We woke up in a dense light mist that promised a beautiful clear day. We were packed and out early, headed north east to Mývatn. Just as we were about to turn onto the highway a plane took off right over us. It was so low and loud and sudden, it was terrifying. A little early in the day, too, for jets to leap out of the mist.
The low fog in the bright rising sun made everything gorgeous. On the hill out of Akureyri, there’s a sheep crossing sign like on the postcard, and we had a brush with capturing the “sheep crossing the road near a sheep crossing sign” photo, but didn’t quite. Sheep can move quick.
At Goðafoss there was so much mist our clothes got damp walking around. Goðafoss was multi-layered with webs of little trails along the bank. Derek had been trying to find a better way to clean his lens and in my usual manner I said “Just ask someone with a big camera who looks like they know their way around it. Here, I’ll do it.” So I struck up conversation with a random guy holding a camera at Goðafoss, and Derek quickly took over and they discussed “camera stuff” at length.
Naturally, he and his partner were Canadian as well, on a one week whirlwind of Iceland, and he really surprised us with what he did. Upon saying “Here, you need one of these”, and pulling a lens pen out of his pocket (cleaning brush gadget), he passed it to Derek told him to have it. Not “there’s a camera store in Akureyri, they’re about $10,” but “here’s one”. We protested, and he insisted, shrugging, “I usually have two on me, you can have that one.” So that was an unexpected act of generosity.
We approached Mývatn from the south, taking a short walk around the pseudocraters at the south of the lake and taking pictures of some Icelandic cows. On up the west side of the lake, we stopped at Dimmuborgir. There were no guided tours on, which may have been more interesting, so we showed ourselves around the Church circle, we think, but saw no church. It wasn’t that interesting, possibly because this type of skin-tearing ragged igneous lava structures had become quite familiar. This are unusually large, creating a maze one could get lost in, but still, it was “hraun and still more hraun”. We surprised some sheep lounging in a cave. It looked like their regular spot to hide from the sun in the cool air.
Dimmuborgir is the home of the Jólasveinarnir, or Yule lads – the grown sons of a wicked trolless, Grylla, that play the role of thirteen ragged Santas in Iceland. My favourite story is the Christmas Cat, though. It is vitally important that everyone have some new article of clothing for Christmas, because anyone who doesn’t wear new clothes will be eaten by the Christmas Cat! That’s the lovely Grylla’s cat. And they all live in Dimmuborgir. Or the lads do, now that they left the nest. No wonder, with that cat hanging around Mom’s.
Up to Hverafell from there, a vast crater with a walking path around the ring, about a mile around. All grey tephra and boulders, it was a stunning landscape, looking over the crater and out from it at the varying geology surrounding the lake and mountain. We spent ages up there, taking pictures and fooling around, until we got too hungry to carry on and had to come down for a burger and ice cream at the N1.
We were hoping to go to Askja but didn’t grasp that it was five 1/2 hours away! And expensive. There were a flock of fancy jacked trucks parked at the info center, all equipped for the F roads, and the excursion was not cheap. We wouldn’t go for a guided tour and weren’t inclined to spend a day to reach Askja, so we passed on that major natural attraction.
There was a golf course in Mývatn, though! When we drove up (quite a hill) to check it out, this golf course was patches of green cut into the top of two hills and the valley between them. I think of golf courses as pretty flat, by necessity. I’ve never seen or imagined a golf course with such extreme differences in elevation between holes, and even between tee and hole. And there are flat areas all around Mývatn, it’s like they picked the top of a hill for some reason. From the parking lot we could see a guy on the green in a valley below us with crazy blue plaid pants on whacking balls down the green. He had a sheepdog that appeared to be retrieving all his balls for him. We avoided him, but another guy working there told us to go to the Hótel.
At the Hótel a girl said that the manager was at the course at the moment – her hilariously accurate description matched the character we’d seen – but she could take our money, and did we have our own clubs? Well, no. Then she could call “some guy” to loan us his clubs. We went to get cash, I ate a sandwich watching the pretty horses and some ducks being picturesque in the backyard of the hotel, and “the guy” with the clubs pulled up, handing over his personal bag of clubs and also some balls and scorecards. This sort of exchange never failed to surprise and delight me in Iceland.
The course was ridiculous. It was hilly, hard. Fun. At times we had to search for the next tee because it wasn’t in sight. Some holes are a trail hike from others. Some fairways are a gap across valleys of brush, or on a plateau with slopes cutting away. Keep it on the grass or else. Overshoot the green and it’s gone. Whacking the balls hundreds of feet uphill. We spent some time hunting for balls in the blueberries (+2 on balls for the day). Flags that can’t be seen from the tee because they’re over a hill. It was such a phenomenally challenging course and terrain that it was hilarious and entertaining. We’re looking around, okay, so where’s the flag? It can’t be that one, up there? No way!
We had to consult the course map a lot, like we were orienteering. At one point I dragged the golf bag up a steep scramble to get to the next tee, then I realized that it was probably protocol to carry only one driver up there with you, because you had to go back down, walk along a road, and then climb back up to find your ball again. Luckily we got nice straight drives on that hole. Here the midges, aka blackflies, that Mývatn is named after were in evidence. Derek busted out his mesh hood- he’d read about the midges, and golfed in comfort, except for my laughing.
We finished around seven, dropped the clubs back at the hotel, and carried on to see “the rest” of the sights. Stóragjá, where the earth is ripping apart like at Þingvellir, and you can climb down and walk around the narrow crevasse. Grjótagjá, farther along in the same tectonic plate tear feature – a cave full of hot water. This cave was beautiful, and I so wanted to swim in it, but it was just a little bit too hot. I tried my best, sitting in there and slowly putting my limbs in deeper and deeper.
I could put my hands, and arms in, but not for very long, and I worked my feet and legs in, but it was just too uncomfortable to be pleasant. It made a lasting red high water mark on my legs. Some guy from L.A. came along and dropped his glasses in the water, and then we moved on. There is another cave with slighter cooler water a bit farther south that the locals sometime swim in.
We saw the vibrantly blue toxic lake on the left driving out of Mývatn, and were blown away by the mud pots of Hverir. The colours! Blue and pink-orange, and the boiling mud! Everyone cleared out, and we were getting extraordinary pictures of steam, just hissing out of the ground like a giant kettle. We kind of rushed it, though, Derek literally running between the features to get some shots before dark. Just in time for the sunset we climbed up Námafjall, looking back over the town and the lake for some sunset pictures and shots of the moon.
It was very dark when we came down, and we stopped at the Nature Baths but they were closing at 10, and after seeing the price we weren’t sorry about it.
We decided to head for Húsavík, and got part way there. Just out of town the Northern Lights started up and we pulled over. It just happened to be on a little pull out, and I backed off the road and cooked pumpkin soup with Ichiban by the back wheel. Derek was getting crazy excited by the lights but I was so tired I just threw my bag on the ground and fell asleep in it. Derek took pictures for half the night, and I was in some of them.
Mývatn is spectacular in so many different ways. This was a very photo-rich day and I encourage you to look at all the other great pictures that wouldn’t fit in this post.
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