Iceland had always been on my list of places to see through my lens — a land where fire meets ice, where waterfalls tumble from sheer cliffs, and where the midnight sun blurs the line between night and day. In July 2019, I finally set foot there.
I traveled from San Francisco, flying overnight into Reykjavík, while my friend Somasekar, who had been planning the trip meticulously, joined from London. He had already figured out most of the logistics — car rental, locations, camping spots, and even grocery runs. Our shared goal was simple: photograph as much of Iceland as possible.
Unlike other trips where itineraries are fixed to the minute, Iceland demands spontaneity. The weather shifts in an instant — sun, rain, fog, and rainbows all in the same hour — which meant we often had to make quick calls on where to chase the best light. We didn’t book accommodations in advance, choosing instead to camp near photography spots, catching a few hours of rest between chasing sunsets and sunrises.
One of the strangest things about summer in Iceland is the light. Coming from a place near the equator, I wasn’t used to the sun lingering on the horizon, dipping close to midnight only to rise again around 4 a.m. The glow of dusk and dawn often blended together, making it feel as if the sun never set. For photography, this was both a blessing and a challenge — endless light, but tricky decisions about when to rest.
Our plan was to cover a little of everything: iconic waterfalls, highlands, geothermal fields, fjords, puffins, old churches, shipwrecks, and cliffs. With gear packed, meals prepped, and excitement sky-high, we set out.
Our journey began from SFO, connecting through Seattle to Reykjavik. After landing on the morning of July 5, we met up, picked up our rental car, and stocked up on groceries for the first three days — bread, butter, jam, snacks, and fuel for our camping stove. Some meals were already packed, like instant noodles and camping food, so this was just for topping up.
We drove straight to Seljalandsfoss, arriving in the evening. With some time to spare before sunset, we wandered around the falls, capturing daylight shots and even a few rainbows. The sunset itself was a little disappointing — no clouds meant the sky didn’t have much drama — but shooting from the cave behind the falls still yielded some interesting compositions. Exposure bracketing helped balance the dark foreground against the brighter background.
We considered visiting the nearby WWII plane wreck, but the long walk and fading light made us decide against it. We wanted to be rested and ready for Skógafoss sunrise the next morning.
By evening, we were back near the Golden Circle, stopping at Gullfoss just in time for dinner and a bit of postcard writing — I sent a card home to my wife and child, a small gesture that felt grounding amid the endless landscapes.
As the sun dipped, the skies finally gave us some color. We spent hours photographing Gullfoss from every possible angle. The light lingered, and when most tourists had left, we had the place to ourselves. That became a recurring theme — shooting long after the crowds disappeared, with only the sound of water and wind as company.
We pushed on to Geysir late at night — though in Icelandic summer, it still felt like late afternoon. With the crowds gone, we photographed Strokkur erupting and wandered among the steaming geothermal pools. We shot deep into the night, then doubled back to Gullfoss for sunrise as clouds rolled in, adding drama to the skies. It was a mixed sunrise, but rewarding nonetheless.
Exhausted but satisfied, we finally allowed ourselves a little rest. Two days in, and Iceland was already delivering everything we hoped for — and more.
It was one long, cold night parked at Vestrahorn. Sleep was nearly impossible in the biting chill, and we counted the hours until morning. When the little shop near the entrance finally opened, we grabbed a quick breakfast and set out to see one of Iceland’s most iconic oceanfront mountains.
We were greeted by some of the worst skies — flat, gray, and dull. Not the dramatic light we had dreamed of, but still, Vestrahorn had its own quiet power. The black sand dunes stretched toward the sea, dotted with mounds of tall green grass swaying in the wind. The whole scene felt raw and untamed, almost like we had the place to ourselves. We soaked it in, thankful just to stand before this bucket-list landmark. By mid-morning, around 10 a.m., we wrapped up and moved on.
As we drove westward toward Vatnajökull, we passed herds of Icelandic horses grazing in wide-open fields. Even under gloomy skies, they looked striking — strong, wild, and completely at home in this landscape.
Our next stop was Jökulsárlón glacier lagoon, where huge blocks of ice break off the glacier and drift slowly toward the sea. It was morning, and unfortunately, the tour buses had already arrived. We found ourselves among throngs of tourists, a stark contrast to the solitude we’d felt earlier. Still, the sight of those icebergs floating in the tidal lake was unforgettable.
