The Ten Percent-ers

On the morning of September 12, 2019, we became part of an exclusive group of travelers. Nearly everyone who goes to Iceland tours the “Golden Circle”, and many visitors traverse the entire Ring Road.  But a right turn onto road number 68 on that spectacularly sunny Thursday morning took us into the beautiful but remote region known as the Westfjords, an area where only 10% of visitors to Iceland venture. One reason is that only about half of the roads are paved, with long stretches of gravel, dusty in the dry summer, a sea of mud the rest of the year. 

There are 109 fjords in Iceland, about equally divided between the east
coast and the Westfjords, with a few in the north and a few around
Reykjavik. The Westfjords is the least populated area of the country.

This is road number 60, one of the major roads in the Westfjords. The guidebooks say
all but 136 km (85 miles) is paved. We traveled the entire length of the gravel portion,
including going over a mountain range in the snow. Note that there are no guardrails!

There are magnificent vistas around every hairpin turn, with sparkling blue fjords on one side of the road and towering, imposing cliffs on the other side.  Fall colors of orange and yellow provided a sharp contrast to the stark black volcanic cliffs. Sheep graze high on the steep mountainsides; they are just now being brought down from their high summer pastures.

In order to be a true fjord, the length from the mouth to the inner,
 shallow end of the water (called the sea bed) must be greater than the
width of the mouth; otherwise, the body of water is a bay or a cove.

The rettir is the annual fall round-up of sheep that have been grazing
in summer mountain pastures. It is a celebration with laughter, fun,
and drinking while neighbors help each other wrangle their flocks.

Holmavik, with a population of 336, is the largest settlement on the Strandir coast. (Strandir is Icelandic for “coast” and the name Strandir is applied to the entire east side of the Westfjords peninsula.)  In keeping with our penchant for visiting unusual museums (as if the Penis Museum and Petra's Stone Collection  Museum weren’t enough) the Museum of Icelandic Sorcery and Witchcraft in tiny Holmavik offers insight into the 17^th century “Brennidid” (Burning) age.  Interestingly, unlike other places in Europe or in Puritan North America, most of those accused of sorcery in Iceland were males.

"Downtown" Holmavik. The building with the sod roof is the Museum
of Icelandic Sorcery and Witchcraft.

Seaweed and tree pollen washed up along the Holmavik harbor

Colorful fishing boats in Holmavik harbor, reflected in the still waters 

Walking along the fjord at low tide the night we stayed at the
Malahorn Guest House in Drangsnes (population 67) 

  These small wooden houses, found in many yards, are called álfhóls.
They are built for the "hidden people" (elves) that wander through 
the countryside.

If you DON'T want the elves to visit you, build a small church or 
leave your lights on. It is thought that in addition to crosses and
churches, hidden people also dislike electricity!

We left Holmavik on road number 61, headed toward Isafjordur, one of the furthest west towns in the Westfjords. Road number 61 follows the coast, and we drove around seven fjords, each more beautiful than the last.  The fjords were formed as glaciers moved across the land eons ago, and while their opening to the sea obviously means salt water, they are fed by torrential glacial streams of cold, fresh water, making it difficult to determine where the fresh and salt water converge.  On this drive, we passed through the lovely Heydaulur Valley, a birder’s paradise and a playground for hikers and outdoor enthusiasts. 

Remember that I said my job was to watch out for sheep? Here are four
reasons. At this point, we are skirting around the inner end of one of the fjords. 

The Icelandic Sea Monster Museum and Coffee Shop,
a heritage museum in Bíldudalur. We didn't have time
to stop, but we liked the sign.

The day was alternately rain showers and periods of bright sunshine.  We saw nearly a dozen rainbows, extremely vibrant colors seemingly touching the tops of the mountains surrounding the fjords.  Along the way, we passed a spot where a colony of seals swam in the frigid water and sunned on the rocks.

The Westfjords are home to some of the most colorful wildlife in Iceland
including the Arctic Fox, White-Tailed Eagles, whales, and seals.

Birch grows wild around the lower parts of the region along with other
green flora, but the Westfjords are especially known for their wide range
of flowers and ferns. In late summer the hills get purple with berries
that anyone who visits is welcome to feast on.

