From Lush Borneo to Remote Iceland

Words and pictures by Drew Pyke.

As avid wildlife photographers from leafy Sussex (UK), we arrived in Iceland full of ‘northern promise’. Having ventured to the orang-utans of the Borneo rainforest and the puffins of the Faroe Islands the year before, the most sparsely populated island in Europe was always going to be the priority for 2015. We closed down our laptops at our respective warm office jobs to take the 3-hour flight to sub-zero Celsius and the prospect of new and hardy species.

That left the island itself and its violent geology. For us, this was the big surprise; being drawn in by big rocks and ice patterns wasn’t expected. With the fluid ice sculptures at the Gulfoss waterfall, the green ice of the Sólheimajökull and water explosions of geysir (where our English word geyser comes from); these non-living life forms caught us off guard.

The northern lights, too, had waited for us upon arrival and glimmered dimly during the bus ride into the city from the airport, then opened into two spiraling green bands that hazily in and out of focus before disappearing into the light pollution of the suburbs. Three nights on the trot, however, gave us increasingly clearer views in dark skies some 20 minutes outside of the city. Tripod in hand, we set up the shots with a very gentle 100 ISO, a large 3.5 aperture, and a long 30-second shutter speed to capture as much of the dance as possible. It is important to capture the Aurora Borealis outside the city, looking in rather than from inside looking out, not just to avoid the light pollution but to capture the city lights with the northern lights above it. Be sure to hug your camera between shots to prevent vapor freeze on your lens.

Reykjavik, as a city, is tiny compared to continental capitals, yet it still accounts for 60% of Iceland’s total population. This gives a very different experience, coupled with long evenings when you feel yourself inhabiting the local space with others rather than a world of individuals, as in London or Paris. The waiters and hoteliers speak fluent English and share their stories (such as skinning cows with their knuckles or the complex ways they name their children). A delicacy that has to be tried is the sheep’s head (Svið), which is prepared for you by cutting the skull in half, singeing the flesh, boiling the meat, and then scooping the brain out. The amount of meat is relatively small, so it requires a lot of picking and pulling, but the cheek and tongue are particularly tender. We found only one guaranteed place to order this: the BSI bus terminal, which is within walking distance of the city center. This gives you a real, authentic local feel with its plastic seating, beige décor, and basic condiments compared to the upmarket continental bistros and cafes you can find in town.

A real gem in the capital that we happened upon after a wrong turn is the Einar Jónsson museum (a couple of minutes’ walk from the Hallgrímskirkja Lutheran church). This is a series of statues of varying scales that depict yearning warriors, mothers, and children in realistic folklore poses and styles. The intricate details offered small crevices where snow could fall in, giving the artifacts even more contrast and intrigue.

Despite the lack of wildlife, the island itself offered scenery in constant flux, prompting the tele-lens to sit snugly in our rucksack for the majority of the trip, while the wide-angle swallowed up the awe-inspiring valleys and canyons.