The dust from the gravel road settles around our little camper van as we park on the volcanic plain. We’ve named her Trudy – this compact home on wheels that carries us through Iceland’s raw landscapes. Outside our window, the impossible happens: the earth breathes fire against the twilight sky while puffins return to their cliffside burrows after a day at sea. This is Iceland in its most elemental state, where geological forces and wildlife rhythms create moments that feel both ancient and urgently present.
What brings us here isn’t just wanderlust but the convergence of two natural events that rarely overlap so perfectly. The volcanic eruption at Geldingadalir had been active for nearly three weeks when we arrived, its persistent glow visible from Reykjavik. Meanwhile, the puffins had returned to their nesting colonies along the coastal cliffs, their bright orange beaks cutting through the misty air. These two phenomena – one destructive, one life-affirming – create a strange harmony in this land of contrasts.
Traveling by camper van offers a particular intimacy with the landscape. There’s no retreat to a hotel room, no barrier between you and the elements. When the volcano spews ash, we taste it on the wind. When puffins chatter outside our window at dawn, their calls become our morning alarm. Trudy becomes more than transportation; she’s our moving vantage point, allowing us to wait for the perfect light at the volcano’s edge, then relocate to bird cliffs when the conditions shift.
This approach to travel demands flexibility. Volcanic activity doesn’t follow human schedules, and puffins certainly don’t pose on command. Some days we abandon planned routes to chase reports of better eruption views. Other times we sit for hours waiting for birds to return to their nests, only to have fog roll in and obscure everything. The disappointment when nature doesn’t perform is part of the experience – but so is the exhilaration when everything aligns.
Photography in these conditions becomes less about technical perfection and more about bearing witness. The volcano teaches humility: no lens can truly capture the heat radiating from fresh lava, or the sound of rocks tumbling down the newly formed cone. The puffins teach patience: they’ll stand still for minutes, then burst into flight too fast for human reflexes. Both require surrendering to the moment rather than trying to control it.
There’s a particular magic to experiencing these phenomena through the camper van lifestyle. Meals are simple affairs prepared on a small stove, often eaten while watching the northern lights dance above volcanic steam. Conversations with fellow travelers at campgrounds become exchanges of intelligence: where the lava flow is most active today, which cliff face has the most puffins, which roads are passable after recent rains. This shared knowledge creates a community of adventurers, all seeking to witness Iceland’s wonders while respecting its fragility.
The memory that will stay with me isn’t the perfect photograph or the most dramatic eruption view, but the evening we parked between these two worlds. To our left, the volcano painted the sky orange with its relentless energy. To our right, puffins settled into their burrows for the night, their day’s fishing complete. In that moment, cradled in our tiny van between creation and daily survival, Iceland revealed its essential truth: that wonder exists not in isolated attractions, but in the constant interplay between extraordinary events and ordinary life.
The Volcano Diary
We named our camper van Trudy because she felt like a trusted friend on those winding Icelandic roads. What we didn’t know when we planned our trip was that we’d arrive during both puffin season and the final days of an active volcanic eruption. Some things you can plan for, others simply grace your path when you’re fortunate enough to be in the right place at the right time.
The Geldingadalir volcano had been active for nearly three weeks when we arrived, its rhythmic eruptions creating new land with each flow. We learned that volcanic activity in Iceland operates on its own schedule—unpredictable, magnificent, and utterly indifferent to human timelines. Our timing proved perfect: the eruption ceased the day after we witnessed it, making ours among the final human eyes to behold that particular display of Earth’s creative power.
Night transformed the experience into something entirely different. Under the Arctic summer’s twilight sky—that peculiar blend of darkness and light that Iceland does so well—the lava glowed with an intensity that photographs struggle to capture. We returned after midnight, finding a small group of fellow observers gathered at a safe distance, all sharing that silent understanding that comes when witnessing something ancient and powerful.
The recommended viewing area was carefully marked by local authorities, maintaining what felt like both a respectful distance and an intimate proximity. At approximately two kilometers from the main vent, we could feel the ground’s subtle vibration beneath our feet while the sulfur scent carried on the wind—a reminder that we were observers, not participants, in this geological theater.
