The waterfall is aesthetically without equal in Europe and the
backdrop offers the chance of an arresting photograph, especially as the
foreground gives a platform
on which to add
narrative. The waterfall itself is of little interest to me; it is
photographed thousands of times a day by good photographers with good
cameras. It must be used as part of the story, not the whole event.

The riddle is how to manage the distance between the camera and the
point of impact of the huge volumes of water that smash onto the ground.
To work too close
risks not just losing
perspective, but having spray, quickly rendering the camera inoperable.
To work further away is more practical, but then the distance
compression can dumb things down and lose the sense of immersion and
importantly the scale.

We now know our spot and our lens choice, but this was the first time
we had put it to the test in the snow, when Skogafoss becomes a
three-sided winter vortex; a
bit like a deep
freeze with the front door removed. It certainly requires a few hand
warmers and a load of towels to survive even 10 minutes.

Tourists started to arrive at around 9 am, which meant we were
wrapped before most people were up, but that is often the way in
Iceland. We had a small window
and we used it well.

This photograph should really be credited to the horse farmer who
finished off being absolutely drenched. They make them tough up in
Iceland; he didn’t complain
once and found the whole experience rather entertaining.

When I looked at this image for the first time on a big screen, I saw
the seagull soaring half way up the waterfall. I had no idea that it
was there at the time and I think
it lends further sense of scale to an extraordinary location. That is pure luck.