Reykjavík Grapevine - 16.06.2017, Qupperneq 58

Summer In Mývatn
And how I found out I enjoy bird-watching

Words: Alice Demurtas
Photos: Jakob Axel Axelsson

“Great weather today,” exclaims Ja-
kob. “It’s perfect day for bird-watch-
ing!” It’s barely ten on a Saturday
morning, and he’s already excited
by the prospect of watching animals
in their natural habitat. Personally, I
don’t find anything exciting before
11am, and at this point I can barely
sit down without falling asleep. “I
want to see a Slavonian grebe today,”

adds Jakob, with determination.
My boyfriend and I drove up to
Akureyri for the weekend to visit
his family, and to accompany his
grandmother to see the coun-
tryside where she was born and
raised, precisely 80 years ago. It
wasn’t until later that the trip de-
viated slightly into the concept of
hardcore nature-diving.
Summer in Fnjóskadalur
Buzzed on caffeine and jazzed by the
thought of spending time outside
the capital, we finally head north
along the coast of Eyjafjörður, its
crown of mountains still coated in
snow, while the water sparkles plac-
idly below. Emerald fields stretch be-
fore my eyes as we drive past Fnjós-
kadalur, while birch trees punctuate
the scene like miniature forests.
In the meantime, Grandma is
telling us about her childhood here.
“Summers here were the best time,”
she says. “Even in the winter there
was still a lot to do in the farm, like
feeding the animals,” she says. “We
would milk the cows and then learn
how to make cheese, cream and but-
ter.” It’s easy to imagine her running
through the dry grass in a white
pinafore dress, wondering whether
she’ll ever see anything beyond the

high horizon. As we drive out of the
main road and finally spot Mývatn,
a silence so intense fills the car like
smoke, and for a time that feels in-
finite we all give in to melancholy.
Bird-watching
On the way back from Dimmuborgir,
a striking lava maze, we quickly close
the windows as we speed along the
black shore of the lake. Mývatn’s in-
famous flies don’t bite until later in
summer, but they stick to clothes and
skin as if they were made of honey.
Swirls of flies rise from the sur-
face of the lake like sand tornadoes,
a high buzzing sound ringing over
the water. “Look, a gadwall,” says
Jakob, unimpressed, as he points out
a small duck quietly floating amidst
the flies. “They’re the most common
bird around here.” An elegant Bar-
row’s goldeneye swims by calmly,

her fuzzy black head raised high up.
Spending time in the countryside
gives me energy, but I don’t gener-
ally find bird-watching as amus-
ing as others. But as we stop to look
at flocks of brown and black ducks
dancing together on the water, I’m
mesmerized. Except for the gentle
sound of the water lapping at the
shore, it’s completely silent. Golden
flecks of light play over the lake, its
surface reflecting the faraway hills
to the east in the crystal-blue water.
Finally, we spot it: a beautiful Sla-
vonian grebe passes by, just a metre
away from us, sound asleep. Its vivid
black feathers fade into its white fur.
We watch her pass by and for a mo-
ment time freezes—we forget where
we are, all our senses tuned towards
the bird. Then, all of a sudden, it
raises its magnificent beak, shakes
its tail ever so slightly, and disap-
pears, unaware of our silent awe.
There’s so much more to Iceland than the airport.
Look for your next adventures online. They’re hiding in plain sight.
airicelandconnect.com
Adventure awaits
Distance from
Reykjavík
470km
56 The Reykjavík Grapevine
Issue 10 — 2017
“We watch the grebe pass by, and for
a moment time freezes—we forget
where we are, all our senses tuned
towards the bird.”