Writing & Photography by Brittany Eliza Kunkel

Being a photographer in Iceland, you can't help but subject yourself to an exhilarating and exhausting whirlwind of events. As you drive through the vast, otherworldly landscape, the sights become an endless, irresistible blur of inspiration. Welcome to a photographer's paradise: the land of fire and ice. Read on for an inside look at my 12-day photo expedition across Iceland with Johnathan Esper and Wildernesscapes Photography.

Day 1

The first morning in Iceland always feels a little eerie after stepping off the plane around 7 am, and existing in complete darkness for several more hours. I spent the day in Reykjavík recharging for the long journey ahead. In the afternoon, our group met for the first time in our guesthouse café, where Johnathan made introductions. There were eight of us on this first leg of the trip: two Americans (including me), three Australians, one German, one Finn, and one Thai. Each of the members of the group were traveling solo, with the exception of a couple from Australia. Everyone had varying levels of skill and interest in photography, but we were all thrilled to begin this adventure together. Johnathan, from the Adirondacks, was kicking off his ~40th photography tour in Iceland. He breezed through the trip itinerary, before we hurried off to Reykjanes Peninsula to chase the remaining light before sunset.

By the time we reached Gunnuhver Geothermal Area, a deep, stormy blue had taken over the sky, with just a sliver of creamsicle-colored light shining through along the horizon line. Despite the less-than-ideal light, we were in awe of our surroundings. We watched and listened to steam soaring up, up, and away, as snowflakes fell and were quickly swallowed up by the warm ground. We floated across lava formations blanketed by rich green, pillowy moss. We sank into rusty red clay on the edges of bubbling mud pools. In a country enveloped by shades of white and blue for much of the year, it was incredible to experience and photograph a brand new color palette.

As the weather went south, our extremities went numb, so we set off for our first dinner at a cozy restaurant called Kaffi Duus, overlooking the small harbor in Keflavík. By the time we arrived back in Reykjavík, we were all ready to get some sleep before embarking on our trip the next morning.

The weather in Vík applied an almost-black-and-white filter to my photographs, whether I liked it or not. It has a sort of ghostly beauty -- the contrast of foamy white waves crashing down on the black sand beach, set against a backdrop of snow-covered cliffs. We spent some time photographing the surf as it flooded under the legs of our tripods, and then drained back into the ocean again. It's a lot of trial and error to get the shot you're looking for, which, in turn, means a lot of running back and forth, and narrowly escaping having saltwater-filled rainboots.

As we continued on our way, we drove through miles of rugged lava fields, coated in fresh snow. The sun finally peaked through and cast beautiful light on the scene, so we pulled over to take some photos. What started as a bleak, colorless day, filled with technical challenges, unfolded into a colorful expression of all that is great about Iceland. We photographed sunset along a rushing stream, which allowed us to capture the reflection of the many colors painted across the sky.

We continued driving along until we reached our hotel for the evening, where we ate dinner and then went to bed, since it was unfortunately too cloudy for a night shoot. It was a little disheartening to have two nights of bad weather in a row, so everyone was feeling anxious about the possibility of not seeing any auroras during our trip. Johnathan told us that he had never had a trip that didn't see the northern lights at all, knock on wood. But, of course, there's a first time for everything, so we kept our fingers crossed.

After dinner at our guesthouse, we geared up for the night and ventured back over to Jökulsárlón Glacier Lagoon for some aurora hunting. A faint green band stretched across the sky, reflecting off the surface of the lagoon between floating sheets of ice. The aurora was pretty weak, so we didn't have a late night.

Day 5

"Don't share these GPS coordinates with anyone," Johnathan warned us before meeting up with an Icelandic guide who would be taking us to a secret ice cave. We boarded the guide's super Jeep, drove a few miles down the road, and then made a sharp turn onto a set of light tracks winding through fresh snow towards Vatnajökull Glacier. We barreled across the snow, up small hills and around boulders for about 15 minutes, and then stopped to hike the final 15-20 minutes to our destination. Along the way, we were presented with rules and safety guidelines, and our guide gave us lots of background on the formation of ice caves, how they change each year as the glacier recedes, how he scouts for new caves at the beginning of each winter season, and how the guides make sure the caves are safe for visitors.

10 minutes later I was out the door again, bundled up, but with wet hair and wet pants -- turns out blow dryers in Iceland can't accomplish a lot in 5 minutes. About half of the group decided to go out for the weak (and cloudy) display of northern lights. No matter how tired I am, I can't ever find a way to turn down the opportunity to see the lights. You never know when a weak aurora will turn into an epic one. Since the sky, itself, wasn't incredibly interesting, we used flashlights and passing headlights to spice up our photos.

Day 6

Several hours of sleep and then we were wandering across Iceberg Beach again for our final shoot before traveling on to our next destination. I wanted to mix it up -- and stay dry -- this time, so I concentrated on photographing icebergs that were slowly and gracefully sailing out of the lagoon and into the ocean, also taking time to enjoy the seals playfully surfing against the current of the lagoon's outlet. At times, the seals would take a break from the action to watch us intently, almost forming a connection with us.

Our next stop was Núpsstaður, the smallest turf church in Iceland, surrounded by a miniature turf-covered village, all straight out of a fairytale. Even in the colorless dead Icelandic winter, this setting was enchanting. We even got a chance to go into the church, where only a couple of us could fit at a time.

Our guesthouse, Lambafell Lodge, was a beautiful rustic log cabin at the base of a mountain. By the time we arrived, it was almost midnight, so after downloading and backing up the day's photos, we went straight to bed.

