We were surprised by a week of sunshine at last – and the West Fjords looked splendid. On the northwestern corner of Iceland, the numerous fjords make up almost half of the country’s coastline, a stunning world of wilderness and water.

It doesn’t pay to be impatient when driving in the West Fjords: a journey that could be a few kilometres as the crow flies becomes a 50 km drive. And the formula is repeated over and over again.

But such a drive will never be boring as no one could fail to be dazzled by the beauty of this landscape, of the deep blue waters with silvered wind ripples, the immense mountains and the little fishing villages.

Having spent some time on the Strandir Peninsula, we were now getting into the West Fjords proper – and with impeccable timing, at last we had sunshine!

We went down and up Isafjörður, but we’re able to cheat and use the bridge across the mouth of the next fjord at Mjóifjörður. There is actually a nice hotel at the top of this one, called Heydalur, with good food, camping, hot pots and horse riding. However, we had stopped elsewhere the previous evening so unfortunately it did not fit in.

Skötufjörður, Reyjkarfjörður, Hestfjörður, Seyðisfjörður, Álftafnörður, a litany of small and large, long and short, fjord after fjord they appeared, and none more beautiful than the other.

One of the few cafe options en route is Litli Baer, a tiny turf roofed cafe on the western side of Skötufjörður, which is the largest of the fjords, with nice outdoor seating. Just beyond there is a seal hangout where the animals drape themselves over the rocks very close to the shore – look for the traffic jam!

A succession of mirrored fjords followed with fine viewpoints. We paused at Valagil, a tall bridal veil waterfall, reached by an easy 2 km walk, then continued on via Súðavík which boasts the Arctic Fox Centre and finally to Ísafjörður.

Ísafjörður enjoys a most enviable location near the head of the fjord, beautifully positioned on a jutting out sandspit. Soaring table top mountains surround it to three sides and the fourth has the snow scattered slopes near the Drangajökull glacier, seen across the waters of Ísafjarðardjúp, which assume a delightful rosy glow in the sunsets.

We based ourselves in the little village of Bolungavík, 15 kilometres to the north west via a road tunnel, where there was a quiet campsite with lovely mountain views and a friendly cat.

Bolungarvík

It is always a surprise in Iceland to awake to a sunny day so it is best to seize the opportunity when it happens.

Some 9 km above the town via a good gravel track – much less as the crow flies again – Bolafjall at 621 m is an imposing mountain, one of many such flat topped ones in the area of a similar height.

The road exists because of a NATO radar post at the top but it gives one easy access to an astonishing view. A viewing platform has been built which extends out into the void revealing the sheer drop to the base of the mountain far below.

We arrived on the day of a cloud inversion which luckily settled on the sea so we still got a dramatic view all the way across the fjord to Hornstrandir, a largely uninhabited (bar summer homes) nature reserve.

It is a popular hiking and camping destination but I was not prepared to spend some 50,000 kr. (£300) on a return boat trip – as previously mentioned, hike the coast north of Ofeigsfjord in Strandir, or even the coastline and mountains around Bolungarvík and the country would be equally as dramatic.

However, boats do run frequently from Ísafjörður to the various bays on the peninsula, giving a choice of hiking options or day tours.

We walked along the flat top of the plateau which was about 7 km to the end – much further than it had looked – but enjoyed wonderful views over the precipitous cliffs.

Later we dropped down through the very scenic, fairly lush, Hliðardalur valley to Skálavík Bay, but we found it buried in the same cloud inversion. The temperature dropped from 14° to 7° with zero visibility – regretfully we headed back to Bolungarvík and a sunny day.

One great bonus if you are staying in Bolungarvík is the old coast road to Ísafjörður which was abandoned in favour of a tunnel – it is now a 6 km section of a delightful 12 km cycle trail around the coastal headland connecting the two towns. The views over the Hornstrandir range are beautiful and it is largely flat easy cycling.

The route can be accessed directly from the campsite and leads past the small but quite interesting Ósvör Maritime Museum (1,500 kr.), whose reconstructed turf and timber huts show an old fishing settlement. Just beyond there is a little orange lighthouse from where there is a great view of the town.

The road is broken and has actually fallen into the sea in some places but is generally good. It passes through some buttressing tunnels and emerges at a fine view point just before crossing the main road road and continuing on the other side.

It brings one in to the colourful end of town, past old fish drying sheds. It is worth a wander along the well preserved old streets with gaily painted tin houses.

South from Ísafjörður

Heading on the next day, we found an impressive tunnel system leading out of Ísafjörður. The first turn off led to Suðureyri but it was buried in cloud so we went back into the tunnel and took the next exit for Flateyri and Önundarfjörður instead, where we found the clouds gradually lifting.

Flateyri is a likable place: an old fishing village with a tiny harbour, it sits under unstable but very scenic cliffs. A great avalanche earthwork was erected after 20 people died in 1995, and it proved its worth more recently when another avalanche flattened several boats in the harbour but missed the houses.

