The town and what remained of the port was strung out along the fjord-side, and right by the central square next to the fishing dock (see above right) we found the municipal campsite (Photo 16 - Siglufjörður Camping), all very public, overlooked by houses and passing traffic of the main street. After all the recent wet weather, the ground was soft and churned up in places, but we found a spot well away from the noise potential of a group of camping-cars, and settled in before kitting up in waterproofs for an afternoon of exploring the town (Photo 17 - Siglufjörður fishing dock) (see above left).

An afternoon's exploration in Siglufjörður:  across the central square by the Raðhus (town hall), we found the TIC in the town library for a street plan, then ambled along past the fishing port and the expensive-looking Sigló Hotel built out into a pier to resemble a fishing station. Along at the Innrihöfn harbour (Photo 18 - Siglufjörður over-towered by cloud-covered mountains), we stood dodging the Arctic Terns which swooped down above our heads (see right), aggressively protecting their nests in the tussocky grass by the water's edge. A Black-tailed Godwit paraded along the muddy road-way and over the grassy banks; being able to examine the Godwit closely showed what a truly elegant bird this was with its characteristic rusty-brown neck, speckled body and black-tipped tail (see above left).

Back along the waterfront, we glanced in at the herring Museum which was based in former fishing sheds, not prepared to pay the unduly expensive 2,000kr (£14) admission charge. Their publicity promised demonstrations of herring smoking on Saturdays in July, but it turned out this was only when a cruise ship was in port; that said it all, and unimpressed by this sterile, over-rated museum, we left with just a passing glance into the conserved herring factory where herring oil had once been extracted and purified leaving the remaining fish-meal as fertiliser. By the fjord-side opposite, the decaying wooden piers of the former herring dock still stood in the water (Photo 19 - Siglufjörður's former herring dock piers) (see left). Back along at the Bátadokk, we walked around examining the boats with their long-line fishing gear (see right) (Photo 20 - Long-line fishing boats). A poster promoted the free-entry Photographic History Museum in Vetrabraut, so we wandered past the dock and fish market along through Siglufjörður's open-spaced grid of streets, looking out for sights familiar from Trapped. At the far end of Vetrabrautopposite a factory and oil-storage tanks, we found the house with the Photographic History Museum, and were welcomed by a charming elderly gent Steingrimur Kristinsson, now age 83 and a life-long photographer. He showed us the impressive exhibition of historic photographic equipment and display of photographs taken by Vigfús Sigurgeirsson between 1929~52; this photographer and filmmaker from Akureyri had travelled each summer to Siglufjörður (no mean journey in those pre-tunnel days) to document the herring industry in a wonderful series of photographs. These showed the port filled with 100s of boats, herring girls working by the dockside piers where the catch had just been unloaded, and even an official visit to Siglufjörður by the Icelandic president in 1952. Sigurgeirsson had lugged his heavy camera and tripod up onto the mountainside opposite for aerial photos showing the port spread along the narrow spit of fjord-side land and piers stretching out into the fjord. This had been a thoroughly worthwhile chance-find visit, and we had learned more about Siglufjörður's herring history here than ever we should have at the over-priced Herring Museum. Back through the town streets to the campsite by the fishing dock, we were glad to settle into the warmth and shelter of George out of the chill, misty rain.

The Siglufjörður avalanche protection:  it was indeed a cold night, and we woke to a chill, wet mist down to fjord-level; the campsite's hot showers were very welcome this morning. As we were preparing to leave, the owners of the Photographic History Museum, Balvin and Ingar, professional photographers from Reykjavík whom we had met yesterday, called by on their way to the harbour to see the cruise-ship that had docked this morning. Last evening, the campsite warden admitted that such visiting cruise-ships brought no economic benefit to the town; passengers came ashore briefly, visited the Herring Museum, and immediately re-boarded. After calling in at the supermarket to re-stock with provisions, we departed northwards.

With low, wet cloud still clinging to the mountains, we paused at the northern outskirts of Siglufjörður to admire the impressive scale of the avalanche protection, huge turfed bunds extending across the face of the mountain slopes above the town, topped by steel fencing tiers, to trap and deflect falling snow and rocks (see above right). The avalanche defences were built at government expense in the 1990s to protect communities vulnerable to avalanches after the disaster which hit Suðavík in the West Fjords where we should stay later.

Through the Strákagöng Tunnel and around Sauðanes point:  the onward road (click here for detailed map of route) shelved high above the sea around the face of the mountainside, which towered unseen in the cloud above, towards the mouth of Siglufjörður fjord. Ahead loomed the entrance to Strákagöng Tunnel, looking like a gloomy, square concrete box. This single-lane tunnel, 830m long through the mountainous headland, was the earliest of the tunnel-links to Siglufjörður completed in 1967 (see above left) (Photo 21 - Strákagöng Tunnel); before its opening, Siglufjörður had only been accessible by sea. With even more trepidation than usual at entering tunnels, we edged forward into the ultra-narrow tunnel. Lighting was better than feared, but the M-places were something of a squeeze (see above right); fortunately we were through before needing to pull over to allow any oncoming traffic to pass. We emerged into gloomy daylight at the northern end box-like portal, with the land falling away steeply towards the squat lighthouse at Sauðanes point on the peninsula tip (see left).

Lonely road around Sauðanes coastline past Miklavatn to Höfðavatn:  the next stretch of road, shelving around the cliff-tops of the northern tip of Sauðanes, felt to be the most isolated, remote and lonely place we had travelled in Iceland, particularly in the gloomy light (click here for detailed map of route) (see right). The road looped inland to cross a water course above an abandoned farm, then continued high above the sea around the cliff-tops. Sections of this lonely road had been stripped of tarmac leaving just a gravel surface. From the lagoon of Miklavatn, trapped behind a sandbar stretching from shore to shore across the mouth of the bay, the road swung inland around the bay. At the innermost corner, the old gravelled Route 82 turned off inland along a murky valley; pre-tunnels, this had been the only land route connecting Ólafsfjörður with Siglufjörður once the Strákagöng link had been constructed through the peninsula tip in the late 1960s. Route 76 turned off right, cutting across a broad, flat and fertile area of farmland, the fields now cut for baled hay. Passing the mouth of Flókadalur which cut up into the hills, there were signs of this being an area of geothermal hot water, with a small natural swimming pool by a farm. As the road swung inland across moorland, the noticeable increase in tourist hire-car traffic driving at reckless speed indicated we were getting back closer to the Ring Road; it suddenly felt hazardous again. Off the coast, the low flat island of Málmey rose from Skagafjörður, with the 180m high sheer-sided, flat-topped volcanic plug of Drangey further out (see left).