Isafjordur, with a population of about 2,600, is the regional capital of the Westfjords.  It has a fairly busy port and a real downtown area, with quite a few restaurants.  The oldest part of the town, near the waterfront, contains some of the earliest buildings and houses in all of Iceland, dating from 1757 to 1784.  We spent the night at the Hotel Horn in Isafjordur and while exploring the town, stumbled onto one of the very best bakeries that we found in all of Iceland.

Because of turbulent mountain winds, the aviation website Boldmethod.com 
considers Isafjordur Airport (IFJ) in the Westfjords to be one of the most
scenic and challenging in the world.

The oldest part of Isafjordur with the town center dating back to the
mid-eighteenth century, is located on a spit of sand, or eyri, in Skutulsfjordur,
a fjord which meets the waters of the larger fjord Isafjardardjup

Isafjardardjup is the largest fjord in the Westfjords, extending inland some 
75 km (47 miles) from the Denmark Strait between Iceland and Greenland

Lonely Planet's review of this restaurant said "Set in a building from 1781,
warm, rustic Tjoruhusio offers some of the best seafood around."

The Chapel of St. John the Evangelist in Isafjordur is Iceland's newest Catholic
"outpost" with fewer than 100 parishioners, most of them Polish immigrants.

This house was built in 1816

According to Iceland’s Book of Settlement, the area was first settled in the
9th century by a man called Helgi Magri Hrolfsson. Around the 16th century,
Isafjordur grew rapidly due to it becoming a merchant trading post. The
town was granted municipal status in 1786.

The town had a few tourists from a cruise ship when we arrived, but
when it got close to the ship's departure time, the streets emptied completely.

Gamla Bakarid, or the "Old Bakery" has been a fixture in town for more
than a century. We certainly found out why - everything was wonderful!

This Model T delivery truck was once used (and is still owned) by the
bakery.  It sits on the sidewalk near the front door of the shop.

Another change of roads the following morning, this time taking road number 60.  Shortly after leaving Isafjordur we drove through the Vestfjaroagong tunnel.  Opened in 1996 to connect three remote villages to Isafjordur (roads over the mountains were impassable during the winters), this 9 kilometer (5.5 mile) tunnel is the last one constructed as a single-lane tunnel.  There is a pull-off every kilometer to allow on-coming vehicles to pass.  There have been three tunnels opened in Iceland since this one was built, all three of which are two (or more) lanes of traffic.

Midway through our day’s journey we came upon Dynjand Falls, a collection of seven waterfalls cascading down the side of a mountain. Known as the “jewell of the Westfjords” Dynjand is Icelandic for “The One Who Thunders” and, indeed, the thunderous roar of this giant can be heard echoing across the fjord and up into the mountains.  This stunning waterfall, also known as Fjallfoss (“mountain falls”) resembles a bride’s veil, wider at the base than at the top, as it tumbles 100 meters (328 feet) down the mountainside.  A strong wind and cold rain cut short our stop at Dynjand Falls, and turned the gravel road into a muddy mess as we crossed the mountains toward our planned overnight stop at the Hotel West in Patreskfjordur.  As we ascended the mountain, the rain changed to snow. Fortunately, traffic was almost non-existent, and we were able to creep around hairpin turns at a snail’s pace.  Snow on September 14^th!  The Hotel West is small, the smallest room we had Iceland, but comfortable, with a gorgeous view out across the fjord.  Dinner that night was fresh-caught fish at a little restaurant called Stukuhusid. 

The spectacular seven-tiered Dynjand Falls, taken from a spot on the road almost
a mile from the falls. Even the smaller falls in front are pretty impressive.

From the parking lot, it takes about 15 minutes to walk to the base
of the falls, and another hour or more to climb to the top. It was very
cold and windy, and threatening snow, so we skipped the climb.

Starting to get a little muddy. The windows had to be washed
at this stop. Gravel (mud) roads the rest of the day meant that the
following morning, we had to wash the entire car before continuing.

Bundled up in our "bought just for Iceland" Columbia Sportswear
coats. We were certainly glad we had them.

The Hotel West, in Patreksfjordur - September 14

The peaceful fjord and town of Patreksfjordur were named by its first settler,
Orlygur Hrappsson, whose spiritual adviser was St. Patrick, patron saint of Ireland.

