Sólheimasandur Plane Wreck
Minutes Before Sundown
Sólheimasandur, Iceland
My fiancé and I walked the two and a half miles to get to the Sólheimasandur plane wreckage with our scarves so high up our faces that it was a wonder that we could still see. The moon moved overhead, crawling out of the mountains behind us and into the cloudless sky of the North Atlantic Ocean. The morning was brutal all the way up until the early afternoon. Luckily, the evening was pleasant, save the short gales from the southern coast. As lovely as it all were, our time out here was limited, and it was advised that we quarter ourselves in somewhere warm and dry as soon as we can. Predicting which way the wind blew its cold breath was akin to calculating how a flame would dance — damn near impossible.
Despite the misery brought by Old Man Winter, the chill in the air was part of the bargain. After all, I was determined to get my picture. Surprisingly, there was a bus that shuttled visitors from the parking lot to the site. I considered jumping in for the ride, but I've walked this path last summer, and I'll be damned if I don't experience it in the winter. So we opted for the scenic route.
We found ourselves completely alone with nothing but the sounds of the waves breaking and the soft crunching of the snow beneath our feet. The area felt familiar despite the limited visibility. The walk had cost us an hour of daylight but rewarded us with a chance to glimpse a soft sapphire sunset. The likes of which that the never-ending snowfall obstructed during the past few days. We lingered for a moment on top of a hill and released a sigh of relief. We could finally see the silhouette of the wreckage blending into the horizon. Snow blanketed the area around it. Still, portions of the black sand underneath remained visible via the footprints that led to and around the plane.
I was delighted, shivering, and grateful that the weather cooperated, even if it was just for a night. I didn't accurately plan how I was going to photograph my subject. Only that I wanted to capture the emotion of that starry night. For half an hour, Lily and I played around the wreckage. Standing on the wings, the ground, inside the fuselage, the nose, the tail, and everywhere in between. We grew tired and frustrated, our excitement nearing the end of its course. Neither of us giving in until I got the picture I wanted. So for another half-hour, we continued but eventually called it quits. Perhaps this was one of those things that was best remembered by not documenting it.
As we settled on leaving, I snapped one last picture in the hopes of capturing that "perfect" shot. However, that wasn't the case. All I got was a blurry image filled with chaotic lines and a headache. We packed our things and made the miserable two and a half-mile journey back. Thinking I got nothing good in my camera, I scrolled through it, getting visibly upset picture after picture. Then I smiled because there it was, taken minutes after I began. Simple, soft, and was far more satisfying than I what hoped to have. I laughed at myself, shaking off the comical nature I portrayed by pursuing the "perfect" photograph when something significant was already captured.
Oh, what a thing.
Ad Astra
Sólheimasandur, Iceland