After a day in the city we were ready for what, to us, was the main draw; the natural wonders of Iceland. We quickly packed our rental full of food and drink from the local gas station, filled our tank, and racked up kilometers on the odometer as we roamed the highway. Within 20 minutes we were surrounded by winding streams and rolling hills, all dusted with snow. The water was clear to an extent that it was eerie. Creeks gleamed. Crisp water polished stone beds. Vegetation was short and stout, an evolution of life in this windy island. Trying to drive while all of this dashes past your peripheral vision is difficult. So difficult in fact that they have public service announcements about it on the flight into Iceland, and monuments to peoples’ mistakes along the sides of the road, reminding drivers to focus on the task at hand. Luckily, what I missed Nicole was able to capture with her shutterbug powers. My hero.

Still, our entry into the wilderness was not without peril. We left Reykjavik when it was a bright, frigid wonder. As we crested the mountains between our points of interest, snow began to fall. A light sprinkle to start. A dusting. Then, some started sticking on the road. I brushed it off at first, because we were having a blast finding our way around. Then, I felt a bit of slippage. Soon, I was having to stick to the snow rut that was being blazed by the drivers ahead of us. Snow ruts are easy to follow when the road is straight. Ours was not. The ruts heightened. Nicole started realizing that all was not well. I put on my poker face. A wave of the hand.

“We’ll be fine [Nicole] we are just chugging along. Hey look, a river!”

“Babe, are you sure? I thought we just slipped a bit ”

We did. I lost traction and we veered too close for comfort toward the center divider. I clenched, but my face remained unchanged…

“Oh snap, is that a hot spring?”

What I lack in an ability to convincingly deceive, I make up for with my talent of pointing out beautiful things.

Speaking of grand sights, our first official stop was Seljalandsfoss falls. Nestled in a broad valley just off the highway, the falls took our breath away. We rolled into a gravel parking lot, the falls growing larger before us as we drew near. Gaining perspective on the falls can only be achieved by approaching them, which we did as quickly as possible. Meaning, we ran. We sprinted towards the falls as if we were children with a $10 bill in our pockets and a candy shop mere paces away. The rocks, the grass, the wooden steps. All of these things had a sheen to them; a dull shine, as if a painter with loving brush came and lacquered each square foot to highlight this masterpiece of nature.

One of my favorite things about waterfalls is the sound. A symphony of flowing water. The falls cascade down and crash into the pool below, a percussive blast that dominates your senses. Behind that, ambient droplets float gently, landing with ease, a whisper carried on the wind. Breathing it all in, the cool air saturated with fresh water.

After taking this all in from a distance, we ascended the staircase leading up to a path behind the falls. Fortunately, we bundled up tight for this expedition, because the air was so thick with water. It was impossible to get anywhere close to these falls without getting wet. Fact is, we did not care. We were awestruck. The path was fairly easy to traverse, though in retrospect I do think that it was not meant to be a circuit, but a viewpoint. We had to climb down a rock face to continue on. We found ourselves behind the falls, smiling ear to ear. The water came down in surges, most likely due to the fact that it was being pushed off its perch by a powerful tailwind above, creating a sound somewhat similar to a jazz cymbals beat. If the volume was cranked ALL the way up. Out of sight, man.

We found ourselves lingering here, partly because it was so beautiful, and partly because we truly did not know if we had visited the best sight first. We had a lingering fear that we would leave this place too soon and be underwhelmed by the following attractions.

We were wrong.

Back on the road, we headed toward our next stop. Reaching a small, inconspicuous parking lot (aka we missed it the first time) we found ourselves at the entryway to a walking path. We traveled miles down a jagged, black-rocked road. Ocean wind whipped against our bodies, pushing us back. Chilled, but determined, we fastened our scarves ever closer to our faces and braved on. Our reward for our conviction was an audience with an abandoned DC-3 plane fuselage. Nestled atop the aforementioned jagged stones, its color and presence a pleasing visual contrast to the uniform surroundings. This is the Sólheimasandur plane wreck. The backstory is this: in the early 70s this planes crew was forced to land on the beach after severe icing. They survived, but abandoned it. 40+ years later it sits here, beaten by wind and the elements. Sadly, some have chosen to beat a dead horse by further scarring the plane with incomprehensible tagging. Philistines. Still, it was quite the sight. We remained for as long as we could, but we soon needed shelter from the wet, charging wind beating against us. Props to the plane for enduring all of this for so long.

