“Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears, for they are rain upon the blinding dust of earth, overlying our hard hearts. I was better after I had cried, than before–more sorry, more aware of my own ingratitude, more gentle.”
―
On January 2nd, 2019 the world, for me, became a bit less joyful. On reviewing my Facebook feed yesterday evening, I noticed that an old friend, Blair Koski-Klien, had “updated her story” which intrigued me, since she’s usually not one to do so.
I was surprised to find that the update had been written by her husband, Andy and was, in fact, an announcement of her passing, in the early hours of the morning, the final pages of her story. It felt quite surreal.
His words were beautiful and summed her up so well, yet I felt profoundly saddened at the news. You see, Blair, though we were not close friends, was one of the most genuinely joyful people I have ever met. If she had personal struggles, she soldiered through them with a bright smile on her face and a twinkle in her eye.
That smile, that radiant, exuberant smile, is what I recall of Blair. Our life paths crossed for only a few years and we shared a circle of friends. I regret that I never got to know her real well. She was also a few years younger than me and though we would chat from time to time or meet socially, I must admit, I never really got to know the person. Such is life in our teens it seems.
Life continued on and our circle of friends went our separate ways. I thought of her occasionally, usually when I met someone like her, that smiling spark in the room, memories would surface, but nobody ever matched Blair. There was a contagious positive energy in her that brought life and laughter to any occasion.
Over the years, friends reconnected through Facebook and other social media and, eventually, Blair showed up. It was so nice to see where her life had taken her; to see her as a happy mother to her son, Carson, and wife to Andy. I’ve not had the pleasure to meet them, but I’m certain that her love and energy filled their home.
As I sit and consider Blair, tears fill my eyes, at the thought that this beautiful young woman has been taken from us. Today, the world feels a bit colder, a bit less joyful, and a bit emptier without her. Yet, through my sorrow, I see that face, that smile, and hear her laughter and it’s all OK again. I’m grateful to have known her for even a short time and she has made an impact on my life. My regret is not to have been able to tell her that while she was still with us, something so many of us are guilty of.
There are so many people who enter our lives, though briefly, who have a subtle yet profound impact on our lives. We may not realize it at the time but when we do, it’s important that we acknowledge it and let them know. Our time here is often brief and unpredictable and we need to let those who enrich our lives with theirs know just how important they are to us.
One of God’s bright lights has gone out, leaving us seeking it’s light, and knowing it’s still shining, unseen by us, in places we have yet to see.
RIP Blair
“Trees are sanctuaries. Whoever knows how to speak to them, whoever knows how to listen to them, can learn the truth. They do not preach learning and precepts, they preach, undeterred by particulars, the ancient law of life.”
– Herman Hesse
As I start into 2019, I can’t but help reflecting on the profound influence trees have on me. I spend so much time among them, feeling their energy, sheltered under their branches, observing their slow but steady growth, season by season and, listening to them. Indeed, they have much to say about life itself.
Trees have influenced my photography and pursuit of painting as well. I am intimate with and thankful for the trees I am so blessed to live near. As my chosen quote states so well, trees are my sanctuary. In times where life gets hectic and work is overwhelming, the forests offer me respite, a place where I can simply be. To be among the trees is so incredibly refreshing to my senses. I smell the sap, hear the creak, groan and crackle of the wood as it heats and cools or resists the weather; my eyes are filled with the colours of fresh life as well as slow decay, all in their time. I feel the cool summer breezes among the branches and savour the shelter they offer in the storm.
So, when I came across this plantation of trees near Bancroft, Ontario, I could not help but notice the growth of young trees among their mature ancestors. Truly, among the giants and bathed in the soft winter light.
This is also an image that speaks of transition, from old to new and from past to future. I have no idea what 2019 has to offer. The year 2018 was a true blessing to me, personally, spiritually, and artistically and I expect the trees will continue play a large part in my future pursuits; I’m glad for the companionship.
Nikon D800
Tamron SP 70-200mm f/2.8 Di VC USD @ 70 mm
1/60 sec, f/8.0, ISO 400
For more images like this, please visit my website (images are available for purchase)
http://www.edlehming.com
“And what began as a dream, becomes reality, becomes memory…”
– Ed Lehming
So, concludes my Iceland Journal (this one at least),as it began, an image of vast stretches of wondrous, raw, and ever changing landscape.
It has been a real joy going back through my photos, triggering memories of moments, which I have been able to document and share.
And so, I end this chapter of the story, as we end the year 2018 and head into 2019.
I would not have believed, at the start of 2018 that it would include a trip to Iceland, who knows what this year will bring?
Wishing you all a Happy New Year 2019!
“We went down into the silent garden. Dawn is the time when nothing breathes, the hour of silence. Everything is transfixed, only the light moves.”
―
The light in Iceland is incomparable, it possesses a magical quality and softness that simply pervades everything. I think, in part, is was partially due to the time of year, late October, when we visited. The sun never gets up very high and wonderful shadows are created. This ‘low’ sun also makes the light softer and warmer.
Here, along the shores of Kleifarvatn, the sun catches the yellow grasses on the low hillsides and makes them glow with light. Despite the snowy conditions, the whole scene is warm looking. Trust me, it was not warm when I made the photo!
There are colours here that are unrivalled in my experience, an inner glow, that I fell in love with. I can fully understand how Iceland holds other photographers in its thrall. The light shifts, dims, brightens, and brings out details like a spotlight, then moves on to the next subject.
It’s really quite remarkable, upon arriving here, we entered a world that looked blasted, tortured, and lifeless, yet the land slowly reveals its wonder, moment by moment until you are fully emerged in a sublime beauty that is so unexpected and so ceaseless that it’s almost overwhelming. And it’s all driven by the light, the magical sub-arctic light, and those beautiful mosses and grasses, which stand in such incredible contrast to the black sand and jagged rock.
As this year winds down, I’ve been able to send a lot of time recalling this memorable trip, through photos and memory.
Nikon D800
Nikkor 70-300mm f/4.5-5.6 G I AF-S VR Zoom @ 70 mm
1/320 sec, f/9.0 ISO 400
For more images like this, please visit my website (images are available for purchase)
http://www.edlehming.com
“The clouds roll in, but don’t persist, they bring a welcome contrast and make us more aware of how lovely the sunshine is.”
