***  ICELAND  2017   -  WEEKS 14~16  ***

This week's Photo Gallery  Puffins of Heimaey Bottom of Page Return to Iceland Index Page

CAMPING IN ICELAND 2017 - Þjórsárdalur and Hekla Volcano, Hella and Hvolsvöllur, Heimaey on Westman Islands, Eyjafjallajökull, Vík and Mýrdalsjökull, Kirkjabæjarklaustur, Laki peak and Lakagígur Craters:

Þjórsárstofa Camping at Árnes by the Þjórsárdalur Visitor Centre:  finally leaving Selfoss, we turned eastward on Route 1 across flat farming countryside. Westwards the Ring Road was very busy with constant streams of Reykjavík-bound returning weekenders' traffic; in our direction, it was almost deserted. We made good progress with our 30kms drive, reaching the turning onto Route 30 along the lower reaches of Þjórsárdalur, still fertile farming terrain but dotted with distant isolated shapely volcanic peaks (Click on Map 1 right). Shortly after Route 31 merged in from Laugarás and Skalholt, we turned off onto Route 32 for Árnes where there was a small shop at the NI filling station; here we reached the Þjórsárdalur Visitor Centre with Þórsárstofa Camping at the rear. It was by now 6-45pm and the campsite was still almost empty.

Click on 4 highlighted areas of map for
details of
SW Iceland

There were 2 flat, grassy camping areas, one with power, and we pitched over in the far corner (Photo 1 - Þjórsárstofa Camping) (see above left). It had been another fulsome day and, quite exhausted, we cracked beers before cooking supper. The campsite gradually filled, mainly with tent cyclists, but as the evening grew dark late-arriving hire-cars poured in with the usual disturbance of slamming doors. Cloud cover tonight precluded any possibility of a repeat Aurora. The forecast showed tomorrow being overcast but no rain, with full sun again the day after; we therefore decided to take a day in camp here at Þórsárstofa Camping with its reasonable recently renovated facilities and hot water wash-up sinks; showers were still antiquated but with refreshingly hot water. Charges were also reasonable at 2,500kr/night (800kr seniors plus 900kr for power).

We spent the morning catching up with jobs and reading up on Þjórsárdalur, and after lunch walked over to the Visitor Centre to view their impressive surround-effects film and exhibition on year-round life in the valley. We also learned of more features around Þjórsárdalur including an autumn sheep-round-up corral and cliff-top viewpoint looking across to Hekla. The Visitor Centre is funded partly by the local authorities and partly by Landsvirkjun, the state power generating company whose videos gave details of the complex series of dams feeding the hydro-electric generating stations in the higher reaches of the valley around Búrfell. What environmental impact these have we shall see tomorrow. We also learned of the Aurora Forecasting pages on the Icelandic Meteorological Office web site, and should consult this from now on each evening, particularly when a clear sky was forecast and when we had clear line of sight to the horizon. After our productive day in camp, the campsite remained quiet tonight and darkness fell early; with heavy cloud cover, there seemed minimal probability of witnessing an Aurora tonight, but tomorrow with clear skies forecast looked more promising. In fact however by 2-30am the sky had partly cleared, and a hazy Aurora was visible, appearing as wavering, misty grey-green streaks of pale light shimmering across the sky. The Aurora Borealis seen in northern latitudes is caused by the solar wind of electrically charged particles that enter the earth’s atmosphere and collide with oxygen and nitrogen gases. Collision of solar particles with oxygen molecules low in the atmosphere causes the Aurora's green glow. This time we both reached for cameras, and managed to record some images using ultra-high ISO and manual focussing (see above left and right) (Photo 2 - Aurora Borealis). We should see later what we had managed to achieve for our first efforts.

Lower Þjórsárdalur and Hekla:  it was a lovely sunny still morning for our long day around Þjórsárdalur. We drove along the lower reaches of the western bank of the Lower Þjórsá river, passing a number of the wide valley's modern farms (click here for detailed map of route). The Þjórsá is Iceland's longest river at 230kms and transports vast volumes of silt and gravel from the erosion areas of the central highlands. On a clear morning, the snow-capped, lengthy cone of Hekla brooded over the far side of the valley dominating the landscape. Þjórsárdalur in its central and lower reaches is a green and fertile valley, an obvious choice for early settlers, and from the times of the Viking settlement there were at least 20 known farmstead-estates along the length of Þjórsárdalur. But the apparently attractive and fertile valley had a fatal sting in its tail: Hekla, the legendary entrance to Hell, erupted with violent effect in 1104 AD, burying all the farmsteads along the valley with a layer of ash and pumice tephra, poisoning the groundwater and killing livestock with its fluorine-rich gases.

With one eye on this mighty beast on the far side of the valley, the stratovolcano's snow-capped summit ridge clearly visible on a sunny day, we drove up-valley to reach the roadside Skafsholts Réttir sheep-gathering corral (Photo 3 - Skafsholts Réttir sheep round-up corral) (see above left and right). This huge circular array of pens, constructed of neatly built lava-block walls capped with turf, is where the valley farmers still herd and sort their sheep in the autumn round-up when the sheep are brought down from the highland pastures. The sheep are rounded up from the hills on horseback, and brought down to Skafsholts Réttir fold for sorting by owner, at what has over the years become an important social event. The sheep are herded into the common fold at the centre of the circular corral for sorting, to be driven into individual spoke-like pens around the réttir's perimeter. There had been a sheep fold here from the 12th century, and Skafsholts Réttir is mentioned in Sturlunga Saga as a meeting place. The pens were renovated in 1954 but were destroyed by earthquake at the time of the 2000 Hekla eruption and rebuilt. We had seen similar circular pens for autumn round-up of horses at Norðurárdalur near to Blönduós in the north.

Continuing along the valley on Route 32, passing side-turnings to farmsteads, the prominent cliff of Gaukshöfði was visible ahead. Njáls Saga legend has it that the cliff was the site where the Viking warrior Gaukur Trandilsson, master of Stöng Settlement era farmstead (see below), was killed in an axe-dual by the jealous kinsman of one of Gaukur's many lovers. A gravel side-lane turned up around the back of the bluff with a path leading up onto the summit. From this high vantage-point, a sweeping view opened up across the wide valley which was filled with the Þjórsá river's meandering channels, over to the eastern skyline dominated by the long, menacing ridge of Hekla (see above left and right) (Photo 4 - Hekla across Þjórsá river from Gaukshöfði).

Middle Þjórsárdalur and Hjálparfoss Waterfalls:  re-joining Route 32, and leaving behind the farms of Lower Þjórsárdalur (click here for detailed map of route), the terrain became wilder as we passed into the middle reaches of this enormous valley. Initially the natural birch scrub woodland was augmented by planted spruces, then the scrubland gave way to more barren sandur and lava-fields, largely free of vegetation as Route 32 crossed the breath of Sandártunga Vikrar. Rounding across the Merkurhraun lava-field at the head of the middle valley, the road reached the Fossá river, a lengthy tributary of the Þjórsá flowing down from the highland interior. Just before the bridge crossing the Fossá, a gravel side-turning led down to a parking area by Hjálparfoss Waterfalls. Here the fast-flowing Fossá divides around a huge basalt outcrop to form the twin waterfalls of Hjálparfoss (see left and right) (Photo 5 - Hjálparfoss Waterfalls) which drop into a blue pool, surrounded by formations of twisted basalt columns and lava rubble from the Hekla eruptions. A few tourist hire-cars had also found this isolated spot, but these quickly came and went; we parked and walked down to the basin at the foot of the falls, to spend a half-hour eating our lunch sandwiches looking across this peaceful basalt-enclosed basin and photographing this magnificent sight of the twin falls. The shallow Fossá flowed on below the falls, circling around further basalt outcrops to pass the Búrfell hydro-generating station to its confluence with the Þjórsá (see right). The wedge-shaped mountain of Búrfell rose above this, enclosing this side of the upper valley.

Upper Þjórsárdalur, Stöng Settlement Era farmstead, and Búrfell HEP generating station:  returning to the tarmac of Route 32, as a group of horse-borne tourists tölted past along the dirt road (see below left), we crossed the Fossá bridge, and a short way further reached the turning onto the rough 4WD track leading for 7kms up into the lava hills to the site of Stöng farmstead. Said to be the farmstead of the 10th century Viking warrior Gaukur Trandilsson, Stöng was one of the Settlement Era estates established along Þjórsárdalur and wiped out by the devastating 1104 AD eruption of Hekla. The farmstead was buried under thick layers of ash and pumice, but was located and excavated in 1939 by a team of Nordic archaeologists to reveal the foundation remains of the long-house on the banks of the upper Rauða stream. We debated whether to attempt the drive up the rough track to Stöng, but decided that George's suspension had already been subjected to much risky stony road driving, and we had a long stretch of rough gravel road later on the return Route 26 along the far side of Þjórsárdalur. We therefore continued to the turning down to Búrfell hydro-electric generating station.

The highlands above Þjórsárdalur are now exploited and scarred by a complex cascade series of dams and canal-linked reservoirs feeding six HEP generating plants in the Upper Þjórsá and Tungnaá valleys, including the Sultartangi and Búrfell Hydropower Stations, all operated by the national power generating company Landsvirkjun. North of Búrfell, the waters of the Upper Þjórsá are diverted from their natural course, controlled by sluices and ice-barrier dams, into the artificial Bjarnalón reservoir, which forms a water intake fed via a 370m long head-race underground canal tunnel with a drop of 110m to drive the 6 turbine-generators of Búrfell power station. Below the power plant, a 2.2km long tailrace canal discharges the waste water downstream into the Fossá river just before its confluence with the Lower Þjórsá. The original concept of exploiting the Upper Þjórsá for HEP generation dated back to the 1920s, but domestic electricity consumption in those days was insufficient to justify the massive foreign investment in the scheme. It was only in the 1960s that the project was made viable, by attracting power-hungry industry to Iceland, particularly the smelting of imported ores. Búrfell became operational in the early 1970s, to be followed during the next 30 years by the other generating plants and reservoirs which now pollute the wild natural landscape of the interior highlands of the Upper Þjórsá and Tungnaá valleys (click here for map of Upper Þjórsá HEP generating stations).

The side turning down to Búrfell HEP generating station passed a small landscaped settlement of houses for Landsvirkjun employees, ending at the generating plant and power distribution grid transformers (see left) set beneath the craggy slopes of Búrfell towering above. The generator house where the outflow water emerged was 'decorated' with random concrete accretions, euphemistically labelled as a mural sculpture (see above right); if it was intended to beautify what was an unsightly concrete cuboid box, it singularly failed! We took our photos of this intrusive blot on the natural landscape, looking across the water-outflow from the station's base, then returned uphill to turn off into a hidden valley to the Þjóðveldisbærinn Commonwealth Farmstead, an imaginative reconstruction modelled on the Stöng Settlement Era farmstead long-house

Þjóðveldisbærinn Commonwealth reconstructed Settlement Era farmstead:  the reconstruction was created in 1974 to mark the 1100th anniversary of the Icelandic Settlement; it was intended to give a representation of what the original farmsteads of the Settlement period would have been like. While every effort was made to replicate both form and method of construction, considerable licence was exercised since no remains or records exist on which to model the reconstruction. This was a truly beautiful location in this peaceful upper valley with the reconstructed farmstead tucked away on a high terrace enclosed by the craggy slopes of Búrfell (see above right) (Photo 6 - Þjóðveldisbærinn Commonwealth reconstructed farmstead). No farmstead existed here in Settlement times, but the site was chosen because Landsvirkjun the power generating company provided part of the funding and the power station gave road access to the site.