Bird-life at Höfðavatn:  beyond the mouth of Hrolleifsdalur, we pulled in by the shingle-bar which extends out to the island of Þórðarhöfði, trapping the lagoon of Höfðavatn. We kitted up fully against the chill wind to walk out along the shingle-bar trackway out to the island alongside the shallow lagoon, hoping to see waders on the mudflats. A pair of Whooper Swans grazed the lakeside meadow, and Ringed Plovers pecked in the mudflats (see below left). As we continued along the track, a Dunlin insistently followed, probably decoying us from its nest. This beautifully marked small wader with its dark underside, boldly mottled back and down-turned bill paraded in front of us before eventually flying off (Photo 22 - Dunlin (Calidris alpina)) (see above right). As we clambered up over the boulders to peer across the embankment towards the sea, Arctic Terns swooped aggressively overhead, and across on the rocks a male Snow Bunting (Photo 23 - Snow Bunting) (see below right) hopped around with its mate and buff-coloured juvenile birds. As we returned along the trackway, several more of the Dunlins flew around, settling in front of us with their sharp, repetitive, staccato 'tew, tew, tew' alarm call, and Red-necked Phalaropes darted busily among the reeds of a watercourse. We had been entertained by an unexpected variety of waders and other bird-life along the trackway by the Höfðavatn mudflats.

The Icelandic Emigration Centre at Hofsós:  we continued southwards along the shore of Skagafjörður, with young tourists in hire-cars speeding past, to approach the village of Hofsós set just off Route 76 on the seaward side. The main street led down from the modern village to a tiny harbour, site of the original settlement which had developed around the warehouses of a Danish trading station (Photo 24 - Hofsós harbour) (see below left and right). These conserved black-tarred wooden warehouses now house the much-publicised Icelandic Emigration Centre. Having rejected the equally much-vaunted, but over-priced, poor-value (in terms of learning potential) Herring Museum, we also now had grave reservations about the cost~value of this glitzy part-museum, part-genealogical centre which allegedly documents the history of the 1000s of Icelanders who were driven by failed farming, poverty and hardship to seek a new life in Canada and USA in the late 19th/early 20th centuries. We had earlier learned much about the causative factors underlying the emigration from the unpretentious but knowledge-packed Emigration Museum at Vopnafjörður (See log of our visit); our doubts about the over-publicised and pretentious Hofsós museum of Emigration were compounded by the evident superficial understanding of the causes of mass emigration shown by the American woman at reception. It soon became clear that, despite her claims of Icelandic descent from the Westman Islands, she knew absolutely nothing about Iceland, spoke no Icelandic, and her little knowledge about Icelandic emigration was book-derived. A glance at the display panels supposedly recounting émigrés' experiences showed they were over-romanticised and failed to explain the social, economic and climactic hardships that led to emigration. There was no reference to the conspiracy between Canadian government promoting immigration schemes to attract settlers to populate new regions of the Dominion and Icelandic authorities trying to minimise poor-law support for the destitute, leading to land agents painting a falsely encouraging picture of life in the new country compared with the hardships faced on arrival in the new lands. Compared with all we had learned from the knowledgeable Kathy at Vopnafjörður, we should learn nothing here at Hofsós, and were certainly not prepared to pay even the seniors' reduced admission of 1,400kr (£10) each. Our conclusion was that the Icelandic Emigration Centre at Hofsós, like the Siglufjörður Herring Museum, was over-priced and over-rated; you would come away with little depth of understanding about the causes of Icelandic mass emigration, and the real hardships faced by emigrants on arrival in the New World. For this, you would do better to talk with Kathy at Vopnafjörður which would cost you nothing, rather than spend vast sums to view pretentiously glitzy but non-informative display panels at Hofsós.

Hofsós Camping:  arriving early at Hofsós Camping close to the community centre in the modern village, we were able to select a corner pitch and protect our space from disturbance by late-arrivers with picnic tables (see left) (Photo 25 - Hofsós Camping). During the evening, the campsite began to fill with tourists in hired cars and camping cars now that we were closer to the Ring Road. Many of these tourist tent-campers were clearly ill-equipped, ill-clothed and ill-prepared for tent camping in Icelandic conditions, displaying comical incompetence at putting up a tent and cooking supper even in fine weather. The lad from the campsite-owning family called round at 9-00pm to collect payment of 1000kr each for seniors plus 800kr for electricity. Facilities were limited to WCs, showers and wash-up sinks with hot water, but all were modern and totally clean; there was no kitchen, wi-fi, common room or bad weather shelter for tent campers. Behind us, the bulky mountains of Tröllskagi peninsula lying between Eyjafjörður and Skagafjörður were indented by craggy ridges dividing off long valleys cutting deep into the uninhabited interior, with distant snowfields and glaciers covering the peaks and cwms at the valley heads. The Skagafjörður western side is lined by a wide coastal strip with fertile, moraine-rich farmland providing sheep, cattle and horse grazing. The wind dropped, and clear evening sky brought sunlight, picking out all the details of the shapely peaks lining the valleys of the mountainous hinterland beyond the farming lands of the broad, flat coastal strip, and later the sun set over this mountainous backdrop (see right).

Hofsós village:  Hofsós village clearly still functions as a service centre for this farming hinterland, just as in times past farmers had brought their surplus produce here to trade with Danish merchants. But the modern village was something of a puzzle, far larger and livelier than the run-down backwater implied by our guide books. It was a surprisingly large settlement with rows of modern and affluent-looking single-storey houses extending along the side streets, and a school, community centre, shop and filling station at the village centre. The large number of houses seemed to indicate that the original community had now increased with holiday- and weekend-homes, particularly as with the improved state of the Ring Road and Hvalfjörður tunnel, Hofsós was now within weekend range from Reykjavík. This impression was reinforced by the modern village of Hofsós having what was referred to as a 'designer swimming pool' which had put the place 'on the map'. We should stay here a second day and investigate the swimming pool tomorrow.