– Ed Lehming
I really can’t imagine Iceland without its marvelous clouds. During our ten-day trip, every day had some cloud. Often, there are multiple layers, each slightly different and moving in different directions, creating a magical yet fleeting, play of light.
As a photographer, the quality of light is very important and I did not have to wait long for lighting conditions to shift. The clouds would tease and taunt me as they danced among the mountains, often hinting at what lay within their shroud and revealing glimpses of high mountain tops. Sometimes shafts of sunlight would pierce them, creating brilliant patches of illumination.
I’ve seen the photos made by other photographers, of places I visited, in bright sunshine, but some of the character is missing. It seems to me, that Icelandic landscapes require some quantity of cloud to show their true essence. This is, after all, a wild and rugged country and the ever-changing weather is part of that.
In the photo above, one of the last ones I made as we departed Reykjavik and headed toward the airport, by yet another ‘indirect’ route. The lake is Kleifarvatn and is a moderately sized lake about 15 kilometers south of Reykjavik. Our destination on our final day was the geothermal hot springs at Krysuvik, just south of the lake. The road followed the shore of the lake for some time and gave the opportunity for several final images of this enchanted land.
The water was just smooth enough to give a soft reflection of the flattened Vatnshliðarhorn mountain to the north, the sun brightly illuminating the yellow grasses along its base.
It’s this wonderful mix of sun and cloud that has provided the beautiful mood for many of my photos; ever-changing and creating new vistas by the moment. I look back on these photos fondly as I near the end of this series and close out the year feeling blessed to have experienced this majesty with my son.
Nikon D800
Nikkor 70-300mm f/4.5-5.6 G I AF-S VR Zoom @ 70 mm
1/320 sec, f/9.0 ISO 400
For more images like this, please visit my website (images are available for purchase)
http://www.edlehming.com
“I take pleasure in solitude, many see me as distant but only few know it’s when I’m most alive.”
―
On day eight of our Icelandic tour, we headed inland from Borgarnes towards Geyser. The trip took us around a fjord still used as a whale processing area, with a large plant at the farthest end of the fjord. The plant was notable for the many talks along the surrounding will sides, used to store whale oil. It was off-season, so the plant sat mostly dormant with only one ship docked at it’s pier.
As I said, the trip took us inland and into more high plateaus, which were fairly unremarkable except at this highland lake near Laugarvatn, the far shore filled with geothermal plants and vents, belching out steam into the cold sky , which stood in contrast to the snowy hillsides.
I would have liked to have gotten closer, but we wanted to get to Geyser in good time and then to Reykjavik by the end of the day, so we had to choose our stops carefully.
Though our primary destination for the day was Geyser, these areas of activity made the drive more interesting.
Nikon D800
Nikkor 70-300mm f/4.5-5.6 G I AF-S VR Zoom @ 210 mm
1/400 sec, f/10.0 ISO 400
For more images like this, please visit my website (images are available for purchase)
http://www.edlehming.com
Wishing everyone around the world peace and joy this Christmas season.
“It was dusk and the light had an ultra-violet quality to it, a final burst of pigmentation as night and day rushed at each other in a clash of colour prisms before darkness finally, inevitably won out.”
―
Though much of our trip was filled with the overcast, misty, and often gloomy light of autumn, we were, on this occasion greeted with the magnificent colours of an Icelandic sunset.
On our arrival in Borgarnes, a large town on Iceland’s west coast, we decided to end our day of travelling with a walk to the harbour and were treated to a lovely, though brief, show of light over the water. I do recall making this photo and looking at my phone, a bit disappointed that the full spectrum of colour was not truly captured; close, but not quite the real thing.
iPhone 7
“From the deep places of the earth, pours forth a cool purity few can fathom”
– Ed Lehming
The mere sight of these falls brought freshness to my day. There is something in flowing water; a virtual baptism and washing away of the days heaviness happens, and the joy of simply living in such a marvelous world is reaffirmed.
This is yet another image of a section of Hraunfossar, in Southwestern Iceland. I left this one a bit darker to allow the brightness of the water and rich colours and textures of the mosses to dominate over the dark rock.
I keep having to remind myself that the water here comes not from surface streams, but a complex network of underground rivers that flow beneath the surface, through ancient lava fields. Here, it escapes to the surface through the side of a steep embankment. Many visitors to Iceland don’t realize that all the tap water comes from such underground streams. That’s right, the tap water is actually spring water. I started my trip with the purchase of a single bottle of water which I kept refilling with tap water or from mountain streams, after ensuring there was not a large, sheep filled pasture upstream.
Though warned to the contrary, I found nearly all the water at our various overnight stays was lovely and fresh. The exception being Reykjavik, where the water at our hotel reeked of sulphur. Though safe, I had a hard time convincing myself that it was OK to drink.
Once more, I am including a link to the high resolution version of this image should you wish to take a closer look at the details.
Nikon D800
Nikkor 70-300mm f/4.5-5.6 G I AF-S VR Zoom @ 170mm
1.0 sec, f/36.0, ISO 200
For more images like this, please visit my website (images are available for purchase)
http://www.edlehming.com
“The waters flowed over the rocks like dancers clad in ribbons of silk, some fluttering like gossamer curtains in a summer breeze.”
– Ed Lehming
I know that I have shared previous images and thoughts of this magnificent series of waterfalls. As I continue to review my images, new perspectives reveal themselves. Here’s an image of a small section of the broad and complex waterfalls, just to the right of my prior image. I chose it because it represents the beginning of the falls and water flow is scant and complex here. The details of the water losing over the rocks is almost magical when seen as a long exposure.
The long exposure also enhances the colours, adding a slight, natural saturation which causes the abundant mosses and lichens to stand out, as well as the short and scrubby Icelandic birches, which also share this scene, the every detail shining through. It also lets the subtle blue tones of the glacial water to reveal themselves. It’s a very pleasing image to me personally, another fond memory of this trip, which still occupies my dreams so vividly.
I could have spent the day examining and photographing this waterfalls, but alas, we had to move on to our next stop and more of the beauty Iceland had to offer us before heading to the coastal town of Borgarnes for the evening.
