An Icelandic Adventure
By: Jonah Eckels-Galbreath
“I’m going on an adventure!” That oft repeated quote of one Bilbo Baggins of Bag End, may very well be my birding mantra, but it took on a new meaning this past June when I undertook a journey to a land of ice and fire, to a place that I dreamed of long ago. It’s a land of dramatic scenery, of glaciers and lava, waterfalls and stone—a land forged by volcanoes and ridden with magic. My summer adventure took me to the stomping ground of vikings and the doorstep to the Arctic, all the way to Iceland.
Lying only a six hour flight away, one can depart on a random summer evening from Chicago and awake the next day in the land of the Sagas. My merry band on this summer trip consisted not of vikings, dwarves, or wizards, but of my partner and my in-laws. Two of this number considered themselves birders, the other two, spouses with good humor and patience. We arrived travel-weary, but not seeking to waste precious light, we set forth under the watch of the midnight sun, ready for a grand adventure.
Our journey truly began on the Snæfellsnes Peninsula in a tiny cottage overlooking a small fjӧrd and an arrow-shaped peak. It was here, we became acquainted with the spirit of Iceland (and its birds). Arctic Terns welcomed us with their raucous calls and aerial antics. Our neighbors were a pair of Rock Ptarmigans, who croaked at our arrival, hidden though they were amongst the rocky scenery. We took our morning coffee with Common Redshanks, while a neighborhood watch of whimbrels and godwits escorted a bewildered Short-eared Owl off the premises. There at Dís Cottages, our alarm clocks were snipe, and Redwings sang us lullabies.
The view from Dís Cottages.
Like all good adventures, we of course set forth from our hobbit hole, for there was much to see and do. While on the Peninsula, we beheld Sperm Whales before they dove to great depths; we became entangled in a German tour group while looking at oreo-colored Razorbills and a trio of Thick-billed Murres; and we traversed this spit of land with pitstops at gargantuan craters, basalt arches, and black sand beaches. Over a supper of loaded baked potatoes (compliments of our very own traveling chef, Jeannie), we soaked in this little corner of Iceland, a place that captured a piece of our hearts all too quickly.
The next day we set our course north to Akureyri, Húsavík and a lake of flies. To reach our destination, we drove through a postcard of dramatic cliffs, braided rivers, and misty highlands. From our base near Akureyri (rhymes with actuary), we enjoyed a dip in geothermal baths and a visit from a tiny sprite of a bird called a Goldcrest. North of Húsavík, we firmly planted ourselves on a cliff’s precipice, standing nearly eye to eye with nesting fulmars. All the while, puffins waddled into rocky burrows like clownish dwarves. A trip to Lake Mývatn brought clouds of the promised flies, but also rapids of Harlequin Ducks and an elven grove of birch, in which a mischievous Icelandic Wren entranced us with their song. If the Peninsula was our hobbit hole, the north felt like our unexpected journey—a place of trolls and elves, bubbling mud pots and lava field labyrinthes—a place of magic.
All too soon, we found ourselves heading south, and slowly but surely to the end of our journey. With our backs to legends we arrived in Reykjavík. We squeezed more adventure out of our long road home with a tourist tramp down to the capital city’s rainbow road and a delectable food tour with an Icelandic actor named Mímir. With full bellies and hearts, we reminisced, we spoke fondly, and we slowly came to terms with the end. So one last time under the midnight sun, we traded tales, swapping memories of a week spent in fellowship with each other and the spirits of Iceland. And like Bilbo, we arrived home changed—quite content but a tad queer. For our Icelandic adventure served as a reminder of just how wide the world is after all.
Trip Report: https://ebird.org/tripreport/539153
Black-headed Gulls in Reykjavík.
Note: This story was first published in the Missouri Birding Society’s The Bluebird in September 2026.
