Reykjavík Grapevine - 05.07.2019, Qupperneq 48

Our gas is running on fumes as we
emerge from the belly of the moun-
tain, driving north out of a long sin-
gle-lane tunnel into the Westfjords’
picturesque Súgandafjörður. As the
road winds down the west bank, kit-
tiwakes and fulmars glide alongside
the car. We follow the birds. A rain-
bow paints the fjord’s mouth as birds
and car slow into the quaint fishing
village of Suðureyri.
With a population of just 300 peo-
ple, Suðureyri offers a firsthand expe-
rience of an environmentally engaged
community in an isolated fjord. The
village marina holds an international
eco-label Blue Flag for its sustain-
able environmental management.
Suðureyri’s local school is one of
two internationally recognised eco-
schools in the Westfjords, awarded
a Green Flag by the Foundation for
Environmental Education.
This village haven immerses the
visitor immediately in the homely
comfort of a rural community aware
of its interdependence with the eco-
system. The swimming pool is nes-
tled at the foot of Breiðafjall, offering
a welcome opportunity to contem-
plate the mountain. After our morn-
ing soak and mountain meditation,
the pool’s manager, Ívar, recommends
plokkfiskur at Fisherman Café. We
head there next.
True fishing town
Fisherman is a major attraction for
Westfjords authenticity and envi-
ronmental education done well. The
ambitious establishment offers ac-
commodation, a café, a restaurant
and a gourmet seafood tour to ex-
perience local practices. By the end
of our meal, we are on a first-name
basis with Viktoria, our café hostess,
who we ask to share the secret of the
plokkfiskur recipe. No conspiracy is
required—it's on proud display in the
back room. Suðureyri proves a warm
welcome to Westfjords hospitality.
Star-crossed plovers
After our soak and bite, it’s time to fly
to our next post. Suðureyri’s only gas
pump is permanently closed, so we
weigh our options and opt to continue
towards Flateyri rather than backtrack-
ing to Ísafjörður to refuel. We tunnel
into the mountain again, driving south
and west for dark kilometres until we
emerge to overlook Önundarfjörður.
The valley stretches far below, with the
North Atlantic strung by an unexpected
white-sand beach on its western bank.
We turn right and coast into Flat-
eyri’s gas station with barely a drop left
in our tank. The gas pumps have yel-
low tape haphazardly wrapped around
them, with a hand-scribbled “lokað”
sign announcing they are out of ser-
vice. The station’s staff explains the
pumps will open in two hours, as they
are being restocked, so we commit to a
walking tour of Flateyri.
Yet another tunnel—this time con-
taining a footpath instead of a road—
beckons us up to the hill above the town.
Lupins line the path, and we sound our
voices in echoic booms and hoots as
we pass through the tunnel. Our vocal
experiment has roused golden plovers
and common snipes. Plovers lure us
with “tuuuuu” up the path to ward us
from their nests. Snipes murmur their
neighs from the East—a sign of good
luck in Icelandic folklore. Following
the birds rewards us with a lovely view
of Flateyri and gravel bank on which it
was built.
Flateyri is even smaller than
Suðureyri, with a population of under
200 people. Walking into the village
proper, a sign demarks the presence of
Iceland’s oldest store—a bookstore that
turns out to be a charming time capsule
of the village’s history. On the main
street, we pass several signs nodding
to the local tradition of shark fishing,
and the bar Vagninn, where the reggae
band Hjalmar sets up for their evening
performance as part of the town’s sum-
mer festival.
The two hours fly by, and we’re
greeted with green lights when we re-
turn to the gas station to fill our car.
Wait your tern
Traversing the trio of eyris—Suðurey-
ri, Flateyri, and Þingeyri— is a favou-
rite road trip in the Westfjords. “Eyri”
translates as a sand or gravel bank,
and it is on such banks that these three
villages have prospered. It’s almost
shocking, really, to see life thrive on
such slender spits of rock and sand
between the imposing Westfjordian
mountains and the cold ocean.
As we backtrack along the 20km
fjord, we decide to stop at a proper,
unpopulated eyri—the white-sand eyri
by Holt farm. We roll our car through
a sand-dune track towards the ocean.
The sand dunes are a protected nest-
ing ground for eider ducks, so we inch
along to minimise disturbance of the
area. Scores of arctic terns circle their
warnings above our car as we crawl
along the track. One insistent mother
tern hovers outside the windscreen,
swooping and cawing. We soon spot
the cause for her concern: in the road-
side grass, three eggs ready to hatch.
The enticing beach is a safe dis-
tance from ducks’ and terns’ breeding
grounds. Socks and shoes slip off rap-
idly. The sand is warm, and the North
Atlantic an almost Mediterranean
aquamarine blue. We are beach babes
below the Arctic circle, plodging and
beachcombing on a mid-teens summer
day.
After a walk under the pier, our de-
sire to learn the secrets of the final eyri
pulls us from our shoreline saunter, so
we pile back into the car in search of
our next bird guide.
The world is our
oystercatcher
After crossing the mountain pass to
Dýrafjörður, Þingeyri appears across
the bay. Oystercatchers line the road.
Plump black-and-white bodies look at
odds with the shock of neon orange
beaks bleating cheeps as we park the
car. One waddles from a gravel nest,
where we spy three more eggs, simi-
larly splotched to the tern eggs, but
larger in size. The village of Þingeyri
feels the most like the place to root
and roost after a pleasant day explor-
ing the fjords.
Simbahöllin Café has a strong roast
brewing, and we refuel ourselves with
a coffee in anticipation of the drive back
to Ísafjörður, through the tunnels and
fjords. The village feels lived-in, famil-
iar, comfortable. If only we could stay
to share the local gossip, learn to play
the langspil, and take up residency in
the co-working centre of Blábankinn.
But there are more birds to follow, and
more slow travel in our futures, so we
set off home, our dreams ready to hatch
and soar.
gpv.is/travel
Follow all our travels
Distance
from Reykjavík:
470 km
How to get there:
Route One North,
Routes 60 & 61 to
the Westfjords
More information:
einarshusid.is
View this QR code in
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visit our travel site,
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wher you can book
our recommended
tours:
At The Speed Of Birds
A road trip to the eyris and eyries of the Westfjords
Words: a rawlings Photos: John Rogers & a rawlings
The beautiful beach at Önundarfjörður
Travel
An angry kría, taking a turn outside the windshieldOyster catchers lay their eggs on gravel—including car parks