Hofsós swimming pool:  the following day, after a morning in camp, we walked along to Hofsós' geothermally heated swimming pool. The small outdoor pool was designed by the same architect responsible for the Blue Lagoon bathing complex in SW Iceland which was fed by effluent from a geothermal power station (not something any self-respecting professional would admit to on his CV!). It is landscaped into the hillside above the fjord in such an integrated fashion as to give an impression of infinite view from the pool extending over the sea to the mountains beyond (see above left). The pool was reported to have been donated to the village just before the 2008 financial crisis by 2 bankers' wives who presumably had holiday homes in Hofsós. Admission to the pool was 900kr each, and while Sheila swam in the 32ºC warm water, Paul took photos of the setting against the fjord and mountainous backdrop (Photo 26 - Hofsós swimming pool), before joining her in the pool. Even the sun managed to shine as we enjoyed the comfortably warm pool, and wallowed in the 36ºC geothermally heated hot-pot.

A final night at Hofsós Camping:  from the pool, we walked back down to the little harbour, with the restored log-built warehouses (pakkhusið in Icelandic) from the Danish trading station. The far side of the grey shingle beach was edged at the fjord-side with grey basalt polygonal column bases (Photo 27 - Basalt column bases) (see above right), replicas of which formed features at the swimming pool. Across the bridge, the Hofsá river tumbled down from the Tröllskagi mountains into the sea by the harbour wall (Photo 28 - Hofsá river) (see left). Walking back to camp, we were still intrigued by the size of Hofsós and the number of modern houses extending along the newer part of the village away from the original settlement which had developed down by the harbour. Dark cloud, which earlier had been gathering over the mountains on the far side of Skagafjörður, gradually crept nearer bringing a miserably wet evening. We sat in George to cook and eat supper, looking out into the rain and heavy cloud which tonight covered the Tröllskagi mountains, obscuring the deep valleys cutting into the hills behind us. When the campsite lad called round later for payment, we asked more about Hofsós: there are now less than 200 permanent residents, and as we suspected, many of the modern houses are holiday-, weekend- or summer-houses owned by distant city-folk. This would explain why fat-cat bankers' wives lived in Hofsós, with enough money to endow the 'designer swimming pool'.

Cathedral church at Hólar:  the overnight rain had just about stopped, and heavy overcast beginning to clear from the 3 valleys of Unadalur, Seljadalur and Vesterdalur which penetrate deep into the Tröllskagi mountainous interior. We returned to Route 76 and turned south across the broad coastal farming strip where hay had been cut and baled (click here for detailed map of route). The road swung inland across the open mouth of Kolbeinsdalur to reach the Route 767 turning into Hjaltadalur and Hólar 12kms along the broad valley. Herds of Icelandic horses grazed the farmland pastures, and in the distance the small cathedral church with its bell-tower at Hólar could be seen, set among woodland under the bulky, looming shadow of snow-fringed Hólabyrða mountain (see above right).

There had been a church here a Hólar in Hjaltadalur since Iceland's 11th century conversion to Christianity (Photo 29 - Hólar cathedral church) (see left). Set at a cross-roads of N~S, W~E communication routes, the site at Hólar in Hjaltadalur was for centuries Northern Iceland's episcopal seat, ranking in importance with Skálholt in the south (see right). The Bishopric at Hólar was founded in 1106, with the church and seminary developing as the ecclesiastical, educational and cultural capital of the north. Until the Reformation, Catholicism flourished with the Church acquiring vast land holdings, along with the wealth and power from tithes income. The last of the Catholic Bishops of Hólar was Jón Arason 1484~1550). Denmark adopted Lutheranism in 1536, and the Kingdom outlawed the Catholic Church, taking over its lands and wealth including those in Iceland. The Icelanders' vehement resistance to the enforced Protestant Reformation was politically motivated, with the Catholic Church becoming a powerful and independent counter to Danish imperial control. The Bishop of Skálholt was unable to resist Danish demands and was arrested in 1541, dying in a Copenhagen prison; the south soon fell to Lutheranism. In the north however, the Catholics rallied around Bishop Arason who amassed an army to resist the Danes and marched on the Althing. After defeat in battle, he was arrested and beheaded in 1550 along with his 2 sons. Arason had been a man ahead of his times: while mainland Europe was in the throes of the Reformation, Bishop Arason had shipped a printing press to Iceland and installed it at Hólar to print religious texts. The second Lutheran Bishop of Hólar, Guðbrandur Þorláksson (1541~1627) had himself translated the Old Testament from Hebrew to Icelandic. A group of monks at Hólar had, before the Reformation, begun illicitly translating the New Testament from Greek, but none of this work had been distributed. Then in 1584, Guðbrandur Þorláksson used Arason's printing press to produce 500 copes of the Bible translated into vernacular Icelandic (see right); the work took 7 years and was paid for by every church being required to purchase a copy. Guðbrandur produced his own woodcuts to illuminate the Bible headings. The current church at Hólar was built from local red sandstone in 1763. Although the bishopric was abolished in 1801 and school closed, the cathedral church remained, and the school was revived in 1882. This has developed as a college teaching equine science and agriculture, and has now acquired university status. Hólar became an episcopal seat again in 1997.

Our visit to Hólar cathedral church:  reaching the cathedral church and college with the mountain looming overhead, we walked back down the road for photographs. To one side of the site below woods, a timber log house had been reconstructed to commemorate 1000 years of Christianity in Iceland, based on the original Auðunarstofa structure built by the Norwegian Bishop of Hólar, Auðun the Red in the early 14th century (see above left). The wooden building displayed early religious printed texts from Hólar. The bell-tower had been erected alongside the small cathedral church in 1950 to commemorate the 500th anniversary of Jón Arason's execution; his remains had been re-interred in a small chapel at the foot of the bell-tower.

