Above 63

A friend of mine was texting with me the other night about the disappearance of a large portion of Reynisfjara Beach near Vik, Iceland. We reminisced about our separate visits and sent each other photos. I’ve been there four times, and each visit was spectacular but unique. When I go back in April with friends (their first visit) I am expecting spectacular and unique, but it will be different this time–perhaps like visiting a new place altogether. The thing about Iceland, it doesn’t preserve the scenery for us–it reshapes it.

When I was digging through my photo archive, I discovered I have over 500 shots of the beach and the rock formations. This doesn’t count photos I took of other things there. When I looked at the first photo I ever took at the beach I broke out laughing. It was of the safety and warning sign (more on this later). My visits and shots are from different times of the year, but have a constant beauty to them. Its hard to pick just a few to share.

The Vista

The beach has a great “long view” that is still the same after recent events. If you watch enough movies and TV, you will be able to recognize this space as a backdrop for different scenes. Although the “classic” view is from east to west, the view from the opposite cliff is excellent.

Wet and Magical

I have 2 distinct sense memories from my visits here. It was usually wet and it was always magical. On our first visit, it was one of those Iceland sideways rain days. The rocks gleamed as they were coated with a thin layer of water. I’m not sure we glowed, but we had a thin layer of water. I’ve written about Icelandic light before, but when we visited in 2017, it was my first real taste of how it mixes with the environment to create a special moment.

Photos are great for remembering, but not so good at presenting magic. They are weak containers for wonder. I can remember each of these moments as magical, but the photos don’t really convey that. They are nice photos of Reynisdrangar, but the magic is implied. I am wondering now if Kathleen is looking up and wondering if that cliff will hold another decade.

What Isn’t There Anymore

I was looking at photos from the Reykjavik Grapevine and Iceland Monitor. It looks like the whole area east of the cliffs is gone and now part of the ocean. Earth processes are seldom kind or sentimental. Reynisfjara (like all beaches) has never been a fixed place. It is an agreement between wind, tide, and basalt. This winter, the agreement changed. On the other hand we humans will miss that piece of beach and the closer view of the Reynisdrangar. The place will still be magical, but the magic will be different.

Not a Stage for the Internet–Keep an Eye on the Water

Reynisfjara has always carried a warning. With the eastern section now closed, the geography has changed, but the danger remains. The signs on the beach are clear. You can be swept out to sea and die. There have been deaths as well as plenty of close calls. That warning sits quietly around every visit to the beach. If you search online for “Reynisfjara sneaker wave,” you will find endless videos of tourists being smashed by unpredictable sneaker waves. Reynisfjara may be content for the internet but it doesn’t always cooperate with the creators.
We have always kept an eye on the ocean during our visits–even on days when the water is calm and the tide is low. The surf does not announce which one will be different.
Icelanders have not been casual about the danger. The signage has long been clear and has been upgraded repeatedly. Warning systems now include lights. The language is blunt because it needs to be. I have read Icelanders asking how to make the warnings stronger or more effective. The signage is not subtle. The language is direct. The lights are visible. The danger is not hidden.

When I go back in April, it will look different. However it has looked different on each of my visits. I will miss the east part of the beach, but I will relish standing on the black sand of Reynisfjara again. It will be a new magical (probably wet as well) moment.