskirts of Egilsstaðir, which we had left 5 long months ago at the start of our circuit of Iceland. Down into the town of Egilsstaðir, we shopped for our final nights' food at Netto, and for our final bottles of Kaldi beers at the Vinbuðin.

Fljötsdalur underground hydro-generating station:  10kms south from Egilsstaðir, we turned off onto Route 31 along the length of Largarfljöt lake, pausing part-way along by the Hallormsstaður forest trail which we had walked back in May on our arrival in Iceland. Back then in Spring, the ground-cover Bearberry was in full flower; now in Autumn, the plants were covered with ripening red berries (see left). What was even more noticeable in the Hallormsstaður woodland was how autumnally golden all the birches were turning, and how the forest floor was already carpeted with fallen birch leaves. Continuing along the length of Largarfljöt (see below left), we turned across the far end of the lake, just as a patch of sunlight caught the full face of the Hengifoss cliffs and waterfall, highlighting the red iron-rich ash and scoria striped strata (see right) (see Log of our May-time visit to Hengifoss).

Beyond the turning onto Route 910 up to the Kárahnjúkar Dam, we continued along past Fljötsdalsgrund Camping to the road's end at the Fljötsdalur hydro-generating station. HV power lines emerged from the building frontage, transmitting electricity for almost 50kms over the fells to the Fjarðaál aluminium smelting plant near to Reyðarfjörður (see right). The actual generating plant is deep underground below Valþjófsstaður mountain, at the foot of the 600m deep intake tunnel system which delivers high pressure water 72kms from the Kárahnjúkar dams complex in the highlands to drive the station's 6 sets of turbine~generators (Click here for map of Kárahnjúkar system). There was little to see on the surface, but just below, alongside the Jökulsá í Fljótsdal river's natural course, the tailrace tunnel emerged, carrying the outflow water from the underground generating plant into an artificially cut canal carrying the waste water to merge into the Jökulsá í Fljótsdal's natural channel (see below left). One of the environmentalist objections to the entire Kárahnjúkar project was this diversion of increased levels of silt-laden glacial water, which would naturally have flowed into the neighbouring Jökulsá í Bru valley. It now out-flowed at a greater rate into the once silt-free and gently flowing Jökulsá í Fljótsdal river, as a result contaminating Largarfljót lake with greater concentration of glacial silt; this causes the formerly clear lake waters to become more opaque, adversely affecting the lake's natural vegetation and fish. We drove down to the tailrace end, where the fast-flowing out-flow water was visibly very murky and silt-laden (see right).

Return to Fljötsdalsgrund Camping:  back along the valley to Fljötsdalsgrund Camping, we pitched George on the grassy strip alongside the driveway opposite the facilities hut, and phoned Helga the farm owner to say that, as promised back in May on our first stay at the start of our Icelandic venture, we had returned. We settled in and Sheila did a final batch of laundry to last out the remainder of the trip. This was hung out on a line strung between the birches, but with little chance of drying now as a misty drizzle began. At 6-00pm, Helga came round to greet us again and collect her payment. We cooked our penultimate supper in Iceland as the evening grew very cold and dark, with a brisk NE wind blowing up the valley; how different from our May-time stay when we eat out for meals at the picnic table in warm Spring sunshine! Tomorrow, our last full day in Iceland, we planned to spend up in the Snæfell Mountains, to see for ourselves the scale of devastation brought about by construction of the Kárahnjúkar Dam and flooding of the Hálslón reservoir.

Kárahnjúkar Dam in the highlands of East Iceland:  the Kárahnjúkar Dams project, named after Kárahnjúkar mountain, involved damming both the Jökulsá í Bru and Jökulsá í Fljótsdal to create a complex of 3 reservoirs, with 5 concrete-faced rock-fill embankment dams. The largest of the reservoirs is the 57 km² Hálslón artificial lake, which stretches all the way south from the Kárahnjúkar to the foot of Brúarjökull, a 1600km² glacial-tongue extending northward from the Vatnajökull ice-cap. High pressure water from the enormous reservoir is then channelled to the Fljötsdalur generating plant via a 73kms complex of underground head-race conduits, finally dropping down a 420m high vertical penstock-tunnel to provide a 600m head of water to drive the turbine~generators. All out-flow water is now discharged into the once gently flowing Jökulsá í Fljótsdal river at a vastly increased flow rate of 144m³ per second (Click here for map of Kárahnjúkar system).