Nikon D800
Nikkor 70-300mm f/4.5-5.6 G I AF-S VR Zoom @ 86mm
1.0 sec, f/32.0, ISO 200
For more images like this, please visit my website (images are available for purchase)
http://www.edlehming.com
“I am reminded that the most fertile lands are often built by the fires of volcanoes.”
―
On the seventh day of our Iceland journey, my son and I travelled through the high mountain passes at the base of the West Fjords, southward along Highway 60 to rejoin the Ring Road, just north of the town of Bifrost.
We were greeted by this spectacular view of a broad valley, filled with meandering rivers and lush farmlands, stretching to the horizon, some 30 kilometers distant, which is bounded by the Skarðheiði mountain cluster and dominated by steep sloped Skessuhorn, poking from a persistent cloud bank, which did not break up all day and kept the rest of the mountains obscured. I could not keep my eyes off Skessuhorn as we drove along, and eventually into, the valley, which is bounded in this view by the Norðurá river. The Norðurá joins several other rivers to form a small delta, just north of the town of Borgarnes, our final destination on this day of travels. I have included a link to the high-resolution version of this image, should you care to have a closer look.
This is a truly remarkable area for Iceland, in that it a very large expanse of farmland, though it is still a very active geothermal area, interspersed with hot springs throughout the valley. An aerial view of this region shows it to have been formed by glaciers, carving and eroding the volcanic bedrock and creating ideal conditions for rivers to flow and deposit their rich, mineral laden silt within the valleys carved by the glaciers.
It was this area that we intended to explore that day and it led us through the farmland, past steaming vents, cold glacial streams of turquoise, and up into the highlands and lava fields of the Hallmundarhraun and the peaks of Ok and Eiriksjökull. It was, in the typical fashion of Iceland, an incredible change in environments, within a fairly short distance of some 30 kilometers. The trip also included a stop at the magnificent Hraunfosser waterfalls, which I have already discussed in a previous post.
Nikon D800
Tamron SP 70-200mm f/2.8 Di VC USD @ 116mm
1/320 sec, f/9.0 ISO 200
For more images like this, please visit my website (images are available for purchase)
http://www.edlehming.com
“The experience was powerful and fundamental. It seemed to me that it had always felt like this to be a human in the wild, and as long as the wild existed it would always feel this way.”
―
Most of Iceland remains wild, and untamed, and that is a good thing. As humans, in this era of convenience, it’s refreshing to be in a place like this; a place where we can still feel vulnerable and humbled by nature in its most elemental form.
This is something that has stayed with me, now that I sit comfortably at my desk, recounting this journey through Iceland. Even though we spent much of our time on the road, we did take the opportunity to wander off the beaten path a few times and feel Iceland in its natural form. You don’t have to venture more than a few meters off the road to experience this, as the road is but a thin, temporary, ribbon of civilization.
For example, here in the Gullborgarhraun, or Gullborg lava fields of the Snæfellsness Peninsula you are faced with kilometers of ancient lava, twisted and jagged, slightly softened by the ever-present mosses and lichens, which offer a splash of colour in the otherwise bleak landscape of black and grey rock.
At the centre of the scene sits Gullborg, a short volcanic cone, at one time, the source of all this lava, now rising from the deep lava field and littered with and accumulation of sharp black ejecta, attesting to the active volcanic nature of this region. It’s a rawness that I’ve never experienced before and something I really appreciate given my formal education in geology, so many years ago.
The first word I used to express the nature of Iceland was ‘raw’, and that stands ever more true, several days into the journey. I suppose that is the real appeal for many of us who have travelled here. It’s one of the few places left in the world where we can experience this kind of wilderness, to enjoy such primal diversity within a relatively small geography. It’s like stepping back in time, to a place where nature ruled and mankind was merely a participant at its mercy.
iPhone 7 back camera @ 4.0mm
1/35 sec; f/1.8; ISO 32
For more images like this, please visit my website (images are available for purchase)
http://www.edlehming.com
“It’s not about inviting great things into our lives. Rather, it’s about accepting the invitation of great things to step out of our lives.”
―
For those following my Iceland journey from late October, you will know that it was made up of a series of ‘general’ destinations. We simply set up a schedule to take us from one overnight stop to the next, leaving time between those destinations to enjoy the journey along the way. This meant roughly two to three hours of daily driving and we never had a particular ‘sight’ as a destination. We allowed each day to simply ‘happen’.
The only exception to this ‘plan’ was Kirkjufellsfosser, which I addressed on a prior post, which includes a photo of this iconic waterfall which appears on almost every Iceland travel brochure. Choosing Kirkjufellsfosser as a deliberate destination also made for the longest travel day, most of which was spent simply driving to get there and then back, the entire length of the Snæfellsness Peninsula, to get to our accommodations for the night. Yet again, despite the extended ‘windshield’ time, and off and on rain, we were still able to enjoy the ever-changing and wondrous scenery.
The travel brochures hardly do Iceland justice and it’s impossible to portray the incredible diversity we witnessed effectively. Those brochures often show scenes from the same vantage point, so when you arrive, the scene before you is quite different from what you expected to see. This image is a prime example. The ‘iconic’ image is made from near the top of the cascade, with Kirkjufell mountain in the background. That vantage point is near the top of the photo above. However, there are many other ways to view this waterfall, including from near the base, which is where this photo was made. It’s important to note, that these falls are named, fosser, which is the plural to foss, or waterfall. In fact, many of the waterfalls in Iceland are made up of multiple sub-falls.
Nikon D300
TAMRON SP AF 17-50mm F2.8 XR Di II LD Aspherical IF A16NII @ 32 mm
1.3 sec, f/32, ISO 200
For more images like this, please visit my website (images are available for purchase)
http://www.edlehming.com
“Some beautiful paths can’t be discovered without getting lost.”
―
This, our sixth day of travel, did not leave us lost, as the quote may imply, but it did send us down some ‘interesting’ paths.
As I noted in previous posts, there are roads which enter Iceland’s mountainous and rugged interior known as “F” roads, which we were prohibited from driving on with our rental vehicle, despite studded tires and four-wheel drive. As Iceland approaches late autumn, these roads can quickly turn treacherous and they are very remote, so emergency assistance would be very expensive, if even available.
