The road less travelled: Strandir is the easternmost arm of the dramatic West Fjords region of Iceland. It can be easily overlooked but it is worth a detour to this tiny outpost with stunning scenery, delapidated ruins and one of the country’s finest hot pools.
Our journey to Strandir started when we branched off Highway 1 at Staðarskali and took the scenic route to Hólmavík.
Closely following the coast around the fjords, we passed rocky headlands above seaweed festooned inlets, where driftwood was piled high.
The small town of Hólmavik is huddled on a little headland, but we bypassed it. We were not interested in its main attraction, the Museum of Sorcery and Witchcraft, which recounts the witchcraft in the area in the 17th century when 20 men and 1 woman were hanged.
Sadly this meant we missed the famous necropants whereby the sorcerer donned human skin pants, removed from the dead, in order to bring himself riches. A coin in the dead man’s scrotum would draw money from the living – quite how they worked that one out, I don’t know!
We also bypassed the Sheep Museum (sheep are pretty self explanatory in my world) and headed on to Dranganes where a hot tub awaited – or rather 3, which is why they are called the Goldilocks tubs.
They are neatly lined up beside the seafront with great fjord views. The only drawback is the streak across the road to the changing room (1000 kr donation requested) and you might have to fight the locals for the limited space.
The grassy campsite sits high above town with a fjord view (2,200 kr. / free with camping card). There is a small island called Grimsey just offshore which is another puffin hangout in the breeding season and there are tours which visit it. I gather at one time there was also a fox farm on the island which I suppose is a clever solution to the problem of both how to keep your animals in and what to feed them!
Heading north the next day, we nevertheless got a small sample of the Museum of Witchcraft and Sorcery at the Hotel Laugarhóll where one can visit the Sorcerer’s Cottage (free), a rough wood and turf dwelling such as the poor people of the region once lived in.
It was quite characterful with sheepskins on the bed and stretched sheep stomach windows. A sacred stone hot tub nearby must have been some compensation through the long winters. No bathing is allowed these days but the rather nondescript hotel has rooms, camping and a large pool with a hot tub (800 kr. for day use).
From there we branched off on gravel roads up the eastern side of the West Fjords, an area known as Strandir (literally beaches). It is a place of endless sea views, big (usually cloudy) skies and eider ducks.
There are few houses. The first cluster are at the tiny hamlet of Djúpavík, nestled under tall cliffs where the Djúpavíkurfoss waterfall tumbles down.
There is an old herring factory, which was abandoned in the 1950’s. Once one of the biggest cement buildings in Europe, it has not weathered well and it certainly is not pretty. Inside there are scattered art installations of largely questionable quality, but at least they are trying: after all, there must be limited uses for a derelict herring factory. It is quite hard to visualise the thing actually working.
Nearby on the shoreline an abandoned rusty shipwreck is quite photogenic. The attractive red and white Djúpavík Hotel stays open throughout the year and does meals all day.
Continuing around the fjord we spotted the blow of whales and saw the occasional languid tail. Low turf ruins are all that remain of long forgotten farms. It was a bleak existence with especially harsh winters, of sealing, fishing and collecting driftwood and eider down. The sheep were able to pick at the seaweed on the shore in winter.
Norðurfjördur is the main village near the end of the road with a cafe, petrol and various lodging options. We camped at Urðartindur at the head of the fjord, finding a nice spot on the front with views to die for (1,500 kr.).
It was quite hard to drag ourselves away but the nearby Krossneslaug hot pool is getting a bit of a name for itself. It sits on the edge of the ocean with lovely views out to sea – it was built in the 1950’s so the local farmers could teach their children to swim.
It has recently been refurbished and now has smart changing rooms although their honesty payment system was rather scary: simply put in the amount (1000 kr. per person) and scan the credit card – I could see us putting an extra nought on by mistake. It is open 24 hours a day.
The pool is comfortably hot with lots of room: when we finally tried the hot tub we found it far too hot.
A trip to Ofeigsfjord
There are a couple of exploratory options in the area. Firstly we took the gravel road some 19 km to Ofeigsfjord, driving slowly, stopping to examine old beached boats, hay wains and metal pontoons, detritus left behind by human endeavours. And always piles and piles of driftwood, logs with rounded ends smoothed by the sea.
The old cement herring plant at Eyri in Ingólfsfjörður, which has not operated since 1952, is not greatly scenic and well boarded up. The road runs through the plant and Arctic terns protest wildly in protecting their young. The ancient broken jetty was made from an oil tank.
The road became rougher after Eyri and a 4 x 4 was necessary. It was slow going until we reached the little settlement of Ofeigsfjord, well located by the large Húsárfoss waterfall. We were surprised to see a tiny campsite which I hadn’t known existed – we might have stopped except we had left all our stuff at Norðurfjörður.
About 3 km of road was left but the main river crossing at Ofeigsfjord was too high so we decided to walk to the end, not knowing that there was an alternative route higher up. On our return, we realised the river is tidal when we found it only ankle deep.
However it was a pleasant walk to the end of the road where we picnicked at Hvalárfoss, another attractive waterfall.
Crossing a footbridge, we continued on a couple of kilometres to the next bay where there was an abandoned house. Flanked by tall scree covered mountains, the fjords were beautiful with no one in sight.
It is possible to walk all the way to Hornstrandir and I worked out that the next 50 km of northbound trail were virtually flat around the fjords. If one had the time it would make a great hiking trip, either leaving the car at the end of the road and walking in and returning the same way or getting the boat from Norðurfjörður to Reykjarfjörður and simply walking back.
It would cut out the need for two expensive boat trips to Hornstrandir, reducing it to one or nil, and removing oneself from the mobs that visit that area. It seems safe to leave one’s vehicle parked up at trailheads too.
However, the Hornstrandir Nature Reserve is accessible from Nordurfjordur. Strandferðir do transfers, and some day tours, to Drangaskörð, Reykjafjörður, Furufjörður, Látravík and the famous Hornvík.
On our final day we walked to the end of the road above the hot pool and continued around the tip of the headland. After a precarious descent to the beach by ladder, it was a straightforward route, albeit a bit rocky to start with.
The cloud stubbornly refused to lift, tantalising us with a 100 m high view. Finally we emerged at a rough collection of houses and walked the final 4.5 km back to the campsite on a dirt road with elevated views over the inlets.
Driving back to Highway 61 later, the fjord landscapes looked just as breathtaking in reverse. We then branched off on a side road to go up the other side of the Strandir peninsula.
Drangajökull Glacier
It was another road going nowhere but a nice drive, in sunshine for once. People usually detour to visit the Drangajökull glacier, the 5th largest in Iceland and the most northerly. The distinctive white mass stands out on the skyline.
The broad 5 km long bay of Kaldalón lies in the valley below, the murky glacial water of the Morilla river hesitating to mix with the clean water of the bay. It is a small river in the summer, the surrounding cliffs ariot with scenic cascades which run into jewel like streams with emerald mossy banks and diamond cold clear waters.
A 4 km hike leads to the tongue of the Drangajökull Glacier, spectacularly undercut by the emerging rushing waters.
Once the farmers of the region would cross the glacier to collect the driftwood from the eastern shoreline.
We camped at Dalbaer near the end of the road again, at an old school. Only a church lay beyond, it’s cemetery on the hill above. Again, it is possible to hike northwards; a two day hike on the old Postal Path leads to Grunnavik bay.
The fjord was very serene and the windsock hung limply which was most unusual. The tall mountain faces around Ísafjörður stood out starkly: the main town in the West Fjords was our next destination.
