Today started with a beautiful drive to Iceland’s north-western tip. It’s said to be the puffin capital of Iceland, so that was our main reason to visit, but there were a few other sights that also enticed us to the area. 

The first stop was a hike to a glacial lake up in the mountains. A steep mountain pass situated us in a good spot to start the trail and save some elevation gain, but the weather was blowing a hooley. It calmed down once we began walking along the side of the valley and became a delightful walk that was void of tourists. 

The turquoise lake was small and encircled by gigantic boulders. Apparently, it’s the remnants of a glacier which has receded all the way up the valley and was barely visible beneath the low-lying cloud. It was a shame about the cloud as the mountains were supposed to be really cool and spiky, but alas, you can’t have it all.

At least we had the place to ourselves, and the huge boulders made us feel like we’d been shrunk as we struggled our way up them for different vantage points. 

Once we finished the hike we continued to the puffin location, stopping in a village en route to capture a beautiful turf-roofed house. It was built in 1899, and since the 1970s it’s been the summer residence of the current owner, whose maintenance jobs include mowing the roof.

The village was also home to Álfaborg which translates to ‘Elf City’ or ‘Elf Castle’ and it’s a hill that’s supposedly home to a city of elves who live in harmony with humans but are never seen. 

While we didn’t spot any elves, we did see some pretty impressive peaks rising behind the village. They were like rainbow mountains, the peaks covered in bright orange and red minerals. 

Ironically, the puffins were the most disappointing sight of the day, because there were no puffins! We’d seen thousands a few days before in southern Iceland yet here there was just one roaming around the grassy cliff tops, with tourists invasively leaning over the barrier for a photo. 

Considering how good our previous experience had been, we were shocked that this was known as a top place to see them. Maybe they were all out at sea fishing, but we visited at a similar time in the south and the cliffs and sky were invaded with the clown birds. 

So, we hit the road and chased a patch of dramatic rain clouds that were visible as they fell through the sky. We were making our way towards a campsite when suddenly a wild arctic fox ran across the road with a kill hanging from its mouth. 

By the time I ran out with my camera, he’d dashed through the meadow, looking back at me before vanishing into the depths of a pine forest. Damn. 

On the plus side, I was just about to tell Craig that the campsite I found online had a few reviews saying people had seen arctic fox there, which felt like fate after our brief encounter with one, so our decision was made. 

We had to detour off the main ring road and onto a gravel track that led us through a lunar landscape where volcanic cones rose from the black ground. 

It had just finished raining in one of those bizarre downpours that come and go in a matter of seconds and it turned out to be a terrible time to drive along a dirt road. As we pulled up at the campground we realised Trudy, our little camper van had a new brown paint job, courtesy of the mud. 

 The campsite had a restaurant, some accommodation and of course the campsite itself which was a large field with about 50 camper vans.

Most of the best spots had already been taken, but we managed to get a position by a grassy wall which definitely beat parking in the middle of the field where the vans unintentionally became roundabouts. 

We headed straight out for a stroll and I was instantly impressed – the place was like an old Icelandic village, complete with a church and turf-roofed wooden cabin that housed a petrol pump. I’m not sure if it was a traditional old village or a replica built for tourism, but either way, I loved it. 

The turf technique was one I hadn’t seen before and the sides of the buildings were lined with layers of turf. Like someone had cut up a cricket ground and layered the slabs atop one another to create a thick wall. 

The village was cute, but we wanted to see an arctic fox so we set off on a mission. There were a couple of roped-off areas where the dens had previously been, but there was no evidence of them now. But as I made my way around the wooden buildings Craig frantically began calling after me “Fox!” He exclaimed. 

We’d been scanning the windswept grass, expecting to see a fox prowling for food, but instead we found one on the wooden boardwalk next to the restaurant. 

He had a fabulous fluffy silver coat and was bouncing all over the place, chasing his tail, rolling on his back and darting across the boardwalk towards people. 

It was quite clear that this fox wasn’t fully wild. He wasn’t brought up by humans and still had wild instincts – but he’d clearly been fed by the owners of the campsite and thus, kept prowling towards people in the hope of a treat. 

He still had some nerves though and knew not to get too close, darting sideways if anyone flinched. 

I really don’t agree with feeding wildlife so it was a shame that the animal wasn’t fully wild, but it was interesting to see that the fox regularly chose to breed in this area. 

We didn’t see any adult fox though, and wondered if they roam the wilderness while the little pup, who was more vulnerable decided to stay closer to humans

After I took a hundred or so photos of this adorably little silver fox, time had slipped away and sunset was upon us.

We had a very mixed bag of weather throughout the day but things were looking up and layers of clouds began to absorb all those magical rays from the low sun, filling the sky with honey and rhubarb coloured clouds. 

Suddenly I got the next announcement from Craig that he’d spotted more wildlife. This time it was a juvenile reindeer that was owned by the campsite but it roamed freely. 

He had a little set of antlers and was happily grazing on the grass and totally unbothered by us stalking him. I was torn between photographing the sky or the reindeer – it turned out I couldn’t get both because the reindeer kept walking between cars which wasn’t photogenic and whenever he stood in a good location with the sunset it was a picture directly aimed up his butt. 

I was already gloating to Craig that I’d chosen the best campsite to stay at, when a group of goats trotted past. 

They made their way towards the reindeer who began to play a game of head-butting with a young goat. The reindeer seemed quite keen to play, gently nudging the goat who looked like it was being provoked by the school bully. 

We walked back to our camper van beneath a sky filled with cotton candy clouds, and just beside the path was a rabbit hopping through the dew-covered grass. It wasn’t a typical rabbit like we have in England, with short brownish-grey fur (and sometimes wearing a little blue jacket!) instead this one looked like a gigantic cotton-wool ball. He was happily eating the daffodils amongst the tall grass whilst the golden sun hit his glossy white fur. 

It was such a magical little place that made me feel like Snow White – surrounded by wild animals as if I was in a fairytale book. 

The whole area had a special charm to it though – I don’t know if it was the mountain backdrop, the fiery sunset, or the animals gallivanting past turf-roofed houses, but I really loved it. 

It would have been a very different experience had it been raining, we’d of been trapped in our van, blissfully unaware of how special it could be during the golden hour.