As we mapped out our path from Svínavatn to the Snæfellsnes Peninsula, we noticed that travelling the Ring Road would have taken us further south than we wanted, meaning extra distance and time lost driving. We were directed by locals to take a ‘shortcut’ cross-country from Staðarskáli to the town of Buðardalur, at the base of the West Fjords. It turned out that the ‘shortcut’ was an “F” road, so we sought other passages. It turns out that just north of the “F” road is an ‘official’ road, in the form of Highway 59, which parallels the “F” road. I’m really not sure how much better than the “F” road this highway was, since it was roughly thirty kilometers of black, icy, and potholed track through some of the most desolate landscape we had seen yet. I think we drove nearly twenty kilometers without seeing a single building. Barren grassland and low hills reaching to the horizon.
What we did see lots of was sheep. Despite the barren, windswept landscape, sheep were everywhere. That was true, not just here, but throughout Iceland. There are just over three hundred thousand people in Iceland, and at last count, there were over eight hundred thousand sheep. They are everywhere, in open fields, on high mountain sides, in the tortured and twisted lava fields, and often, on the road. Yes, there are fences aplenty, but the sheep seem to find their way over, around, and under the fences, often grazing right next to the road, or like here, on the road. So you have to be ever vigilant while driving.
This troupe was very cooperative, except for a few stragglers, who hurried to catch up with the rest of the flock, who were waiting patiently on the far side of the bridge. I just had to stop to take a picture, since this captured yet another aspect of our drive.
Nikon D800
Tamron SP 70-200mm f/2.8 Di VC USD @ 200mm
1/125 sec, f/35.6 ISO 200
For more images like this, please visit my website (images are available for purchase)
http://www.edlehming.com
“Faeries, come take me out of this dull world,
For I would ride with you upon the wind,
Run on the top of the dishevelled tide,
And dance upon the mountains like a flame.”
―
I can’t say enough about how stunningly raw the landscape in Iceland is. Even on dull, slightly overcast days, there are these short breaks in the cloud where the world is alight with colours, and these colours stand in sharp contrast to the black, volcanic mountains and plains.
Above is a prime example. This mountain stands along the shores of Kolgrafjörður, one of the many fjords found along the rugged and beautiful Snæfellsnes Peninsula of western Iceland.
On the sixth day of our Iceland excursion, my son and I were on our way to Kirkufellfoss. That’s the waterfall with the odd-shaped mountain in the background that is on virtually every Iceland brochure. It’s located about three-quarters of the way out to the tip of the peninsula itself, along some pretty rough roads. Though Kirkufell was our destination, the journey there was simply breathtaking and varied. The landscapes included vast fjords, filled with hundreds of small islands, winding mountain roads, dormant volcanoes and high glaciated mountains.
As with other regions in Iceland, the scenery changes quickly and unexpectedly, each turn in the road presenting some new wonder. I recall this particular mountain well because of the way the yellow grasses glowed in the brief and diffused sunlight and how the bright green mosses stood out against the dark talus slopes of the mountain. I found, as I reviewed the photo, that there are so many details that my eyes did not pick up on, even as I composed the image. For that reason, I’m posting a link to the high-resolution image here and encourage you to spend some time, zooming in and looking for the sheep, the waterfowl, and exploring the mountainside details that are lost in the image above.
Nikon D800
Tamron SP 70-200mm f/2.8 Di VC USD @ 70mm
1/40 sec, f/3.2 ISO 200
For more images like this, please visit my website (images are available for purchase)
http://www.edlehming.com
“The tree which moves some to tears of joy is in the eyes of others only a green thing that stands in the way. Some see nature all ridicule and deformity… and some scarce see nature at all. But to the eyes of the man of imagination, nature is imagination itself.”
―
Today, a brief reprieve from my my Iceland series, which is not nearly complete. Yesterday, as the early snowfalls melted away, it took the the local forest for a moderate hike.
I’m blessed to live in an area with lots of forest and lots of easily accessible trails. There are favourites which I return to regularly, one being North Walkers Woods, which has a good network of interconnecting trails. The one I chose is what I refer to as the ‘ outer loop’ which follows the forest perimeter and is six kilometres long.
The day stared out dull and overcast, but sitting inside was not an appealing option for me. After a particularly horrible workweek, many of my co-workers were let go, in the ever present world of downsizing, I ended my week family ‘numb’ and simply needed to get out and recharge.
When I’m out hiking and making photos, the outside world fades away and I am simply present in the forest. I hear lots of people talking about this state of being present. I suppose I have always had the ability to do that, without having a formal name for it.
So, here I was, enjoying a good late autumn walk and seeing the dull day turn ever brighter. The sun never fully emerged from the clouds but the light was soft and warm enough to make a few simple forest images, including the one above.
I played with my Prisma app to get the slightly graphic effect, which is quite subtle, and you have to look closely to see the effects.
iPhone 7
“The greatest loss lies in our inability to accept loss.”
―
I have a strange fascination with abandoned buildings, always wondering how they became abandoned and the stories they must have to tell when they were somebody’s home.
Along the Ring Road we travelled through Iceland, there are many of these empty shells, some quite ancient, many perched along a lonely mountainside, lost in the vast, empty landscape which is present in much of Iceland. It struck me as emptiness in emptiness.
Take this house, for example. It’s on the shores of the Heiðará river, just past Heiðarfall mountain that dominates yesterday’s image. It sits on a field of the ever present yellow grasses and mosses, along the river, next the main Icelandic highway, with a tall mountain for a backyard. If you look closely, you can see that there must have been patches of garden at one point, given the drainage ditch and rectangular area of grass to the right of the house. The house itself does not look too old and the roof is in good repair, at least from this vantage point. Yet, it’s clearly abandoned.
Who lived here? A solitary sheep farmer or a family? There is easy access to water as well as the road, not to mention that the city of Akureyri, is only a short drive away. I’d love to know the story, but I fear it is lost in time and the wide and wild spaces of Iceland.
Nikon D800
Tamron SP 70-200mm f/2.8 Di VC USD @ 70mm
1/100 sec, f/5.0 ISO 200
For more images like this, please visit my website (images are available for purchase)
http://www.edlehming.com
“When you don’t cover up the world with words and labels, a sense of the miraculous returns to your life that was lost a long time ago when humanity, instead of using thought, became possessed by thought.”
