We are docked in Isafjordur, at the end of a fjord that no one can pronounce.
The town of 3,000 (it used to be more) is concentrated mostly on a little peninsula that juts into the fjord, forming a natural harbor behind it. It’s the regional capital of the Westfjords, the northwest and geologically oldest part of Iceland. Although it’s a small town, there are many cultural, athletic and educational institutions to keep the population engaged, especially during the long winters with no direct sunlight and only a few hours of daylight. There are, for example, two music schools, three choirs, swimming pools and jacuzzis, cross-country skiing, soccer, basketball and volleyball teams, etc. Geothermal and hydro-generated energy is cheap, and a trip to a thermal spa is inexpensive.
The town prospered after 1900 as local fisherman were the first to capitalize on the development of motorized engines. In the 1970s and early 1980s, Iceland’s Marine Resouce Institute issued “black reports” warning of the dangers of overfishing in Icelandic waters. Sustainable fishing quotas were quickly put in place, drastically curtailing the ability of fishermen to make a living. Some towns, including the island town of Hesteyri we were supposed to visit today, were abandonded. Fortunately, tourism has now joined fishing as an economic powerhouse.
Tunnels and road improvements have helped connect the previously isolated fjord communities scattered widely throughout the Westfjord region. We drove through two tunnels today. Neither was here when I first visited Iceland in the late 1980s. The first was 9 km long. The first 2 km (1.2 miles) were 2-lane. Then a branch turned off to the right, and the next 7 km (4.2 miles) were one-lane. Traffic flowing one direction had frequent small turnouts carved into the volcanic rock so it could yield to oncoming traffic. It was a little unnerving to travel in the direction that didn’t have to yield. The second tunnel opened with great fanfare in 2020. (All tunnel openings are a Pretty Big Deal, with attendance by government officials and a couple of days of traffic jams - such as they are in Iceland.) This new tunnel has cameras that monitor the time it takes a vehicle to traverse the tunnel, putting a damper on speeding.
Avalanches are a serious matter here. Towns have been wiped out in an instant. An earthen avalanche barrier has been built above part of Isafjordur. Other communities are protected by mechanical barriers built into the mountains.
The terraces above the houses are actually avalanche barriers.
We passed other fjords on our way to the waterfall. It was hazy, a little mysterious. One can appreciate Icelandic folklore, with trolls and elves.
We had 90 minutes at the Dynjandi Waterfall, which was enough time to both clamber to the top and find a well-hidden geocache. The falls are pretty spectacular. The main fall is 100 m (325 ft) high, starting at 30 m wide and widening to 60 m (200 ft) at the bottom. It’s both the highest waterfall in westfjord and the highest cascade waterfall in Iceland. Dynjandi, appropriately, means “thunderous”. There are 7 additional waterfalls below, each with their own name. The trail up to the base of Dynjandi is easily accessible to the first few lower falls. It gets more rocky and difficult as you climb, so good hiking soles helped. Happy to be at a natural masterpiece, I took tons of photos here; I’ll try to restrain myself in how many make it in below.
For scale, check out the guy in gray near the middle of the picture.
Shhh! Don’t tell anyone where Greg found the cache!
From the base of the biggest falls; our bus in the circular parking lot near the water.
We walked around Isafjordur after returning to town. There are no traffic lights, but the roundabout is a point of pride.
The market square, previously known as Silver Square because fish scales used to cover the cobblestones where they salted for preservation, today boasts a colorful rainbow ribbon.
The structures in the water are fish farms. It takes 15-18 months to raise salmon.
Gorgeous falls!
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