An Icelandic month
We had missed them in Shetland and Norway, they kept eluding Capsula on the water, and here they were just there, at touching distance, seemingly unbothered by all these humans taking pictures of them.
Just as we were about to question their Icelandic behaviour, we met them again, on the island of Grimsey. Hundreds of puffins had colonized the cliffs and the water beneath them. As expected, as we came within 200 metres, they took flight. So we kept our distance and just enjoyed watching them ride the air currents, together with guillemots, razor bills and other fulmars.
Why one colony tolerated humans at arm's length while another took off at 200 metres remains a mystery to us.
For once we did not have to rush to our next destination.
This allowed us to just stop when we fell in love with a place. Like this peaceful anchorage in the Westfjords where we spent three consecutive days without seeing anyone but eider ducks, black guillemots and seals. Snowy mountains emerging from the clouds, ancient glacier valleys punctuated by waterfalls, and for once, no katabatic wind hurling down the icy slopes. An opportunity to finally inflate our kayak, which had been gathering moisture in its locker since Shetland, and to revive the tradition of mussel picking.
More often than not, this meant patiently waiting for a storm to pass before continuing our trip. Each extended stop, though forced by the weather, brings its own special moment.
Like in Patreksfjörður, which was not even on our list of places to visit. The nice surprise came from the municipal swimming pool, with its two hot tubs, sauna and view on the fjord, which transformed Capsula into a luxury resort (apart from the daily struggle to keep her from being thrown against the pontoon and the nights being thrown on both sides of the bed by the wind gusts traversing the harbour).
In Bolungarvik, the industrial fishing harbour and sleepy town were hiding a café with the friendliest owner and most delicious pastries of our trip so far.
The weather, however, never truly settled.
At the entrance to the Westfjords, the waves finally began to calm, and the wind almost disappeared. After having enjoyed a moment of respite, with the harbour still hours away, we shook out the reefs to catch what little wind remained.
A few minutes later, katabatic winds hit Capsula. Before we could react, Capsula was knocked down. I was at the helm at that moment. Half the cockpit went underwater. I dropped to my knees just in time to avoid being thrown overboard.
Luckily, Capsula quickly recovered her balance and we recovered our wits. Our autopilot, however, was more shaken up and stubbornly refused to keep a straight course. None of our efforts to make it work succeeded. It took it a week to suddenly reconsider its position and start working again (just after we had ordered its replacement, of course).
For a few days, we rented a car and joined the procession of tourists circling the island, waiting and applauding as geysers erupted and driving through endless dark lava fields.
On the second day, we diverted from the road to hike towards a hot spring. The path took us up the mountain in a barren landscape, with here and there steam fuming from the ground. At the end of the path, a valley.
There, in the middle of still snowy mountains, was a river running with water so hot that we struggled to get in!
Geothermal energy also feeds an extraordinary network of municipal swimming pools, something the country can boast about. I guess the drawback is the feeling of living on a pressure cooker, always on the verge of exploding.
Some even use this energy for cooking, or making salt, like in this farmhouse where we stopped to savour a stone-oven-cooked dinner.
Although in all honesty, the food scene in Iceland left us less impressed than the volcanic one. The selection of fresh food in local supermarkets, or lack thereof, is on a par with Norway's, albeit at a higher price. In all fairness, we did not try many restaurants. The bills coming from a basic breakfast or hamburger stop somehow motivated us to focus on our homemade food.
Our first encounter with Icelandic baking had gave me hope. In Seydisfjörður, an unpretentious bakery tucked into a fuel station was selling sourdough bread worthy of Denmark. I even started to build a theory related to the long-lasting domination of Denmark over Iceland. Later stops confirmed that Iceland has gained independence at all levels.
I doubt better food awaits us at our next destination though. We may find ourselves looking back fondly on Icelandic supermarkets and bakeries once Greenland comes into view, or on people.
We did not get any free scallops to spice up our meals (still remembering you June and Malcolm!), and less impromptu discussions than in Shetland. Not surprising perhaps, when tourists outnumber locals for most of the summer.
Still, people always seemed to do the proper thing, as if getting it wrong was simply not an option. Despite the harbours being designed for and full of fishing vessels, locals always tried their best to accommodate us.
Like in Grimsey, where the harbour master, apologetic for not having space in the inner harbour, caught our lines and helped us safely dock Capsula in the outer harbour. Without him, this would have proven a risky landing, with 30 knots of wind and the pier towering three metres above Capsula.
In Flatey, we asked a passerby about fuel. When he realised we had neither fishermen fuel cards nor cash, he just filled up our tank and said the 40L was nothing worth considering.
In Borgafjordur, we had rafted alongside one of the fishing vesseIs. I asked a man looking at us whether that was okay. He seemed embarrassed. He had nothing to do with the harbour, but thought the boat wasn't going anywhere soon. Before we had time to celebrate our arrival, he came back, apologetic. He had realized his mistake: this boat was likely to move. So he made the effort to find us and point us to another boat. The right one, finally.
Anne, Iceland, June 2026