It has the oldest shop in Iceland, a large bookstore that dates back to 1914 and other assorted old houses; explanatory boards are found along the street and there is a small fish drying shed which has been converted into a neat little museum about the history of fishing in the village.

There is also a bird trail around the town: a series of paintings scattered around the buildings depicting the local birds which are actually quite well done and fun to seek out.

We decided to camp at Thingeyri, where the campground is nicely sited at the edge of the fjord. It would once have been an inaccessible little place, reached from the south by a high and twisty road from Hrafnseyri – now there is a new tunnel through the mountain.

However there is the challenging Svalvogar circuit if wanted: a rough 4 x 4 track goes westwards along the arm of the fjord, passing a lighthouse and abandoned farms and continuing around to Hrafnseyri.

The road is reputed to have been dug out by one man with a digger and, on the southern side, care has to be taken with tides as the track touches the beach.

We contented ourselves with cycling out as far as the lighthouse, enjoying the curving golden sand beaches and the huge mountains. On a fine day, the sea was an impossible clear blue.

Afterwards, waffles at the Simbahöllin cafe went down a treat. A popular stop in a characterful old store, it is easy to find on the one and only high street.

To Dynjandi and beyond

The weather broke the day we left Thingeyri. A morning of sun and cloud and the worse possible time to visit the Dynjandi Waterfall as the sun was sitting behind it – this one needs to be seen in the afternoon when the light falls on its face and illuminates all the moss.

It was still spectacular: although lacking the power of Dettifoss, it spreads widely across a 100 m cliff face and is very pretty. There are a myriad of cascades and rivelets and huge expanses of pillowing moss – the brightest green of anything you will see in Iceland.

TIP: If cycling or hiking it is possible to camp one night for free in the picnic area by the car park which would be a great spot. There are good toilets.

The drive continued south, crossing the Dynjandi river in a quite dramatic, wild landscape of tarns, small cascades and rocky expanses. Arnarfjörður, one of the biggest fjords at 285 km², shone below and we turned onto Route 63, dropping down to a wide bay where the black sands displayed shells and coral rather than the drift wood on the eastern sides.

At the head of the next, the little Reykjarfjörður, we found the super Reykjarfjarðarlaug thermal pools. These were surprisingly quiet considering that a) they were free and b) they were right beside the road.

There was a wooden changing room and loo and a box for donations but that was it: a gloriously big pool split into 2 sections (one seemed to have to slither over the wall between the two but you might be lucky and find a chair), the seaward one a touch cooler with a glorious fjord view, the one to the rear a lovely hot temperature for wallowing. High mountains loomed in the valley behind and all in all it was an idyllic spot.

Much relaxed, we continued on around the fjords to Bíldudalur, the road closely hugging the sea with little to distinguish between sand and road until it climbed a little.

Bíldudalur is a small fishing village where colourful boats jostle together in the small harbour, dwarfed by the surrounding flat topped mountains.

The quiet campsite is in a beautiful spot overlooking the fjord and the still evening waters allowed us to keep an eye open for sea monsters although none oblighed – there is a Sea Monster Museum by the harbour if you want to investigate them more thoroughly.

A road follows the edge of the fjord north west from Bíldudalur towards the sea, ending after 25 km at Selárdalur where there are a few summer houses. You may even spot a monster en route according to the road sign.

This was a very spectacular drive, enhanced by the numerous bays with golden sand beaches. It was surprisingly nice to see golden sand again after all the black sand beaches and it contrasted well with the blue of the ocean.

Tall jagged mountains kept us company until we reached the little hamlet near the end of the track. Lots of renovation seemed to be going on – maybe smart summerhouses are taking off.

A Icelandic artist called Samuel Jonsson also lived here and his contribution can easily be spotted: look for the church and the pink and white house with golden lions (Entry 500 kr.).

A rough 4×4 track continues around the coast for another 7 km before running out of breath – it is a scenic walk with golden sands, rocky headlands under towering mountains and skittish sheep.

On to Patreksfjördur

The temperature had reached an unbelievable 20° but in the interest of research and the principle of never driving past a free hot pot, we checked out Pollurinn which lies 3.5 km west of Tálknafjörður signposted off a gravel road.  

A series of hot pots on the hillside gave a panoramic view over the wide mouth of the fjord as the farmed fish jumped in their corrals. There is a box for donations, as well as changing rooms and a shower. One note of caution: the tubs are quite slippery – I ended up doing an undignified slither into the lap of an American!

At the village of Tálknafjörður, there is the Fish Shed where you help yourself to whatever you want from the freezer and pay with a credit card – it’s a great idea although I don’t think it would work in England as the fish would just get stolen!

Later at Patreksfjördur, we headed for the high ground at the campsite and found rhubarb growing along the edges – it seems to be one of the few success stories when it comes to Icelandic vegetables – rhubarb jam is a common ingredient – and it went very well with our breakfast the next day.