Back into the car, we spread out our outer layers on the dash to dry off and expose ourselves to the warmth of the cab. The farthest stop on this day’s journey was next. Reynisfjara is a black sand beach in the south of Iceland. As opposed to the waterfall from earlier, there was nothing calm or inviting about this place. Honestly, its appeal to us was because it looks so inhospitable. First, the wind rages around the cliffs of the beach. Off the shoreline are arches that have been carved from tumultuous waves and driven gusts filled with basalt sand. The cliffs themselves are sharp columns of basalt pillars that look like something out of Game of Thrones. Then there is the water. A cacophony, made by waves crashing with no uniform cadence or direction. Beating the shoreline, warning smart onlookers to stay away, daring the foolish to come near. Experiencing all of this did not come easy. Coming around the bend of the cliff knocked Nicole off of her feet, and threw me sideways.

Speaking of the wind, we have a small aside. When we rented our car, we had to go through a small disclaimer about road conditions. Anyone who has rented a vehicle in a place with an abundance of outdoor attractions knows the gist. If not, here are the basics: Insurance does not cover off-roading. Do not drive on dirt roads that are not maintained. Cell reception can be spotty and roadside service can be far away, even unreachable. The Iceland disclaimer went beyond this. Essentially, the weather is so extreme that you roll the dice on if your car will be ok from the time you park it to the time you get back to it. Anywhere. Anytime. Sand storms can appear and blast the paint off of your vehicle. Sleet can force you off the road and into a ditch. The wind hates you. With a passion. It will rip the door off of the car whenever it gets a chance. I had to open and shut Nicole’s door everywhere for fear that this would happen. A few times it almost did. The island, at least where we were, did not have enough structure to break up the wind. It whips up and down the island unchecked.

We felt as if we were riding a roller coaster the whole time. Invigorated by all that was going on around us, capturing what we could of the scenery while being punished by the environment the entire time. We tread carefully, being mindful not to approach the water. Reason being, there are signs and warnings posted about people losing their lives after being swept away by the waves. Specifically, ordinary waves give avenue for powerful “sneaker waves (their phrase, not ours)” to come in an instant and overcome someone on the edge of the tide.

There is a cafe immediately inland of the beach that had coffee and a warm meal for us to enjoy. We ate our sandwiches, snacked on pie, and sipped coffee while enjoying the low tones of server and served. Our center found once more and our bellies filled, we set out yet again for the last attraction, Skogafoss falls.

At a distance, Skogafoss was similar to Seljalandsfoss. A huge waterfall dominated our vision as we drove nearer to the parking lot. This waterfall was not a carbon copy however. First, it was much larger. It dwarfs onlookers as it beckons them closer with views of birds riding its winds and perching themselves along its cliffs. The river that it feeds is crystal clear, rippling atop boulders and stones as it carries on through farmlands, making its way to the ocean. Second, one does not get to be up close and inside of this fall. Instead, a metal staircase leads you up its cliff to a pathway overlooking its source.

A glacier fed river winds through a canyon. Even at a far distance, one can perceive the individual features of the riverbed. The fisherman in me drooled over all of the eddies, ripples, and pools that made up this river. The romantic in me marveled as teal, sapphire, charcoal, and cream colors all share the spotlight, combining as the water flows to put on an exhibition of sight. Bittersweet to see all of this for mere moments in time.

In my opinion, Iceland is a place to visit if you truly appreciate the outdoors. It was not easy to see all of these places. We had to bundle up, be tough, and fight the elements. The reward was well worth the effort though. Admittedly, you can visit during more hospitable times of year. Going when we did afforded us the opportunity to see all of these places with less crowds. We derived a strong sense of accomplishment from going when we did.