We walked around the exterior of the turf-covered long-house and its accompanying small turf-built chapel (see above left), to examine closely the reconstruction, all of which blended into this green, hidden valley setting against the craggy backdrop of Búrfell. Seniors' admission was 700kr, and we talked with the young guide as she showed us around about the tiny rural churches attached to farmsteads, which clearly were a tradition going back to Settlement times; we had seen many examples during our travels around Iceland. Her family farmed on the western side of Þjórsárdalur with a small church at the farm. They kept dairy cattle and horses, but fewer sheep these days since government-imposed prices had reduced to the point where increasingly sheep farming was becoming uneconomical. In response to our question about the numbers of horses we had seen, she explained they were bred both for tourism and particularly for horse meat, telling us the Icelandic word for foal meat (folaldakjöt) which we should be able to buy at supermarkets.

The interior of the Þjóðveldisbærinn reconstructed long-house (click here for interior layout) was laid out with wooden fitments and replica pieces of furniture and equipment (see right) (Photo 7 - Interior of reconstructed long-house), with the living/sleeping space (Baðstofa) lined with wide bench/beds (Photo 8 - Baðstofa at Þjóðveldisbærinn). As we had seen at Glaumbær (See log of our visit to Glaumbær), residents eat or worked at domestic tasks sitting on the bench/beds in the Baðstofa, and at night slept under woollen blankets or eider-down duvets, tucked in on the outer side by a removable bed-board (rúmfjöl) made from a length of drift-wood and often elaborately engraved with owner's initials, date and a night-time prayer. Beyond this was a pantry for storing foodstuffs (see above left), and a workroom with samples of wool and loom for weaving (see left). By the entrance way was a communal privy with pole-benches over drains; the name Stöng was derived from the Icelandic word for pole. Despite a major criticism by some scholars that the Þjóðveldisbærinn reconstruction was built too high with the roof pitch too steep (see below right), it certainly gave a vivid impression of living and working conditions at the time of Settlement; we had learned much from the visit and from talking with the guide about life in rural Iceland, both then and now.

Upper Þjórsá and Tungnaá valleys:  returning to Route 32, the road now gained height via a hair pin around the slopes of Skeljafell, with the terrain becoming very barren-looking and lava-covered, to come within sight of Bjarnalón reservoir (Photo 9 - Lava-covered wastes of Upper Þjórsárdalur) (click here for detailed map of route). We pulled in at the far end by one of the sluices which control the level of water diverted from the Þjórsá into the reservoir as a head-reserve for the Búrfell power plant. From here we could look across the vast area of devastated lava and pumice wastelands to distant Hekla on the far side of the valley (see below left). Somehow the devastation created by natural forces in volcanic eruptions seemed more acceptable than the pollutant mess caused by the construction of HEP stations and diversion of natural water courses. We moved on across the lava wastelands, passing even more unsightly areas created by excavating machines carving out and piling up volcanic slag for use as aggregates. The road followed the natural line of the Þjórsá across this lava desert, curving round to cross an artificially cut canal deep in the basalt as a tail-race from the recently constructed Sultartangástoð HEP generating plant set higher up the hillside (see below right), taking water from the huge Sultartangalón reservoir (click here for map of Upper Þjórsá HEP generating stations). The deep tail-race canal cut through the basalt took outflow waters down to the Bjarnalón reservoir at the bottom of the huge interconnected sequenced complex of reservoirs created to drive the six Þjórsá and Tungnaá HEP generating stations (see below left).

Route 32 now crossed the natural course of the Upper Þjórsá on an unnervingly flimsy-looking wooden bridge (see below right), and continued across the desolate lava field to reach the junction with Route 26, our onward route eventually leading down the eastern side of Þjórsárdalur. Before turning off, we continued ahead for some 6kms on the still tarmaced Route 32 across the lava wilderness to the point where a side turn crossed the Tungnaá river which fed the Sultartangalón reservoir, leading to the smaller Búðarháls generating station. We had read of hardy specimens of wild flora surviving in this lava wilderness, but the only plant life was the artificially seeded Lupins planted to reduce erosion. Returning to the Route 26 junction, the tarmac now ended and we began the 18kms of the roughest, most stony, dusty and corrugated section of unsurfaced gravel road George had had to negotiate in the whole of Iceland. It was unremittingly rough and stony, needing all of Paul's effort and concentration to steer the least bad course and avoid the larger stones. Yet despite the rough, dusty road, the silly young tourists hurtled past at speed in their hire-cars, oblivious to other drivers and the risk of throwing up windscreen threatening stones. George moved cautiously forward, kilometre after monotonous kilometre across this evil-looking wilderness, which was dominated by the brooding presence of Hekla whose outpourings of lava and pumice covered the barren valley sides (Photo 10 - Hekla dominating Eastern Þjórsárdalur) (see below left). With all the dust raised, it was impossible to see much, and in any case, all our concentration was needed on this mercilessly rough 'road'. We seemed to make tediously slow headway, but suddenly, earlier than expected, the road became tarmac again at the junction where the F225 dirt road turned off into the highland interior of Landmannaleið.

Galtalækur 2 Camping in Eastern Middle Þjórsárdalur:  too drained after this torturing section of rough gravel road to give much attention to the surroundings, even with Hekla filling the eastern horizon across a wasteland of pumice and lava from the 2000 eruption, we drove on down the valley. The pumice and lava desolation gave way suddenly to scrub vegetation, and we passed Rjúpnavellir, the first of our campsite options on this eastern side of Þjórsárdalur; although an earlier email had confirmed camping was available, the sign made no mention of this, and we continued down valley. We had also phoned the third site at Leirubakki; this was more expensive and would probably be the most popular with hire-car tourists. As scrubland gave way to farming countryside, we reached our most promising option at Galtalækur 2 Camping set at a farm amid birch woodland. Taking the chance that this would be less well-known and therefore more peaceful than Leirubakki, we pulled in by the farmhouse to be welcomed by an elderly couple. The small camping area was empty, a green oasis of lush turf garden sheltered from the lava wastes of Hekla looming above the trees. Facilities were straightforward, with a WC/shower hut and cold water outside wash-up sink under the trees, but it was invitingly green and peaceful. At almost 7-00pm we were exhausted and decided to stay, settling in on the turf lawn while the farmer ran us an electrical supply from one of the huts (see right). As the evening grew dusky and dark quite early, one other Icelandic caravan arrived, but we were not disturbed. We just hoped that Hekla would not go off in the night, though in this sheltered little farmhouse oasis, we seemed insulated from the volcano menacingly towering above us. What we did unexpectedly witness however in the early hours was another faint Aurora, and we managed to get a few photos, perfecting the technique and camera settings for such distant night time shots (see left). We woke to a bright and sunny morning again. Galtalækur 2 Camping had served us well as a peaceful spot to camp, and quite unprecedentedly we had such a pleasant spot almost to ourselves.

Desolation of pumice and lava around Hekla:  before driving on down the lower section of Þjórsárdalur's eastern side, we made time this morning to return up valley (see right) as far as the F225 turning at the start of the gravel road to photograph Búrfell and Hekla and the foreground barren wilderness of pumice and lava desolation resulting from Hekla eruptions. The lower slopes of the volcano were streaked with fissures and gashes, washed out by flash-floods and mudslides (Photo 11 - Hekla's flanks streaked with fissures). We paused several times on the drive back up the valley, both for photographs and to collect samples of the creamy coloured light, frothy pumice. The jar containing our Hekla pumice samples now stands alongside other rock and lava specimens collected during our years of travelling. Back at the F225 junction, in the harsh morning sunlight the distant snow-capped Hekla filled the eastern horizon across the foreground of lava wilderness (Photo 12 - Snow-capped Hekla) (see below left); looking westwards the marvellously craggy profile of Búrfell dominated the valley's western skyline (Photo 13 - Búrfell's craggy face) (see below left). Despite the sign warning drivers not to attempt the F225 dirt road in other than 4WD vehicles (see below right), reckless young tourists hurtled off in clouds of dust, seemingly oblivious to the state of the rough track or its impact on their hire-cars' suspension and oil sump; where they thought they were heading and how far they would get defied belief. In contrast, a high-clearance 4WD jeep, used by an adventure tour company, drew in and carefully released pressures on its enormous tyres before setting out across the wilderness. We got into conversation with an Austrian couple who asked how we had shipped our camper to Iceland and our experiences here; he held a private pilot's licence and spoke of flying to Iceland via the Faroes from Wick in Northern Scotland. We eat our lunch sandwiches at what must be one of the trip's more memorable lunch spots, looking out across this fearful desolation to the stratovolcano of Hekla whose lava and tephra outpourings had produced this barren landscape.

The pretentiously presented but disappointingly lacking Hekla Centre Museum:  returning down valley, the surrounding foreground terrain changed from barren pumice-covered wasteland to initial vegetation, then birch scrub and woodland, and finally pastureland around farmsteads, as we reached Leirubakki. The hotel and campsite complex also included a pretentiously expensive café-restaurant, and the much-vaunted Hekla Centre Museum set in a black lava-faced bunker. Hoping to learn more about the volcano's geology and history of eruptions, we paid the expensive entrance fee. But as so often happens, the greater the expectations raised by pretentious promotion, the greater the disappointment. A small room darkened for visual effect, with so-called multi-media displays, the key one of which was not working, gave no information whatsoever; we learned nothing. It was a complete rip-off, and only when we demanded to see the manager did we get a refund.

Hekla's vulcanology:  in the light of the Hekla Centre's inadequacies, we have researched our own profile of Hekla. Hekla is one of Iceland's most infamous and active volcanoes, located on the eastern side of Middle Þjórsárdalur and set on the Mid Atlantic Ridge diverging tectonic plate boundary, with at least 20 known eruptions since the 874 AD settlement of Iceland; it has erupted 4 times during the 20th century, the last time in 2000. The stratovolcano forms a 40kms long, snow-capped oval ridge; its crest 1,500m high, visible for miles around and built up of layers of tephra and lava from successive eruptions, stands on a base of tuff (see below right). The most active part of the volcanic ridge is a 5kms long central fissure which opens along its entire length during major eruptions and is fed by a magma chamber reservoir some 4kms below the surface. Hekla's regular eruptions have covered much of Iceland with tephra: 10% of the tephra erupted in Iceland over the last millennium has come from Hekla, amounting to 5 cubic kilometres; in this time also, Hekla has produced one of largest volumes of lava effusion of any of the world's volcanoes, amounting to around 10 cubic kilometres. The tephra produced during Hekla's eruptions is high in toxic fluorine. The earliest recorded eruption of Hekla was 1104 which enveloped all the Settlement farmsteads along Þjórsárdalur including Stöng. Since then there have been up to 30 major eruptions with the volcano remaining active for up to six years without pause, with long periods of dormancy between eruptions. Eruptions are difficult to predict, but area usually preceded by warning indication of sudden increased seismic activity. In general, the longer the period of dormancy, the greater and more catastrophic the opening explosive eruption will be, followed by fire fountains along the summit fissure, bursts of Strombolian eruptions, effusion of lava, and even pyroclastic flows. Although largely dormant at present, with the lava flows from a notorious 1768 eruption covering 65 square kms, Hekla rumbles away, occasionally belching forth clouds of pumice. Warning notices along the valley give advice on precautionary action to be taken in the event of an eruption. The most recent eruption was in February 2000.