Safety protocols in Iceland are both strict and sensible. Park only in designated areas, follow all posted signage, and check safetravel.is for daily updates. Volcanic gases can shift with wind patterns, making gas masks advisable even when standing upwind. We carried emergency supplies including extra water, food, and warm clothing—standard precautions for any Icelandic adventure that become critical when adding volcanic observation to the itinerary.
What surprised me most was how accessible this raw power felt. Unlike the distant, curated nature of many natural wonders, here was creation happening in real time, available to anyone willing to make the journey and follow the rules. The memory remains vivid: Craig standing there, backlit by molten earth, watching as the planet remade itself one lava flow at a time.
That intersection of planned pursuit (puffins) and unexpected wonder (volcano) defines the Icelandic experience. You come for what’s on the itinerary but often remember most what found you along the way. The key lies in preparation meeting flexibility—having the knowledge to stay safe while remaining open to the moments you couldn’t possibly have planned.
Puffin Photography Masterclass
Finding puffins in Iceland requires knowing exactly where to look. After extensive exploration, I identified three primary locations that offer distinct advantages and challenges for photographers. Each site presents unique opportunities based on accessibility, population density, and shooting conditions.
The first location sits on a rugged volcanic island accessible only during specific tidal conditions. Reaching this site involves careful timing and a moderately challenging hike across uneven terrain. The reward comes in the form of relatively undisturbed birds that have grown accustomed to human presence at a distance. Population density here ranks as moderate, with approximately 200 nesting pairs during peak season. The volcanic soil provides excellent contrast against the puffins’ colorful beaks, though the lack of vegetation means fewer natural perches for compositional variety.
A second location features coastal cliffs with easier access via maintained trails. This spot attracts more visitors, which can sometimes make the birds slightly more skittish. However, the larger population—around 500 nesting pairs—means more photographic opportunities. The elevated position allows for eye-level shots when the birds return from fishing expeditions, and the green backdrop of summer vegetation creates a more vibrant setting. Morning light works particularly well here, casting a warm glow on the birds’ white chests while maintaining detail in their dark feathers.
The third location requires the most effort to reach, involving a full-day hike with significant elevation changes. The remote nature of this site means the puffins exhibit minimal fear of humans, allowing for closer approaches. With nearly 800 nesting pairs, this colony offers the highest density of subjects, though the challenging access means fewer photographers make the journey. The trade-off becomes clear when you’re able to work without competing for position, though you must carry all necessary equipment and supplies for the entire day.
Mastering Static Photography
Puffins possess a wonderful habit of standing relatively still outside their burrows, particularly during early morning and late evening hours. This behavior creates perfect conditions for portrait photography, though achieving professional results requires understanding several key factors.
Light quality dramatically affects your images. The soft, directional light of golden hour provides ideal conditions, enhancing the vibrant orange of their beaks while maintaining detail in both highlights and shadows. Position yourself so the light comes from behind your shoulder, creating catchlights in their eyes while minimizing harsh shadows. Overcast days offer their own advantages, providing soft, even lighting that eliminates the contrast challenges of bright sunlight.
Timing proves crucial when working with static subjects. Puffins tend to remain still for extended periods after returning from fishing trips or before heading out to sea. Watch for birds that have just landed and are surveying their surroundings—they’ll typically remain stationary for several minutes. The best opportunities often come when pairs interact near their burrows, as they frequently pause to preen or communicate with soft, guttural calls.
Composition techniques can elevate your puffin portraits beyond simple documentation. Use a shallow depth of field to isolate your subject from busy backgrounds, focusing sharply on the eye closest to your lens. Include environmental elements when they enhance rather than distract—a splash of wildflowers, interesting rock formations, or the ocean backdrop can add context without overwhelming the frame. Experiment with both vertical and horizontal orientations, as puffins’ upright posture often suits vertical compositions while horizontal frames allow for environmental storytelling.
Capturing Flight Sequences
Photographing puffins in flight presents one of wildlife photography’s most delightful challenges. Their wingbeat frequency reaches 400 beats per minute, creating a blur of motion that requires specific techniques to freeze effectively.