Sunday dawned cold, windy and rainy.  We set out on our last day in the Westfjords, heading to the ferry that would take us across Breidafjordur fjord to start the return trip to Reykjavik.  But first, a stop at the Raudisandur (“Red Sands”), named for the unique golden-red color of the sand beach in the Látrabjarg area of the southern Westfjords.  While black sand beaches are a common site in Iceland, the warm red hues are a welcome break.  Getting there provided some white-knuckled moments, and Ralph did an admirable job of driving over a steep, muddy mountain road with no guardrails.  Descending to sea level was a harrowing experience.  Road  number 614 leading to Raudisandur is a gravel road, winding and steep.  Some call it the most frightening road in the Westfjords. Seven hairpin switchbacks on the road literally let you look down on the road several hundred feet directly below you.  And once we reached the bottom, driving rain and howling rain prevented us from making the half-mile walk to the beach itself.  So, no red sand beaches…

A cold and rainy morning as we drive across a plateau, heading toward
the red sand beaches.  Just over the edge of this plateau, the road drops 
sharply in a series of seven "switchbacks" with no guardrails.

Launched in Norway in 1912, the year that the Titanic sank, the whaling ship
Gardar BA 64 had both a powerful steam engine and traditional sails. She
was decommissioned in 1980 and run aground, left to rust away to nothing.

This black church, near the Red Sand Beach, is one of three black churches in

Iceland. They are black because the exteriors of the churches are painted with

pitch, like the hull of a boat, to protect them from the harsh Icelandic elements.

You can't really tell from the picture, but it is raining hard. Between the rain and the
muddy path, we decided to forego our hike to the red sand beach. Good thing, too,
or we might have missed our ferry, which sailed two hours earlier than scheduled.

Back over the mountain and on toward Brjanslaekur to catch the Baldur ferry that sails through the Breidafjordur bay to Stykkisholmur. On the way, we got a phone call from the Nordic Visitor office telling us that because of predicted high winds on the bay, the ferry captain had decided to sail at 4:00 pm instead of 6:00 pm, hoping to be across the bay and safely in port before dark.  We were fortunate that we could make it to Brjanslaekur early, because there is only one crossing per day.  We were first in line to be loaded onto the vessel, and I’m pretty sure that there were some people who did not get the word about the early departure who missed the boat.  We have been on some rough seas, but this crossing was as rough as any we have ever experienced. The crew was handing out sea-sickness bags like door prizes, and the galley was turned into sick bay. Once we landed and made our way to our hotel, the howling wind, gusting at times to near gale force, made the decision to stay in and have dinner at the hotel an easy choice.

The sea was still relatively calm at this point. Before long, the waves were
breaking over the bow and hitting the window from which I took this picture.
Eventually, the burgee (flag) was torn off the flag staff and blew away.

The following morning, we chose to skip Snaefellsjokull National Park and make our way directly back to Reykjavik, affording us an extra afternoon to sight-see in the capital, and a chance for one more fish and chips dinner at a small restaurant near our hotel that we had found when we initially arrived.  The trip back to Reykjavik took us through the Hvalfjdrdur tunnel, a 5.7 kilometer (3.5 mile) long road tunnel under the Hvalfjordur fjord. Constructed in 1998, this tunnel drops to a depth of 165 meters (540 feet) below sea level. 

Snow-capped mountain top on the way back to Reykjavik on September
16th. As we write this, some 3 months later, Iceland was hit by a severe
blizzard yesterday that shut down all roads into and out of the capital.

Coming down out of the mountains, heading back toward the Ring Road
and back toward Reykjavik, leaving the Westfjords behind. It was a wet,
wild and wonderful adventure in the land that only 10% of visitors see.

Snow-capped mountain top on September 16th

Turning left will take us back toward the Ring Road. Reykjavik is
138 km (about 86 miles) from this intersection. If we were to turn right
on road number 54, it would lead to the western-most point in Iceland. 

There are 11 tunnels in Iceland now, with 3 more under construction. This is the
only one that was financed and built with private funding, and consequently is the
only one that charges tolls. An estimated 5,600 cars pass through the tunnel each day.

A final night in the Hotel Fron, where we started this odyssey, and an early-morning flight to New York signaled the end of our adventure in The Land of Fire and Ice, but we returned home with wonderful memories and amazing Road Stories.

Iceland - The land of FIRE...

...and ICE