Super Saturday
There was no denying the fact that Saturday, our second full day of touring the Snaefellsnes peninsula was turning out rather well. In contrast to the previous afternoon of non-stop drizzle, interspersed by bouts of heavy rain before returning to yet more non-stop drizzle, conditions had been kind as we reversed Friday’s route, heading anticlockwise around the sights. Sights that so far had taken in two waterfalls, two Icelandically remote churches, an enormous glacier and combinations of all three as we went. Above all, it was dry, and while there was enough cloud lurking up there on Mother Nature’s ceiling, it was high enough above the ground to make things interesting. High enough in fact to bring the usually reticent ice capped dome of Snaefellsjokull into the landscape. The previous day we’d got talking to Trevor, an Aurora enthusiast from Derbyshire who’d come here a number of times before. Trevor confessed that he was yet to see the ever shy glacier with its curious shark’s fin of a summit in all its glory. By now he was on his way to hunt for nocturnal green skies further north in the Westfjords. I hope he took a break from his journey to look back in this direction, because today Snaefellsjokull was making up for all of those spoiled moments in a very decisive manner.
The decision to head around the peninsula in this direction was by no means a desultory one. Lee had suggested we end the day at Budir so photograph the famous black church on the dunes by the red sandy beach. If you’ve been keeping up, you might have seen in a couple of previous posts by both of us that it was probably the best plan he’s ever had. “The Big Pink Sky Show” now sits on the wall in the prime slot next to my screen as I’m typing this, reminding me of one of the most spectacular skies I’ve ever witnessed. Amazing to think it could happen in such a place, when by the law of averages it should much more likely have occurred over our local Aldi, just as we were going in to stock up on provisions for the week. That piece of inspired last minute direction from my travelling companion meant that the penultimate stop would probably be at Arnarstapi, a small settlement not far from Budir, that had only been added to the itinerary quite late in the pre tour masterplan. While it was a location that boasted some very attractive rock formations that included a sea arch just a few yards from its rocky shore, the only way they could be viewed was from the small cliff that stood over them, reducing them in size and impact in comparison to how they might look if viewed from below. Our brief pit stop here in the rain yesterday had confirmed beyond all doubt that as far as our limited imagination went, Arnarstapi’s sea stacks were to be admired, but weren’t going to make for satisfactory seaside pictures, at least not from the only available angle anyway.
But Arnarstapi had another ace up its small and splendid sleeve in the form of the lone white house on the clifftop, framed by the equally triangular shape of Stapafell behind it. There were two aces in fact. As we pulled off the main drag and headed down the slope towards the harbour car park, a fish and chip van magically appeared on the left hand side, hatch open and a queue of hungry punters waiting to be refuelled in front of it. On a trip where budgets meant that eating food of any real substance was an event almost as isolated as this small coastal village, I noted its presence and announced that supper would be early today.
And so we found ourselves down on the quay, pointing our cameras at the matching triangles, with Snaefellsjokull standing majestically to one side, cloaked in a regal gown of cold blue ice. Where yesterday there was only grey air, only the slightest hint of white fluff grazed the top of that shark fin summit. It was a sight worth taking a snap or two of, even though the fish and chip van was calling me urgently, a counter beat to the discordant rhythm of my own empty stomach. Thirty seconds was long enough to gently move that sky and smooth the harbour in front of me to create a natural symphony of green and grey, with just a hint of blue on the cold inhospitable slope at the edge of the clouds.
And so to the fish and chip van. It was fine as long as I didn’t devote too much time to working out exactly what two thousand five Krona equated to in Sterling (just north of fifteen quid if you were wondering), and I was soon learning that Icelandic fish fryers have a very different style to the ones at home, offering a curious but delicious flaky texture to the batter, with a cocktail sauce dip for added pleasure. I’d try it if I were you. So far, Super Saturday was delivering, and yet still, the best was to come in an evening at Budir that will stay in our souls for the rest of our days.
Super Saturday? Well, no actually. I hadn’t won three Olympic Gold medals in a single evening. In fact if anything I’d lessened my already microscopically dwindling chances of doing so by helping myself to a very satisfactory portion of deep fried glory at that fish and chip van after all. But what a day it was. If there were Olympic titles awarded to people for having a very enjoyable day out and about with the cameras, then surely we were champions. Sometimes you work hard to get an image from a scene, both in the execution and the editing process. On other occasions, it’s all laid on for you, and you just have to be there with your bag of toys to capture the moment. Super Saturday was one of those. Big clouds, big scenes and big grins on faces. Somehow we knew that whatever else came during the rest of our stay, this was the day we’d always remember first.
The Big Pink Sky Show is right here: www.flickr.com/photos/126574513@N04/52380684960/in/datepo...
