Reynisfjara

Black sand as far as the eye can see, under a sky that in Iceland rarely stays the same for more than an hour. Reynisfjara near Vík, on Iceland’s south coast, is one of those places where I genuinely felt like I had stepped off the planet for a while.

The basalt columns stacked against the cliff into something close to a geometric organ wall look almost man-made, though they are pure nature, shaped by slowly cooling lava. Out in the water rise the Reynisdrangar sea stacks, and depending on which legend you hear, they are trolls caught out and turned to stone by the morning sun. Standing on this beach, that story is easy to believe.

What I never forget while shooting here is a healthy respect for the ocean. The infamous sneaker waves, which surge far up the beach without warning, have caught out enough people that you never fully take your eyes off the water, no matter how much the columns or the stacks pull your attention away.

Photographically, Reynisfjara is a study in contrast, black sand, white spray, grey basalt walls, and a light that makes the whole scene feel even stranger than it already is.