The Kárahnjúkar Dam is the centrepiece of the 5 dams, damming the main course of the Jökulsá í Bru at Fremri Kárahnjúkar at the head of the Hafrahvammar Canyon. This mighty canyon had been carved out over aeons by the natural flow of glacial melt-waters from Brúarjökull, forming the Jökulsá í Bru river. Two smaller auxiliary saddle-dams complete the river's damming at Kárahnjúkar to form the Hálslón reservoir, the Desjará Dam to the east, and the Sauðárdalur Dam to the west. At 193m high and 730m wide, Kárahnjúkar is Europe's largest dam, and among the largest of this type of dam in the world. In comparison, the Desjará is 60m tall and 1,000m wide and the Sauðárdalur 25m tall and 1,100m wide. Most years, the Hálslón reservoir now fills with glacial melt-water from Vatnajökull in late summer. When this happens, overspill water is diverted at Kárahnjúkar Dam along a spill-way channel to the edge of the Hafrahvammar Canyon, dropping to form the 100m high Hverfandi artificially created waterfall, then to flow through the Hafrahvammar Canyon and on along the natural course of the Jökulsá í Bru river. For most of the year however, while water levels in the reservoir are lower, the over-spill channel and Hverfandi falls are dry, and the now dammed Upper Jökulsá í Bru is merely a trickle, leaving the Hafrahvammar Canyon almost empty of river torrents which had once surged down the valley from the glaciers. Construction of the entire complex lasted from 2003~2007, at the same time as the Reyðarfjörður smelting plant which the dams power; all became operational in 2008.

Background to and consequences of the Kárahnjúkar Dam project:  Iceland's domestic and industrial demand for electricity was already more than adequately supplied by the county's existing complex of hydro-generating plants along the Upper Þjórsárdalur valley and the geothermal generating capacity around Krafla in the north and Hengill in the SW, all of which we had visited during or Icelandic travels. The only reason for building this enormous dams complex up in the Kárahnjúkar wilderness, flooding so much wild, unspoilt land north of Vatnajökull by creation of the vast Hálslón reservoir to provide head-waters to drive the Fljötsdalur HEP generating plant, was solely to supply power for Alcoa's Fjarðaál aluminium smelter at Reyðarfjörður. Iceland neither needed nor directly benefits from the environmental disaster of the Kárahnjúkar dams; the only beneficiaries are the overseas financial investment and industrial interests, profiting from the country's cheap hydro-energy resources, at Iceland's environmental expense.

As a result of the Kárahnjúkar project, unique geological formations and landscapes along Hafrahvammar Canyon have been irredeemably lost, and downstream ecosystems have suffered impacts yet to be fully understood. The local fish population in Lagarfljót lake has been killed by excess silt, and East Iceland’s wild reindeer population has been deprived of a vast wilderness area of grazing and breeding grounds as a result of inundation by Hálslón reservoir. The then Icelandic government envisaged the combined Kárahnjúkar development project and Reyðarfjörður aluminium smelter would boost the regional economy in the East of the country. To support this goal, the Environment Minister overrode the environmental impact assessment that vetoed the hydro-energy project because of its destructive environmental impact. Yet despite claims that the development would bring increased local employment opportunities to East Iceland, the entire workforce both for the Kárahnjúkar construction and at the Alcoa Fjarðaál smelting plant was supplied by low cost immigrant labour, mainly Polish and East European. The contract between Landsvirkjun and Alcoa turned out to be unfavourable for the state-run energy company. The energy prices paid by Alcoa are extremely low and tied to the volatile global market prices for aluminium. This makes revenue for Landsvirkjun very low and unpredictable. In addition, Alcoa has contrived to avoid paying any taxes in Iceland: revenues from Alcoa's Icelandic operation are used to pay interest on the paper debt owed to its parent company based in Luxembourg; the local smelting company has therefore appeared not to have generated any taxable profits. Since Alcoa Iceland has declared no operating profits from the Reyðarfjörður aluminium smelter, the Icelandic government has not yet benefited from any taxation revenue. This is particularly scandalous, as Alcoa's 2012 annual report had praised the Reyðarfjörður smelter for its record profits, describing it as a profit leader due to low local energy prices. Yet no such profits have been recorded in the company's books in Iceland.

For more on the Kárahnjúkar Dam controversy, see 2003 Guardian article Power Driven on the environmental and political issues raised by Kárahnjúkar. See also see Kárahnjúkar Dam controversy for background to the controversial construction.