Day 7

The seventh day of our tour was a hectic day, as we were saying goodbye to one group member, and hello to two new ones. As we made our way back to Reykjavik to make the swap, we stopped at Skógafoss Waterfall. Here, we stepped cautiously onto a thin sheet of ice, with the river rushing along next to us, and underneath our feet. Our tripods were precariously set up on the edge in order to compose the perfect shot with the waterfall reflected in the ice.

In Reykjavik, we stopped at two different bus terminals, got lunch, and then, with our new group members in tow, headed north for the second leg of the trip. By the time we got to Snæfellsnes Peninsula, it was already sunset. We stopped to take photos of a group of horses who were on cloud nine to see us. As we continued on our drive, a charming little church sat illuminated against the darkening blue sky and mountain backdrop. A couple hours later, we ate a late dinner: Johnathan consumed a stromboli the size of a large pizza, and a few people in the group tried horse for the first time. When the food came out, there was no shortage of horse jokes and guilt-tripping by passing around our horse photos.

It was after 10 pm by the time we got to the majestic Kirkjufell for a night shoot. It was fairly clear, and the aurora was already strong, so there were people swarming around the mountain and waterfalls. That created a little bit of a challenge, as tiny blue trails of headlamp light scribbled across our photos, accompanied by the ghosts of photographers.

The northern lights were well worth the trouble. It was as if someone was zealously doodling above us in neon lights -- and we eagerly watched and snapped away for almost four hours. Johnathan encouraged us to explore different areas, but my fingers had gone numb long ago and could no longer work the buttons on my camera, so I laid down in the snow and just enjoyed the rest of the show.

Day 9

Snæfellsnes treated us to a mystical sunrise for our last day on the peninsula. The lone peak of Kirkjufell in the midst of a cotton candy sky made for a perfect reflection in an icy lagoon. This was our last stop before dropping off three of our group members at a bus station, and then continuing on the last leg of our trip.

We now had a longer drive to the north, traversing farmland and mountain ranges for several hours. It was actually nice to have a break and relax in the van for a while. We made several stops to take photos of winding roads through frozen wilderness, snow-covered lava fields, and a round sheep-sorting pen used during the traditional fall sheep roundup, called Réttir.

On our route to Akureyri, we took a short detour to visit Víðimýrarkirkja, a small, fantastical medieval-style church from the 12th century that's incredibly still in use today. Turf-covered, painted black, rusty red, and sage green, and enclosed by a green picket fence, this church sits in great contrast to its surroundings.

As the sun began setting, we came upon a sun-drenched scene of horses grazing along the side of the road. We hopped the fence into the field and were instantly encompassed by dozens of horses. Playing with Icelandic horses never gets old, probably because they're like puppies -- adorable, excited, ultra friendly, following you around tirelessly. A short while later, we sat on ice along the edge of a fast flowing river to photograph the sunset.

We continued on our drive for a couple more hours until we reached Akureyri, and ate dinner at a hopping restaurant in the center of town. Akureyri is the second largest city in Iceland, but a distant second, with a population of only 18,000 residents (versus ~200,000 in Reykjavik). Iceland's second largest city is smaller than my small suburban hometown in the US, which is strange to think about. A wall of clouds moved in during dinner, so the possibility of a night shoot was out. It was our first night in a long time without auroras, but that was fine by us -- we welcomed a quiet, early night.

Day 10

We awoke to a cloud-filled sky, but made our way to Goðafoss, the waterfall of the gods. Intense winds blasted mist relentlessly at our lenses, caking them in ice within seconds. It was nearly impossible to keep them clean long enough to take a single photograph. We took shots of the teal horseshoe-shaped falls from various vantage points, and then piled back into the van for our drive to the Mývatn region.

We stopped along the way to hike around the Skútustaðagígar pseudocraters, and a while later at a mesmerizing setting we were drawn to on the side of the road. A solitary tree was perched atop of a snowy mound in the center of a lake, with its intricate branches and a golden sky reflected on the glassy surface. It felt almost supernatural.

Our final destination of the day was the Hofði birch forest, where we went on a serene walk through snow-covered birch trees. As we ventured deeper into the forest, the peeling birch bark revealed rainbows of oranges and pinks beneath, now glistening in the sunlight. Shielded by the trees in the quiet forest, the world felt still, and it was a much-needed break from our hectic itinerary. Everyone also loved being surrounded by trees for the first time during the entire trip. Eventually, we came to the edge of a lake, the snowy landscape lit up in the color of a tangerine, and we stayed until the sun had set.

That night, we checked into our guesthouse, Vogafjós, a series of log buildings set on a sheep and cattle farm. We dined along a glass wall, which separated us from our dinner: cows. A couple dozen cows lined up in an indoor pen, within reach of our table.

After a quick nap, we headed out for a night shoot at Dimmuborgir. By the time we arrived at the lava fields, an aurora was already hovering above us in the sky. We wandered through a city of colossal black lava towers, arches, and caves to find an interesting composition that complemented the northern lights. A narrow trail had been packed down in several feet of snow, and Johnathan warned us not to stray from the path, so as to not ruin future photographs of the fresh, smooth powder. As the lights began to die down, we took advantage of the break and decided to move on to a new location. Our walk turned into a frantic run when an incredibly strong, fast-moving aurora came out of nowhere. The immense lava formations were now working against us, blocking the swirling green light from view. We raced to gain enough elevation, and finally set up a less-than-optimal composition, just so we could capture the lights before they faded again. Three hours and two locations later, we were on our way home.

As we were driving home, we came upon another tour group that had gotten one of their vans stuck in the snow. We offered a shovel and a push, but there wasn't any other way we could help, so they were still struggling when we left. Luckily, they had two vehicles, so they weren't stranded.