Over at the cathedral, we learned from the pastor more about the history of Hólar and its 2 renowned bishops Arason and Guðbrandur. The church's treasures included a late Baroque 1674 baptismal font carved from a piece of soapstone said to have floated to Iceland from Greenland on an ice floe (see below left). Of particular interest was an original of the Guðbrandur Bible printed at Hólar in 1584 which stood on a lectern (Photo 30 - Guðbrandur Bible), overlooked by a portrait of Bishop Þorláksson (see left) whose tomb stone was set in the chancel floor. 2 works of art that remarkably had survived the Reformation's Lutheran bigotry were a beautiful carved and gold-leaf inlaid altarpiece from the Netherlands displaying the crucifixion and figures of saints and presented to the cathedral in 1520 by Jón Arason (see above right), and an ornate alabaster altarpiece made in Nottingham around 1470.

Up the hillside behind the cathedral stood the Nýibær, a restored mid-19th century turf-built, multi-roomed farm-house and rectory with walls 3m thick. Like the farmstead at Glaumbær which we should see later, these represented superb examples of Icelandic rural turf-built dwellings. A path continued over the hillock down through conifer woods to the modern college building. The peaceful environs of Hólar and its wonderful setting in Hjaltadalur (Photo 31 - Hólar in Hjaltadalur) looking up the length of the valley to the snow-covered Tröllskagi peaks had been a restful interlude, with a chance to understand more of Iceland's turbulent history and see the cathedral's precious works of art.

The port-town of Sauðárkrókur with its dismal campsite:  back down the valley, we turned off onto Route 75 across the broadly spreading delta of the Jökulsa glacial river's estuary, to approach the port-town of Sauðárkrókur (click here for detailed map of route). With 3,000 residents, this is Skagafjörður's largest town. We made first for the town's campsite, a bleakly barren, open field by the swimming pool alongside the main street. There was little to commend the place other than the newish facilities block, with WC/showers and wash-up sinks, but ill-designed, poorly equipped and not particularly clean, and no kitchen or wi-fi. A number of caravans and camping-cars were already taking up the best spots; it all looked very dismal. We found Sauðárkrókur's Vinbuðin which stocked Kaldi beers but not the local microbrewery's products, stocked up with provisions at the large supermarket, and filled George with diesel. Given the campsite's unattractive urban setting, we considered our camping options: should we stay here in these dismal and noisy surroundings, or drive on 25kms down to Varmahlið? We decided to brave it out here (a decision later regretted), and selected the least bad spot away from the noise potential of the camping-cars but close to the main road's traffic noise. By later that evening, we were totally hemmed in by hired camping-cars and their inconsiderately noisy occupants. It was a drizzly, cold evening, wretchedly noisy on this dismally bleak urban site.

The Glaumbær turf-walled farmstead museum:  a warm and sunny morning at last, but Sauðárkrókur Camping had been a thoroughly unpleasant experience: this bleakly barren, open field next to the town swimming pool and alongside a busy main town road, amid all the noise of traffic and dismal urban setting, combined with the intrusive presence of tourist camping-cars and their inconsiderate occupants crowding in on us, made this one of the trip's worst campsites (see above left). How we regretted not having moved on last evening down to Varmahlið. With much relief this morning we departed, glad to leave this dismal town, and turned off onto Route 75 down the broad farming valley of the Jökulsa river (click here for detailed map of route). 12kms south, we reached the Glaumbær turf-walled farmstead museum, set alongside Glaumbær church (see above right).

The Glaumbær site has been farmed since the 9th century time of Settlement, but the conserved turf-walled and roofed farmstead complex dates from the 18~19th centuries, and had been inhabited until 1947 (Photo 32 - Glaumbær turf-walled farmstead) (see above right). This style of turf construction was typical of farm dwellings in rural Iceland until around 1900, when it was gradually replaced by reinforced concrete seen in most contemporary Icelandic buildings. Extensive turf-construction evolved in rural Iceland owning to the acute shortage of large trees for timber construction. The traditional turf-built farm-complex of small separate rooms connected by central passageway, and fronted by a row of 5 gabled façades as at Glaumbær (see right) (Photo 33 - Glaumbær gabled-frontage), shows the impoverished lifestyle in rural Iceland before the 20th century. Externally, the cut turf 'bricks' were laid in courses or bonded together in a herringbone pattern (see above left) (Photo 34 - Glaumbær external turf walls). Inside the gabled compound of storage rooms and living space, the 2~3m thick turf walls built around a wooden frame gave effective insulation against the freezing temperatures of winter. The inner walls were lined with thin panels of drift-wood separated and insulated by thick layers of turf, and roofed with the same materials. Icelandic grass grows thickly, and this combination of turf, roots and compacted soil gave a strong, binding and enduringly insulating layer (see left and below right) (Photo 35 - Turf block construction) . Turf walls in areas of moderate rainfall can, with continuing maintenance, last for up to a century. The pitch of the roof must be sloped at just the right angle: too flat and water pools, causing the turf roof to leak; too steep and the water drains over-quickly so that the grass does not grow, or dries and cracks in dry weather, both again causing leaks. The turf-walled and roofed farming complex at Glaumbær is superbly conserved and administered by the National Museum of Iceland. The original preservation was begun by an English aristocrat, Sir Mark Watson, who travelled around Iceland in the 1930s and was so impressed by Glaumbær that he donated £200 for its refurbishment as a museum.

Having examined the exterior details of the turf constructed farmstead, we paid the 1,200kr entry to explore the interior of the hobbit-like warren. Each of the 16 carefully conserved rooms was filled with a collection of period furniture and equipment to demonstrate rural living and working conditions (see below left and right) (Photo 36 - Storage pantry). Glaumbær was in fact quite a wealthy farm, providing a living for  the pastor who not only ran the farm but also provided rudimentary education to local youngsters. An extended family with its workers occupied the complex, with accommodation for up to 22 people. Tiny wood-framed windows set into the grassy turf of the roof admitted light, and although it was a cold day, it felt totally snug within the insulated depths of the building's thick turf walls, with not a trace of earthy, musty smell. Various store rooms, pantries for storing preserved food for winter, and a kitchen led off the central passageway, and at the far end the baðstofa provided living and sleeping space with 11 beds sleeping 2 to a bed (Photo 37 - Baðstofa living and sleeping space) (see below right). They eat or worked at domestic tasks sitting on the beds, and at night slept under woollen blankets or eider-down duvets, tucked in on the outer side by a removable bed-board (rúmfjöl) made from a length of drift-wood and often elaborately engraved with owner's initials, date and a night-time prayer. Along with 19th furnishings, the room displayed personal belongings such as food bowls (askur), and working equipment for spinning, weaving and sewing. The displays were a superbly presented illustration of cramped living conditions within the farmstead complex.