Shutter speed selection depends on your creative intent. To freeze wing movement completely, you’ll need speeds exceeding 1/2000th of second. For artistic shots that show slight motion in the wingtips while keeping the body sharp, 1/1000th to 1/1600th often works well. When light conditions prevent these fast speeds, embrace creative motion blur by panning with the birds’ flight path at slower shutter speeds around 1/250th.
Tracking focus techniques separate successful flight images from missed opportunities. Use continuous autofocus mode (AI Servo for Canon, AF-C for Nikon) with expanded focus points that allow the camera to maintain lock on moving subjects. Pre-focus on the area where birds typically take off or land, then follow their path while maintaining half-press on the shutter button. For birds flying directly toward you, use group focus areas rather than single points to account for rapid distance changes.
Burst mode becomes essential for capturing the perfect wing position. Puffins exhibit various flight patterns—from rapid takeoff bursts to graceful glides—and shooting sequences of 5-10 frames ensures you’ll capture multiple wing positions. The most photogenic moments often occur during landing approaches, when birds extend their feet and adjust wing angles for descent. Takeoff sequences also offer dynamic opportunities, as they often run across water or leap from cliffs before becoming fully airborne.
Environmental Comparisons: Shetland vs Iceland
Having photographed puffins in both Shetland and Iceland reveals distinct differences that affect photographic approaches. The Shetland Islands, set in the rough North Sea, present a more challenging environment with stronger winds and frequently overcast conditions. Icelandic locations generally offer more predictable weather patterns during summer months, though rapidly changing conditions remain a constant factor.
Shetland puffins often nest in more accessible locations right beside walking paths, allowing closer approaches but sometimes resulting in birds that show slight habituation to human presence. Icelandic colonies tend to be more remote, requiring greater effort to reach but offering opportunities to photograph truly wild behavior. The volcanic landscapes of Iceland provide unique backdrops not found in Shetland’s greener environments.
Population densities vary significantly between regions. Some Icelandic colonies number in the thousands, creating spectacular scenes of crowded cliff faces, while Shetland’s populations, though healthy, typically feature smaller groupings. The timing of breeding seasons also differs slightly, with Shetland birds often nesting about two weeks earlier than their Icelandic counterparts.
Light quality presents another distinguishing factor. Shetland’s northern latitude provides extended golden hours, but frequent sea mists can create soft, diffused light throughout the day. Iceland’s clearer air often produces more dramatic light, with sharper shadows and more intense colors during peak hours. Both locations offer midnight sun opportunities during summer, allowing photography throughout the night when the low-angle sun creates beautiful sidelight.
Understanding these environmental differences helps in planning equipment choices and shooting strategies. Iceland’s generally better weather allows for more predictable planning, while Shetland’s conditions require greater flexibility and weather-resistant gear. Both locations offer incredible opportunities, though the Icelandic experience benefits from combining puffin photography with other unique natural phenomena like volcanic activity and geothermal features.
Essential Gear for Arctic Photography
Shooting in Iceland’s extreme conditions requires more than just technical skill—it demands equipment that can withstand the elements while capturing nature’s raw beauty. After multiple expeditions to the Arctic circle, I’ve refined my photography kit through trial and error, learning what works when temperatures drop and volcanic ash fills the air.
Protecting Your Gear in Extreme Conditions
The moment you step out of your campervan in Iceland, three enemies await your camera: fine volcanic dust that seeks every crevice, moisture that appears from nowhere, and cold that drains batteries faster than you can say “aurora borealis.” I’ve watched photographers lose days of shooting to equipment failure that could have been prevented with simple precautions.
For dust protection, I use silicone rubber camera covers with custom-cut openings for lenses. The volcanic particulates in Iceland are especially abrasive and can permanently damage sensor mechanisms if they penetrate the body. During the volcano eruption, I added a clear UV filter to each lens as a sacrificial layer—much cheaper to replace a filter than a lens front element when ash particles come flying.