Our visit to the Kárahnjúkar Dam:  a steep climb via a sequence of 8 hair-pin bends brought the asphalted Route 910 up out of the valley (see above left) (click here for map of route) onto Fljótsdalsheiði plateau-top fell-land for the 60kms drive out across this stony, barren wilderness to the complex of 3 Kárahnjúkar dams. As we made progress across the immense and lonely plateau-land of stony wilderness, ahead loomed the impressive outline of 1,833 high Snæfell, its snow-covered dome partly hidden by cloud on a dull morning (see above right); on the distant horizon, the Vatnajökull ice-cap was just visible. Route 910 was a well-surfaced, wide asphalt road, built to give access to the dams. The road swung westwards, advancing over ever bleaker landscape, and as we passed over higher moorland, a fresh sprinkling of snow coated the barren fells (see above left). After over an hour's drive across 60kms of Fljótsdalsheiði's desolately empty, high moorland plateau, with the dominating presence of snow-capped Snæfell looming over the highlands, we finally came into sight of the distant Hálslón reservoir, and reached the first of the complex of three dams. We had arrived at the point where the road crossed the top of the 1km wide Desjará Dam. Hesitantly we turned onto the road-way across top of the dam's wall (see above right). To the south, the grey and murky Hálslón reservoir stretched away into the remote distance. Below the outer face of the dam's rock-fill 60m high wall, a virtually dry valley extended northwards which was once filled with a side-tributary of the Jökulsá í Bru. Ahead of us to the west, the craggy face and bulky ridge of Kárahnjúkar mountain loomed, bridging the gap between the Desjará and Kárahnjúkar Dams. Across on the far side, the road rounded the mountain's base to turn 90º onto the start of the crossing of Kárahnjúkar Dam. Beyond the mountain, the land fell away abruptly into the deep Dimmugljúfur Gorge below the unbelievably tall outer face of the dam's rock-fill wall. The head of the gorge was filled with vast, billowing clouds of spray from Hverfandi waterfalls, still largely out of sight, where the dam's overspill flowed down an artificial spill-way to drop 100m into the Hafrahvammar Canyon carved out by the ongoing Jökulsá í Bru river.

Still totally overawed by such monumental surroundings, we began our crossing of the 2-lane road-way over the curving top of the dam, below the high concrete inner wall on our left (see above left), to reach a parking area on the far side. From here there was a clearer view of the Hafrahvammar Canyon's deep gash winding across the fell-side below the spray of the overspill falls (Photo 57 - Hafrahvammar Canyon) (see above right). On this far side, the road crossed a bridge over the dam's spill-way where overspill water from the now full reservoir dropped in a long, even cascade down into the artificial spill-way channel (see above left) (Photo 58 - Hálslón reservoir overspill ). Evil-looking, turbulent, foaming grey waters surged down the chute with mesmerising force for some 750m towards Hverfandi falls, then to plunge into the head of the Dimmugljúfur Gorge (Photo 59 - Kárahnjúkar spill-way) (see above right). Leaving George here, we walked back across the 700m wide dam, and from the wall above the high rock-fill outer face, the Hverfandi falls came increasingly into view, topped by billowing clouds of spray as the waters dropped from the chute's end over into the narrow head of the canyon (Photo 60 - Hverfandi falls) (see above left). While the engineering feat of the dam's monumental construction was indisputably extraordinary, the natural vista and unimaginable power of the falling water, and the canyon's titanic gash were even more awe-inspiring. Across on far side of the dam, below the craggy slopes of Kárahnjúkar mountain, we climbed up onto the walkway across the top of the dam's water-side concrete lining wall, and began the nerve-wracking walk to re-cross the width of the dam, with just a handrail separating us from the immense reservoir's grey waters immediately below our feet (see above right). Back at the far end, a viewpoint above the spill-way gave a full view of the rock-fill retaining wall's height and width (see above left) (Photo 61 - Rock-fill retaining wall) spanning the Dimmugljúfur Gorge against the backdrop of Kárahnjúkar mountain (Photo 62 - Kárahnjúkar Dam) (see above right), and the scale of the Hálslón reservoir stretching away southwards into unseen distances to the foot of Vatnajökull ice-cap (see left) (Photo 63 - Hálslón reservoir). We drove back down from the upper area of the dam (see right), and as the weather began to improve, a rainbow materialised in the misty spray above the Hverfandi falls (Photo 64 - Kárahnjúkar rainbow).

Given that Iceland had no intrinsic need for the dam project, nor gains any direct benefit from its operation, the sheer scale of remote, once unspoilt wilderness terrain now swallowed up by this immense body of water showed at first hand the obscene folly and intemperate greed that had given rise to the Kárahnjúkar project. The scale and daring of the Kárahnjúkar engineering was undeniably impressive, and the potential of the surroundings gave us endless photographic potential. There is however no denying that the case against the dam seemed self-evidently proven by the environmental impact which we now could see with our own eyes.