On the southern side, an exit door from a store room led out to what was now a grass-covered mound. It seemed clear that this may once have been the farmstead's midden, a waste tip for dumping rubbish and ashes; human waste along with animal dung would have been re-cycled to manure the fields. Over at one of the nearby wooden buildings, we found the site director and archaeologist, Sigríður Sigurðar and from her learned more about Glaumbær's history. It was known that the site had been farmed since Settlement times: the Saga of the Greenlanders describes how 2 of those who had sailed with Leifur Eiríksson on the abortive voyage to found a settlement in Vinland on the shores of North America, Þorfinnur Karlsefni and Guðríður Þorbjarnardóttir, returned to Iceland in the early years of the 11th century after the expedition's failure, along with their infant son Snorri Þorfinnson, the first American born of European parents in 1003 AD. The Saga records that they purchased land in the Jökulsa valley at Glaumbær, and that Snorri built the first church here in memory of his mother. Although the authenticity of the Saga's account linking Glaumbær to Snorri Þorfinnson has been questioned by scholars, the existence of a Settlement era farm at Glaumbær is known. It was believed that this was located on the valley side above the river on the site of the 18~19th century farmstead. But analysis of materials and artefacts from a test trench dug into the midden mound at the rear showed an earliest date of around 1104 AD, implying that the farm here was built or moved from elsewhere sometime later after 1100 AD. Remote sensing however on a levelled area 150m eastward of the present farm complex lower towards the river indicated building remains under the surface turf. Excavation of the site unearthed a 30m longhouse (skáli) and its associated midden dated to the 11th century. Its shape and layout was exactly like the 11th century Viking farmsteads we had seen in the Faroes. The original settlers would have sailed up-river from their landfall at the coast, to build their skáli a safe distance up the valley. Perhaps the farm dwelling had later been moved further uphill around 1100 AD to a more secure site away from river flooding. The intriguing question remains unconfirmed: was the skáli the farmstead of Snorri Þorfinnson? We spent time with Sigríður discussing the archaeology of the Glaumbær site and the possible but umprovable links with Snorri Þorfinnson. The skáli longhouse and the later turf farmstead represent 2 different forms of rural dwelling, but together they show that this land at Glaumbær had been farmed for more than 1000 years. What a rewarding visit this had been.

Glaumbær church, Jökulsa valley and Víðimýri turf-walled chapel:  as another party of tourists arrived at Glaumbær simply to take their 'selfies', with little more than fleetingly superficial glances at the magnificent turf-walled farmstead, we walked over to visit the church. The present church dates from 1926, and replaced earlier turf-covered wooden churches on the site facing the farmstead which had provided a living for the pastor (see left). The most interesting of the church's decorations was a series of wooden panels from an earlier pulpit, painted with figures of Christ, Mary and apostles, dating from 1685.

Before leaving the Jökulsa valley to return to Sauðárkrókur, we drove on down to Varmahlíð (click here for detailed map of route), both to investigate the campsite there and to visit the turf-built chapel at Víðimýri. The broad, green valley was fertile farming country, with many horses grazing by each of the farms, and the fields spread with silage bales. Varmahlíð was little more than a service station at the Ring Road's junction with Route 75, but on the far side of the village a side turning led to the tiny rural chapel of Víðimýrarkirkja. This turf-walled and roofed chapel, built in 1834 to replace an earlier medieval structure around a frame of driftwood with wooden façade ends, is still in use as a parish church (see above right) (Photo 38 - Víðimýri turf-walled chapel).

Varmahlíð Camping:  back in Varmahlíð we found the campsite tucked away uphill behind the village. The site was divided into a number of secluded grassy areas, each with power supplies and sheltered by mature trees, most un-Icelandic and more like a French campsite. How we wished we had come here last evening. Rather than continue with our journey over to Skagaströnd tonight, this was too tempting a campsite to miss, and we found a well-hidden corner protected by picnic tables from disturbance by late-arrivers and screened by clumps of spruces. We later leaned from the warden when he came round for payment that until 2008, this had been a government operated forestry preserve and tree nursery which had been sold off and converted to a campsite. It was perfect, with modern, clean facilities and the same good-value pricing structure as the other sites in the Skagafjörður group. The following morning was bright and sunny, enabling us to sit outside for breakfast at the picnic table (see above left) (Photo 39 - Varmahlíð Camping). The campsite with its secluded bays was able to absorb the numbers of holiday-making caravans without feeling crowded; despite being close to the Ring Road, it was relatively tourist-free, making for a delightfully peaceful stay for once. With its arboreal environment, Varmahlíð was the best of the Skagafjörður group of campsites.

Fish-drying history at Sauðárkrókur, and farewell to Skagafjörður:  we returned northwards to Sauðárkrókur via Route 76 on the far side of the Jökulsa valley (click here for detailed map of route). This was very much horse rearing country on a large scale, with every farm having large herds grazing its home pastures. At the north end of the valley, we turned across the delta-estuary into Sauðárkrókur (see above right), and along Strandvegur at the far end of town found the small boats harbour (Photo 40 - Sauðárkrókur fishing harbour) (see left). Beyond the shrimp factory with its giant painted crustacean mural (Ceci n'est pas une crevette announced the graffiti!), we reached the industrial container port, and beyond this, the modern fish-drying factory, which had replaced the rows of fish-drying wooden frames now standing empty and abandoned (Photo 41 - Sauðárkrókur fish-drying frames) (see right). Until recently, these would have been loaded with 1000s of cod, gutted bodies and heads as we had seen in the Lofotens, hanging for drying in the cold Icelandic air, for export as Bacalao to Nigeria (Skreið = dried fish in Icelandic). We recalled seeing the wooden frames in 1972 loaded with drying fish rattling in the wind, with luxuriant growth of chickweed beneath. Here at Sauðárkrókur the wooden racks now stood empty and abandoned, some demolished and poles lying in heaps, their former role for drying fish now usurped by a modern freeze-drying factory. Back into town, we shopped for provisions and used the Arion Bank's ATM to withdraw cash; it was finally time to leave Sauðárkrókur and wave farewell to Skagafjörður around whose shores we had travelled and camped over the past week.

