Our first full day in Iceland, Nick (my adult son) and I were up at 0350 and out of the hotel on a beautiful, midnight-sun morning. We arrived at the Lóndrangar sea stacks just a few minutes afterwards, parked then hiked the short distance to the edge of the cliff face. It was near there that the first of two trails, and I use that term loosely, leading down to the sea level lava rock began. As seen from above I was hesitant and seriously considered backing out. The height of the cliff at that overlook is 190 feet over the water. Nick assured me it would be fine.
This wasn’t Nick’s first trip down that climb. Two years earlier, he and I participated in a bespoke, two-week winter Ring Road photography tour. It was a small group which included one other paying photographer and Siggi, our professional photographer-workshop guide-driver-fixer. During that trip we spent a few days on the Snæfellsnes. One stopping point was the sea stack overlook at Lóndrangar. On that stop Nick and Siggi climbed down the high cliffs through snow and ice and onto the lava rock just at sea level to take photographs of the sea stacks and of waves splashing against the rocks. His photos were amazing and he’s recounted the harrowing adventure many times.
Based on his experience and the fact that I wasn’t about to let him go down alone, he led and I followed. That first trail, though steep, was a relatively straight forward walk down a steep series of metal steps set into the side of a drop-off which led to a grassy bowl. I’d guess we consumed about 90 feet of the total height. My first thought was that this would be a piece of cake but as we walked to the corner of that grassy bowl nearer to the rocky cliff face, I again had second thoughts. The next “trail” was a steep, rocky ravine descending the remaining 100 feet to volcanic rock just at sea level.
It was clear I’d need both hands to climb down so I strapped my smallish (and expensive) travel tripod onto my small camera bag and began the descent. That tripod is foundational to my waterfall/seascape photography kit. I typically shoot one to two second exposures using ND filters and the tripod is necessary to holding the camera perfectly still.
Nick had gone ahead and as I watched him carefully choose each step, each movement, I realized there was actual danger involved with getting the photographs we sought. Manageable danger, but there was risk of serious injury with an unthinking misstep. I turned to face the cliffside, suppressed my thoughts of insanity and began my descent. Although I was facing the ravine, I could hear the cacophonous cries of the multitude of sea birds which were nesting all around. The Arctic Terns were concerning as they are territorial about nesting areas and known to dive-bomb reckless humans. Concentrating on my movements and not wanting to fall, I didn’t need a pissed off bird complicating things. Adding to the bird noise was the sound of waves crashing onto the rocks below. It seemed that with each movement down the ravine that noise was louder. There were a few areas where I took a brief pause to look over the shoulder. Birds and the waves aside, the blue skies and pink tinged puffy clouds promised the potential for a beautiful morning’s photography opportunity. I just needed to reach safely the lava rock below. Slow and steady wins the race and in due course I was traversing level but loose rocky scree. A hundred yards to the west later I arrived at the best view of the Lóndrangar sea stacks. By then Nick was already setting up his tripod and ND filters kit for the photo op. I reached around for my tripod, and it was missing! I wasn’t sure where it had come undone but wasn’t about to turn back and climb out to find it. Instead, I elected to hand hold my images and deal with the tripod on the way back up the ravine. Nick had positioned himself on the edge of a small inlet between the rocks. The location provided a clear viewing of the sea stacks. It was also near the terminus end of a small inlet onto which incoming waves crashed and showered him with North Atlantic Sea spray. As he clicked away a series of slow shutter speed images, he became increasingly wet with each incoming wave. I stood a bit back and shot a series of my standard “picture of Nick taking a picture” images. In between shutter actuations I took in the sights and reflected on our situation. Once again, we were completely alone in a rugged wilderness quite a bit off the beaten path. Although Katharine knew generally our plan, she was a few miles to the east, still deep in slumber and I had the rental vehicle. At that point I wasn’t concerned about our safety but was instead taking it all in.
Over the previous five years Nick and I had taken several high adventure photography trips. And while the images of those many landscapes are important to me, more precious was the time he and I spent together. The “father-son” time is important for both of us, and we reminisce often on one or another event from a past trip. This location on this morning will be one such memory.
After about three quarters of an hour, Nick was as wet as he wanted to be. In fact, when I saw saltwater dripping off the expensive body of his borrowed Nikon Z8 a bit of a shiver ran through me. The camera had been lent by his uncle (and my brother-in-law) who was expecting it to be returned in pristine condition. As we packed up the gear to climb back out, we wiped the camera as best we could then we walked back to the base of the ravine. I recommended to him that perhaps we not mention the “sea-water-on-the-Z8” to his Uncle Ron. I also mentioned the loss of the tripod and asked that he keep a sharp eye out for it. Those words spoken we started our climb back up the ravine. Except for the sounds of our breathing, we climbed in silence. We were focused on finding safe hand and foot holds and there was no room for conversation. Although the waves were still crashing and the birds were still squawking our laser light focus on the next hand hold, the next foot placement, moved the other senses to the background. We soon topped the ravine climb and again found ourselves in the grassy bowl.
There, at the top of the ravine lay my tripod in the dewy grass. I let out loud “hooray!” as I reached down with tired arms and legs to retrieve it from the ground. Turning to Nick I said, “better lucky than good.” The loss of that tripod, at the beginning of a two-week Ring Road trip around Iceland, would have been painful. I was quite chuffed to have recovered it.
ourselves for getting through the hardest part of the “hike.” Then we
turned our attention to the remaining stairs hammered into the steep
incline and silently retraced our steps to the top of the cliff face. As
we topped out the sun, now a bit higher in the sky, shone full onto
Lóndrangar and we spent a few minutes silently enjoying the view. I
was feeling pretty good about the morning’s events and very much
looking forward to breakfast back at the hotel. And drying off Nick’s
camera kit.
No comments:
Post a Comment