From there, we continued to Svartifoss, a waterfall that Somasekar remembered vividly from his past trip. He insisted I shouldn’t miss it, so we made the climb up the steep vertical trail. The reward was worth every step — a striking cascade framed by tall, geometric basalt columns. We spent a while circling around, trying to capture it from every angle.
By late afternoon, we reached the Skaftafell camping area, dropped our gear, and set out on another hike — this time to the mouth of a glacier. The trail wound across rolling terrain before opening up to the frozen wall of ice. Even under gray skies, the sheer scale of it was awe-inspiring.
That night, we camped at Skaftafell. The ground was covered with thick, soft grass — a simple luxury after the cold, sleepless night before. We fell asleep almost instantly, sinking into the grass and resting deeply, ready for the journey ahead.
We woke up feeling fully refreshed, still reluctant to leave behind that dreamy campsite. But the journey had to move forward, and our next big destination was Dettifoss and Selfoss.
The skies were still gloomy, casting that moody light over Iceland’s rugged landscapes. The morning drive took us through winding passes, quiet pastures, and countless bridges over rivers that cut through the land. Around midday, we stopped at a small day-use area by the highway for lunch. It was a picture-perfect setting — the road on one side, and on the other, mountains, valleys, and a river flowing peacefully. A moment that felt simple yet unforgettable.
As we continued on Highway 1, the road came alive with all sorts of travelers — hikers carrying their packs, cyclists grinding along the climbs, runners somehow pushing through the endless miles, rugged 4x4s kicking up dust, compact cars like ours, and of course, the ever-present tourist buses. It felt like every kind of explorer was out here chasing their own version of Iceland.
We pulled over at a couple of unnamed waterfalls, unable to resist the lure of the cascades. Time slipped away as I got lost photographing them, until Somasekar had to remind me we still had a long day ahead.
When we finally reached Dettifoss, Somasekar suggested skipping the crowded west side and instead guided us skillfully to the east side — one of the best decisions of the trip. Standing there, we were completely awestruck. The sheer force of Europe’s most powerful waterfall was overwhelming; the water thundered down in a muddy torrent, carrying the weight of rains from upriver. Next to that raw power, we felt like tiny dots on the rocky landscape.
From there, we hiked across the rocky terrain to Selfoss. It was a different world altogether — dozens of smaller waterfalls spilling gracefully into the same mighty river, forming a surreal scene that felt almost otherworldly.
As evening set in, the skies finally rewarded us. A fiery sunset painted the horizon, turning the scene into pure magic. And just when we thought the day couldn’t offer more, the half-moon rose above the dusky skies, adding its own quiet charm. We cooked our dinner right there in the parking lot, eating while watching the long sunset fade into night — one of those rare moments when travel feels absolutely perfect.
We didn’t sleep that night, instead driving through the dark towards Mývatn Baths, hoping to catch sunrise there. We alternated behind the wheel and reached just before dawn. The moment was surreal — blue geothermal waters steaming in the cold morning air, with vents all around us breathing mist into the landscape. Sunrise was a cracker; the skies lit up and we couldn’t stop clicking photos from the lakeshore.
From there, we drove up to a small cinder cone. The gates were still closed at 5 AM, so we photographed it from outside. The city slept on while the sun was already high, almost 30 degrees in the sky by 6 AM — it felt funny and strange. Exhausted, we crashed in the car for a short nap. Later, we explored the remnants of some volcanic craters in the region before deciding to head east in search of puffins.
Later, we roamed around the remnants of volcanic craters in the area before deciding to head east towards puffin land. The drive was similar to the past couple of days — waterfalls in the distance, dramatic skies, and us driving back and forth the same roads depending on weather and our photography needs.
Finally, we went past Egilsstaðir (yet again!) and arrived at Hafnarhólmi. The very sight of puffins flying past, chased by Arctic terns, instantly reminded me of David Attenborough describing the same behavior in Blue Planet.
It was surreal to see puffins at arm’s distance — such rare birds walking and flying so close. Easily one of the best evenings for us.