―
As I continue to review my photos from Iceland, inevitably I come across a collection of photos I have dubbed “The Golden Valley”. I posted one of them a few weeks ago. That particular image was a closer view of the mountain in the distance, Heiðarfall, and as I said then, we thought we had seen the highlight of our day at Goðafoss, earlier in the day. This image is a bit of a wider shot, showing more of the valley that contained the wonder that had us transfixed for a few brief moments on day five of our ten-day Iceland trip.
We continued on our journey, stopping for lunch in Akureyri, Iceland’s second largest city and headed westward through a long valley, not expecting to see much more, other than the high mountains which dominate the region surrounding Akureyri. This valley follows a moderate river known as Heiðará, which can be seen at the centre of my photo.
This drive was more beautiful than expected and we travelled deeper into the highlands, following the river valley between steep hillsides and mountains. Along the way, we stopped and made some photos of the various mountains, but our attention was fixed on this single peak in the distance, framed by the surrounding slopes, the sun hanging just to the left of it, casting soft shadows and lighting up the snow blowing from its peak.
As we got closer, I was hoping that the road would continue to take us nearer and not turn off to some adjacent valley. We were not disappointed and as we approached, we noticed the slight shifting slightly to a warm glow, which made the valley seem to glow in soft sunlight. We stopped the car along the road and watched this effect take hold, making several images each of this stunning spectacle of light. The whole valley seemed to shine in tones of gold, patches of sunlight catching the grasses and seeming to shimmer through the fine mist caused by blowing snow. The whole world around us was alight in a surreal brilliance. It was like a scene you imaging in a fantasy novel, we were just missing dragons and unicorns. And then just as it had begun, it ended, still lovely but lacking the stunning effect we had just witnessed, for a few glorious moments.
Every photographer’s dream is to capture a moment like this, accurately, so that others can experience it as well. I’m happy that my many years, out on the trails, making photos, and many times failing, had prepared me for this moment and enabled me to create an image that fully and accurately communicates what I witnessed. As I sat at my computer, reviewing and editing this photo, I found myself filled with the same raw emotion I felt when I made the photo. I hope that you, my reader, enjoy it too.
Nikon D800
Tamron SP 70-200mm f/2.8 Di VC USD @ 70mm
1/250 sec, f/9.0 ISO 200
For more images like this, please visit my website (images are available for purchase)
http://www.edlehming.com
“Nature was pure, and still is.”
―
On day five of our ten-day Iceland trip, we drove through what felt like a rather long stretch of nothing much, as we departed the plains and low hills of Mývatn and headed towards Akureyri, Iceland’s’ second largest city. On our map we noted the location of Goðafoss and decided this was to be an extended stop on our journey.
As I found typical of Iceland, things are often not what you expect. The map showed Goðafoss close to the highway, but we expected a short side trip to get closer. As we rounded a bend, a large river appeared in front of us and there it was,Goðafoss, right next to the highway, a distant spray of green and white in the distance, some six kilometers ahead of us, yet is was clearly recognizable.
Goðafoss is not as big as I expected, with a vertical drop of about 12 meters and a width of 30 meters. Though not exactly as imagined, it’s a beautiful wide and complex waterfall, especially at this time of year, when the waters run cold and pure, no longer carrying the spring sediments which make the water cloudy and gray. This purity showcases the gorgeous green tones of the water, as it falls and as it pools beneath the falls. Goðafoss is the Skjálfandafljót river which flows north from central Iceland’s highlands.
As with many of the waterfalls we experienced, it was quite easy to gain close access to the waterfalls from well-marked access points. On our arrival, we set up our cameras close to the base of the eastern side of the falls, visible in my image just left of the bottom center. This area is a small shelf of rock, covered in snow, at this time of year.
There were several other people there taking pictures and just enjoying the sight, for the most part, very respectful of others enjoyment of this beautiful place, including photographers, like me, setting up tripods to make long exposures. My son and I spend quite a bit of time shooting from different angles and at different speeds trying to capture the feel of this fall.
I have several decent images, but none really resonate with me, so we headed up to the top, where there is a large viewing platform, with good visibility of the falls. Once more, there were quite a few people taking pictures; some avid photographers with tripods and filters, as well as the casual tourists and the ever-present ‘selfie seekers’, posing in various positions along the railings.
This platform yielded the best photos, though I was unprepared for the brightness of the freshly fallen snow and did not have a good neutral density filter with me to compensate for this. Generally, I can accomplish good light balance through ISO, aperture, and exposure settings, but I maxed them all out trying to get a long exposure. The image above is the best of my attempts, and despite the challenging light, I think it turned out alright, showcasing the bright snow and deep emerald waters. What it can’t show is just how cold this water is. The only evidence being the thin ice-floes accumulating in the foreground, just off my initial vantage point.
Nikon D300
TAMRON SP AF 17-50mm F2.8 XR Di II LD Aspherical IF A16NII @ 22 mm
1/6 sec, F/29, ISO 125
For more images like this, please visit my website (images are available for purchase)
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“I took my love, I took it down
Climbed a mountain and I turned around
And I saw my reflection in the snow covered hills
‘Til the landslide brought me down”
– Fleetwood Mac
As those who follow my blog regularly will know, I try to avoid people in my photos. My primary focus is to share places and things and try to convey some of the ‘feeling’ of those places and things. In this case, I am making an exception, because the ‘feel’ of this place, high on the slopes of Krafla volcano, is conveyed most effectively by my son, Greg, walking back down from a high ridge, trying to stay warm, as 100 km winds drive snow across the road around him.
I chose the lyrics of one of my favourite Fleetwood Mac songs, because we both joked about the line “Climbed a mountain and I turned around” as we warmed up in the car. Which begs the question, “Why did we climb in these conditions?”
We had left the waterfalls: Selfoss and Dettifoss about an hour earlier and wanted to check out the green water-filled caldera of a large volcano named Krafla. Like Dettifoss, this meant a bit of a detour along a snow-covered road, but it was not as bad as the Dettifoss road. The road itself leads to a large geothermal generating station and continues up to the top of Krafla.