Over the fells to the eastern shore of Húnaflói:  Route 744 rose steadily up the long, bleak valley NW of Sauðárkrókur, gaining height on a newly engineered road below the Tindastöll fells, wild and empty country with just a handful of abandoned farms (click here for detailed map of route). Over the watershed, the road dropped steeply to the junction with the gravelled Route 745 which turned off northwards hugging the coast around the tip of the Skagi peninsula. Route 744 climbed to another bleak fell-land watershed to descend the long and lonely Norðurárdalur through the mountainous terrain of Þverárfjall. The road dropped down to the broad valley bottom, passing isolated farms one of which had a huge, circular horse and sheep gathering coral (hammarsrétt) (see left), used during the autumn round-up when the animals are brought down from high fell-land pastures for sorting by owner. At the junction with Route 74, we turned north along the eastern shore of Húnaflói, with the jagged peaks on the far side of the fjord silhouetted against the bright afternoon light. Some 12kms north, past more horse rearing farms, we turned off to the small fishing port and trading post of Skagaströnd.

Skagaströnd Camping:  at the edge of the village we found tonight's campsite, Skagaströnd Camping; this was a Camping Card site, fortunate since the cumulative pricing was expensive totalling 3,200kr with showers. Facilities however included both a common room and kitchen with electric cooker, the first seen in quite a while, plus washing/drying machine but no wi-fi. Despite the presence of tourist camping-cars and caravans with their inconsiderately noisy occupants (all thoroughly unsavoury company), we found a quiet corner on the far side sheltered by hedges and under a craggy outcrop (see above right). Mid-evening, an officiously rude Jobsworth character called round for payment, his petty rule-book manner giving immediate offence and provoking suitably curt response; he had clearly overlooked the fact that it was those staying at the campsite who paid his wages. The following morning was bright and sunny at last, but with a chill wind blowing along the exposed Húnaflói shore-line. As some counter justice for the campsite's unduly expensive showers, this morning we discovered that the coin machine was not working meaning free hot showers. The unsavoury Jobsworth posted a note on the shower door saying 'Out of action'; we ignored this and went ahead with our free showers, prepared if need be to defend this with the response 'Well if the shower's not working, how could we use it?' Although intrinsically a reasonable municipal site, Skagaströnd was spoiled by its offensively ill-mannered warden.

Skagaströnd fishing harbour:  Skagaströnd (meaning Skagi shore) was aptly named given its location along the western coast of the wild Skagi peninsula, but most of the village's houses were tastelessly modern dating from the 1940~50s herring boom years. Before leaving however we drove down to the fishing harbour for photos in the bright sunshine (see above left and right) (Photo 42 - Skagaströnd fishing harbour), against its backdrop of derelict and unsightly concrete former fish factory.

Blanda river-rapids at Blönduós:  returning along the Skagi coast (click here for detailed map of route) into the underwhelming service centre town of Blönduós, we pulled into Glaðheimer camping in the outskirts where the campsite reception served also as the town's tourist information centre. Here, in total contrast to the offensive Jobsworth character at Skagaströnd, we were greeted by a charming and helpful elderly gent who readily gave us advice on bird-watching sites along the glacial river Blanda where it flowed through Blönduós. A short way back uphill, we parked to cross a footbridge above the Blanda river-rapids over to the river-island of Hrútey, now a nature reserve with walking trail. The surging rapids were impressive and we hoped to find Harlequin ducks here in spite of the lateness of the season. At this late stage of the year however, bird-life was there none. Down in the town, Greylag Geese with goslings were swimming by the main bridge (Photo 43 - Greylag Geese) (see below left), and along a side road we found a bird hide overlooking the Blanda river-mouth where the now wide and shallow river flowed towards its exit into Húnafjörður. There were again large numbers of Greylag Geese here, both swimming on the river and standing on the river banks. But that was about it for Blönduós; despite the reports of flocks of Harlequin Ducks both here and on the Laxá river at Mývatn, for us these elegant ducks remained elusive.

Around Húnafjörður:  we now faced a long stretch of Ring Road around the flat, fertile horse farming lands of the shores of Húnafjörður (click here for detailed map of route); the recklessly speeding tourist traffic was worse than ever, making this the most stressful driving in Iceland so far. Shapely peaks lined the southern horizon as we passed around the shore of Hóp lagoon which was trapped by a huge glacial moraine sand-bar separating it from Húnafjörður. Thankful for some relief from Ring Road tourist traffic, we turned off onto the unsurfaced Route 721. Just by the junction, a curious cluster of conical-shaped hillocks covers an area of some 4 km²; some reports ascribe the Vatnsdalshólar mounds to the debris remains of a massive landslide from the Vatnsdalsfjall mountains east of Hóp Lagoon, but in such an obvious glacial terminal location at the estuary delta of the Vatnsdalsá river, they seemed far more likely to be drumlin heaps of glacial moraine. This moraine-rich, fertile farming land bordering Húnafjörður bay and Hóp lagoon at Þingeyrar had originally been the long-established meeting site of the regional assembly, the Húna-Thing during the time of the Icelandic Commonwealth (930~1262 AD). The first Bishop of Hólar, Jón Ögmundsson, pledged to endow a church with its associated farm as a living for the priest here at Þingeyrar in return for relief from a local famine. When the land began to regain its productivity, Bishop Ögmundsson kept his word and founded not only a church but Iceland's first monastery, Þingeyra-Klaustur, here in 1133 AD. The monastery prospered and became a centre of culture, with Iceland's most outstanding texts of medieval Saga literature transcribed here, so preserving them for posterity. The monastery was closed at the 1550 Lutheran Reformation and nothing now survives of it except the church and farm. The present stone church was endowed in 1877 by a wealthy local farmer and member of the Althing, built from cut basalt blocks transported on sledges across the winter frozen Hóp Lagoon from the hills to the west. It now stands in splendid isolation out here in these remote and lonely farmlands by the flat lagoon shore next to Þingeyrar Farm (Photo 44 - Þingeyrar church) (see right), clearly still prosperous horse-rearing lands.