We also stocked up on bread in the local shop / bakery. It was such a nondescript building we sat outside for 5 minutes wondering if it were open. Saturday morning and it opened at 10 am: people do not get up early in Iceland. 2 loaves cost £10.

The cloud was skimming the mountain tops but there was sun and the edging sand was still golden. We left to explore the final finger of the west fjords and within 15 minutes found the first item of interest: a rusty ship sitting high and dry at the top of the fjord.

The Garðar BA 64 was built in 1912 in Norway as a whaling ship and must have had an interesting life as she wasn’t beached at the top of Ósafjörður until 1981. She is the oldest steel boat in Iceland and cuts a rather sad figure.

It is possible to scramble inside and from the bridge I looked out through broken windows over the bow of the boat: where once she had the oceans of the world in front of her, now only stark mountains loom ahead.

The next bit of excitement was at Hnjótur where there is a museum on all the odds and ends of the area. It also has a small cafe.

Just below it, there is a curious sight: a rather distressed United States Navy plane, a Douglas C-117D, left over from the American days.

The Látrabjarg cliffs, which stretch for 14 km and get up to 441 m high are famous not only for their nesting birds but for being the western most point in mainland Europe (otherwise it is the Azores). A small lighthouse marks the spot, bizarrely white rather than the more usual brilliant orange that seems the more popular colour.

Sadly the birds had largely flown, their nesting done for the year. There were a few kittiwakes and two lingering puffins but the tiers were largely quiet with just the odd whiff of guano wafting skywards.

In the old days, the Icelanders would rappel down the cliff face to collect both the birds and their eggs. In 1886, 36,000 birds were caught.

We lingered to catch the sunset – after all, it is not very often that one gets to watch a sunset in the western most point of Europe. Or in Iceland really, given the soggy weather, but that evening it all came together. As the puffins continued their antics nearby, the sun slowly sank behind the lighthouse; it was a fitting farewell to the West Fjords.

But we had one last visit and due to our sunset stop, we dropped down to Rauðasandur in the midnight twilight. This was a shame as the views as this bay comes into view, down a twisty dirt road with lots of hair pins, are superb.

Spread out below, the swirls of sand and water channels create a surreal canvas, awash with colour and light. It was one of the most breathtaking things I saw in the West Fjords, partly because it is so unexpected and so different. Don’t miss it!

We camped at Melanes in a large hay field. One of the good things about Iceland is the informality of the camp sites. It is not necessary to book in advance and there is always room. Just arrive at any time and set up – someone usually goes around two or three times a day for payment.

Melanes looks out on the vast expanse of sand in the bay. We awoke to a peaceful spot and a note on our windscreen reminding us to pay.

Rauðasandur was the most impressive stretch of sand I had seen for a while, the 10 km stretch of beach filling most of the mountainous bay and a pleasing golden red. Across the fjord the snowcapped hulk of Snaefellsjökull could be seen.

We walked a couple of kilometres along the coast to an old ruined farm where a murder once took place. The elevated viewpoints gave a superb view over the beach.

Later we dropped down onto it and walked back. The high tide mark was scattered with large scallop shells.

On the other side of the bay, there is a picturesque black church with a red roof – locked of course as most in Iceland seem to be. There is a little cafe nearby or grassy banks for a picnic overlooking the bay.

It was time to leave but if I had thought we would be leaving the best behind us I was rapidly disabused. We crossed the Kleifaheiði pass where a weird giant stone man / cairn marks the high point and completion of the road.

Dropping down to Breiðafjördur, we headed out around the south of the peninsula on a superb day when the flat calm blue water dazzled amidst the many tiny islets that abound in this bay. Snaefellsnes Peninsula shadowed us to the south with the glacier topped mountain gleaming brightly.

It is possible to take a boat directly across to the Snaefellsnes Peninsula but I would advise against this as it is a really beautiful drive.

Just 500 m after Flókalundur, a popular hotel cum service station, we stopped at the Hellulaug hot pool, a lovely natural pool in a rocky hollow just above the sea at a perfect 37-38° (free).

The drive continued through lovely fjord scenery until we reached our overnight campsite at Reykhólar. Quiet, small and grassy, it overlooked a tangle of inlets and marshes ideal for bird watching.

We called in at Laugar the following morning. Only 3 km off Route 60, the Hotel Edda also has a pleasant campsite, but more importantly, lying just above it, the Guðrúnarlaug hot pot.

Guðrun was a notable beauty from the Laxdoela Saga who was lucky enough to marry four times. She would have certainly have enjoyed bathing in this pool.

It is quite a hot one but whilst in it enjoy the natural surrounds with only a little waterfall in the gully above to disturb the silence.

There is a charming hobbit hut to change in and a box for donations.

A little further south we reached Búðardalur and soon afterwards turned westwards to the Snaefellsnes Peninsula – the beginning of a new saga.