I’ve arrived at Skagaströnd, after a journey that passed through everything snow-covered - mountains, land, houses, roads and tracks leading up into a white wilderness.
Drifts that seemed to hang in the air, frozen in time. At one point, we disappeared into a long tunnel under the mountains to emerge into an even whiter world. The sun, when it finally emerged, shone pale and low and weak just above the mountains.
The bus wound its way through a landscape that seemed pretty desolate, a few hamlets here and there. I’ve no idea how they make a living out here and whether they find it a lonely life, but I guess it’s what you are used to. There were a few sheep and a few more Icelandic ponies, but I can’t imagine they bring in much revenue.
Hard blackness of the rock against the white snow; rock worn by the action of wind and weather, it's volcanic here.
Every so often the bus would make a stop and someone would get off and disappear into the snow.
A stop on the road
Having reached Blönduós we disembarked and were packed into a car for the last few miles down snow roads and finally made it into Skagaströnd. Behind the village sits the Spákonufell Mountain. I think at this time of year I’m not going to be able to get to the top to enjoy the views described by the tourist book.
I walk along the shore close the the studio, which sits beside the sea, so I can hear the waves every time I go outside.
The sea moves sluggishly, pancake ice forming close to the shore. A steel grey band on the horizon and an increasing darkening sky. Maybe more snow coming in.