During the summer of 2003 I drove around the island like there would be no tomorrow. A newly acquired camera followed.
A time I think back to with great fondness, for a number of reasons. And nostalgia. Et cetera.
Skríða means to creep. Skriðjökull could be translated to creeping glacier. I suspect glaciologists, if that’s a word, might disagree. Whatever the term; water, in this form, falling in slow motion, is truly fascinating. Let’s enjoy it while we can.
Canal. Farm.
In a valley. Since then the river has been dried up. Unsurprisingly the corporation benefitting from the dam makes sure to export all their profit in order to not pay taxes. As corporations do.
Near a village with a long name.
From one of the F roads—F for fjall, which is mountain, mountain road then—not far from a place of many postcards. This one has hopes to become one, at some point.
By the emergency shelter, on the way to a place of good presence.
Vents.
Junction on road #1. At the time I had an old 6×6 camera and at some point I vaguely remembered photographing this place with it as well. Was kind of eager to find the film, it made sense, this subject, in a square format. I thought. Turned out I was wrong.
Where to buy fuel and fuel, not far from the village with the long name. Or perhaps it was closed by then.
Water, falling. Tourist side across the river.