Eastern Lower Þjórsárdalur to Hella and Keldur conserved farmstead:  the final 30kms of Route 26 along Lower Þjórsárdalur passed through pastureland and horse-rearing farms, some distance from the river, to reach the Route 1 Ring Road just west of the small town of Hella. Here we paused to re-stock with supplies at the Kronan supermarket, before continuing eastwards on the Ring Road. Just before Hvolsvöllur, we turned off into the interior on Route 264 across Geitasandur black sand plain (click here for detailed map of route). On one side of the road, the sterile volcanic sandy soil had been seeded to produce some degree of pastureland; on the opposite side, the land was still barren, stony wasteland. 8kms along, the tarmac ended, and a further 3kms of gravel road led to the conserved historic turf farmstead of Rangárvellir at Keldur which had existed here since Settlement times (see above left). According to Njál's saga, the estate at Keldur had been farmed by Ingjaldur Höskuldsson, and in the 12~13th centuries Keldur was an important manor owned by the powerful Oddi clan and their chieftain Jón Loftsson. The farmstead had been improved and extended during the 19th century (see left) by Guðmundur Brynjólfsson who farmed at Keldur for 50 years. Keldur farmstead remained occupied until the last resident, Skúli Guðmunsson, died in 1946, when the old turf-roofed farm house and its belongings were bought and conserved by the National Museum of Iceland, alongside the modern working farm at Keldur. The layout of the Keldur farmstead buildings was similar to that seen at Glaumbær, with the farm house and line of turf-roofed, timber gable-fronted associated buildings parallel with the farm yard (Photo 14 - Keldur conserved farmstead) (see above left). Alongside the farmstead stood a small wooden church built in 1875 and its graveyard. But unlike the turf-walled buildings at Glaumbær, here at Keldur the local building material for walls was not the thick layers of peat, but cut volcanic lava-blocks, of which there was a plentiful supply hereabouts, interfaced with turf (see above right). The gable-frontages were constructed of black-tarred driftwood and the buildings roofed with turf (see above right). Farmsteads had traditionally had the rights to gather driftwood from designated shores, a valuable resource in a country bare of trees.

We paid our 600kr seniors' admission, and were shown around the interior of the farm house, both the longstanding original building and the 19th century 'modern' extension. The young guide had his set-piece limited commentary, but responded in a more detailed way to our questions. The interior had a similar layout to Glaumbær, with Baðstofa and storage rooms with tamped earth floor (see right) and driftwood stave-constructed wall-linings, and more furnished in the 19th century living area. The house was heated by stoves burning dried cattle/horse dung. A tunnel led from the farm house 25m to an exit on the nearby stream bank, as a means of escape in times of threat or conflict. This had been a thoroughly worthwhile visit, and of far greater learning value than the vacuous Hekla Centre.

Seljansfoss and Gljufrabui waterfalls and tourist-infested Hamragarðar Camping:  rejoining the Ring Road into Hvolshvöllur, we investigated the local campsite in the town's outskirts, but it was filled with Icelandic holiday-makers. We therefore continued along the Ring Road, heading for our planned campsite at Hamragarðar Camping, close to the Seljansfoss and Gljufrabui waterfalls, knowing full well that it would be crowded with tourists (click here for detailed map of route). Route 1 crossed the dreary flatlands of the broad coastal plain, and in the distance beyond the Markarfljót river, we could make out the inland cliff-line of Eyjafjöll and the glacier of Eyjafjallajökull, whose sub-glacial volcano erupted in 2010, disrupting European air travel with its wind-blown ash cloud. But our attention was drawn to what appeared to be a grey vertical structure in front of the cliffs. At first sight from a distance, it looked like a massive grain silo, but as we drew closer it became clear that this was the 65m high waterfalls of Seljansfoss which spills vertically over what was the line of ancient sea cliffs before post-glacial land uplift raised the present coastal plain of South Iceland.

We crossed the multi-channelled delta of the Markarfljót estuary, and with sinking hearts turned into Route 249. The parking area in front of the line of waterfalls was filled to overflowing with tourist cars and tour-buses, with the hordes swarming up towards the falls. We drove past along to Hamragarðar Camping; the land had once formed the Hamragarðar Farm, now abandoned and owned by the Rangárþing Eystra municipality. The campsite was not only overrun with tourists, but also was used as the base for adventure tours up into the highlands at Þórsmörk. We managed to find an open space with power access in the upper camping area, with clear views along the cliff-line to the waterfalls. Although weary after a long day, the weather was still bright and we walked along to visit the west-facing Seljansfoss which was now well lit by the late afternoon sun; in the morning, it would be in deep shade. Hordes of tourists swarmed over the approach path, and around the foot of Seljansfoss. The falls cascaded down the 65m vertical drop of the cliffs (see above left and right) (Photo 15 - Seljansfoss waterfalls), the water seeming to hang suspended like lacy curtains, with the spray producing rainbows arching over the foot of the falls. Because of the undercut cliff face, a pathway climbed precariously up the side of the basin into which the falls dropped, passing high behind the curtains of falling water and spray. Risking a soaking for our cameras, we followed the path, clambering up over the rocks drenched in wafting spray (see left) (Photo 16 - Falling water of Seljansfoss). But this was the absolute nadir of tourist pollution: in droves they swarmed up the path, utterly oblivious to others. Each time you raised a camera, trying to keep lens free of spray, bodies passed blithely in front. We scrambled behind the thundering curtains of the falls' descending water and spray, managing to get photos looking out with the sun shining in through lacy curtain of failing water and spray (Photo 17 - Sun shining in through curtain of falling water) (see right); but in doing so, both we and our cameras inevitably got a soaking. It was even more treacherously wet and muddy scrambling up the rocks on the far side, until we could descend to the track on the far side and return to camp. The campsite inevitably became overcrowded and noisy, and as the evening grew dark, Seljansfoss was illuminated like the tourist attraction it has regrettably become. In the early hours, there was again faint traces of an Aurora (see below left).

While the setting of Hamragarðar Camping was magnificent immediately alongside the spectacular Seljansfoss falls, it was also one of the grubbiest, noisiest, most overcrowded, most expensive, tourist-infested campsites used in Iceland. With the unending tourist demand, the local authority were charging extortionate prices: 1,000kr each for seniors (adult charge 1,300kr) 1,000kr for power, 300kr extra for showers, plus 150kr tourist tax making a total for 3,900kr/night. Despite these high prices, facilities were basic, limited and filthy.

Ferry from Landeyjahöfn to Heimaey on Westman Islands:  over breakfast the following morning we phoned to make reservations for the 12-45pm ferry crossing from Landeyjahöfn to Heimaey on Westman Islands. Back across the Markarfljót estuary, Route 254 led across the dreary flat, black volcanic sandur down to Iceland's southern coast and the newly created harbour of Landeyjahöfn for the Westman Islands ferry (click here for detailed map of route). At the terminal building, we paid for our reserved tickets (690kr each, plus 2,220kr for George, a total of 3,600 for the one-way crossing), and joined the few other vehicles queuing in the ferry lanes. M/S Herjólfur (named after the islands' legendary first settler Herjólfur Bárðarson) was waiting at the dock. Sheila went aboard as a foot passenger while Paul drove George onto the car deck. As the ferry pulled away for the 35 minute crossing, we eat our lunch sandwiches in the saloon, before clambering up onto the upper outer deck to watch the approach to Heimaey, passing the sheer rocky islets of Elliðaey and Bjarnarey (see below right and left) (Photo 18 - Ferry to Heimaey). The ferry curved into the narrow channel which now winds into Heimaey harbour, passing beneath the over-towering cliffs and edge of the black lava-field; this had resulted from the disastrous 1973 eruption which had threatened to close off the harbour entrance. This contorted entrance channel, so narrowed by the 1973 eruption, in fact now gives Heimaey's natural harbour even greater protection from the stormy winds that frequently lash the island. But there was little leeway as the ferry edged perilously close to the cliffs on one side and the jagged lava on the other (see below right) (Photo 19 - Narrow channel into Heimaey harbour), to enter the inner harbour and turn to dock at the quay (see below left). We stood at the upper rail taking photos of this impressive approach to the town with Heimaklettur cliffs towering over ships moored at the busy harbour quays (Photo 20 - Cliffs towering over Heimaey harbour) (see below right and left). Paul rushed down to the car deck to find other vehicles waiting patiently behind George to disembark, and drove onto the quay to park to wait for Sheila to walk ashore.

The Westman Islands:  the Vestmannaeyjar are a volcanic archipelago of 18 islands and skerries 10kms off Iceland's southern coast. The Westman Islands take their name from an event in Settlement times: Iceland's earliest settlers, Ingólfur Arnarson and his foster-brother Hjörleifur Hróðmarsson, had brought with them Irish slaves captured from the lands in the west of the Viking world, known therefore as West-men. After the landing on Iceland's southern coast, the slaves rebelled, killing Hjörleifur, stealing his boat, and fleeing for sanctuary to the off-shore islands. When he learnt of his brother's murder, Ingólfur took vengeance, killing all the runaway Irish slaves who gave their name to the Westman Islands.

The largest of the Westman Islands and only one occupied is Heimaey (13.4km2), (pronounced as 3 syllables Hi-maa-ay); the second largest Surtsey (1.4km2) was only created in 1963 following an undersea volcanic eruption, the lava from which built up to form the new islet. The islands are part of a single volcanic system with Heimaey at its centre, lying along the Mid Atlantic Ridge diverging tectonic plate boundary which stretches SW~NE across Iceland. Seabed volcanic activity which formed the islands began around 100,000 years ago, with at least 24 eruptions occurring in this system during the last 10,000 years, and Helgafell, the highest point on Heimaey, was formed 5,000 years ago.

From the very earliest times, the islanders have been able to exploit the excellent North Atlantic cod and haddock fishing grounds located close off their coast. By the turn of the 20th century, mechanisation of the fishing fleet and improvement of equipment enabled larger catches; the country's economic shift from farming to fishing, and Heimaey's sheltered natural harbour, brought prosperity to Heimaey which soon became one of the busiest and most profitable fishing ports in Iceland, with fish processing factories lining the quays. As a result, the population of the Westman Islands grew quickly: in 1900 the population was 500, but by 1925 it had increased to 3,200, and now stands at almost 5,000. Progress was made in fish processing, the most significant innovation being that of freezing the fish, which replaced the older custom of salting it. Today there are a number of large processing and freezing plants on Heimaey, and a large portion of the catch is shipped fresh from Vestmannaeyjar, mostly to European markets.

The disastrous 1973 volcanic eruption on Heimaey:  two eruptions have occurred during historical times: the new island of Surtsey was formed in 1963~67, but in 1973, a totally unpredicted catastrophe occurred which threatened Heimaey's very existence. With no warning, in the early hours of 23 January 1973 (just 6 months after our first expedition to Iceland), a 1.6km long volcanic fissure-crevice suddenly tore open the ground on the Kirkjubær farm right on the NE edge of Heimaey, throwing up fire fountains and raining black ash over the town (see left for contemporary photograph of the early stages of the eruption and threat to Heimaey harbour). By lucky chance, stormy weather the day before had kept the island's fishing fleet in harbour, enabling most of the town's inhabitants to be ferried to Þorlákshöfn. Within 2 days, the island's 5,000 residents had been evacuated either by boat or airlifted to Reykjavík, leaving some 200 rescue workers to stay behind to try to save houses, and clear accumulating ash and volcanic debris from roofs. 30 million tons of ash and lava rained down on Heimaey within the first 12 hours, burying houses on the side of the town nearest the eruption. Earth dams were built to try to protect homes, but these were swept aside by the advancing lava flow. Houses were buried beneath the lava flow or simply collapsed under the weight of accumulating ash and tephra. Pools of poisonous gases from the eruption gathering in low lying areas posed a threat to the rescue workers, and caused the one fatality of the catastrophe.

As the eruption went on, the narrowing fissure concentrated in one area forming a new scoria crater that gradually increased in height as the lava walls piled up. The lava spread outwards in a north-easterly direction into the sea, extending the former coastline of the island on the northern side. One side of the growing crater collapsed under the weight of millions of tons of accumulating lava, pushing outwards at speeds of 25~40m per hour, and threatening to block the harbour channel. Even if the town of Heimaey could survive the disaster, without its harbour it had no future. To the ridicule of international scientific experts, Icelandic geologists tried pumping sea water to cool the lava front and form a crest to stop the advancing flow threatening the harbour. The local fire brigade's pumps were not powerful enough, and it took diplomatic intervention to secure US help from the Keflavik air-base. More powerful pumps were eventually loaned to spray sea water onto the ever-advancing lava flow. This ad hoc solution succeeded and the flow was stopped, thus saving Heimaey's harbour.

