Where it all Began

Where it all began

I remember it like it was yesterday. January 12, 1999—my first-ever photography workshop. I was 27, excited and terrified at the same time, and it was about to be the start of something huge. I had spent weeks planning this five-day road trip through Iceland’s South Coast, mapping out every stop from Reykjavík to Höfn. Waterfalls, black sand beaches, glaciers… and hopefully the aurora if we got lucky.

I loaded up my trusty Toyota Land Cruiser with gear and tripods and film—this was before digital, so everything had to be captured on film. It was early in the morning when I drove out to Keflavík Airport to pick up my clients. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I had this feeling that something special was about to happen.

When I arrived, I stood by the arrivals gate, holding up a little sign that read “Iceland Photography Workshop”. It was a little homemade thing, and I’ll admit I felt a bit awkward holding it, but it wasn’t long before the group started to appear. First, a father and son from Germany, then a newlywed couple from Canada. They were all ready for an adventure, and I couldn’t help but feel a wave of excitement wash over me.

After a quick round of introductions, we piled into the Land Cruiser. I could already feel the connection starting to build. “We’re not just taking photos,” I told them. “We’re chasing light and letting the land tell its story.” And with that, we were off.

The drive down the South Route is something else—snow-covered roads, the ocean on one side, mountains on the other. The scenery is so raw and wild that it feels like you’re driving through a dream. We made our first stop at Seljalandsfoss. It was just starting to catch the light, and I showed them how to frame it from behind. It’s one of those shots that I always remember. The water, the mist, the golden sun just peeking through—it felt magical.

From there, we went to Skógafoss, where I had them try long exposures. There’s something about the power of that waterfall that makes you stop and think about nature’s force. I remember explaining shutter speeds and watching them get more comfortable with their cameras. They were getting it. They were feeling it.

That evening, we reached Vík. The beach was just as stunning as I remembered—black sand stretching out to the horizon, the Reynisdrangar sea stacks rising from the ocean. We spent ages down there, each of us exploring different perspectives, trying to find our own way of capturing the scene. As we stood there, the sunset lit everything up with a fiery glow. It was one of those moments when you could tell everyone was in sync, just feeling the beauty of it all.

That night, we stayed in a small guesthouse, and over a hot bowl of lamb stew, we talked about the day—what we’d learned, what we’d captured. As we sat there, the aurora started to appear in the sky. Green, purple, like something out of a dream. We rushed outside to try to photograph it, our hands freezing in the cold, but no one cared. It was one of those perfect moments.

For the next few days, we kept heading east. We went to Vatnajökull, where I had them practice shooting the glaciers in a way that would show the texture and light. We stopped at Jökulsárlón, the glacial lagoon, and I remember the way the icebergs looked—silent, still, and so incredibly blue. It was hard to leave that place, but we had more to capture, more to experience.

By the end of the workshop, we were in Höfn. Cameras full, heads full of memories, and hearts full of stories. We took one last group photo, all of us standing against the backdrop of Höfn’s snow-capped peaks, our faces frozen with smiles.

Then came the long drive back to Reykjavík. I remember thinking how much the group had changed in just five days. They were now seeing the world differently—looking for light, angles, stories in everything around them. I drove with the convoy, the car full of chatter, jokes, and the occasional reflective silence as we passed through snow-covered landscapes and small towns.

When we finally pulled into Reykjavík, the night had fallen, and the aurora was still faintly visible in the sky. I parked the Land Cruiser, turned to them, and said, “You’ve all been amazing. I hope these memories stay with you, not just as photos, but as moments.”

And that was it. Everyone said their goodbyes and headed off to their flights, and I sat in the Land Cruiser for a moment. I was exhausted, but I felt something new. Something had shifted. This wasn’t just a job anymore. It was the beginning of something bigger.

I started the engine, pulled out into the quiet streets, and looked up at the stars. This trip—that first workshop—was where it all began.