It really does seem a bit crass to be complaining about it. Especially given the conditions we faced for most of the previous trip to Iceland in the summer of 2019. But the thing is, I'd had a vision for the canyon at the bottom of Haifoss, and it was a vision that featured rain, mist and murk of the dampest order swirling around the scene in customary Icelandic fashion. After all, that's what this most atmospheric of lands is famous for isn't it?
But here we were, standing at the top of the canyon admiring the 128 metres of single drop cascade down to the floor. Until recently Haifoss, while on the itinerary for a visit had remained one of our potential "disposable" locations. We'd only seen the big wide angle shots from the summit, which were undeniably grand, especially under a super sunset, but the composition wasn't really pulling us in. Add to that the prospect of strong winds whilst standing over a deadly precipice, and that was enough to place the location on the doubtful list. That was until Google decided to share with me a blog from a hiker who swore that this was their favourite waterfall in Iceland and who revealed the existence of a trail down to its basin. So often we rightly complain that we're being watched, but just now and again, Big Brother does something useful. Haifoss' elevation from a bit part possible to an absolutely definitely was cemented when just a week or so before we were due to go, Mads Peter Iversen released a YouTube adventure from this very spot, and the results had been spectacular. Mads, Jeroen and their workshop group had all donned full sets of waterproofs to cope with the twin soakings provided by rain and spray, and in the process had caught my full attention as I sat nursing my coffee in front of the TV screen at home. Excitedly I messaged Lee - "We have to go to Haifoss - look at this!" In fact, he'd already seen it.
The hike to the base of Haifoss is easier than you'd first think as you stare down into it from above. Standing up here the descent seemed impossible, yet there below were specks of humanity dotted about the intimate landscape 128 metres below. So, we followed the signs and began the car counting game for the second time in under twenty-four hours - you know the one - the game when you turn up to find fifteen cars in the car park and start eliminating groups in the hope that you'll more or less have the place to yourself when you get to your chosen spot. At the top we thought we'd identified four groups who didn't seem to be heading down, and on the trail, we saw another two, maybe three groups heading back up the slope towards us. With six, maybe seven cars accounted for, we began to remove more still from our potential theatre of irritation, until only three or four carloads remained unaccounted for as we arrived at the switchback that leads straight down to the bottom of the waterfall. Of course, you can't predict what's behind you, but once we were in position, we wouldn't be overly bothered about how much we were upsetting the next pair of like-minded loners that gazed down at us from above and sighed before counting cars for themselves.
All along, the weather had been bright, and to our annoyance the bank of textured clouds to the north had disappeared, leaving the odd white tuft of cumulus making an appearance in the frame. It really wasn't what we'd wanted as a spell of continued fine weather that was set to continue and deliver mixed blessings for the next few days held firm across the south of Iceland. But while there was no sign of mist at all, our first approach view found us staring at a perfect rainbow that had formed around the plumes of white spray above the bowl. It certainly wasn't what we'd come for, but it was what we were going to take away with us it seemed as for the next hour or two of clambering around the rocky terrain we made our compositions. At least the car count had been close enough, with only five or six other thrill seekers waiting to welcome us on our arrival at base camp zero.
I had a pretty clear picture of what I wanted to achieve, having already visited two waterfalls in Snaefellsnes and worked on focus stacks where the main drop was in the background and the rush of water filled the front of the frame. It's not easy working in fast flowing water as you wipe what mist there is from your filters with your tripod as low to the surface of the torrent as you dare, especially when the manufacturer of your camera can't be bothered to add an articulating flipscreen to one of their flagship DSLRs (even though my 80D features one and so did the 70D that I had before it). But risking a wet backside and a welly full of water as I perched on a midstream rock, I composed the scene as well as I could. I'd have preferred either no sky or more sky, or a nice dump of mist in the top right hand corner, and for a moment I considered trying to clone a cliff before deciding not to bother. I could have done a bit more cropping, but I wanted to retain as much of the rainbow as I could, and I also didn't want to stunt the scene by cropping too far in from the top. If I'd moved to the left I'd have had to bring in more of the big bank of scree or stand in four foot of racing icy water, neither of which seemed like a good idea. I could have presented another image from this series that had a fuller sky, but the foreground water rush was by far the hands down winner from the four or five different compositions I tried. So, there you have it with all its flaws, but hopefully with the good bits too. Maybe I should have tried cloning out the sky - too late now as you know the truth. Still, I've darkened the distraction and added a frame to hopefully stop you wandering off.
What a location though. I'm so glad we took that trail to the water's edge, and into it too for that matter. Even if the return hike to the car park was a bit of a struggle for oxygen. I can see why that blogger thought so highly of this magnificent and remote canyon. At the southern edge of the Highlands, it hints at the magic that I know lies beyond yet am still waiting to discover for myself. The next visit may be three years or more away, but I know what I want to do next time I come to this amazing country and I'm going to need a very big vehicle with a snorkel, which needs an equally huge budget. But for now I give you Haifoss - accessible with even a modestly equipped four wheel drive, yet extraordinary, dramatic and unspeakably wild. Keep an eye open for Lee's shot from the top when he gets to it - it's a beauty!