Super Saturday
There was no denying the fact that Saturday, our second full day of touring the Snaefellsnes peninsula was turning out rather well. In contrast to the previous afternoon of non-stop drizzle, interspersed by bouts of heavy rain before returning to yet more non-stop drizzle, conditions had been kind as we reversed Friday’s route, heading anticlockwise around the sights. Sights that so far had taken in two waterfalls, two Icelandically remote churches, an enormous glacier and combinations of all three as we went. Above all, it was dry, and while there was enough cloud lurking up there on Mother Nature’s ceiling, it was high enough above the ground to make things interesting. High enough in fact to bring the usually reticent ice capped dome of Snaefellsjokull into the landscape. The previous day we’d got talking to Trevor, an Aurora enthusiast from Derbyshire who’d come here a number of times before. Trevor confessed that he was yet to see the ever shy glacier with its curious shark’s fin of a summit in all its glory. By now he was on his way to hunt for nocturnal green skies further north in the Westfjords. I hope he took a break from his journey to look back in this direction, because today Snaefellsjokull was making up for all of those spoiled moments in a very decisive manner.
The decision to head around the peninsula in this direction was by no means a desultory one. Lee had suggested we end the day at Budir so photograph the famous black church on the dunes by the red sandy beach. If you’ve been keeping up, you might have seen in a couple of previous posts by both of us that it was probably the best plan he’s ever had. “The Big Pink Sky Show” now sits on the wall in the prime slot next to my screen as I’m typing this, reminding me of one of the most spectacular skies I’ve ever witnessed. Amazing to think it could happen in such a place, when by the law of averages it should much more likely have occurred over our local Aldi, just as we were going in to stock up on provisions for the week. That piece of inspired last minute direction from my travelling companion meant that the penultimate stop would probably be at Arnarstapi, a small settlement not far from Budir, that had only been added to the itinerary quite late in the pre tour masterplan. While it was a location that boasted some very attractive rock formations that included a sea arch just a few yards from its rocky shore, the only way they could be viewed was from the small cliff that stood over them, reducing them in size and impact in comparison to how they might look if viewed from below. Our brief pit stop here in the rain yesterday had confirmed beyond all doubt that as far as our limited imagination went, Arnarstapi’s sea stacks were to be admired, but weren’t going to make for satisfactory seaside pictures, at least not from the only available angle anyway.
But Arnarstapi had another ace up its small and splendid sleeve in the form of the lone white house on the clifftop, framed by the equally triangular shape of Stapafell behind it. There were two aces in fact. As we pulled off the main drag and headed down the slope towards the harbour car park, a fish and chip van magically appeared on the left hand side, hatch open and a queue of hungry punters waiting to be refuelled in front of it. On a trip where budgets meant that eating food of any real substance was an event almost as isolated as this small coastal village, I noted its presence and announced that supper would be early today.
And so we found ourselves down on the quay, pointing our cameras at the matching triangles, with Snaefellsjokull standing majestically to one side, cloaked in a regal gown of cold blue ice. Where yesterday there was only grey air, only the slightest hint of white fluff grazed the top of that shark fin summit. It was a sight worth taking a snap or two of, even though the fish and chip van was calling me urgently, a counter beat to the discordant rhythm of my own empty stomach. Thirty seconds was long enough to gently move that sky and smooth the harbour in front of me to create a natural symphony of green and grey, with just a hint of blue on the cold inhospitable slope at the edge of the clouds.
And so to the fish and chip van. It was fine as long as I didn’t devote too much time to working out exactly what two thousand five Krona equated to in Sterling (just north of fifteen quid if you were wondering), and I was soon learning that Icelandic fish fryers have a very different style to the ones at home, offering a curious but delicious flaky texture to the batter, with a cocktail sauce dip for added pleasure. I’d try it if I were you. So far, Super Saturday was delivering, and yet still, the best was to come in an evening at Budir that will stay in our souls for the rest of our days.
Super Saturday? Well, no actually. I hadn’t won three Olympic Gold medals in a single evening. In fact if anything I’d lessened my already microscopically dwindling chances of doing so by helping myself to a very satisfactory portion of deep fried glory at that fish and chip van after all. But what a day it was. If there were Olympic titles awarded to people for having a very enjoyable day out and about with the cameras, then surely we were champions. Sometimes you work hard to get an image from a scene, both in the execution and the editing process. On other occasions, it’s all laid on for you, and you just have to be there with your bag of toys to capture the moment. Super Saturday was one of those. Big clouds, big scenes and big grins on faces. Somehow we knew that whatever else came during the rest of our stay, this was the day we’d always remember first.
The Big Pink Sky Show is right here: www.flickr.com/photos/126574513@N04/52380684960/in/datepo...