The eruption lasted for 5 months, ejecting 0.25 cubic kilometres of volcanic material, and dramatically changing the face of Heimaey by adding 2.2 square kilometres of new land to the island's NE side (Map showing Heimaey enlarged by 1973 eruption). The harbour, and therefore Heimaey's economic viability, was saved, and although the harbour's entrance channel is now more winding and narrow, it is also more effectively sheltered from the prevailing easterly winds. The eruption created a new volcanic crater mountain on what had previously been flat farm land, 200m high and named Eldfell (Fire Mountain). The Icelandic government, aided by the other Nordic countries, set up a special relief fund, and after the eruption was declared finished in early July 1973, the residents of Heimaey began returning to reclaim their homes. But the damage to Heimaey was overwhelming: the lava field had covered a total area of over 3km2 up to 15~20m deep; over 400 houses, one third of the town, were totally destroyed, and another third of the houses were damaged by fire or partially buried under black volcanic ash. A thick layer of black ash covered almost the entire island, particularly those parts of the town closest to the new crater. Even the island's cemetery was covered by the ash fallout. Many of Heimaey's residents however who had lost their homes, traumatised by the eruption, decided not to return. Immediately in the summer of 1973, a major clean-up and reconstruction operation began. A positive consequence was that the eruption provided unlimited supplies of scoria and ash both as landfill and construction material, of which there had previously been a shortfall; this was used to pave the island's roads and airstrip. And for a decade after the eruption, natural heat from bore-holes in the lava was used as a geothermal source to provide heating for houses in Heimaey.

Herjólfsdalur Camping at Heimaey:  driving ashore from the ferry, first impression was surprise at the size of Heimaey, and how white all the houses seemed to be in spite of the disaster that had blackened the town 44 years ago (click here for detailed map of Heimaey). We drove out through the town past the football stadium, and on the far north-western corner of the island, we reached Heimaey's Herjólfsdalur Camping set within the encircling mighty cliffs of Norðurklettur (Photo 21 - Herjólfsdalur Camping at Heimaey) (see above left and right); this is thought to be the collapsed crater formed by an eruption during the last Ice Age 12,000 years ago. To our surprise, the camping area ranged across the rocky floor of the caldera was almost empty, and we pitched George within the lee of the central knoll, just opposite a large stage building used during the early August Heimaey Þjóðhátið music festival when the audience of 1000s sits on the grassy lower slopes of the surrounding crater cliff-walls. The Heimaey campsite setting really was one of the most spectacular we had ever experienced, located in this mighty bowl of the Herjólfsdalur crater, surrounded on 3 sides by the over-towering cliff-walls. Alongside the camping area, a reconstructed turf-roofed, lava-block walled long-house recalls the farmstead of the island's legendary first Viking settler Herjólfur Bárðarson whose farmstead was built in this volcanic valley that now bears his name.

Heimaey's busy Friðarhöfn harbour:  the forecast showed today as the only fine day of our planned 3 days' stay on Heimaey; tomorrow would be overcast and Saturday very wet and windy. Having settled George in, we therefore set off to walk back into the town to visit the harbour and get the lie of the land. We followed Dalvegur and Hliðarvegur round past the football stadium under the over-towering cliffs of Fiskhellar and Há, down towards the harbour, past the fish processing factories. The lower slopes of the craggy cliffs here at Spranga gave a good photographic vantage point looking down at the ships moored in Friðarhöfn harbour (see left) (Photo 22 - Friðarhöfn harbour Heimaey), the quays stacked with containers awaiting collection (see above right). Friðarhöfn harbour was busy with Heimaey's fleet of Ocean-going trawlers (see above right) (Photo 23 - Heimaey's ocean-going trawlers), and the mighty Heimaklettur cliff (Home cliff) towered over the harbour entrance channel like a sentinel standing guard. From here we walked around the quays past more of the fish processing factories, as one of Heimaey's ocean-going trawlers drew away from the quay and sailed out of the harbour (Photo 24 - Departing ocean-going trawler). Down Strandvegur past the ferry terminal where we had arrived earlier, we found the Tourist Information Centre in a bookshop-café for street plans and advice on walks up onto the Nýjahraun and Kirkjubæjarhraun lava fields, erupted in 1973, which we planned to explore tomorrow. Having located the Kronan and Bonus supermarkets for provisions shopping, we ambled back up Bárustigur through the central square passing one of Heimaey's attractive sign posts decorated with puffins (see below right), and up Hásteinsvegur back to camp. Heimaey seemed a remarkably friendly and homely little town; we had quickly found our way around, and formed our plans for tomorrow.

A personal recollection of the 1973 Heimaey eruption:  the following morning up at the campsite reception, we learned more from the warden about her personal recollections of her family's experience of the 1973 eruption and the evacuation. She was 4 years old at the time, and recalled her aunt, who lived closer to where the eruption happened, knocking at the door late in the evening of 22 February asking to stay the night because of fear of an eruption. She told us that her mother packed up all the children saying they were leaving the island on fishing boats, and they endured a rough voyage of sea sickness to Þorlákshöfn. The family only returned to their home 5 months later, when she recalled the town (which had been all white up till then) being all black and buried under volcanic ash. She told us of the work of reconstruction, and the resentment expressed by mainland Icelanders at the financial recompense paid to Westman Islanders following the disaster. It was truly humbling to listen to these personal recollections from someone who had lived through the catastrophic loss of homes from the eruption; on a personal note, it also brought home to us that all of this had happened just 8 months after we had first been in Iceland.

A walk on the Kirkjubæjarhraun lava field:  today was gloomily overcast, but forecast to be the only rainless day we should have on Heimaey; our plans were to gain a better understanding about the 1973 eruption of what became known as Eldfell (Fire Mountain), and an appreciation of the impact on the town and its residents. We drove into the town and parked close to the centre in Miðstræti where the side of a building was decorated with murals showing local people working in one of the fish processing factories. But what was more startlingly chilling was the sight of the now solidified wall of lava rising 2 storeys, some 15~20m, high just on the opposite side of Kirkjuvegur. Wooden steps led up onto the upper surface of the Kirkjubæjarhraun lava field that in February~March 1973 had swallowed up the eastern end of the town. Up onto the top of the lava field, signboards recalled the names of streets (see above left) (Photo 25 - Streets buried under solidifed lava), and plaques commemorated individual houses, that were now buried 20m below within this huge mass of solidified lava from the 1973 Eldfell eruption. It was mind-chillingly impossible to believe that this was once flat land with streets and houses, down at the same level of the rest of the surviving town, which we now looked down upon 20m below (see right) (Photo 26- Kirkjubæjarhraun lava field); how conceivably could we imagine a slowly advancing mass of molten lava and clinker engulfing houses, and nearby fire-fountains erupting from the newly opened gash in the earth raining black ash and glowing pyroclasts all around? We walked on in stunned bewilderment, following the footpath across the top of the lava field, gazing in wonderment at the town's surviving houses spread out way below (see left) (Photo 27 - Houses hemmed in by lava wall), their gardens now hemmed in by the wall of solidified lava. Equally astonishing was the huge extent of the lava field which had added so much new terrain to the former coastline on this northern side of the island (Map showing Heimaey enlarged by 1973 eruption).

Climbing Eldfell crater cone:  we followed the pathway round across the top of the Kirkjubæjarhraun lava field. Here a road crossed the lava field leading out to where the township now used an area within the lava as its municipal refuse tip; if you've got to put up with a lava field on your backdoor step, why not put it to good use! A memorial stood at this point where bore holes in the then newly solidified lava had tapped geothermal heat for the town until 1986. This was also the start point of a path up onto the 200m high scoria crater cone of Eldfell. Standing here at the foot of this huge conical mass of ruddy-brown scoria clinker, it was again impossible to conceive the unbelievable change in topography brought about by 5 months of eruptive outpouring of lava to create this massive 200m high crater, now aptly called Eldfell (Fire Mountain), on what was previously flat farm land.

As we began climbing the scoria cone-crater of Eldfell, to the north the lava field stretched towards the harbour entrance with the high cliffs of Heimaklettur towering above the narrowed harbour channel (Photo 28 - Heimaey harbour channel from Eldfell); we could see now with our own eyes just how close the advancing lava flow had come to closing off this channel and ending Heimaey's economic future. The path wound a steady way upwards on the consolidated scoria, giving increasingly startling views over the lava field and surviving parts of the town spread out below. The barren, ruddy scoria was dotted with larger chunks of pyroclastic bombs thrown out during the eruption (see right), surprisingly light in weight considering their size. In a relatively short time, we gained height up the steepening crater flank to emerge onto the crater rim. The scoria walls enclosed the inner hollow of the crater on 3 sides, but the 4th side to the NE was open where the increasingly high crater walls had collapsed under their own weight and pressure of erupting magma, releasing the lava flow to move at speed threatening to block the harbour. From this high point, the northward view gave an even clearer view of the narrowed harbour channel (see above left) and, despite the now chill, misty air, of the lava field's scale extending the island's northern coastline (Photo 29 - Lava field scale towards north coast). On the western and south-western sides, the outer walls of the crater fell away with remarkable steepness down towards the sea. The path reached the high-point on the crater rim by a seismographic monitoring instrument, and followed the increasingly narrowing crest around towards the north (Photo 30 - Eldfell summit crest) (see left), passing jagged outcrops of solidified lava (see right) (Photo 31 - Jagged lava crater walls). The scoria and tephra material making up the conical crater varied in tone from grey, ruddy-brown to a vivid red colour, and we collected rock samples as we advanced upwards.

Eldheimar Volcano Museum:  back down the scoria path curving around the crater (see below left), we dropped down to the Eldheimar Volcano Museum at the foot of the crater. Opened in 2014, the Museum had been built around the remains of one of the houses at the end of Helgafellsbraut in Heimaey which was engulfed by lava and ash from the 1973 eruption. To the rear of the museum, the concrete shell remains of a neighbouring house still stood partly buried by black volcanic ash (see below left). The house at Gerðisbraut 10 had been newly built just 2 years before the 1973 eruption, and was owned by a couple in their mid-20s, Guðni Ólafsson and Gerður Sigurðardóttir with their 3 young children; he was a fisherman and she worked in one of the fish processing factories. With their youngest child only a few weeks old, they were forced to leave their home in the middle of the night taking with them only a bottle for the baby. Their house was immediately alongside the site of the eruption fissure, and a few days later took the full destructive impact of the lava and raining volcanic ash. Gerðisbraut 10, after being buried in ash and lava for over 40 years, has now been excavated, and illustrates how cruelly the forces of nature had treated the homes and lives of so many islanders. The remains of the house now form the centre-piece of the museum (Photo 32- Remains of Gerðisbraut 10) (see below right), which documents life in Heimaey before the eruption, together with the events of February 1973, the aftermath of the eruption and reconstruction. Along with the excavated shell of this family's home, with the remains of furniture and household items amid all the chaos of ceilings collapsing under the weight of engulfing black volcanic ash, the museum's other highlight is the showing of a film recounting the sequence of events during the eruption, the evacuation of Heimaey's residents, the brave attempts to stem the lava flow to prevent blockage of the harbour, and subsequent reconstruction, all told in interviews with residents and rescue workers. Particularly fascinating was a display which showed the sequential progression from the initial fissure opening and gradual swelling of the lava flow enlarging the island's surface area by over 2 square kilometres beyond the original coastline. This was one of the most gruellingly moving experiences of our travels, leaving us in a stunned state of shock at what the residents of Heimaey had lived through. Again on a personal note, we could particularly identify with the young couple whose destroyed home now forms the museum's centre-piece: when we had visited Iceland in 1972, we were almost the same age as them and, recently married, were soon to move into our first home. Although expensive at 1,900kr each seniors' reduction, the Eldheimar Volcano Museum is a must if you visit the Westman Islands, along with a walk along the upper surface of the lava field and climb of Eldfell crater, to experience at first hand the physical and human impact of the 1973 eruption.