The church at Þingeyrar:  we drove out along the 6kms of dirt road through the empty Húnafjörður farmlands to reach the isolated church at Þingeyrar, to be greeted by a young attendant from the nearby glitzy visitor centre with demand for payment of 800kr each 'service charge' to visit the church. Hmmm .. first mistake! His second mistake was showing us the church before collecting his pieces of silver! In our view, turning a church into a tourist attraction was no pretext for charging admission however euphemistically disguised. The oldest and most attractive piece of artwork in the stark 19th century dark stone Þingeyrar church was a 15th century alabaster relief altarpiece, made in Nottingham and originally in the form of a triptych (see above left). This was the only treasure remarkably to have survived from the monastery after its dissolution. The ornate but rather less attractive 17th century Baroque hexagonal pulpit and octagonal baptismal font were both over-decorative with gilded canopies and painted panels. The organ loft rail was lined with carved figures of Christ and apostles (see above right); those here are copies of the originals which once had decorated the rood-screen of an earlier Þingeyrar church and are now in the Reykjavík National Museum. The church's blue-panted ceiling was covered with 1000 stars, representing 1000 years of Christianity in Iceland. We spent time photographing the church's artwork, then walked over intending to see the replica Saga manuscripts in the visitor centre. But instead we were distracted by the sight of attractive Icelandic horses grazing the nearby pastures (see left) (Photo 45 - Icelandic horses), and somehow the 'service charge' got overlooked! Returning along the dirt track to the Ring Road, we paused to photograph more of the horses farmed in these lonely Húnafjörður lands, and a typically Icelandic setting of lupins growing along the Víðidalsá estuary (see right) (Photo 46 - Lupins at Þingeyrar).

Kolugljúfur Canyon and Kolufossar waterfalls:  continuing westwards past Víðidalsfjall ridge in oppressively speeding Ring Road tourist traffic, we turned off onto the gravelled Route 715 along the farming valley of Víðidalur (click here for detailed map of route). Some 6kms along, we crossed the Víðidalsá just where the river emerged from the 2kms long Kolugljúfur Canyon carved out along the valley. At Kolugil Farm, we turned into a parking area for the Kolufossar waterfalls, expecting to be able to enjoy this little known and unpublicised natural wonder in peace. But we should have realised: never underestimate the all-pervasive reach of the mass tourism industry; Kolufossar had been discovered. A number of tourist cars were parked here along with even a tour-bus whose rowdy occupants spilled everywhere along the canyon top. We waited until the tourists' brief span of attention wearied and they were hastened on for another set of 'selfies' at the next 'attraction'. Then in relative peace, we were able to study the falls from the narrow bridge (see right), as the shallow and rather insignificant Víðidalsá river spilled over the brink, its ice-blue cascades tumbling in multi-layered falls into the depths of the canyon carved out over aeons into crumbling rock (see left and right) (Photo 47 - Kolufossar waterfalls). The far side of the bridge looked downstream along the winding length of the 40m deep gorge, with rock pinnacles standing stark along the canyon's length (Photo 48 - Kolugljúfur Canyon). This localised area of softer, friable rock must have been eroded away by the river before it emerged at a lower level to flow along the surface of harder rock. Having photographed the falls and canyon from the vantage point of the bridge, we clambered down the rocks below the bridge to the head of the falls for photographs at closer quarters (see below left) (Photo 49 - Kolufossar waterfalls), and stood at the brink of the canyon precipice peering down into the depth of the gorge (Photo 50 - Kolugljúfur Canyon) (see below right). This was truly as magnificent a sight of natural beauty in such a wild and lonely setting along this valley as we should see in the whole of Iceland, and still remarkably free from the pollutant intrusion of mass tourism.

Hvammstangi Camping:  returning to Route 1, we continued westwards for the final stretch of speeding tourist traffic to the turning onto Route 72 along the shore of Miðfjörður up to Hvammstangi (click here for detailed map of route). This was a sizeable fishing port, lit by the now bright afternoon sun, and high on the fell-side above the village we found Kirkjuhvammur Camping, aptly named alongside the municipal graveyard and chapel. But alas, so had half the caravanning holiday-makers of Iceland together with vast numbers of tourists, and it was only with difficulty that we managed to secure a reasonably free space towards the top, preferring the peaceful company of the graveyard incumbents to that of rowdy holiday-makers with all their materialistic paraphernalia. On such a sunny evening, we relaxed a while with well-earned beers before setting up our barbecue for supper (see below left) (Photo 51 - Hvammstangi Camping).

Hvammstangi fishing port:  it rained heavily during the night and this morning the air was still moist with rain cloud on the hills above the village. Last evening the fells had glowed in the late sun which picked out all the detail of the rocky outcrops; this morning they were totally hidden in low, misty cloud. We had expected someone to call round for payment but no one appeared; Hvammstangi was a Camping Card site, but how can you pay when there was no reception or no warden calling. The facilities were reasonable with a large common room, a small kitchen/wash-up and outside a covered grill-house with seating, and wi-fi around the facilities building. The WCs were modern and clean but with minimal hand-basins, and extraordinarily no showers whatsoever; clearly you were not expected either to wash or shower at Hvammstangi! Before leaving the village, we drove down to the fishing harbour for photos (see below right) (Photo 52 - Hvammstangi fishing harbour), shopped at the Vinbuðin and well-stocked supermarket and admired the even better stocked hardware stores where seemingly anything you could possibly imagine was on sale. Nearly a decorative fish-drying rack was hung with a few token fish (see below left). Having re-filled George's diesel, we finally left Hvammstangi to return to the Ring Road.