Cold weather presents the battery dilemma. Lithium-ion batteries can lose up to 50% of their capacity at freezing temperatures. I keep three sets of batteries in rotation: one in the camera, one in my interior pocket (body warmth helps), and one charging in the campervan. The goal is never to have all batteries depleted simultaneously. For extended shoots in sub-zero conditions, I use battery grips that accommodate two cells, effectively doubling shooting time between changes.
Moisture management becomes critical when moving between cold exteriors and warm vehicle interiors. Condensation can form inside lenses and camera bodies, potentially causing electrical shorts or fungus growth. I store equipment in sealed plastic bags with silica gel packets when transitioning between temperature zones, allowing gradual acclimatization over several hours.
The Icelandic Lens Trinity
Through countless hours photographing everything from vast lava fields to intimate puffin portraits, I’ve settled on three lenses that cover 95% of Arctic photography needs.
The 100-400mm telephoto zoom becomes your best friend for wildlife photography. Puffins, while curiously approachable at their nesting sites, still require respectful distance. This range lets you fill the frame with their colorful beaks while maintaining enough space not to disturb their natural behaviors. During my Shetland expedition, I learned that fixed telephotos often miss quick behavioral shots when birds suddenly take flight—the zoom flexibility proves invaluable.
A 24-70mm f/2.8 standard zoom handles landscape duties and interior campervan shots. The fast aperture becomes crucial for northern lights photography and low-light volcano scenes. When we returned to see the lava glowing at night, this lens captured both the intense colors and surrounding context in single frames.
Surprisingly, my most used lens in Iceland became the 16-35mm ultra-wide. Volcanic craters, massive waterfalls, and vast glaciers often defy comprehension of scale. The wide perspective emphasizes foreground elements against expansive backgrounds—perfect for showing tiny campervans dwarfed by enormous landscapes. It also serves astrophotography duties when auroras dance across the entire sky.
Mobile Storage Solutions
In the digital age, running out of storage space constitutes a modern photographer’s nightmare. When you’re days from the nearest electronics store and witnessing once-in-a-lifetime volcanic activity, adequate storage becomes non-negotiable.
I follow the rule of threes: three backup methods before considering images safe. Camera cards get downloaded each evening to both a portable solid-state drive and my laptop. The SSD stays in the campervan while the laptop backs up to cloud storage whenever we find WiFi. This might seem excessive until you’ve almost lost shots of an erupting volcano due to card corruption.
For card selection, I use multiple smaller capacity cards rather than few large ones. Spreads the risk—if one card fails, you lose only that day’s shooting rather than the entire expedition. During puffin photography sessions, I can shoot through 64GB cards surprisingly quickly when birds take flight at 400 wingbeats per minute.
Power Management in the Wild
Campervan photography adventures live or die by power availability. Between camera batteries, laptops, storage devices, and smartphones, the power demands add up quickly when off-grid for days.
Our campervan Trudy came equipped with secondary solar panels that provided enough juice for essential charging. I supplemented this with a portable power station that could simultaneously charge four camera batteries while running a laptop. The key metric to check is the power station’s output wattage—some cheaper models can’t handle the simultaneous load of multiple devices.
Inverter choices matter more than you might expect. Modified sine wave inverters can damage sensitive electronics like camera battery chargers. I learned this the hard way when a charger failed mysteriously until I switched to a pure sine wave inverter. Now it’s the first thing I check when renting campervans for photography trips.
Organized Chaos: Mobile Gear Management
The confined space of a campervan demands meticulous organization. Equipment left lying around gets damaged, lost, or becomes a safety hazard during sudden stops.
I use modular storage cases that fit perfectly under campervan seats. Each case serves a specific purpose: one for camera bodies and lenses, another for support gear like tripods and filters, and a third for cleaning supplies and maintenance tools. The system works because everything has a designated home—crucial when you need to quickly grab gear for unexpected photo opportunities like sudden aurora appearances.
Weather sealing extends to storage too. Silica gel packets in every case control humidity, while foam inserts get replaced annually as they compress and lose protective qualities. The investment in proper storage pays dividends when equipment emerges functional after weeks of Arctic abuse.
The Often-Forgotten Essentials
Some of my most valuable gear items never appear in glamorous equipment lists but have saved shoots multiple times.