Return to Fljötsdalsgrund Camping for our final night in Iceland:  re-crossing the 2 dams, we began the long, 60kms drive back across the once unsullied highland wilderness. As we drove back, the weather brightened and cloud lifted to give a clear and fulsome view of snow-covered Snæfell's mountainous scale (see left) (Photo 65 - Snow-covered Snæfell), looking so grandiose against the now partially blue sky. Back across Fljótsdalsheiði's moorland, we finally dropped steeply down the series of 8 hairpins alongside the Bássastaðir Gorge, looking along the length of Largarfljöt lake down in Fljótsdalur valley (see right), to return to camp at Fljötsdalsgrund Farm for our final night in Iceland.

Return to Egilsstaðir and Seyðisfjörður:  George was packed for the final time in Iceland, and with farewells to Fljötsdalsgrund after our second stay, at the start and end of this trip, we departed to return along the Fljótsdalur valley (click here for map of route). The weather was grey and bitterly cold, and despite the forecast for gentle breeze, a gusty wind was blowing. As we drove back past Hallormsstaður, the birches were autumnally golden and the crisp wind blowing across the lake raised serious waves. The waters of Largarfljót were visibly opaque grey from the volumes of glacial sediment now being deposited in the once clear lake. It took just over an hour to reach Egilsstaðir where we shopped for our ferry food, and gave George his promised hose-brushing at the filling station to remove all the accumulated dirt road mud from the last week. Leaving Egilsstaðir for the last time, we turned up the Seyðisfjörður road to tackle the series of 5 hairpins over the mountain pass. The weather was now utterly grim, with a very chill wind blowing mountain rain and low misty cloud obscuring the mountains. There were even traces of residual snow still clinging to north-facing hollows on the gloomy mountain sides. Across the desolate plateau, which today looked gloomier than ever in this foul weather, we began the final descent towards Seyðisfjörður. After a pause for late lunch sandwiches almost at the foot of the pass in this chill, driving, wet drizzle, we reached the outskirts of Seyðisfjörður and turned along to the port. To our relief, we could see the ferry M/S Norröna docked at the port in the misty distance.

Departing Iceland on the ferry for Hirtshals in Denmark:  it was now only 2-00pm and check-in for the ferry would not even begin for a couple of hours. With wind-driven, soaking rain now pouring, making it impossible to check though our ferry kit and food outdoors as planned, we drove around to the Smyril Line terminal building, taking everything into the waiting area to check through and re-load. The room was filled with other ferry passengers doing likewise. At 4-30pm we drove back around to the ferry dock, and after a brief queuing, we were able to check-in and move through to the ferry waiting lanes (see above right). Here we waited along with other small campers. At 5-30pm the first vehicles moved forward to board, but it was another hour before George's line was able to drive on board. With the weather so cold and wet, and with fewer vehicles to load than on the outward crossing, at least passengers were allowed to board with their vehicles. Initially the car deck seemed quite empty, but the crewmen were parking vehicles into the far end of the hold without turning. What chaos there would be when disembarking at Hirtshals remained to be seen! George was parked in line, we unloaded our kit and food, and we went aloft to find our cabin.

Having stowed our kit, we went up to the stern of the outer deck while there was still residual light for final photos looking down across the tiny village-port of Seyðisfjörður (see above left) (Photo 66 - Seyðisfjörður ferry port). The sky had cleared a little, but it was evident that the rain of earlier had fallen as the first sprinkling of the snows of autumn on the high mountains surrounding the narrow fjord (see above right) (Photo 67 - First snows of autumn). With the harsher weather of approaching winter beginning, it was definitely time to be leaving Iceland. The light was now fading fast, and we went down below to the warmth of the ferry lounge, and at 8-00pm Norröna's engines increased their revs. The ferry drew away from the dock and the lights of Seyðisfjörður faded quickly into the distance, as we watched Norröna's wake from the bow windows. After our 5 month and very eventful stay in this country, it was Farewell Iceland! (Photo 68 - Farewell Iceland) (see left and right).

Iceland overwhelmed by mass tourism:  we have bitter-sweet memories of our long and satisfyingly arduous summer in Iceland, a place of 2 extremes: at the highest level, the spectacular volcanic terrain, and unprecedented bird-life and wild flora, was some of the most majestic ever experienced; at the lowest extreme however, this small and starkly beautiful country is now so utterly and severely ravaged by the mass tourism industry. Iceland's native population of 360,000 is increased by over 2 million tourists each year! The overall result is that, with the deepest regret, we are compelled to urge that serious and responsible travellers should avoid Iceland completely, and allow the island space and time to recover from this assault by mass tourism before the damage becomes irretrievable.

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