As we approached the Krafla access road, we noticed that barricades had been placed across the road along with signage stating that the road was closed. At this time, another squall had come across and so, we waited till it cleared and decided to hike the 3 kilometers to the Krafla crater.
As we set off, the sky was still a bit snow filled and it was windy, but tolerable. and remained so, till we got to the crest of the ridge at the top of the road. At this point, the wind, now not blocked by the ridge, showed us its true nature, making it quite a bit less hospitable. We looked up the road, the Krafla parking lot about one kilometer distance, but barely visible. To the north of us, yet another menacing black cloud approached, meaning more wind and white out conditions. The road ahead offered no places of shelter and followed the ridge, which would have left us completely exposed when the next storm hit. So, we made the decision to abandon our quest and head back down to the car.
Within a few minutes, and sooner than expected, the fury of the next squall was on us, temperatures dropped, snow filled our sight, and winds picked up to hurricane force, whipping the snow at our backs.
I’m glad we decided to play it safe, because I can’t imagine what it would have been like on that exposed ridge and we had no idea how long this squall lasted.
It wasn’t a landslide that brought us down, but we had experienced something new: just one aspect of the raw and untamed nature of Iceland.
Nikon D800
Tamron SP 70-200mm f/2.8 Di VC USD @ 70 mm
1/250 sec, f/8.0, ISO 800
For more images like this, please visit my website (images are available for purchase)
http://www.edlehming.com
“Unlike the majority of people, he did not hate or fear the wilderness; as harsh as the empty lands were, they possessed a grace and a beauty that no artifice could compete with and that he found restorative.”
―
It’s really hard to describe this place. The photo was made about an hour after the one I posted yesterday. That’s how fast conditions change in Iceland. For about thirty minutes, we enjoyed relatively clear skies, though snow squalls loomed on the horizon.
This is Selfoss, a broad, but relatively low waterfall in Northern Iceland. The landscape around this waterfall, and the higher, Dettifoss below it is unbelievable. From beyond Selfoss, the steep ravine you can see here gets even steeper with an almost tortured look, like the earth was torn apart, leaving a gaping maw of high, jagged cliffs of black basalt.
There is nothing smooth or soft here. The entire landscape is dark and sharp and barren, with a few mosses and sparse grasses clinging tenuously between the blasted rock. There must have been a great upheaval here, in the vast volcanic plains of Mývatnsöræfi, in Iceland northern region.
The other thing that does not show in the photo is the biting and relentless winds that whipped at us as we made photos of the waterfalls, stepping through deep snowdrifts and winding between the sharp rocks that line the edges of the gorge. Don’t get me wrong, this is a well-travelled tourist site, with a large parking lot and well-marked trails, but at times the drifts made it tough to walk and they covered jagged rock beneath them.
We spent about an hour photographing both Dettifoss and Selfoss. Then, looking to the sky and seeing another squall approaching , we made our way back to the car, which is about a half kilometer walk. Before we got to the car, the squall hit and made it difficult to see more than a few meters ahead of us. By the time we got back to the car, the full savagery of the storm was on us and we could barely see the length of the parking lot, so we decided to wait it out. As we sat in the car, we saw a tourist bus pull in and had to wonder how that bus had navigated the horrible, drift covered road that led us to the waterfalls, 26 kilometers off the Ring Road! Not to mention, people would have paid good money for the tour to the waterfalls, been transported through along dubious roads, only to arrive in blizzard-like condition.
The storm eventually eased and we left the parking lot with three other cars, knowing that the road we had travelled to get here would be in even worse condition on the way out. Fortunately, the trip was made safely and our journey continued.
Nikon D800
Tamron SP 70-200mm f/2.8 Di VC USD @ 160 mm
1/500 sec, f/13.0, ISO 800
For more images like this, please visit my website (images are available for purchase)
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“How glorious a greeting the sun gives the mountains!”
―
The name Austari – Skógarmannafjöll literally means East Skogar Mountains. I’m still trying to understand the multiple iterations of Icelandic names. These ‘mountains’ are a part of the area referred to by geographers as part of the Table Mountains of Northern Iceland. The whole region is characterized by vast, flat lava fields and these mountains stand alone in this flatness. For perspective, I used the full zoom on my 200m lense, as the mountains are about 10 km from the road.
What originally got my attention, as we drove through this bleak, snowy landscape, was the sun shining through the snow clouds, making at appear as if these dormant volcanoes were steaming. That, and the brilliant sunlight breaking through and catching them on their south flank, while the north fight off the dark of yet another heavy snow squall.
From my roadside vantage point, this contrast of elements: bright and dark, flat and tall, made for a nice composition which captured the character of this region, known, generally, as Mývatnsöræfi, or the ‘wilderness’ of Mývatn, which is such an appropriate name for this harsh landscape.
I have to admit that I had to edit out a powerline which bisected my view of the mountains for kilometers. I tried to get closer and get a shot under the wires, but the terrain was quit rugged and the wind was incredible and relentless. I finally resigned myself that a ‘clean’ shot was not possible and that I would have to edit the out. This was not a common occurrence as Iceland is being very deliberate in not spoiling their natural beauty with things like power lines. Work is underway to bury power lines for just this purpose
I’m glad for my decision to make the photo regardless of the obstruction, because the opportunity to make this image soon disappeared behind yet another squall, a constant theme for us as we ventured through this region in late October, 2018.
Nikon D800
Tamron SP 70-200mm f/2.8 Di VC USD @ 200 mm
1/640 sec, f/13.0, ISO 800
For more images like this, please visit my website (images are available for purchase)
http://www.edlehming.com
“I like geography best, he said, because your mountains & rivers know the secret. Pay no attention to boundaries.”
―
Believe it or not, this is a colour photo. The light is heavily filtered by the snow filled clouds that created a significant driving challenge as I was travelling through the highland which separate North and East Iceland.
The mountains are part of a long, actively volcanic, ridge that runs from the glaciers of Vatnajökull in the south to Iceland’s most north-eastern point, Kòpasker.
As we departed the town of Egilsstaðir in the east and followed the Hvannà river valley towards the interior, the light dusting of snow we had experienced in Egilsstaðir began to grow heavier and north winds whipped the snow across the barren and seemingly lifeless landscape. On the northern horizon, dark and menacing clouds threatened white-out conditions and the roads soon turned to pure ice.