From there, we took one of the scariest drives of our lives into Mjóifjörður, a remote fjord. Somasekar was adamant about seeing the remains of an old shipwreck there. On the way, we stopped by a multi-level waterfall glowing in golden sunset light.
By morning, we were still driving, heading towards Goðafoss with hopes of clear skies. Along the way we passed through surreal landscapes — wild lava fields and steaming geothermal zones that looked like something out of another planet.
When we finally reached Goðafoss, the skies betrayed us — gray and cloudy. We had lunch at the nearby day-use area, weighing our options. Since the light wasn’t great, we decided to pass time in Húsavík with a whale-watching trip. That decision turned out to be gold. Seeing gray whales up close in their own habitat was a once-in-a-lifetime experience, one that left me in awe.
We returned to Goðafoss in the evening, perfectly timed for sunset. Around 8 PM, the last of the tourist buses rolled out, leaving the place quiet for us. We had the falls to ourselves as we wandered around, scouting for compositions. Finally, we settled in with our chosen spots and let the evening light do its magic.
We were now in northern Iceland, where the daylight hours stretch much longer. Despite this, we started the day unenthusiastically—the forecast everywhere looked grim, with no promise of good skies.
The morning drive was rough. As we crossed Akureyri and began navigating a mountain pass, the conditions quickly worsened. Rain lashed down, the road narrowed dangerously, and visibility dropped to nearly nothing. Already tired from multiple sleepless nights (sleeping in the navigator’s seat on the move doesn’t count), I felt overwhelmed. At one point, it became impossible for me to keep driving. We pulled into a small viewpoint parking area and decided to wait it out until sunrise. In that moment, all we could do was pray that nothing worse would happen. Somehow, we managed to catch a little rest in the car.
At the first hint of light, we resumed the journey. The drive still felt daunting, and with little hope for clear skies during the rest of our trip, both of us were weighed down with disappointment and exhaustion.
On our way toward Kirkjufell, Somasekar mentioned that Hvítserkur was along the route, though it meant a 60 km detour. He wasn’t interested, but I was insistent—I couldn’t miss seeing the “troll of the north,” even if photography was out of the question. So I took the wheel and we headed there.
I descended the steep, slippery path to the beach with all my gear. Standing before Hvítserkur was worth every bit of the effort—it was one of the most elegant rock formations I’d ever seen, like a petrified creature frozen in time. I spent a while there, while Somasekar rested. Afterwards, we had breakfast and freshened up at a small local spot before continuing on.
When we finally neared Kirkjufell, the skies remained gloomy. Seeing the mountain in person was a different experience altogether. From the side, it looked far more prominent and imposing than the perfect cone we’ve all seen in photographs. The peak stood tall, visible for quite some distance before we reached the nearby town. While I wandered around the classic photo spots and got a few shots, Somasekar wasn’t as interested—he went instead to see the painted stairs in town.
After regrouping, we visited a nearby church, and then Somasekar surprised me—he had made a reservation at the Blue Lagoon. It was the perfect ending to our whirlwind adventure. Slipping into the warm, milky-blue waters felt surreal, like entering another world. All the pain, exhaustion, and sleeplessness of the past 8+ days seemed to dissolve instantly. For the first time on the trip, we fully relaxed.
The following morning was our flight back, but we still had a little time left in Reykjavík. We drove around and admired a few man-made wonders: the striking Sun Voyager boat sculpture and the towering Hallgrímskirkja church.
We spent our last night parked quietly in the city, reflecting on everything we had seen and experienced. The next morning, we headed to the airport, bringing our unforgettable Iceland journey to a close.
Iceland was a land of extremes — ever-changing weather, endless daylight, rugged landscapes, and surreal natural phenomena. From waterfalls to glaciers, puffins to whales, and black sand beaches to geothermal hot springs, every day offered something new to photograph and experience.
The trip was physically demanding — sleepless nights, long drives, and occasional mishaps — but it was worth every challenge. Each location, each shot, and each moment of awe reminded me why I travel for photography: to witness, capture, and savor the extraordinary.
Iceland’s quiet mornings, fiery sunsets, and hidden wonders will stay with me forever. This journey wasn’t just about taking pictures — it was about fully immersing myself in one of the most magical landscapes on Earth.