A headlamp with red light mode preserves night vision during astrophotography sessions while allowing you to operate camera controls. GPS tags attached to each camera bag provide peace of mind when transporting gear between locations. Microfiber cloths stored in ziplock bags stay clean for lens cleaning throughout the trip.
Perhaps most importantly, I carry a simple notebook for recording shooting conditions and locations. GPS coordinates help return to perfect spots, while notes about light angles and animal behaviors inform future expeditions. These handwritten observations often prove more valuable than metadata when planning return visits.
The right equipment configuration becomes an extension of your photographic vision in challenging environments. It’s not about owning the most expensive gear but about understanding how to make reliable tools work in unpredictable conditions. When everything works seamlessly, you fade into the background and become a conduit for nature’s stories—which after all, remains the ultimate goal of adventure photography.
The Ultimate Iceland Campervan Itinerary
Crafting the perfect Iceland itinerary requires balancing ambition with practicality. The ring road beckons, but the real magic lies in the detours and unexpected stops that define any memorable campervan adventure.
Our seven-day route begins and ends in Reykjavík, covering approximately 1,300 kilometers while allowing ample time for photography stops and spontaneous exploration. The beauty of traveling in a campervan like Trudy is the flexibility to adjust based on weather conditions and newfound discoveries.
Day 1: Reykjavík to Golden Circle (100 km)
Start early to avoid crowds at Þingvellir National Park (64.2556° N, 21.1294° W), where you can walk between tectonic plates. Continue to Geysir (64.3105° N, 20.3001° W) for the erupting hot springs, then conclude at Gullfoss waterfall (64.3265° N, 20.1213° W). Park overnight at the designated campervan area near Geysir, where facilities include fresh water and waste disposal.
Day 2: South Coast to Vík (230 km)
Follow Route 1 past Seljalandsfoss (63.6156° N, 19.9886° W) and Skógafoss (63.5314° N, 19.5114° W) waterfalls. The black sand beaches of Reynisfjara (63.4044° N, 19.0414° W) near Vík offer dramatic sunset photography opportunities. Overnight at the Vík campsite (63.4190° N, 19.0085° W), which provides excellent facilities and stunning coastal views.
Day 3: Glacier Country to Höfn (270 km)
Journey past massive glaciers including Sólheimajökull (63.5667° N, 19.3000° W) and Vatnajökull (64.4000° N, 16.8000° W). Stop at Fjaðrárgljúfur canyon (63.7712° N, 18.1718° W) for midday photography when light penetrates deepest into the canyon. Arrive in Höfn for fresh lobster dinner and overnight at the harbor-side campsite (64.2535° N, 15.2073° W).
Day 4: Eastern Fjords to Egilsstaðir (250 km)
The winding roads through fjords like Mjóifjörður (65.1953° N, 13.7953° W) require careful driving but reward with breathtaking vistas. Stop in Seyðisfjörður (65.2601° N, 14.0094° W) for its colorful buildings and artistic community. The campsite at Egilsstaðir (65.2650° N, 14.3948° W) offers mountain views and modern facilities.
Day 5: Northern Iceland to Mývatn (280 km)
Detour to Dettifoss (65.8144° N, 16.3842° W), Europe’s most powerful waterfall, then continue to the otherworldly landscapes of Mývatn (65.6036° N, 16.9953° W). The geothermal area around Hverir (65.6411° N, 16.8078° W) provides incredible sunset photography opportunities. Overnight at the Mývatn campsite with geothermal heating.
Day 6: Akureyri and Troll Peninsula (220 km)
Explore Iceland’s second city before heading to the Troll Peninsula for dramatic coastal drives. The hidden waterfall of Goðafoss (65.6825° N, 17.5500° W) deserves at least two hours for photography from multiple angles. Overnight at the Sauðárkrókur campsite (65.7461° N, 19.6394° W) with mountain protection from winds.
Day 7: Return to Reykjavík (300 km)
The final day involves longer driving but includes stops at Glaumbær turf houses (65.3500° N, 19.3667° W) and the church at Víðimýri (65.4000° N, 19.4500° W). Time your arrival in Reykjavík for late afternoon to avoid morning traffic.