Fortunately, our rental vehicle was a 4×4 with studded tires, which made the drive a bit safer for us, but the threat of heavy squalls and high winds remained, exaggerated by the altitude and wide open plateaus which we had entered. As snow blew around us, the occasional mountain peak would reveal itself from the maelstrom and then vanish again behind a veil of white fury. I’m fortunate to have grown up in Canadian winters, knowing how to drive these conditions, but still gripping the steering wheel tightly as we ploughed through ever deepening drifts across the road.
We drove this 100km stretch, stopping between squalls for photos, without incident, eventually dropping in elevation through the ridge of mountains that serves as the border between east and north Iceland. It’s that ridge that is pictured above, the steep volcanic cone of Geldingafell rising in the distance, offering us one final view before being obscured by snow once more. This brief, roadside moment lasted, as many things in our Icelandic journey, for mere seconds before disappearing from sight.
The colours, as you can see here, are so heavily muted by the snow that you would think this to be a toned black and white photo. It’s quite the effect and a bit unsettling when you are in it for an extended period. And, as you can see from my camera settings, it was quite dark, with the exception of the muted sun reflecting from the icy road.
At the time, I had no idea exactly where we were, only that we had passed safely through the mountains and onto the broad northern plains of Mývatnsöræfi and further adventures, in this geothermally active region, so different from any terrain we had experienced so far.
Nikon D800
Tamron SP 70-200mm f/2.8 Di VC USD @ 70 mm
1/250 sec, f/18.0, ISO 800
For more images like this, please visit my website (images are available for purchase)
http://www.edlehming.com
“Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning to find out that going to the mountains is going home; that wildness is a necessity”
―
I have found myself looking back through the photos I made along a trail leading to Sandfell, a moderately high coastal mountain, on the Fáskrúðsfjörður fjord in Eastern Iceland. I shared a bit about this in yesterday’s post.
This place summed up a lot of what I experienced in Iceland. Here, I’m standing on the shores of a small glacial stream and looking up the slopes of Sandfell itself. It’s like the innumerable mountain streams that seem present everywhere in Iceland. The creek, one of many flowing down from the mountain, follows a stone filled gully, bounded with long grass and mosses. The mountain itself is not very high, at just over 700 meters and would not normally be snow-covered. The snow is the result of a series of late October snowfalls. It has remained frozen above 600 meters and the creek, where I am standing is a transition zone between freezing and melting.
The scene is also representative of the many colours and textures of Iceland; the endless moss and grasses and the stark black stone of ancient volcanoes, covered in light snow at this time of year. Its rugged yet peaceful, a natural and untamed beauty so rare in the world these days. I completely understand why thousands upon thousands of visitors come here every year. My hope is that, despite all the tourists, it can remain unspoiled.
iPhone 7 back camera @ 4.0mm
1/1150sec; f/1.8; ISO 20
For more images like this, please visit my website (images are available for purchase)
http://www.edlehming.com
“The path to our destination is not always a straight one. We go down the wrong road, we get lost, we turn back. Maybe it doesn’t matter which road we embark on. Maybe what matters is that we embark.”
―
During our journey along Iceland’s Ring Road, we took many occasions to satisfy our curiosity by hiking off the road when the opportunity presented itself. One of these opportunities was this gravel road, which leads up into the mountains that line the west shore of Fáskrúðsfjörður fjord.
The main reason we chose this trail was easy access from the main highway, meaning we could pull off the road safely and park our vehicle by driving part way up the road, till it became too rough to continue. Once parked, we donned our backpacks, filled with camera gear, and headed up the road, which soon narrowed to a rugged trail .Our goal: get to the snow line at the base of the mountains which you see in the distance. The highest peak, Sandfell, is 743 meters high. We were actually hoping to get part way up its slopes.
As our hike continued, the road banked sharply to the left, following a deep ravine toward the base of Sanfell. Something that is not often mentioned in the standard tourist literature is just how rugged Iceland’s terrain can be. Most scenes look quite smooth and simple to traverse, but in reality, the rugged landscape is filled with unseen obstacles, sharp rocks, ice-cold streams, and deep fissures The ravine I mentioned is just one such obstacle. A small glacial creek flows through it, but the banks are steep, jagged lava, and it takes time to find safe passage into the ravine and back up.
After crossing the ravine we were faced with a man-made obstacle, namely, a wide field of deep grass, to be used as feed for sheep or cattle. We only got a few meters into this dense, ankle grabbing grass, till we realized that crossing the field towards our goal would be absolutely exhausting. So, we turned back and forded the ravine once more. As I said, we had hoped to climb part way up Sandfell, but there was just too much terrain between us and the mountain
The other interesting thing we came across on this hike, was a ‘rustic; cabin at the end of the trail. 
The owner had built it at the edge of the mountains and I can only imagine the lovely view in springtime and summer. The mountains fill the view through one window and the other side looks down across the long fjord.
So, we stood, at the base slopes of these majestic mountains, simply enjoying the view and taking a break from driving.
iPhone 7 back camera @ 4.0mm
1/2200 sec; f/1.8; ISO 20
For more images like this, please visit my website (images are available for purchase)
http://www.edlehming.com
“The best part of the journey is the surprise and wonder along the way.”
― Ken Poirot
One thing I never got tired of in Iceland was the waterfall and there was never a shortage of waterfalls. For those following this series of posts in my Iceland Journal Series, this will come as not surprise. In fact, it got to the point where I was bypassing some waterfalls as ‘insignificant’ since I knew there was not time to enjoy them all.
Back home, I could spend hours exploring a waterfall, photographing it at different angles and exposures, trying to capture the ‘essence’ of that particular waterfall. Each has its own unique characteristics that set it apart from others.
This particular waterfall, somewhere along the eastern coast of Iceland really fascinated me. It captures the character of the East Fjords so well. The water steps and zigzags down the steep slopes as it flows through the ravine of its own making. Or, was this deep ravine already here, the result of some geological upheaval and the water just found a convenient path? Would have loved to explore it more thoroughly, but, like many of the roadside waterfalls, it’s on private property and numerous fences make it difficult to get close.
