Ten years ago I visited Iceland for my second of two photographic workshops. Iceland is a country that fills me with awe and wonder. On that trip I travelled for snow and ice. I got rain and more rain. For eight days without much respite. The snow arrived on our last day as we drove to the airport.

So it was with trepidation that I invited my other half (OH), who is not a photographer, to accompany me on a quest to travel around the whole of the island, from south, eastwards to the north and finally to the west. A trip that would allow me to re-visit old haunts, such as the glaciers and ice at Jokulsarlon and Vatnajokull, but also to bring me to new places and experiences.

I say trepidation for two reasons; firstly because OH does not choose cold and wet as an ideal climate for a holiday, and secondly because I wasn't sure how it would be travelling with a non-photographer. This was to be our 'summer' holiday, and we would be together all day every day for 11 days; not something that happens very often. OH likes regular meals. I go with the flow. This was to be a test of our forty year marriage, and a road trip.

I was delighted by the sign at Reykjavik airport directing me to Iceland. I felt a sense of adventure.

We spent our first day in the city before collecting our vehicle and getting on the road.  I fell in love with the Harpa Concert Hall; a feast of glass and concrete, enhanced by a soloist singing arias in the gallery for visitors from the cruise ships docked nearby.

Next morning our journey began. And so did the rain.

We had a plan to climb up to the live volcano near the airport. We donned all of our waterproofs and set off from a remote car park in a field of lava. Precisely 100 yards later we climbed a ridge to winds that knocked us sideways, and prevented us from safely proceeding.

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 We retreated, wet and cold to the car and headed off to the Blue Lagoon, where we warmed up in the thermal water. With rain lashing our faces we drank  from the swim up bar and chatted to a lone American tourist who had carried his drone on a several day hike into the highlands only to find that the battery didn't work. Internally I was less than sympathetic; the sound of drones in peaceful landscapes really disturbs me.

Next came the famous 'Golden Circle'. This is the tourist circuit that many people do as a day trip from the city. Many people were....... Iceland is currently full to capacity after the pandemic.

We started at the Pingvellir National Park , a place where continents divide between the North American tectonic plate and the Eurasian plate.

We made a hasty trip to Geysir, where tourism dominates the landscape, and visited the first of countless spectacular waterfalls that punctuated our journey.

The Icelandic word for waterfall is 'foss'.

Gullfoss, Svartifoss, Sellfoss, Dettifoss..... they are all spectacular in their own way, mainly for the sheer volume of water that passes over them, and the scale of the drops.

But I was not In Iceland for the waterfalls. I was there for the wider landscapes and the lava.

It is something about the sparseness of the volcanic landscape that feels 'other-worldly'. A scene from another planet, perhaps. A popular location for sci-fi movies.

'Elemental' is the word that I would choose to describe it. Ice, water, rock and sky. Glaciers and mountains. Volcanoes and lava fields.

We were lucky. After two days of heavy rain the skies cleared, and if anything, were too bright for landscape photography. So I became 'just another tourist', and took in the sights, knowing that my images would be far from perfect. OH was happy, and we only had to have one of our daily picnic lunches in the car, with rain hammering down on the windscreen.

We visited many fishing villages, mostly with unpronouncable names.

Painted streets are popular., and perfect for those who love to post Instagram selfies.

I was at my happiest wandering across a lava field  in the middle of nowhere finding tiny plants nestling amongst the stones.

Sometimes going back to a place that is remembered in fondness can be a mistake.

Different weather, a different season and different circumstances are just a reminder of really good times past that cannot be replicated.

The church at Hellnar is a good example. How different are these two images, one from September 2022, and one from March 2012.

These two images highlight the need for atmospheric skies and a lack of harsh shadows in landscape photography.

The same issue applies to photographing ice. Bright sunlight bleaches out the colours in the ice and mid-day sun creates unwanted shadows.

Below are images from a photo tour in 2012 showing one of my fellow photographers at work, and from the same place in 2022 during the day, with a tourist posing on the ice.

Sometimes it was good to remind myself that this was a holiday, and not a photo workshop. The two are rarely compatible unless one is travelling alone. I prefer to have the option to stop anywhere rather than be guided from one waterfall or iconic spot to the next.

While we journeyed I was reading 'The Library of Ice' by Nancy Campbell, poet and writer. Her words reminded me that Iceland can be a much harsher place than we experienced; with roads washed away by floods, volcanic erruptions engulfing villages and farms.

I also read about the diminishing glaciers, an issue that causes concern for many. The last glacier that we visited, Snaefellsjokul, is retreating fast, and is predicted to have melted completely by 2050. Nancy Campbell talks about the work of Katie Paterson, who allowed people to dial in to a mobile phone in the glacial lagoon at Fjallsarlon to hear the sounds of melting ice.

Katie talks about this in her TED talk about deep time.

As we travelled around, I relaxed, enjoyed the scenery and made photographs when it felt possible.

I am very lucky to have visited Iceland three times now, and whilst OH hoped that this would 'get it out of my system', I am afraid that it has had the reverse effect!

I will finish with a few images; a fairly random collection. It will take me some time before I know how I will use the images that I did make, and I look forward to exploring my archived images from previous journeys to look for themes that run through all three trips.

.And, yes, we did see the northern lights. I just stood and enjoyed them coming and going across the midnight sky with the milky way overhead. Previous experience tells me that my memories record them better than my photos.

A big thanks go out to OH for coming with me and even admitting to enjoying himself most of the time!

Recently I took some time out to visit the West Coast of Ireland. Connemara and the Galway coast.