Choosing Your Campervan Home
Selecting the right campervan involves more than comparing rental prices. The vehicle becomes your mobile home, photography base, and shelter from Iceland’s unpredictable weather.
Consider engine size carefully—while smaller engines save fuel, they struggle on mountain passes and in strong winds. Our Trudy had a 2.0L diesel engine that handled most conditions comfortably, though we still avoided F-roads (mountain roads requiring 4×4 vehicles).
Sleeping capacity should exceed your group size by one person for comfortable gear storage. Two people ideally need a van rated for three, while four travelers should consider a five-berth vehicle. The extra space makes changing clothes and organizing photography equipment significantly easier.
Heating systems prove crucial even in summer. Diesel heaters outperform propane systems in Icelandic conditions, providing consistent warmth without humidity buildup. Look for vehicles with insulated walls and double-glazed windows for temperature regulation.
Insurance requires particular attention. Standard coverage typically excludes damage from wind, sand, and ash—all common in Iceland. Upgrade to include gravel protection (essential for unpaved roads), sand and ash damage (critical near volcanic areas), and reduced wind excess (Iceland’s winds regularly exceed 30 m/s).
Photography equipment storage often gets overlooked. Look for vans with secure, vibration-dampened storage compartments. We modified a kitchen drawer to hold cameras safely during transit, using foam inserts to protect gear from Iceland’s rough roads.
Seasonal Considerations
Iceland’s seasons dramatically affect both photography conditions and travel experience. Each month offers unique advantages and challenges that should guide your itinerary planning.
May through September constitutes peak season for good reason. The midnight sun provides extended golden hours for photography, particularly valuable for capturing landscapes in optimal light. Puffins arrive in late April and remain until mid-August, with peak nesting activity in June and July. Road conditions are generally excellent, and all campsites remain open.
July specifically offers the best balance for photography enthusiasts. Twenty-four hours of daylight allow flexible shooting schedules, wildflowers carpet the landscapes, and wildlife activity peaks. However, this popularity means advanced bookings become essential—we reserved our campervan six months ahead and campsites three months in advance.
September through October provides autumn colors and northern lights opportunities while maintaining accessible roads. The diminishing crowds create more intimate experiences, though some remote campsites begin closing in September. Weather becomes increasingly unpredictable, requiring flexibility in daily plans.
Winter travel (November through March) appeals to northern lights photographers but presents significant challenges. Many roads close entirely, daylight lasts only 4-5 hours, and campsites mostly shut down. Winter campervan travel requires extensive preparation and experience with Arctic conditions.
Hidden Gems and Timing
Beyond the classic stops, Iceland reveals its true character in less-visited locations that require careful timing and local knowledge.
The Westfjords region demands extra days but rewards with incredible isolation and wildlife photography opportunities. Rauðisandur beach (65.5250° N, 24.3667° W) glows red during sunset hours, while Látrabjarg cliffs (65.5000° N, 24.5333° W) host massive bird colonies best photographed in early morning light.
Snæfellsnes Peninsula offers condensed Iceland experiences within easier reach of Reykjavík. Kirkjufell mountain (64.9417° N, 23.3069° W) photographs best during summer evenings when sunset aligns with the waterfall. The black church at Búðir (64.8214° N, 23.3856° W) creates stunning compositions against afternoon light.
Highland routes like Sprengisandur (64.1333° N, 18.3167° W) open only from late June through September, requiring 4×4 vehicles but offering unparalleled wilderness photography. These areas demand self-sufficiency as services are nonexistent—carry extra fuel, food, and emergency equipment.
Timing visits to popular locations avoids frustration. Reykjavík campsites fill by early afternoon in summer, while popular natural sites become crowded between 10 AM and 4 PM. We developed a pattern of shooting sunrise, traveling during midday light, then capturing sunset after most visitors had departed.
Waterfall photography benefits from afternoon light in summer months when the sun angles create rainbows in mist. However, coastal locations often work better with morning light. Keep a flexible schedule to adapt to changing conditions—some of our best images came from completely unplanned stops when light unexpectedly improved.