So, I just stood in the grassy field near its base and enjoyed watching the progression of the water, leaping and dancing from rock to rock; sometimes taking small careful steps while, at other points, plunging great distances into cool pools below. I never get tired of watching water move and there is such an abundance here, I could not see it all, even in a lifetime.
Nikon D800
Tamron SP 70-200mm f/2.8 Di VC USD @ 95 mm
1/100 sec, f/5.0, ISO 400
For more images like this, please visit my website (images are available for purchase)
http://www.edlehming.com
“A horse loves freedom, and the weariest old work horse will roll on the ground or break into a lumbering gallop when he is turned loose into the open.”
―
Today’s image is a bit of a break from mountains, waterfalls and fjords, though I saw plenty along the way to this location, near the town of Egilsstaðir in Eastern Iceland. Unlike my previous photos, which featured primarily the coastal region, this image was made inland on a long lake named Lagarfljót.
My son and I had spent the day travelling and photographing the East fjords and our evening stops was Egilsstaðir. We had made good time and got to this are a bit ahead of schedule, so decided to travel around the lake. The long valley which contains Lagarfljót surprised us, since it is filled with trees; something we had not expected in Iceland, especially not in abundance, as was the case here. The trees are an Icelandic Birch, which is quite stunted and dense, more of a tall bush really.
Further along the shore, we came across a small herd of Icelandic horses, close enough to the road that we could get some good photos. Like the birches, the Icelandic horses have adapted to their environment and are quite short and furry, making them better suited to the rough terrain and cool, wet weather. By short, I mean they are about the size of ponies, standing at only 13 to 14 hands or 132 to 142 centimeters high . They are also an old breed, having been imported to the island in the 9th and 10th century. They are also the only breed of horse in Iceland, since the import of horse is forbidden. They also have very few diseases.
They come in all colours but I chose this gray one to photograph, primarily because I liked the colours and texture of her mane. She posed for me quite calmly, allowing me to get a shot with the lake in the background.
We saw many of these horses, throughout the county but few were close enough to photograph well. So I am glad to have had this opportunity.
Nikon D800
Tamron SP 70-200mm f/2.8 Di VC USD @ 165 mm
1/160 sec, f/4.0, ISO 400
For more images like this, please visit my website (images are available for purchase)
http://www.edlehming.com
“Well, first of all,” said the BFG, “human beans is not really believing in giants, is they? Human beans is not thinking we exist.”
―
You’d think, to look on this, that giants did exist, and had built a broad staircase to the heavens.
It’s quite a sight when you first see it, the broad and high steps of the steep hills along the East Fjords. For me, it was something I had not seen before. And, as most of my experiences, travelling through Iceland this fall, completely unexpected. They had the appearance of being somewhat unnatural, as if the mountains had been carved into these terraces.
I’m still curious as to the exact process that creates this effect. Yes, they have clearly been eroded over time to this form, but I don’t fully understand the geological process that causes this. It’s quite prevalent in Iceland, but I have, as yet, to find an article that explains it.
In any case, it makes the landscape quite stunning by creating layers upon layers of colour and texture, further enhanced, at higher altitudes by a light snowfall, as the layers continue into the sharp horn of Nóntindur, high above the Berufjörður fjord below it.
Nikon D800
Tamron SP 70-200mm f/2.8 Di VC USD @ 75 mm
1/320 sec, f/10.0, ISO 400
For more images like this, please visit my website (images are available for purchase)
http://www.edlehming.com
“It’s not the endings that will haunt you
But the space where they should lie,
The things that simply faded
Without one final wave goodbye.”
―
The long journey comes to an end, silently and slowly, in water.
Nothing is quick for a glacier, including its ending. The ice slowly flows down the mountains, slowly melting, cracking, and disintegrating. The last vestiges float about in a muddy pond, eventually fading not the water, at the feet of their majestic source..
In the image, you can clearly see the progression down the mountain, including the widening fissures at the face of the glacier. I made the photo from the edge of the pool, looking back up the glacier and waiting for the clouds to clear so that I could see the high peak of Hrútsfallstindar towering behind the glacier at 1,570 meters.
My son and I walked the edge of the pond, amazed at this natural spectacle and watching all shapes and sizes if ice floating around in front of us, or stuck to the muddy bottom and gradually melting away. What really surprised me was the variation, not just of shape and size but the colours and textures of the icebergs. Some were simply dull gray masses, others were made up of layers in every vibrant shade of blue imaginable, and some were absolutely crystal clear.
Behind us was a high mound of rock and gravel, the terminal moraine, made during the last advance of the glacier, as it pushed and piled the rock into a hill in front of it, creating a dam that is responsible for the glacial pool.
It was such a lovely place that we spent over an hour exploring the shoreline and photographing the icebergs and surroundings. It was an experience that I had not expected to ever have and one I will not soon forget.
Nikon D800
Tamron SP 70-200mm f/2.8 Di VC USD @ 75 mm
1/320 sec, f/10.0, ISO 400
For more images like this, please visit my website (images are available for purchase)
http://www.edlehming.com
“Ice, deep, blue and tortured ice;
The vault of time, and memory, long past.”
– Ed Lehming
Words can barely describe the feeling of standing side by side with a glacier. Ice, formed tens of thousand of years ago. Ice, that has travelled for kilometers from high mountain peaks to slowly melt into oblivion, in a muddy glacial pool.
The photo hardly does it justice; layers of ice and dust, reminders of Iceland’s recent and distant volcanic past, laid out before me to ponder, close enough to touch. There are too many shades of blue to name, and light plays from and through the ancient mass before me.
Glaciers cover almost ten percent of Iceland’s surface, all melting at an accelerated pace in recent years. And now, I stand and witness their slow decay in the sound of dripping water and splashes far below the lead face.
I’m so glad I made this journey, at this time. I fear much of this wonder will soon be gone; though it’s hard to imagine that this much ice will someday by be nothing more than a muddy brown pond and a memory of what once was.
This, is Svínafelsjökull, close up and personal, this is Iceland’s past and future, a visual history of the land of Fire and Ice.
Nikon D800
Tamron SP 70-200mm f/2.8 Di VC USD @ 200mm
1/160 sec, f/6.3, ISO 200
For more images like this, please visit my website (images are available for purchase)
http://www.edlehming.com
Ed Lehming Photography 
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