Normally I take time out to go to Scotland, but I was drawn to revisit Connemara, a place that I went to as a child.

The childhood trip was a  family holiday with our neighbours. All that I and my siblings remember about it are the many accidents that befell us as we played on the shore of Lough Corrib and messed around in rowing boats. Rocks gashing heads, severe sunburn, falling out of top bunks while asleep, and a near drowning...... such is the stuff of memories. I was keen to see if the place was as I remembered it, and also to visit the beautiful white sand beaches and peat bogs.

Yes, peat bogs.

'Is this normal?' I ask myself.

Connemara is steeped in history, dotted with copious relics. Castles and myths. Churches and icons.

Yet I passed these by in favour of peat bogs and seaweed.

The majority of tourists were definitely there for the relics. Castles and statues, long coach journeys around the very tortuous coastal road, and  the occasional five minute pit stop to admire a view or have a little chat in  a grassy spot beside some gorse bushes.

I felt lucky to have a car and the freedom to go wherever I chose.

On my first day I sat and looked at the rocks beside my hotel.

Lichens and sea pinks, with waves lapping gently.

I felt calm. I definitely felt normal.

On the second day I explored the local lanes and houses.

I saw faces in the doors and windows of the windswept homes with their rocky gardens and dry stone walls.

Probably normal.

There were beaches to explore. White sand and even coral.

Clear water and sea anemones. I was on a mission to find seaweed.

Having left my other half at home I was free to indulge my photographic passions.
I was no longer heading for specific destinations. I was free to spend hours roaming the beach with my camera. Sand and seaweed my entertainment.

Imagine my excitement when I read about a 'Seaweed Centre' further up the coast, with the possibility of a seaweed bath, and to learn more about the different varieties.

I made my way there along the winding coastal road. An hour's drive to a remote peninsula.

When I arrived two girls dressed as beauticians in tidy white dresses were eating sandwiches. I asked whether I could go on a tour, or take a bath. A seaweed safari sounded perfect. Bobbing along in a boat beside the coast.

The girls looked at me as if I were far from normal. Just turning up without an appointment? Dressed in hiking boots and an anorak! Evidently not the done thing. Spontaneity was not the order of the day at this tourist attraction.

The man who runs the place was 'away'. He was not ready to do any safaris this week, and there were definitiely no baths on offer.

I felt very deflated.

The girls continued eating their sandwiches.

I read some posters in gaelic. They directed me back to a walk that I had already completed for my own entertainment earlier that morning. So I left, and made my way back to the open road.

It was time for a sandwich.

I stopped at a tourist shop selling candles and and enquired where I might find some food. I was directed next door to the pub where three elderly gentlemen sat at a table by the window drinking tea.

I made my puchase and headed off out. I was sad that the pub wrapped my sandwich in a plastic container, and more sad when I found a lot of bottles discarded beside the road where I stopped to eat.

I collected up the bottles and cans and photographed them.

Is that normal? I had my doubts.

later in the week I drove north to Lough Corrib to see what memories it triggered of my childhood holiday..

I could just see some of the many islands that fill the loch. And the stony shore. Legend has it that Lough Corrib has 365 islands, one for every day of the year, but in fact it has more.

My lochside walk didn't trigger any memories. I did go illegally over a gate into a sheep field to try to get to the water, and then bid a hasty retreat when I heard some dogs barking nearby. My imagination had them tearing me to pieces and leaving my remains amongst the long grass, trampled by sheep.  ( Probably not a normal response).

I had to rely on my a whatsapp discussion with my sibings for a recap of all the memorable events of the holiday. Apart from rowing boats on a stony shore all that  I remember was a very small shop that had very little food for sale. Mostly eggs and potatoes.

Is it normal to remember so little?

Which brings me to the peat bogs.  I had visions of swathes of cotton grass and wild flowers. A romantic view.

The reality was somewhat different.  Connemara has a large area of natural peat bog.

But much, much less than it used to. It is a big environmental issue.

I started to get bogged down in the politics of peat bogs, trying to understand who still has rights to cut peat. It is a very complex issue. Locals still have rights to cut and use peat as fuel. A peat fire has a very distinctive smell, noticeable on driving through small villages.

There was too much to grasp on such a short trip. It was making me feel anxious. I wanted to tell the whole world not to buy garden compost that contains peat. Loss of peat from the land adds significantly to global warming, as the peat stores large amounts of carbon. 

I found myself wanting to photograph the areas where peat was being cut.

I was getting badly distracted from my hunt for seaweed.

I am not going to show you my photos of dead sheep in the open pools, but will show you instead the track that I walked down in the middle of nowhere, with not a soul in sight.

Not a 'normal'  location for photography by most people's standards.

A photographic project cannot be completed in a couple of days. A story about peat was impractical. I was unlikely to be coming back here in the near future. I was not likely to be welcomed by the peat cutters if I tried to photograph them. I had read enough to know that this was a sensitive story, and that I was not the person to tell it.

I sent myself back to the beach, and hunted for more seaweed.
A relatively normal photographic project. Calming and peaceful.

Beauty before politics; the original intention for the trip.

My idealised view of the peat bogs had been shattered, but was restored by a visit to the Connemara National Park, where the wilderness is preserved and protected.

I realised that seeking solitude and spending time in nature is what keeps me 'normal'.

I didn't come back with many 'special' images, but I had walked and walked, explored new places, and nearly climbed a mountain ( the wind stopped me near the top).

I was refreshed, and had been in a wonderful, wild landscape.

Next time I might do the normal thing and visit all the castles. Or maybe not!


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You can see where I was on the map below.......