The reality of Iceland photography involves embracing imperfect conditions. We missed planned shots due to weather but discovered better compositions when seeking shelter. The campervan advantage lies in waiting out poor conditions comfortably—we once spent six hours reading while waiting for storm clouds to break, then captured incredible light as the storm cleared at midnight.
Safety and Environmental Stewardship
Photographing an active volcano requires respecting boundaries—both visible and invisible. Icelandic authorities typically establish exclusion zones based on real-time gas measurements and seismic activity. During our visit, the recommended safe distance was 500 meters from the eruption site, though this varies daily depending on wind direction and volcanic behavior. We carried gas masks and portable carbon dioxide monitors, not as props for adventure photography but as necessary precautions in an environment where invisible threats can be more dangerous than visible lava flows.
Wildlife photography ethics extend beyond maintaining distance. With puffins, the rule is straightforward: never approach closer than 10 meters, especially during nesting season. Their burrows are fragile ecosystems, and human presence can cause abandonment. We used 600mm lenses not merely for beautiful compression but to avoid disrupting natural behaviors. The moment a bird shows signs of stress—repeated head bobbing, alarm calls, or attempted flight—you’ve already gotten too close. This isn’t just about getting better shots; it’s about recognizing that our photographic ambitions shouldn’t compromise animal welfare.
Arctic environments possess a deceptive fragility. The moss growing on lava fields might look resilient but can take decades to recover from a single footstep. We adhered to the principle of “leave no trace” with almost religious dedication: all waste packed out, including biodegradable items that won’t decompose in cold temperatures. Camper van travel in Iceland comes with particular responsibilities—never emptying wastewater anywhere except designated disposal stations, regardless of how remote a location appears. The island’s ecosystem maintains a delicate balance, and introducing even organic matter from outside can disrupt native microbial communities.
Emergency preparedness in remote Icelandic locations means understanding that help might be hours away. We carried multiple communication devices: a satellite messenger for areas without cellular coverage, a traditional whistle for whiteout conditions, and emergency flares for worst-case scenarios. Our medical kit included burn gel specifically for volcanic environments, alongside standard trauma supplies. Before any excursion, we filed detailed plans with safetravel.is, noting expected return times and routes. This isn’t paranoia—it’s the basic price of admission for traveling in regions where nature remains firmly in control.
The midnight sun creates unique risks during Arctic summers. Fatigue accumulates stealthily when your body loses natural light cues, potentially impairing judgment during technical drives or hikes. We maintained strict sleep schedules using blackout curtains in our camper van, recognizing that adventure photography requires sharpness not just creatively but cognitively. Weather shifts occur with breathtaking speed—from brilliant sunshine to horizontal rain in minutes. Our rule became: always carry more layers and more supplies than seems necessary, because the difference between an unforgettable experience and a dangerous situation often comes down to preparation.
Responsible travel extends to cultural respect. Many iconic photography locations in Iceland are on private property or hold spiritual significance. We always sought explicit permission before accessing areas, even when boundaries appeared unclear. The concept of “everyman’s right” allows certain access but doesn’t permit trespassing through cultivated land or disturbing livestock. Purchasing supplies from local stores rather than relying entirely on imported goods supports remote communities that host visitors. These considerations form the ethical backbone of travel photography—recognizing that we’re temporary guests in environments others call home.
Volcanic landscapes present hidden dangers beyond obvious lava flows. Newly hardened crust can conceal molten rock beneath, while toxic gases accumulate in low-lying areas. We constantly monitored official sources for updated hazard maps, understanding that conditions change hourly during eruptions. Our photography equipment included gas detectors that alerted us to rising sulfur dioxide levels before they became dangerous. The allure of capturing dramatic images sometimes conflicts with safety protocols—we established firm turn-back criteria beforehand, preventing momentary excitement from overriding rational judgment.
Wildlife interactions require seasonal awareness. During our visit, puffins were feeding chicks, making them more tolerant of human presence but also more vulnerable to disturbance. We avoided using calls or playback devices to attract birds, however compelling the photographic opportunities might seem. The goal became documenting natural behaviors rather than creating them. This approach sometimes meant waiting hours for a single authentic moment, but the resulting images carry greater value—not just as artistic creations but as truthful records of wild creatures living undisturbed.
