Iceland XI: Isafjordur--Beyond the Beyond

We awoke, on August 21, 2022, to a brilliant day, and we delighted in it.  

We were on our way to Isafjordur, on the tip of one of the farthest fjords in the West Fjords region.  
 

We were reminded of how remote Isafjordur was when we stood by these road signs, on the Ring Road.  It was as many kilometers back to Reykjavik as it was, onwards to Isafjordur.

We always savored the lavish Icelandic breakfasts, such as this one in Drangsnes, before we left for Isafjordur..

There was often a bottle of cod liver oil on the breakfast buffet, for guests to take a gulp with their cereal.

Dave stood on the porch of our Drangsnes hotel in the sunlight, basking in the beautiful day, after all the gray and cold yesterday.

We spent the day tracing the shoreline of one fjord inlet after another, with few cars and no tour buses.  The views were spectacular, with waterfalls running down the steep green cliffs on the sides of the road, a few white houses and churches with red roofs, and green plains with lakes between the fjords.  We passed several small fishing villages clinging to the sides of the fjords.

Soon after we started driving, I mentioned to Mike that I would welcome his stopping to take photographs, wherever he found an interesting spot.  Mike has been mapping the tourist sites for the day and leading out.  “I haven’t stopped because I didn’t want to delay you,” Mike said, and I responded, “And Dad hasn’t stopped because he didn’t want to delay you.  I’ve been begging him to stop to take pictures along the roadside ever since we left Reykjavik!”  Mike then made three or four photo stops during the day.  One was near an abandoned, bright blue fishing boat, and another was at a “seal viewing point” where we could see several black seal heads bobbing in the water. 

As we paused for photos of the beautiful landscape, we also took some family photos.

We stopped at Litlibaer, a tiny, low-ceilinged home with a turf roof.  It is now a café, selling waffles and coffee.  The house was once home to two families, although today it would seem small for even just one family. 

At every stop, Audrey searched for dandelions.

The owners had racks of homemade socks and sweaters for sale in the entryway.

Another stop was the Arctic Fox Centre.  There were many stuffed arctic foxes on display, with brown and white fur, as well as soft pelts and posters describing that animal, which is one of the few mammals native to Iceland.  I am enjoying teaching Audrey some new words and concepts.  She repeated “fox”, was reminded by Heidi of Heidi’s fox jacket, and then sat with me at a table in the entry way to the museum, sharing a cookie.

We never tired of the red and white Lutheran churches, located in every town of any size.  They are as ubiquitous and recognizable as LDS meetinghouses in rural Utah.

Finally, we arrived in Isafjordur and spent an hour at its excellent Westfjords Heritage Museum.  The stiff white things in the foreground of the picture above are pieces of dried cod, which were soaked and boiled for dinner.

We watched a movie showing fishermen catching, salting, and drying cod, and we wandered through exhibits of fishing equipment (nets, rope, oilskin slickers) model boats (Audrey showed where the fish hold and the captain’s cabin was in each of them) and household items (Audrey learned about yarns and spinning wheels).  

Isafjordur is a fishing port, with boats and warehouses to store the catch.

The downtown buildings were neatly painted red and white.

Outside of downtown, the fjord stretched, austere, to the sea.