Blátindur, another moving memorial to the 1973 catastrophe:  by the time we left the museum, the cloud that earlier had been gathering on the distant cliffs above the harbour had now settled fully down to ground level with soaking wet fine drizzle. Thankful for our waterproofs, we set off along Helgafellsbraut. Partway along a monument sign pointed along Austervegur where the newer houses of the modern town now backed onto the 2 storey high wall of lava, marking the extent which the lava flow reached when the eruption finally came to an end in July 1973. The Icelandic flag flew by an information panel next to what was the reconstructed house extension of the home of Þorsteinn Sigurdsson (1917~97) and his wife Anna Jónsdóttir (1917~2007); the house had been called Blátindur after Heimaey's mountain, and its owners had built this single storey extension to their home in 1959. But along with other houses in the neighbourhood, their home had been totally engulfed, buried under the advancing lava flow, and by March 1973 just the single storey extension survived uncovered. The balustraded extension, protruding from the lava, became a symbol of the town destroyed by lava, ash and cinders. This last part of Þorsteinn and Anna's home finally collapsed in 2013 under the weight of lava. In 2016 however Heimaey's municipal authorities agreed to reconstruct Blátindur's extension as a memorial, and in its window a slide show told the story of the house's owners and its destruction by lava (see right). Around the back, now buried under the wall of solidified lava, were the crushed remains of the original Blátindur (see left). The memorial was inaugurated during the Goslokahátið (End of Eruption Festival) in July 2017. Here was another moving memorial to the loss of so many homes and people's hopes in the 1973 catastrophe.

A wet day in camp at Heimaey:  we shopped for weekend provisions at the Bonus supermarket in Heimaey, before driving back to camp through the little town where after just a couple of days we felt so at home. With low mist and rain cloud filling Herjólfsdalur, and on such a foul, wet evening, we quickly settled back into the campsite looking across the now dreary wet crater floor to the festival arena. Late in the evening as we were turning in, late arrivals brought much noise disturbance and loud car radios, responding with offensive language to our requests for quiet. It poured with rain all night, and the following morning with gale-driven rain still lashing down, we had the pleasure of watching these same uncouth folk now utterly soaked incompetently trying to collapse their rain-demolished tents, as they gave up on a wet weekend and returned to Reykjavík.

It was exactly the sort of grim day forecast with continuous rain and driving 15m/s SE gales, only fit for a day in camp. When the rain eased a little, we took our washing up over to the campsite facilities, and again spoke with the warden about the moving experience of walking the lava field and seeing the museum film. When we asked about where best to see the island's Puffin population at Stórhöfði on Heimaey's southern tip, she pointed to a box on the table in which sat a Puffling (baby Puffin) her children had rescued (see left and below right) (Photo 33 - Rescued Puffling). At the end of the breeding season in mid-August, the adult Puffins, having bred and reared their young, depart leaving their growing Pufflings to learn to fly by themselves to undertake their first migration. Many of the Pufflings become disoriented trying to find their way to the sea cliffs, and dazzled by the town lights they land in the town streets. A Westman Islands tradition is for local children to go out with flashlights on Puffling Patrol (Pysjueftirlitið), to rescue the young birds in boxes, feed them on sardines, and take them for release at the cliff edge the next morning. So we were able to photograph a rescued Baby Puffling (see above right).

Having been prevented by today's wet weather from visiting the Stórhöfði cliffs, we reconsidered tomorrow's programme: if we delayed our departure until the 4-00pm ferry, this would give time to drive down to Heimaey's southern tip to see the Puffins before they finally depart this year for their migration. We therefore phoned Einskip, the ferry operator, and received helpful response in booking places on tomorrow's later ferry. With the forecast gales veering round to the SW tonight, we turned George through 90º to head into the wind, further disorientating us as we now looked out to another part of the surrounding crater cliffs. We worked all afternoon on writing up our log of yesterday's saddening walk on the lava field and editing the accompanying photos showing the 20m high wall of solidified lava overhanging the town's modern houses. On a very dreary, dark and wet evening, we settled in expecting another night of gales.

Puffin watching at Stórhöfði:  the crater cliffs must have given us more shelter than expected, or the wind and rain had eased, but we woke to a calmer but still gloomily overcast morning. Before leaving this morning, we walked down into the flat area of the crater floor to inspect the stage building used for the Heimaey early August music festival, and the reconstruction of lava-walled, turf-roofed long-house built in 2006 to demonstrate the architectural style typical of farmsteads of the 9~10th century period of the island's first Viking settler Herjólfur Bárðarson (see above left). After such a memorably good stay at Heimaey Camping, we drove through the area of newer housing on the SW side of the town set amongst the old lava field, around to Hraunvegur (Lava Way), the road leading past the airfield down to the island's southern tip . As we set off, driving, misty drizzle began again; it looked as if the now soaking wet weather would put paid to our Puffin watching. The road crossed the old lava field at the narrowing southern end of the island to the isthmus of black lava and ash connecting to the hill of Stórhöfði at the southern tip. A steep, narrow lane wound up to the hilltop parking area at road's end just before the lighthouse (click here for detailed map of Heimaey).

By now the misty, squally shower had passed, and we kitted up with full waterproofs and boots to explore the cliff-top paths of Stórhöfði, and find the bird-hide in the hope of seeing the 1,000s of Puffins which nest in burrows in the cliff-side turf before they migrate. Uncertainly we walked past the lighthouse and followed faint paths across the cliff-top sheep pastures, sloping down towards the cliff-edge on the outer side. All we could see were Fulmars flying around, so we contoured around the cliff-top turf; as we dropped down lower, we came upon lots of Puffins standing in groups at the cliff-edge and flying around with their ungainly clock-work-like rapid wing beats. Cautiously we edged down closer on the steep cliff-side to get within photographic range of the Puffins, and began taking our shots (Photo 34 - Photographing Puffins on Stórhöfði cliff-edge). The misty drizzle held off, with even a brighter spell as we moved further round on the steep cliff-edge turf to find more flocks of Puffins to photograph (Photo 35 - Puffins of Heimaey) (see above right). We spent more than an hour along Stórhöfði's Puffin cliffs taking photos, before returning to George for our lunch sandwiches and to review our photos (Photo 36 - Puffins of Heimaey) (see above left).

We still had not found the bird-hide so, uncertain of its exact location, we moved to a lower parking area where another clearer track led towards the cliff edge. Here we found the hide, perched in a perfect position overlooking another cliff face full of Puffins (Photo 37 - Puffins of Heimaey) (see right). We opened the viewing hatches and settled in for a further hour of Puffin photographing, with perfect view of the birds close at hand and even a spell of sunshine (Photo 38 - Puffins of Heimaey) (see left). As we were leaving, a local father and his 2 young sons arrived at the cliffs with cardboard boxes containing rescued Pufflings; the baby birds were released to flutter up over the cliffs, and we wished the little birds well as they began their perilous life, learning to fly in readiness for their migration (see right) (Photo 39 - Releasing rescued Puffling).

See our photo gallery of:  Puffins of Heimaey

Heimaey cemetery:  back into town, we just had time before our ferry to pause at Heimaey's cemetery with its ceremonial archway-entrance, whose Biblical inscription As I live, so shall you live gave hope and inspiration to the residents of Heimaey at the time of the 1973 eruption catastrophe (see left). Just inside the cemetery, a grave memorial topped with an angel statuette with missing hand gave a poignant reminder of the 1973 disaster: the black volcanic ash from the Eldfell eruption, which had covered the town and its cemetery, had reached the level of the angel's body (see below right) (Photo 40 - Heimaey cemetery). By the cemetery gates, a commemorative stele 2m high also recalled the depth of the volcanic ash; it had taken a year to clear away during the clean-up and reconstruction operation after the residents' return in July 1973. The cemetery was backed by the Eldfell crater cone whose 1973 eruption had covered both the town and its cemetery with the deep layer of black volcanic ash. This was the final moving moment during our time on Heimaey, a place we had come to like and to respect so much

Return by ferry to mainland Southern Iceland:  down at the port, we collected our ferry tickets, commended the Einskip staff for their efficient telephone booking system, and waited in George as M/S Herjólfur drew into the dock. Newly arriving vehicles disembarked, Sheila walked over to board as a foot passenger, and Paul drove aboard for the return crossing. As the ferry turned away from the dock, our last view of Heimaey showed the twin volcanic craters of 1973 Eldfell and the 5,000 year old Helgafell, both now dominating the harbour and town (Photo 41 - Departing Heimaey harbour) (see left). The expected strong winds had subsided, and again we stood at the upper deck rail for photos as the ferry wound its way through the narrow harbour channel between cliffs and new lava field which had threatened the harbour's very existence (see below right). As the ferry drew away from Heimaey, we took farewell photos by the ferry stern flag of the silhouetted island with its 2 volcanic craters and its craggy cliffs (Photo 42 - Final view of Heimaey) (see below left and right). Long shall we remember Heimaey.

The thoroughly unsavoury and exploitatively over-expensive Skógár Camping:  by the time we arrived back at the mainland at Landeyjahöfn, misty rain was beginning again with filthy, murky rain cloud totally obscuring the Eyjafjallajökull massif. In pouring rain we drove across the utterly dreary coastal plain to re-join Route 1 Ring Road (click here for detailed map of route). All the other traffic turned westwards towards Reykjavík, we turned east crossing the Markarfljót estuary and passing Seljansfoss waterfalls, heading towards Skógár under the menacingly murky massif of Eyjafjallajökull. 30kms further, we reached the turning for Skógár with the Skógafoss waterfalls looking impressively inspiring even in this murky wet weather. Unsure of the campsite's exact location, we headed for the nearby farm but found nothing there. We eventually found the Skógár hostel and so-called campsite next to it, nothing more than the corner of a gravelly parking area and a sodden, muddy field for tents. At the hostel reception, we were greeted with indifferently brusque non-welcome, and told to check in at the campsite hut, which was locked! We hurriedly secured a space in the river-side parking area, managing to grab the one and only power outlet, and pitched in the misty rain; it was truly the foulest weather of the trip amid these miserable surroundings, but despite this, we had a pitch and power for the night. With the heater on for warmth, we cooked a warming supper, and battened down for a wet night in the menacing shadow of Eyjafjallajökull. It was the drifting ash cloud from the sub-glacial eruption under the Eyjafjallajökull glacier in 2010 that had caused week long disruption to international air flights across Europe. We had also now learned how to pronounce this tongue-twister: Aiya-fyatla-yerkutla. The rain continued pouring all night, and we were thankful to have pitched on gravel. Skógár Camping was a miserable site with basic and minimal facilities and, given its location just off the Ring Road right alongside the Skógafoss waterfall tourist attraction, it was also exploitatively over-expensive: at 1,500kr/person, 1,000kr for power, plus 300kr each for showers, a total of 4,600kr, it was one of the most expensive campsites in the entire country, as well as being one of the worst. But given that we never found the reception hut open, we paid not a penny, and rated the ghastly place at -3; like Hamragarðar Camping alongside Seljansfoss falls, we recommend avoiding it like the plague.

Skógafoss waterfalls:  with fine misty drizzle still persisting, we moved George over to the public parking area which, despite the foul weather, was already filling with tourist hire-cars and tour-buses. Eyjafjallajökull and its volcanic crater was completely lost in the impenetrable low, misty rain cloud, and in the murky, gloomy and billowing spray from the falls, Skógafoss itself was also lost in mist (see left) (Photo 43 - Skógafoss waterfalls). The Skógá river has twin sources, in both the Eyjafjallajökull and western part of Mýrdalsjökull glaciers. The merged sources flow down from the Kambfjöll mountains as the Skógá river through the Skógárgil canyon before dropping from the edge of Skógaheiði moorland over the ancient coastal cliff-line formed by marine erosion at the end of the last Ice Age. After the Ice Age glaciers' retreat, land uplift formed the present 5kms wide, flat coastal plain. The Skógafoss waterfalls, elegantly shaped and 20m wide, drops 62m down the former coastal cliffs. If only the weather had been fine, and we could have seen this magnificent natural spectacle in clear sunlight, bedecked with rainbows in the spray. As it was today, we took our photos in the murky, moody, monochrome gloom, and left the falls to the 100s of tourists milling around its base and climbing up the side pathway to the top viewing platform.