A long and lonely drive north through wild terrain to Hólmavík:  the first stage of today's long drive north was 28kms down Route 1 across the fertile farmlands of the Miðfjörður estuary past Laugarbakki and down the long eastern shore of Hrútafjörður to round the head of the inner fjord close to the large Ring Road service station of Bru (click here for detailed map of route). Before reaching Bru, we turned off northwards onto Route 68, all the way back along the western fjord coast passing the shore-side farming settlement of Borðeyri. This was still farming countryside, but 15kms further at the farm and isolated church of Prestbakki, the tarmac ended for 18kns of gravelled road through wild fell terrain dotted with abandoned farms. At the farmstead of Kolbeinsá, looking out over the mouth of Hrútafjörður to the wild, open expanse of the Arctic Ocean, the tarmac began again. The narrow road ran along the shore-side, and the surf from the open sea beyond the sheltered fjord was wilder, littering the shore-line with driftwood washed across the Ocean from who-knows-where in the Siberian forests (see below right). At one time, driftwood was prized picking for the settlers in treeless Iceland, used for making timber frames for dwellings and for furniture. Ahead the cliffs of Skarfatangi loomed ominously above the ocean appearing impassable, but the road turned inland climbing steeply over a high shoulder to descend on the northern side down to the shore of Bitrufjörður. The way forward had to make a long sweep inland around to the isolated farmstead of Sandhólar at the head of the narrow fjord inlet, followed by the long return leg along the far side, passing another isolated shore-side farm church at Óspakseyri. The weather had now become oppressively gloomy, making the fjord seem even more narrow.

As the road reached the open sea again beyond the mouth of Bitrufjörður, the gravelled surface began again, this time wet after recent rain, coating the road with muddy slurry. Ahead beyond a turning to a lonely farm, the sheer cliffs of the formidable Ennishöfði headland towered above the sea. The road again turned inland to climb even more steeply, gaining height via hairpins to surmount the headland's shoulder. With uncertain grip on the narrow road's muddy slurry, George bravely tackled the gradient to reach the highpoint, and began the long and equally steep downward slope to Broddanes on the shore of Kollafjörður (see left). Along the fjord's southern shore to its head, we paused to photograph more Icelandic horses at Ljúfustaðir farm. Just around the northern side, the tarmac began again as the road passed another isolated farm church at Kollafjarðarnes. Route 68 now continued around the shore-line of Steingrímsfjörður, and here the heaps of driftwood were piled high along the wild beach of Gálmaströnd. Just beyond the farmstead of Húsavík, we passed shallow lagoons on both sides of the road. This was clearly a birding area: Red Throated Divers could be seen in the distance, and along the shore-side mother and chick Oystercatcher pairings waded and pecked in the shallows. Some of the chicks were still young and covered with fluffy down (Photo 53 - Oystercatcher with chick) (see right); others were juveniles, almost fledged and recognisable as young Oystercatchers (Photo 54 - Oystercatcher with juvenile young) (see left).

Hólmavík Camping:  just beyond the junction with Route 61 coming in from the SW, we reached the outskirts of Hólmavík. We had 2 campsites identified for tonight, one here and the other 20kms further around on the far side of Steingrímsfjörður at Drangsnes. Hólmavík Camping at the entrance to the fishing village, near the community centre and swimming pool, was already quite full of holiday-making Icelanders in caravans, but we found a secluded bay enclosed by a bund which we hoped would restrict the inevitable noise. There was every reason to believe that in July, Drangsnes would similarly be full of holiday-makers, and was set on a more exposed hill-side overlooking the fjord. At least it was more sheltered here and we decided to stay at Hólmavík. Facilities were some distance from the camping areas in the community centre, but both kitchen and WCs were out of bounds today reserved for a private function. The only showers were at the swimming pool at full admission prices. The camping area had minimalist facility huts with one functioning WC and a wash-up sink. Despite there being in effect no showers, no wi-fi, and limited access today to WCs and kitchen, the campsite charges were unprecedentedly expensive: 1,240kr/person plus 1,240kr for power making a total of 3,720kr. This was just silly for what was a very basic municipal site! But with George's undersides caked in mud sprayed up from the wet gravel roads, we settled in. It was a bleakly chill evening, gloomily overcast with cold wind blowing from the north. Despite being mid-July, we were glad of the fan heater tonight for warmth. More caravans and tourist hire-cars arrived later, but weary after today's long drive, we turned in early, looking forward to a day in camp tomorrow.

A day at Hólmavík Camping and Hólmavík fishing harbour:  amazingly the wind had shifted overnight, and we woke to warm sun enabling us to sit out for breakfast (Photo 55 - Hólmavík Camping) (see above right). What an amazing difference in weather and temperature wind direction makes. After a restful morning in camp, we walked along a pathway from the campsite into Hólmavík where Lupins grew on the fell-side above Steingrímsfjörður (see left and below left), past the modern church set high on a rocky bluff above the village, to wander around the fishing port (Photo 56 - Hólmavík fishing harbour) (see right). Hólmavík's small fishing fleet catches shrimps out in the fjord and in deeper waters off the coast. Back at camp, more holiday-making caravans were arriving, their occupants making enough noise for the entire Reykjavík conurbation where they all clearly came from. And to cap all of this hullaballoo, long distance refrigerated lorries began parking immediately by the campsite with their engines constantly running, making incessant intrusive noise. Yet more caravans arrived later in the evening, and with the campsite full, a pair of them with arrogant indifference tried parking across our front. They reluctantly moved, seeming surprised at our objection! Hólmavík Camping was without doubt the trip's (and Iceland's) worst campsite, particularly in peak holiday season of July; it was rated at a sordid -5, for its ridiculously over-priced charges, combined with worse than minimalist facilities, no showers, overcrowding, and constant intrusive noise of trucks parked nearby overnight with engines running. Today had been a far from restful rest day, and we had no intention of parting with money for this disgraceful campsite. It is a place to be avoided.

Tomorrow we should move on for the next phase of our Icelandic travels, exploring the remote West Fjords region of NW Iceland. Normally of course we should continue to complete our series of last summer's travelogues over the winter months. This year however, such were our experiences in Iceland, with so much opportunity for learning, spectacular volcanic terrain and unprecedented wealth of wild flora and birdlife, all deserving duly detailed attention, that time constraints are catching up with us. We simply cannot complete our writing up at present. But do not worry: we shall take a pause with our Icelandic travelogues, and resume this series in the autumn. The editions published so far will be included in the normal country index page, with the remaining missing editions to be added on our return. We must now turn our attention to preparing for our summer 2018 travels when we plan to circumnavigate the Baltic, focussing on a re-visit to the three Baltic Republics of Lithuania, Latvia and Estonia, with a crossing to Helsinki to return along the Baltic's northern seaboard through Finland, the Åland Islands and southern Sweden to our start point back at Lübeck. So join us again shortly.

The Prologue to our summer 2018 travels around the Baltic will be published quite soon

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