Environmental protection in extreme climates involves anticipating unintended consequences. Tripod legs can scrape fragile lichen from rocks; breath condensation inside lens hoods promotes mold growth in pristine environments; even the choice of clothing colors can disturb wildlife. We adopted protocols like using rubber tripod feet, carrying silica gel packs for equipment, and wearing neutral tones that blend with landscapes. These small actions accumulate into significant impact reduction when multiplied across thousands of visitors.
Emergency response planning needs redundancy. We stored critical documents in both digital and physical formats, including insurance details that specifically cover volcanic activity and drone operations (where permitted). Vehicle maintenance took on new importance—checking tire conditions daily because volcanic ash behaves like abrasive sandpaper on road surfaces. We memorized emergency numbers not just for humans but for reporting environmental incidents like fuel spills or injured wildlife. This comprehensive approach transforms safety from a checklist into a mindset, where protection of self, others, and environment becomes interwoven with the photographic process itself.
The most beautiful photographs emerge from experiences where ethical practices enhance rather than restrict creativity. By prioritizing safety and stewardship, we discovered deeper connections with landscapes and wildlife—waiting for perfect light instead of chasing dangerous shortcuts, observing natural behaviors rather than provoking reactions. These images now hold greater meaning because they represent not just technical achievement but respectful engagement with our planet’s most spectacular places.
The Art of Timing and Preparation
Some journeys stay with you long after you return home, not just as memories but as lessons in how to approach the world. Our time in Iceland taught me that the most extraordinary experiences often hinge on two simple elements: being in the right place at the right time, and having the preparation to make the most of it.
That erupting volcano we witnessed? It had been active for nearly three weeks before our arrival, and ceased its spectacular display just days after we left. The puffins we photographed? Their nesting season offers a narrow window that varies slightly each year based on weather patterns and food availability. These natural events operate on their own schedules, indifferent to human itineraries yet generously rewarding those who understand their rhythms.
Seasonal Considerations for Your Adventure
If you’re planning your own Icelandic photography expedition, timing deserves careful consideration. The midnight sun of June and July provides extended golden hours for landscape photography, while the puffins typically nest from May through August. Volcanic activity, of course, follows no calendar—though increased seismic activity often provides warning signs that dedicated monitoring services track meticulously.
The shoulder seasons of May or September offer fewer crowds and dramatic lighting conditions, though some bird species may have begun their migration. Winter brings the aurora borealis but limited access to certain coastal areas where puffins nest. Each season presents different opportunities and challenges; the key lies in matching your photographic goals with seasonal realities.
The Responsibility of Wilderness Exploration
With the privilege of witnessing raw natural phenomena comes the responsibility to protect these fragile environments. Our camper van Trudy became our mobile basecamp, but also our commitment to leave no trace. We stayed on marked paths near volcanic areas, maintained respectful distances from wildlife, and followed all local guidelines for environmental protection.
The growing popularity of destinations like Iceland demands heightened awareness from visitors. The same volcanic landscapes that draw photographers remain active geological sites requiring caution and respect. The puffin colonies, while seemingly robust, face increasing pressure from climate change and human interaction. Our presence should never add to that pressure.
Continuing Your Journey
The perfect shot—whether of molten lava against an Arctic sky or a puffin returning to its burrow—represents more than technical achievement. It embodies patience, preparation, and respect for natural rhythms. These images stay with us not just as photographs but as reminders of moments when we synchronized our human schedules with nature’s timeless clock.
For those seeking to create their own Arctic adventures, I maintain updated resources on seasonal patterns, equipment recommendations, and responsible travel practices. Sometimes the difference between a good expedition and a great one lies in those small details of timing and preparation that transform random circumstances into meaningful encounters.
What remains after the journey concludes isn’t just photographs, but the understanding that the most magnificent spectacles nature offers require our patience and protection in equal measure. The volcanoes will continue their ancient rhythms, the puffins their seasonal migrations—and we have the privilege of witnessing it all, provided we approach with preparation and respect.