I’ve been a photographer and photojournalist for 33 years. It’s an incredible job and I think I’m good at it. Like any job, it can sometimes be difficult, even lousy. But it’s not just a matter of going to a particular spot to take pictures. The magic of the profession lies in capturing connections – […]
All cultures have myths of large birds carrying children away. In Greek mythology, Zeus takes on the shape of an eagle to kidnap a young boy. The stories often have the same wording no matter their origin. There are not only legends but also historical records of child-stealing eagles. As a child, I’d heard stories of humongous eagles living on high cliffs. They could fly higher and farther than other birds, and in the stories they also stole and ate children. I never saw these magnificent birds with my own eyes as there were only a handful of them left in the country then and no eagle habitats in the region where I grew up. It wasn’t until I was grown that I caught glimpses of frightening creatures gliding high in the heavens over the islands and skerries of Breiðafjörður fjord, their nesting grounds in western Iceland. The sight filled me with awe and fear-tinged excitement but my wish to see such a bird up close was never fulfilled – until last spring.
Sitting down with Chris Burkard for an interview isn’t an easy task. Not because he’s difficult to talk to, but because I had to find him first. He has 3.6 million followers on Instagram, but I had to follow him all the way to the remote Bjarnarfjörður fjord in the Westfjords to get ahold of […]
On a mild spring night in Iceland, when the wind barely ruffles the hair on your head, it’s neither too hot nor too cold, and a soft light shines through the high clouds, driving around the Reykjanes peninsula is a magical experience. The spell is broken as soon as I turn on to the road to Krísuvíkurbjarg, however; the rocky trail to Southwest Iceland’s largest bird cliff is less travelled for a reason. But there’s no turning back now. At the end of the road, I have a meeting with members of the Hafnarfjörður Search and Rescue squad, who have been visiting the cliff every spring for decades. Their goal has always been the same, though their purpose has shifted.
When I finally get to the cliff, two large jeeps have already arrived, with a blur of activity around them. Long lines extend from one of the jeeps standing about 60m (200ft) from the cliff’s edge. At the other end of the line is a rescue squad volunteer in red overalls and a white helmet, with an orange pack around his waist. His name is Símon Halldórsson, and it’s hardly the first time he’s preparing to lower himself over the edge of this cliff. “I was 15 when I went over for the first time, and that was about 30 years ago,” he says as he signals the driver of the jeep that he’s ready to descend.
“I heard some people talk about Iceland in a student kitchen in London one night. That is the first time that I can ever remember hearing about it, which is mind-blowing to me. How can I never have seen anything about this place before 2013? That’s so strange.”
Iceland’s Glaciological Society has been conducting annual research trips to Vatnajökull glacier since the middle of last century. Now change is afoot.
“Some things in nature simply inspire an emotional response. The Þingvallavatn lake brown trout is one of these phenomena. It’s a fantastical, mythical creature,” says biologist Jóhannes Sturlaugsson.
Ragnar Axelsson is on a mission. The best-known photographer in Iceland has for decades pointed his camera at disappearing culture and documented the life of the people of the Arctic. His earlier books have revolved around people living in close proximity to nature. This time, he’s doing something different – a book on glaciers, nearly […]
“The gyrfalcon’s whole life revolves around the ptarmigan,” ornithologist Ólafur Nielsen tells me as I sit in the back of his pickup truck. We’re navigating a trail through spiky black lava in the northeast on the longest day of the year. At his side is his son and namesake, Ólafur Nielsen Junior, known as Óli to distinguish him from his father. He’s been accompanying his father on his falcon trips since he was 10 years old and can’t imagine a summer without them. In order to get to follow the father-son duo on their trip for a day, I had to apply for a special permit from the Environment Agency of Iceland, months in advance. The purpose of our trip is to visit two or three gyrfalcon nests to mark and measure the nestlings. Even approaching gyrfalcon nests in Iceland is illegal, and only a few researchers and scientists are exempted. Ólafur is one of Iceland’s most notable falcon scholars.