Eyjafjallajökull Eruption Exhibition at Þorvaldseyri Farm:  with the misty drizzle continuing, we returned 12kms westwards along Route 1 to the Eyjafjallajökull Eruption Exhibition at Þorvaldseyri Farm. This documents the farming family's experience of living through and surviving the 2010 eruption of the Eyjafjallajökull sub-glacial volcano, and of resurrecting the farm from the devastation caused by raining ash fallout and glacial jökulhlaup floodwater from the eruption. Farming began at Þorvaldseyri in 1886, with the farm named after its first owner Þorvaldur Bjarnasson. In 1906 the farm was bought by Ólafur Pálsson and his wife Sigriður Ólafsdóttir, and it has remained in the same family ever since. The farm was taken over by the third generation in 1949, and is now farmed by the fourth generation and their children, mainly for dairy cattle but also growing cereal crops of wheat, barley and rape oil seed. The farm has its own hydro-generator and geothermal bore-hole, and is located at the very foot of the Eyjafjallajökull volcano. The exhibition at Þorvaldseyri Farm was impressively scientific, detailed and well-presented in a modestly unpretentious way; the entry price of 800/adults and 700/seniors was very reasonable compared with many other Icelandic museums. The highlight however was the 20 minute film which showed family life on the farm before the eruption, the evacuation, the damage caused by ash-fallout and flash-floods, and the post-eruption recovery. Without doubt, the Eyjafjallajökull Eruption Exhibition is well worth a visit.

2010 eruption of Eyjafjallajökull:  the Eyjafjöll volcanic system is a 1,651m high stratovolcano topped by a 2.5kms wide, 250m deep caldera, and covered by a 75 km2, 100m thick ice-cap. Along with neighbouring Hekla, Katla and the Westman Islands archipelago, Eyjafjallajökull is part of the volcanic system lying along the Mid Atlantic Ridge diverging tectonic plate boundary, which stretches SW~NE across Iceland (Map of Eyjafjallajökull and Katla). Eruptions of Eyjafjöll had been rare compared with neighbouring Katla and much smaller, the last time being in 1821~23. There had been earthquake swarms in 1994 and 1999 together with slight uplift in the volcano's SE flank, indicating a major magma intrusion into the volcano's roots. As a result, the volcano was closely monitored and contingency evacuation plans prepared for those farming in the area, since an eruption under Eyjafjöll's ice-cap would cause serious danger from glacial jökulhlaup flash floods. The uplift peaked in early 2010, with 50 million cubic metres of magma estimated to have entered the volcano's magma chamber. Eruptions with fire-fountains occurred east of Eyjafjallajökull on an ice-free ridge in late March 2010, then on 14 April major eruptions began within the ice-capped caldera of Eyjafjallajökull itself, with an explosive summit eruption and a 2km long fissure opening up under the 100m thick ice-cap causing major magma~ice interaction. Magma from these vents melted its way through the ice layer, causing explosively created clouds of fine-grained ash to be ejected high into the air. The ash fell mainly on the farmlands immediately to the south and east, but was also carried into the upper atmosphere and blown by winds over mainland Europe, causing a week of chaotic disruption to international air flights. In the initial stages, the eruptive rate of tephra and ash was around 1,000 cubic metres per second. The ash was formed by expansion of volcanic gases within the magma in the vent, amplified by the explosive contact of red hot lava with ice and water resulting in fragmentation of the tephra by violent explosions. Most of the discharge was therefore in the form of fine ash, and the eruptive plume from the main vents reached an altitude of 9~10kms.

The evacuation plans were put into operation, the farming family at Þorvaldseyri were moved out, and the livestock put into shelter. Added to the hazard of ash-fallout, muddy melt-water surged from the glacier and poured in a torrent of jökulhlaup flash floods down into the Markarfljót river, spreading debris and ice in its course. The Ring Road was deliberately breached in places to divert the flood waters and save the main bridge. At its peak, the discharge rate of flood water from the glacier was 2,700 cubic metres/second. Similar floods surged down the southern slopes over the farmland at Þorvaldseyri, washing down across the coastal plain. The farm's hydro-generator and geothermal source were destroyed, and cultivated fields severely damaged. The eruption continued into late-May with lava lumps and bombs ejected from the crater accompanied by loud booms. The fine-grained ash became courser as volcanic activity declined, and by the time the eruption ended on 23 May, the total amount of ash and tephra ejected amounted to almost 300 million cubic metres and the lava volume up to 30 million cubic metres.

Eastwards past Mýdalsjökull to Vík:  with misty rain still covering Eyjafjallajökull and Þorvaldseyri Farm, we set off again returning eastwards on the Ring Road (click here for detailed map of route); with the busy tourist traffic and poor visibility, this felt a hazardous road. Beyond Skógár, the road crossed the broad, black sand and gravel expanse of Skógasandur which had been washed down by the Jökulsá river from the towering Mýdalsjökull glacier in the mountains above. At 700 square kms, Mýdalsjökull is Iceland's 4th largest ice-cap, and like its diminutive neighbour Eyjafjallajökull, it also harbours a powerful volcano: Katla is a far nastier beast whose jökulhlaups flash floods induced by its sub-glacial eruptions have devastated farms along the coastal plain below a dozen times since the Settlement. Katla's last eruption was in 1918 and the volcano is now long overdue for another. In today's murky weather conditions, there was little to be seen of the glacier-covered volcano as we drove along past its foot. The road skirted around the flat-topped, 275m high volcanic tuff peak of Pétursey, and curved around Mýdalur to begin the long, steep climb over the Reynisfjall ridge, dropping down the far side to reach Vík nestled down in the bay. Vík is Iceland's only coastal village without a harbour, and developed as a trading station in the late 19th century. Today the village of 300 residents set astride Route 1 largely forms a service centre for tourist traffic passing along the southern Ring Road. It also has the reputation as Iceland's rainiest place, facing the gales driving off the Atlantic on the south coast, and today was certainly no exception.

Vík Camping:  we turned into the village, secured maps of the area and a book on Katla from the Katla Information Centre, and shopped for provisions at the Kronan supermarket and a fill of diesel for George at the filling station. Vík Camping on the far side of the Ring Road looked a sorry, muddy place after all the rain. Turf pitches were badly churned up by careless tourist cars, but we found a gravelly corner bay with power and settled in. At the service house, we were greeted to a thoroughly inhospitable, monosyllabic non-welcome by the offensively surly warden; he was a man ill-suited in personality for his job, clearly gaining much pleasure in being rude to guests whose visits paid his wages. The site accepted the Camping Card and we used the 25th slot on our card; otherwise it cost 1,500kr adults/1,000kr seniors, plus 800kr for power and further 200kr each for showers, total 3,800kr; for a basic municipal site, this was expensive. Facilities were inadequate, and even if you paid for showers, hot water was so limited that you were not assured of a hot shower. But again there was no alternative camping option and, with wet gear to be dried out, we had to settle for this unacceptably crowded and noisy site (see left and above right) (Photo 44 - Vík Camping). As the evening became duskier, the campsite filled to capacity, and with the constant and inevitable slamming of car doors from late-arriving hire-car tourists, this was another very noisy site. The rain eased, and in the distance the sound of crashing surf could be heard from the southern coast.

Reynishverfi black shingle beach and Reynisdrangar sea-stack pinnacles:  last night we went to sleep to the accompaniment of slamming car doors; this morning from early we were woken by the slamming of car doors. The sound of car door slamming on campsites will be the lasting memory of this trip, that and the constant reminder that in today's world, ill-manners and lack of any consideration for others has become the behavioural norm. The weather today was at least fine even if there was no sun for our visit to the coastal cliffs to the west of Vík.

We headed back westwards over the ridge-line of Reynisfjall, which divides the fertile farmland along the coastal strip west of Vík from the bleak expanse of sandur stretching eastwards from Vík. Once over the crest-line, the Ring Road dropped down into the farm lands of Mýdalur, where the tarmaced minor Route 215 turned off down the length of Reynisfjall's western side towards the coast (click here for detailed map of route). The lane passed the farming hamlet of Garður with its tiny church, but heart-sink: the parking area at road's end was crammed full of tourist hire-cars and tour-buses, whose occupants milled around the pathway to the black shingle beach. Reynishverfi black shingle beach stretched away eastwards below the towering basalt cliffs which marked the seaward end of Reynisfjall. The eastern horizon was dominated by the silhouetted outline of huge, towering offshore Reynisdrangar pinnacle stacks (Photo 45 - Reynisdrangar sea-stacks) (see left and right), and the air was filled with mist from the roaring Atlantic surf crashing onto the shore-line (see below right). To westwards, the shingle beach of Reynisfjara stretched away along the black shingle-bar enclosing the Dyrhólaós lagoon at the mouth of the Hvammsá river flowing down to the sea from the mountainous interior. Further to westwards, the misty horizon was marked by the line of rock-arches and stacks stretching out to sea from the Dyrhólaey cliffs which enclosed the western end of this mammoth bay. And the air was filled with the thunderous roar of the pounding surf whose waves rolled in from the North Atlantic to crash onto the shingle beach, filling the air with salty spray which hovered as mist along the length of the bay (see below left) (Photo 46 - Atlantic surf).

While the hordes of moronic tourists occupied their childish minds with silly antics around the basalt cliffs taking their selfies, we stood at the shore-line trying to capture photographs that did justice to this wild, pounding surf, and getting wet feet as occasional stronger waves washed over our boots. At the base of the 100m high Reynisfjall cliffs, the two huge sea-caves of Hálsanefshellir were enclosed by myriads of basalt columns twisted and curving in all directions, their hexagonal forms projecting onto the beach like some titanic natural church organ (see below right and left) (Photo 47 - Hálsanefshellir sea-caves); today they provided a playground for silly tourists' childish games or backdrop for their selfies. The natural architecture of these mighty basalt cliffs made even the greatest of Gothic cathedrals seem like toy models in comparison. We took our photos, constantly irritated by the tourists' ill-manners as they blundered in front of our cameras. Every nation on earth seemed to be represented here on this beach, flown in effortlessly from every corner of the globe to pollute this magnificent natural setting. Puffins and Fulmars fluttered and soared around the basalt cliffs, indifferent to the antics of the tourists hordes. Sickened by the appalling behaviour of the overwhelming hordes of tourists that now pollute in ever greater numbers every natural spectacle in Iceland, we withdrew to the parking area for our lunch sandwiches.

Dyrhólaey headland and natural rock-arch:  back to the Ring Road, we continued westwards around Mýdalur and turned off onto the side-lane Route 218 alongside the Dyrhólaós lagoons and around the high headland of Dyrhólaey, Iceland's southernmost projection of land, ending at a parking area (click here for detailed map of route). The expected tourist numbers were thankfully not as overwhelming as at Reynisfjara beach. The immediate headland gave superb views eastwards along the length of Reynisfjara shingle-bar enclosing the lagoon to the distant cliffs of Reynisfjall and the off-shore towering sea-stacks of Reynisdrangar, all silhouetted in the misty spray which hovered along the length of the bay from the heavy surf which pounded this shore-line. Nearer at hand, at the mouth of the Hvammsá river where it pierced the shingle-bar, a more stumpy sea-stack guarded the river's escape into the sea (Photo 48 - Reynisfjara shingle-bar) (see below right and left). This magnificent spectacle almost monopolised our attention, distracting from the distant inland sight of the monstrous mass of Mýdalsjökull ice-cap which spread like grey-white icing above Katla, its outlet-glaciers extending down into side-valleys (see below right).

