Vestrahorn Crazy
By now we’d been roaming the sands of Vestrahorn for at least a couple of hours. We’d stood on top of dunes, waiting for the moment as we attempted to catch the entire range with wide angle lenses. Unhappily, I’d just discovered that my polariser had cracked and crazed at some point earlier in the day, rendering itself almost completely useless unless I opened the aperture wide enough to let a bus through. We’d puzzled over the reflections on the rather too empty tidal lagoon that sits between the dunes and the Viking village at its base, wondering exactly where the water that supposedly replenishes it on a daily basis came from. After all, it was almost high tide and the incoming sea showed not even the faintest sign of sweeping in with a few thousand gallons of extra supplies to top things up. At some point in the afternoon we’d gradually wandered off in separate directions to focus our attentions on different subjects. I’d been to the shore and back twice, the second time earning a welly boot full of Atlantic Ocean for my troubles – although I’d have happily accepted double helpings and a second soaking sock in exchange for the results that were on offer. If by that time we’d packed up and headed to Hofn for a three course refuelling exercise we’d have been happy enough. As long as the fermented shark wasn’t on the menu. What’s all that about? I’ll have the salad with extra lettuce please.
But having ticked three large and urgent boxes with varying degrees of success, and with no real idea where Lee was, I decided to wander the short distance over the darkening black sand, where I then stood on top of yet another dune – just for the fun of it and to see what I could see. For a moment you just have to pause, take in the scene from your own personal grassy atoll, and pinch yourself. In fact for much of the fortnight I kept saying to myself “flipping ‘eck, we’re actually in Iceland!” The excitement at just being in this country never loses its lustre, and that’s not just because of the Goulash they serve at the Ice Cave Restaurant in Vik either. Don’t forget to top it up with as many free croutons you can without causing unnecessary embarrassment. As I watched the world for a few moments, enjoying the magnificence and contrasting the view to the big grey shroud that covered everything around me three years earlier, the shot before you began to take shape. The light was starting to intensify, as soft lilac blues stood out against the black sand and the golden grassy dunes. Silhouetted figures strolled silently at the water’s edge, some stopping to gaze out across the empty ocean before them in this dream filled landscape. It’s a place that draws many visitors of course, but even so there’s enough space to claim a dune for yourself without fear of being crowded.
And isn’t it helpful when the couple at the water’s edge are so considerate as to stand still for long enough to allow you to catch the movement of sky and sea and smooth away distractions? Obviously one or two other fun seekers in the scene had to be airbrushed for the sake of simplicity, but you can’t have it all without breaking a few eggs along the way. I even had to remove a tripod wielding tog, although in my defence he got the place to himself in another shot a few moments later, when the lovers themselves were unceremoniously removed. I’m sure the gaggle of clackers over to the right of us on the rocks at the edge of the beach were delighted that he was standing in the middle of their compositions, and I expect that there was more than a hint of content aware fill taking place in editing suites across the globe a few days later.
It was close to the end of daylight by now, and the group of raw files taken here make up the sixth of seven folders from Vestrahorn that day, in itself a reflection of the number of possibilities the place offers. Every direction in which you look finds you framing the scene as you try to isolate the compositions you know are lying in wait. It’s a place where your imagination can run riot, while you run from one place to another searching for your perfect dune shaped companion under the ever changing light. Even the ruler straight track from the beach to the café might find you muttering at passing cars under your breath as you try and get a clean long exposure in the moments before the purple dusk arrives. After all, what more could you want than a perfectly formed and grand yet pleasingly compact mountain range, standing over a volcanically charged black beach covered in swishy tufts of golden orange wherever you look? Overly popular? Yes. Photographed to the point of distraction? Very probably true. Utterly jaw dropping at first, second, third and fourth sight? Well, yes, absolutely it is.
Vestrahorn Crazy
By now we’d been roaming the sands of Vestrahorn for at least a couple of hours. We’d stood on top of dunes, waiting for the moment as we attempted to catch the entire range with wide angle lenses. Unhappily, I’d just discovered that my polariser had cracked and crazed at some point earlier in the day, rendering itself almost completely useless unless I opened the aperture wide enough to let a bus through. We’d puzzled over the reflections on the rather too empty tidal lagoon that sits between the dunes and the Viking village at its base, wondering exactly where the water that supposedly replenishes it on a daily basis came from. After all, it was almost high tide and the incoming sea showed not even the faintest sign of sweeping in with a few thousand gallons of extra supplies to top things up. At some point in the afternoon we’d gradually wandered off in separate directions to focus our attentions on different subjects. I’d been to the shore and back twice, the second time earning a welly boot full of Atlantic Ocean for my troubles – although I’d have happily accepted double helpings and a second soaking sock in exchange for the results that were on offer. If by that time we’d packed up and headed to Hofn for a three course refuelling exercise we’d have been happy enough. As long as the fermented shark wasn’t on the menu. What’s all that about? I’ll have the salad with extra lettuce please.
But having ticked three large and urgent boxes with varying degrees of success, and with no real idea where Lee was, I decided to wander the short distance over the darkening black sand, where I then stood on top of yet another dune – just for the fun of it and to see what I could see. For a moment you just have to pause, take in the scene from your own personal grassy atoll, and pinch yourself. In fact for much of the fortnight I kept saying to myself “flipping ‘eck, we’re actually in Iceland!” The excitement at just being in this country never loses its lustre, and that’s not just because of the Goulash they serve at the Ice Cave Restaurant in Vik either. Don’t forget to top it up with as many free croutons you can without causing unnecessary embarrassment. As I watched the world for a few moments, enjoying the magnificence and contrasting the view to the big grey shroud that covered everything around me three years earlier, the shot before you began to take shape. The light was starting to intensify, as soft lilac blues stood out against the black sand and the golden grassy dunes. Silhouetted figures strolled silently at the water’s edge, some stopping to gaze out across the empty ocean before them in this dream filled landscape. It’s a place that draws many visitors of course, but even so there’s enough space to claim a dune for yourself without fear of being crowded.
And isn’t it helpful when the couple at the water’s edge are so considerate as to stand still for long enough to allow you to catch the movement of sky and sea and smooth away distractions? Obviously one or two other fun seekers in the scene had to be airbrushed for the sake of simplicity, but you can’t have it all without breaking a few eggs along the way. I even had to remove a tripod wielding tog, although in my defence he got the place to himself in another shot a few moments later, when the lovers themselves were unceremoniously removed. I’m sure the gaggle of clackers over to the right of us on the rocks at the edge of the beach were delighted that he was standing in the middle of their compositions, and I expect that there was more than a hint of content aware fill taking place in editing suites across the globe a few days later.
It was close to the end of daylight by now, and the group of raw files taken here make up the sixth of seven folders from Vestrahorn that day, in itself a reflection of the number of possibilities the place offers. Every direction in which you look finds you framing the scene as you try to isolate the compositions you know are lying in wait. It’s a place where your imagination can run riot, while you run from one place to another searching for your perfect dune shaped companion under the ever changing light. Even the ruler straight track from the beach to the café might find you muttering at passing cars under your breath as you try and get a clean long exposure in the moments before the purple dusk arrives. After all, what more could you want than a perfectly formed and grand yet pleasingly compact mountain range, standing over a volcanically charged black beach covered in swishy tufts of golden orange wherever you look? Overly popular? Yes. Photographed to the point of distraction? Very probably true. Utterly jaw dropping at first, second, third and fourth sight? Well, yes, absolutely it is.