The rocky southward extension of the headland gave superlative views of the pounding surf crashing onto the lava rocks (Photo 49 - Pounding surf at Dyrhólaey headland) and washing onto the westward line of gravel beaches under the cliffs (see below left). But although the bulky headland of Dyrhólaey dominated the distant sky-line with the seaward extension of off-shore rocky islets and mini-arches, from this angle the great natural arch of Dyrhólaey was not visible. We therefore set off to walk the 1.5kms path westwards along the top of the cliffs. This gained considerable height up towards the lighthouse which topped the Dyrhólaey headland. When we finally reached the lighthouse, the cliff-top view-point looked directly across at Dyrhólaey's mighty natural rock-arch spanning high above the sea (see below right) (Photo 50 - Dyrhólaey natural rock-arch), and the headland beyond extending seawards towards the off-shore islets. Almost as riveting was the view westwards along the entire length of Iceland's southern coastline extending out from the line of mountain cliffs across the formless, featureless sandur, and further west the farmland of the coastal plain. White surf marked this endless shoreline, with the isolated, flat-topped volcanic peak of Pétursey standing clear this side of the Jökulsa river estuary and sandur. In the inland distance, Mýdalsjökull stood out even clearer.

An abortive drive up to þakgil, and return to Vík Camping:  it was now 3-30pm and a brisk walk brought us back to George at the parking area, for the return drive to Vík. We now had to tackle the 15kms of rough, stony mountain road up to Kerlingardalur in the mountainous interior to reach the mountain campsite at þakgil. Pre-trip exchange of emails with the campsite owner Helga Ólafsdóttir had confirmed that the mountain road was passable for George, but with some uncertainty we set off from the Ring Road alongside the Kerlingardalsá river outflow. The gravel road gained height, becoming increasingly rough, pot-holed and broken, passing between lava flows. We had covered only 5kms, but with the road becoming increasingly steep and broken, we pulled over (see below left). Despite assurance that the road was passable, it was simply too risky to subject George to such a challengingly rough route, and reluctantly we turned to return to the Ring Road to face another noisy night of car door slamming at Vík Camping.

Eastward across the expanse of Mýdalssandur and Eldhraun lava field:  leaving Vík on a bright, sunny morning, we began the crossing of the 30kms wide, bleak black-sand desolation of Mýdalssandur, washed down by jökulhlaups glacial outburst flash floods from Mýdalsjökull caused by sub-glacial eruptions of Katla (click here for detailed map of route). To the south, the tuff 221m high table-top mountain of Hjörleitshöfði stood majestically like a sentinel between the Ring Road and the distant coast. This curiously isolated mountain was named after Hjörleifur Hróðmarsson, the foster-brother of Iceland's earliest settler, Ingólfur Arnarson, who was murdered by his Irish slaves and is said to be buried on the summit plateau of Hjörleitshöfði; the megalith was formed during the last Ice Age during a sub-glacial or submarine eruption, where the erupting magma cooled rapidly on contact with ice or sea water with volcanic debris building up around the vent forming a tuff ridge.

As we began crossing Mýdalssandur sand flats, beyond the broadly spreading outflow river, the desolate expanse of black sand suddenly became green: wide belts alongside the road had been seeded with Lupins to stabilise the sand and prevent it blowing across the Ring Road. Effective that may have been at erosion control, but it resulted in an ugly, unnatural sight, with the unseen black sand flats lying invisible beyond. The Ring Road swung north to begin crossing the Eldgjáhraun lava belt resulting from the lava outflow from the 934AD eruption of the Eldgjá fissure-row which flowed down the Tungufljót and Skaftá river valleys. Across the broad Kúðarfljót river outflow, the Ring Road now began the crossing of the 40kms breadth of the Eldrhaun  lava field which flooded down the Skaftá river valley after the initial period of eruptions in 1783 from Laki's SW fissure row of craters. This 200 year old lava field was now covered with dense layers of Woolly Hair Moss (Racomitrium lanuginosum), and on the far side of the lava field, a pull-in provided a view-point looking across Eldrhaun  towards the distant Vatnajökull, showing the depth and nature of the moss-covered lava (see right) (Photo 51 - Eldrhaun lava field). We managed to enjoy a few moments of peace to examine the lava and its moss covering at close hand and the distant view across the lava field towards Vatnajökull, before the next round of intrusive tourists swarmed in.

Fjaðrárgljúfur Canyon:  a short distance further and we turned off across the Skaftá river on a narrow bridge where its modern post-1783 course flowed along the valley alongside the Eldhraun that had flowed over its lower valley. Past Hunkubakkar farm, a gravel road climbed over a low hill passing the F206 turning, the mountain road inland for 45kms to Lakagigar crater row, and leading down to a parking area for the Fjaðrárgljúfur Canyon. This magnificent gorge, 100m deep winds its 2km length where the Fjaðrá river had eroded the Palagonite tuff bed rock to form the canyon before merging into the Skaftá. The canyon was formed towards the end of the last Ice Age when, as the glaciers retreated, a lake formed behind a barrier of hard, resistant rock below what is now the higher heiði heath land. Glacial run-off from the lake, rich in sediment, dug into the less resistant Palagonite tuff to gouge out the canyon. Fluvial terraces on both sides of the gorge give an indication of the original height and level of the lake. Not only did the draining head of water from the lake form the length of the canyon, but also cut into the sides, leaving lateral walls and terraces of residual Palagonite projecting from the sides of the gorge (Photo 52 - Fjaðrárgljúfur Canyon) (see above left). We followed the path, gaining height up the side paths which gave spectacular views along the length of the canyon, and an airy feel for its unbelievable depth (see left). At the top, a viewing platform cantilevered out above the canyon's drop provided an aerial view of where the Fjaðrá river now drained from the higher valley, tumbling over falls into the dark depths of the upper canyon way below (see right).

Kirkjubæjarklaustur village and the excellent Skaftáfell National Park information Centre:  we continued east along Route 1 towards Kirkjubæjarklaustur, passing through the extensive area of Landbrotshólar pseudo-craters formed when the 934AD Eldgjáhraun lava flowed over the Skaftá's lower marshy ground. Fast-evaporating steam exploded, throwing up mud and debris to form these perfect conical mounds. At the Ring Road roundabout, we turned off into Kirkjubæjarklaustur village to find the TIC at the Skaftáfell National Park information Centre. The name Kirkjubæjarklaustur, meaning Church Farm Cloister, recalls the village's ecclesiastical past, beginning with pre-Settlement Irish Papar monks, and a 12th century Benedictine nunnery (Klaustur) whose errant sisters have given their name to local features, Systrafoss waterfall dropping from Systravatn lake on the heath land above the village, and Systrastapi rock pillars on the escarpment below the heath.

The girl at the Skaftáfell National Park information Centre was ultra helpful: she gave us full details of the local walk around Kirkjubæjarklaustur which would take us past Systrafoss, Systravatn and Systrastapi, and advised us on booking the jeep-bus trip into the interior to Laki and the Lakagígur crater row; she loaned us her laptop to book our seats on the trip for tomorrow and even enabled us to receive and print our voucher-ticket via her email address. This was service beyond the call of duty and earned the Kirkjubæjarklaustur TIC our award of Top TIC in Iceland. She concluded by showing us the 15 minute film giving the history of events leading up to the 1783~84 devastating eruption of the Lakagígur crater rows and the catastrophic consequences and loss of life from the post-eruption famine resulting from the ash fall-out and toxic hydrogen fluoride contamination.

Kirkjubæjarklaustur viilage nestles at the foot of the pre-glacial coastal cliff-line (see above right). We set off on the local walking circuit, initially following a superbly constructed path up through woods alongside the Systrafoss waterfalls, to reach the top edge of the escarpment. From here, a magnificent view opened up over the village at the foot of the escarpment, across the lower Skaftá valley to the distant Vatnajökull ice-cap on the eastern horizon (Photo 53 - Kirkjubæjarklaustur escarpment) (see right). The onward route across the grassy plateau led alongside the lake of Systravatn and over hilly moorland that felt more like Derbyshire than Iceland. The path descended steeply into a basalt lined ravine to a spruce plantation (see below left) and passed the Kirkjugólfið, the so-called Church Floor of hexagonal columnar basalt eroded down to its top surface to form this Path from Systravatn descending steeply into a basalt lined ravine80 square metres perfectly aligned natural pavement (see below right) (Photo 54 - Church Floor basalt pavement). Columnar basalt is formed as contraction forces build up in rapidly cooling basaltic lava flow; cracks then form horizontally and the fracture network that develops results in the 6-sided formation of the columns (see diagram above left). 

Kirkjubær II Camping in Kirkjubæjarklaustur village:  we had two camping options at Kirkjubæjarklaustur: Kirkjubær II Camping in Kirkjubæjarklaustur village seemed unduly expensive compared with the more straightforward Kleifarmörk Camping 2 kms along the side valley. We drove along to Kleifarmörk, but there was no power and just cold water. We therefore returned to the village to face the cost at Kirkjubær II Camping. We managed to get a worthwhile seniors' reduction from the 1,500kr adult charge to 900kr plus 900kr for power; avoiding the extra 300kr each for showers produced an acceptable figure of 2,700kr/night. It was a large site sloping steeply uphill at the edge of the village, but we found what seemed a quiet corner position and settled in. Facilities were straightforward, with a reasonable kitchen/common room/ wash-up. Although Aurora activity was forecast as high, the night was too overcast for anything to be visible. What we did experience however was yet another disturbed night of car door slamming and noise from late arrivals.

Catastrophic 1783~84 eruption of Lakagígur crater row:  Laki is an hyaloclastite tuff volcanic peak 818m high formed in a sub-glacial Ice Age eruption some 20,000 years ago; it lies between the Mýdalsjökull and Vatnajökull glaciers, and is part of the volcanic system centred on Grimsvötn (Map showing Laki and Lakagígur Crater Rows). In the early summer of 1783, a series of earthquakes in South Iceland were the prelude to one of the world's greatest mixed volcanic eruptions in recorded history, now referred to as the Skaftáreldar (Skaftá Fires). On 8 June 1783, a 12.5kms long fissure to the SW of Laki peak extending as far as the tuff peak of Hnúta opened up with phreatomagmatic explosions caused by the interaction of ground-water with the rising basalt magma, creating a linear row of some 130 craters. This was followed by a continuous series of eruptions, throwing up fire fountains of red hot glowing lava some 800~1,400m high into the air, and producing effusions of vast quantities of molten lava. What is believed to have been one of the greatest lava flows in a single eruption in world history, the Eldhraun, poured down the upper valley of the Skaftá river, filling the deep gorges; the lava flow swept down the river's twin branches down into the lowlands, destroying some 20 farms burying them under a deep layer of lava, and threatening the settlement of Kirkjubæjarklaustur. The parish pastor, Rev Jón Steingrímsson gathered his congregation into the church on 20 July 1783, and delivered what became know as his Eldmessa (Fire Sermon). The eruption eased and the lava flow halted just before the village. Rev Jón was a noted scientific observer of natural phenomena, and his account of the Laki eruption, A Complete Treatise on the Siða Fires, is a unique eye witness account of both the eruption and its deadly consequences.

But the eruption was not over yet. Just over a week later on 29 July 1783, violent volcanic activity started again. Another 12.5kms eruptive crater row opened up along the fissure line to the NE of Laki, again producing a torrent of molten lava which flowed down the gorge valley of the Hverfisfljót river, spreading down over the Brunasandur sand/gravel flood plain and creating the Brunahraun lava field which buried and destroyed a further number of farms. 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. But the destructive lava flows were only one part of the catastrophic consequences of the Lakagígur eruptions. A cloud of toxic ash spread over most of Iceland along with a mist haze of sulphuric aerosol; what became known as the Móðuharðindi (Hardship of the Mist or Haze Famine) caused the worst environmental and socio-economical disaster in Iceland's history. The 8 million tons of toxic hydrogen fluoride and 120 million tons of sulphur dioxide released by the eruption created a persistent dry aerosol cloud that hovered over the country. An estimated 20% of Iceland's then population, around 10,000 people, died in the resultant famine and fluoride poisoning resulting from the eruption. Toxic ash fall-out ruined pastures so that around 80% of sheep, 50% of cattle and 50% of horses died over the following winter from starvation and disease caused by sulphurous volcanic emissions. The long-term effect of this fall-out haze also spread across the entire northern hemisphere, as the ash and toxic emissions drifted high in the atmosphere causing considerable impact on environment and climate, with detrimental consequences for harvests and falling as acid rain damaging vegetation. The resultant cold period from this Volcanic Winter reduction in global temperatures by 1º C caused by Laki's ash and sulphur dioxide fall-out lasted for 3 years causing widespread crop failures and famine across Europe.

Jeep-bus trip into mountainous interior to Lakagígur crater row and ascent of Laki peak:  an early start this morning to be breakfasted and away from Kirkjubær II Camping at 8-15am, leaving George in camp, to walk down to the filling station at the Kirkjubæjarklaustur roundabout to wait for the 9-00am Lakagígur jeep-bus. The high-wheeled, chunky 4WD bus came in and we grabbed the front seats alongside the driver, giving us full forward view for the 45kms drive into the highlands which would take over 3 hours given the tortured nature of the terrain and the rocky state of the F206 mountain road. This was the last day of the 2017 summer timetable for the #16 jeep-bus service out to Lakagígur, and today we were 2 of just 7 passengers. First stop was for a half hour pause at the Fjaðrárgljúfur Gorge where we took the opportunity for more photos both from the canyon rim and from the riverside in the bed of the gorge. Now began the journey proper on F206 (click here for detailed map of route). From the head of Fjaðrárgljúfur Gorge, F206 left behind the higher pastureland and headed into the interior, becoming steeper and rougher and fording several rivers (Photo 55 - Fording river) (see left and above right). Progress was slow, sometimes less than 5kmp given the rough state of the road, with the driver skilfully manoeuvring the bus around tight bends, constantly changing gear and engaging the 4WD on this challenging route. The terrain became wilder and increasingly desolate, passing across every form of volcanic landscape: tephra flatlands, lava fields covered with Woolly Hair Moss, ash deserts, a constantly varying kaleidoscope of volcanology, with simply so much to see and try to capture on photograph. Some 2½ hours of such bewildering volcanic desolation brought us to a high-point, giving distant views of the main crater of Laki with the line of the 1783 eruptive fissure craters trailing outwards to the SW. We stopped at this point as the driver gave us an outline of what was ahead: we should stop for 2 hours at the Laki main crater, giving time for the circular climb to Laki's crater summit with its classic views SW and NE along the 2 lines of the 1783~84 fissure eruptions and resultant rows of craters. We should then take the F207 route for the return drive past Lambavatn, stopping for an hour at Tjarnargígur, giving us chance for the circular walk through the lava field there and into 2 of the craters of the SW fissure row (Map Laki climb and Lakagígur Craters walk).

Twenty minutes later, the bus approached the Laki peak which loomed ahead amid the lava wilderness (Photo 56 - Approaching Laki crater peak) (see above right), and pulled into the parking area below the Laki main crater. Here one of the National Park rangers briefed us on the route up and over the crater summit, and the views to be expected. He also emphasised the importance of not straying from the way-marked path to avoid damage to the fragile moss covering the lava. Weather conditions were favourable for the climb: although there was no direct sunlight, the 818m summit was at least clear of low cloud, which should give us clear views of the Lakagígur crater rows extending in both directions SW and NE from the Laki main crater. Although the main Laki crater did not itself erupt in 1783~84, the two lines of craters radiating outwards from its central pivotal position should show clearly from Laki's summit the 25kms extent of the fissure eruption. With just 2 hours to complete the climb, we set off at pace following the way-marked trail which gained height on a steadily steep gradient up the SE flank of laki's crater peak (Photo 57 - Ascent of Laki crater peak's SE flank) (see above left). There were no serious obstacles to be overcome on the climb, but the tephra path was unremittingly steep. We had to maintain a good pace, given the limited time, and in fact made reasonable progress to reach the peak's summit high-point. As we rounded a shoulder, the clear row of distant craters came into view extending in a line to the NE with the Vatnajökull ice-cap on the distant sky-line, marking the second set of Lakagígur eruptive craters' fissure (see above right) (Photo 58 - Lakagígur craters' NE fissure-row). Moving over to the SW brink of the rocky summit plateau, further views opened up giving a clear vista of the continuous row of Lakagígur craters extending away 12.5kms to the SW along the line of the fissure where the first passage of the 1783 eruption had occurred (see left) (Photo 59 - SW fissure-row of Lakagígur craters). It was one thing to read a description of the catastrophic events of 1783~84, but it was an indescribably more vivid sensation to witness at first hand the two fissure-rows of craters extending outwards from the central peak of Laki. This was one of those once in a lifetime experiences. Even among the gravelly, barren volcanic rubble of Laki's summit plateau, vegetation had managed to take root, and we found several examples of typical Icelandic lava desert wild flora (see right and below left).

But given our time limits to complete the descent, with little knowledge of what was in store other than an awareness of the amount of height we had to loose, there was now little time to dwell on this outstanding view. We took our photos from the summit high-point and began the descent. From the start, we could look directly down onto the closest crater along the SW chain of eruptive vent-craters which showed black edging as if the eruption were a recent event (Photo 60 - Descent of Laki's SW shoulder) (see below right). Across the intervening wilderness of moss-covered, grey lava fields, we could just about make out our onward return journey towards distant Lambavatn. The descent route was clearly way-marked, with no technical difficulties or exposure other than the steepness of the path's gradient on the loose tephra surface. Throughout the descent of the SW shoulder, we had a direct line of sight down the length of the SW fissure crater row stretching 12.5kms into the distance. It was so tempting to pause for further photos, but time was not on our side. In fact however we made a surprisingly rapid descent, each stage seeming to drop with nerve-wracking suddenness, but although unnervingly steep, the path was sure and the jagged tephra gave firm footholds. The ascent had taken us an hour, we spent 10 minutes on the summit, and within a further 45 minutes of descent we were pacing across the ash and cinder desolation at the foot of the peak's SW foot back across to the vehicle parking area, with 10 minutes left to eat our lunch sandwiches before the bus driver signalled departure time.

The bus set off on the return leg of the journey on Route F207, grinding its way initially over the steep ridge of the line of the SW Lakigígar crater row (see left). The route wound a way above Lambavatn lake, past craters, across black ash fields and jagged moss-covered lava fields (see below right) to stop at the Tjarnargígur parking area. Here the bus driver gave us the quickest of briefings for the walking route around the Tjarnargígur lava fields and into 2 of the craters along the central section of the SW Lakigígar fissure crater row. It was unnerving as the bus pulled away and disappeared, leaving our small group in unknown, desolate terrain; we had to walk the unclear 4kms route through featureless lava fields to reach the point where the bus would pick us up again. All we could do was to put our faith in the way-markings and follow the indicated route. The narrow path traced a way through the moss-covered lava, wonderfully wild and magnificent volcanic terrain. A steep descent brought us down into the Tjarnargígur flooded crater floor with its turquoise water (Photo 61 - Tjarnargígur flooded crater) (see below left), then picked up a winding route through further lava fields. At several points we paused to photograph a mother Ptarmigan and chicks, her summer plumage so well camouflaged among the vegetation (Photo 62 - Female Ptarmigan). But there was no time to linger if we were to reach the rendezvous point for the bus within the allotted hour. The way-marked path wound on through the lava field, passing areas of crusty lichen growing on the surface of the Woolly Hair Moss. We walked on for an hour following the way-marks, but still had not reached the second crater into which, we had been told, the path diverted. It was becoming worrying as the path climbed over further sections of jagged lava (see below right). At last an opening appeared into a large crater; swift photos but no time to linger (Photo 63 - Crater opening). Rounding a further shoulder, much relief as ahead we could see a parking area and the reassuring sight of the jeep-bus.

The return drive was equally spectacular. At snail's pace given the winding, rough road, the bus passed through every conceivable form of volcanic terrain: black ash deserts, mud fields, boulder fields, lava fields covered with beautiful blankets of Woolly Hair Moss. On the western horizon, we could see the distant Skafta river gleaming in the afternoon sun spreading along its upper valley, the route taken by the 1783 lava flows. The rough trackway climbed steeply over the shoulder of Hnúta at the southern end of the SW Lakagígur fissure crater row; from our front seats alongside the driver, we could see that this needed every ounce of skill on the driver's part in manhandling the bus over such rough terrain, involving constant changing of gears and engaging of the four-wheel drive. The route wound its tortured way across this volcanic wonderland, passing the turning to Blágil, and eventually re-joining the outward route of F206 to begin the long 3 hour return drive. There was such unbelievable variety of volcanic terrain to photograph and 2 major rivers to ford. One final stop was at the spectacular Fagrifoss waterfall which dropped some 80m into a dark chasm. Here one of our small group of passengers, a Czech girl, left the bus to wild camp in this magnificent wilderness and back-pack her return walk across wild country to Kirkjubæjarklaustur.

Return to Kirkjubæjarklaustur, and final night at Kirkjubær II Camping:  with still much terrain to be crossed and rivers to be forded, the bus crawled its way forward, eventually reaching more gentle upper grasslands and finally winding a way down towards the head of Fjaðrárgljúfur Canyon. And so back down to re-join the Ring Road along to Kirkjubæjarklaustur. In thanking the driver for his skilful handling of the bus on such a challenging route, we asked how frequently during each summer he had made this trip up to Laki and Lakagígur: he had driven this route 44 times this summer, and this was his 11th season (see left)! Although expensive, today's expedition into the volcanic interior had provided one of the most thrilling sets of experiences in all our years of travelling.

Back to George at Kirkjubær II Camping, we were grateful after such a long day to have a ready made supper waiting to heat up. Icelandic Meteorological Office web site promised a clear night with highest activity rating for an Aurora tonight, but when we got up at 3-00am, light pollution from the campsite and a cloud veil prevented our seeing anything. In fact we learned the following morning that around 11-30pm~midnight, there had been the best Aurora viewing yet, and we had missed it! The following morning was bright and sunny as we packed up our camp at Kirkjubær II (see right and left) (Photo 64 - Kirkjubær II Camping) to begin our final 2 weeks of journeying around Iceland.

Coming next:  during the final 2 weeks of our 2017 Icelandic expedition, we shall cross the Skeiđarásandur outwash plains below Vatnajökull, camp in the Skaftafell National Park for walks up to Svartifoss and the snout of Skaftafellsjökull and Svínafellsjökull glaciers, and visit the Fjallsárlón and Jökulsárlón glacial lagoons. We shall continue around the southern coast to the port of Höf and the wild headland of Stokksnes, and on to camp at the tiny fishing port of Djúpivogur. Around the much-indented coastline of SE Iceland and into the East Fjords region, we shall camp at the now quiet fishing port of Fáskrúđsfjörđur, and continue through to Reyđarfjörđur and Eskifjörđur. Here we shall see the enormous aluminium smelting plant which is powered by the controversial Kárahnjúkar Dam and hydro-generating station in the neighbouring valley of Largarfljót. We shall complete our circuit of Iceland with a return over the East Fjord hills to Egilsstaðir. We shall conclude the trip with a venture into the highlands above Largarfljót to investigate the pollutant damage created to this wild natural terrain by construction of the Kárahnjúkar Dam and flooding of the reservoir, with a final camp at Fljótsdalsgrund Farm-Camping where we began the Iceland expedition almost 5 months previously. We shall finally depart Iceland from Seyđisfjörđur on the Smyril Line ferry M/S Norröna for the homeward crossing to Hirtshals in Denmark. But that is all for the next edition which will be published soon.

Next edition to be published shortly

Sheila and Paul

Published: 20 December 2019

 

This week's Photo Gallery
  Puffins of Heimaey  
Top of News Page
  Return to Iceland Index Page  

Sweden 2016

Finland 2115

Norway 2014

Sweden 2013

Finland 2012

Baltic States 2011

Poland 2010

Czech Republic 2009

Sardinia~Corsica 2009

Slovakia 2008 Croatia 2008 Denmark 2007 Sicily 2007 Alsace 2006

Greece 2006

Hungary 2005

Pyrenees 2005

Slovenia 2004

Greece 2004

Home Page Site Plan Who we are Publications