I had been to Vestrahorn in southeast Iceland once before, but only in the pitch dark in the middle of the night. We were there hoping to see the Aurora Borealis, but unfortunately, the aurora wasn’t on our schedule. We caught only the faintest hint of the color, and our cameras were not able to capture it.
This time, I returned for the landscape itself: the light, the ocean, and the spectacular mountains rising beyond the black-sand beach.
As I walked along the shoreline, watching the tide move in and out, I began to see the composition I wanted. I had thought about returning to this beach for years, and now I could finally photograph the scene I had imagined: the reflection of Vestrahorn in the wet sand, with the edge of the incoming tide creating a leading line toward the mountains. A little late-afternoon light and a few clouds would be nice, too.
As the tide came in, I splashed through the freezing water, confident that my waterproof boots would keep my feet warm and dry.
No need to worry.
I set up my tripod and camera and began to shoot the scene, the frigid water swirling around my boots. Then I began to feel something suspiciously wet inside them.
Still, I remained focused on the task at hand.
For nearly twenty minutes, I watched the water, the reflections, and the changing light until everything finally came together. I had my photograph.
I also had two nearly frozen feet.
Thankfully, my wool socks helped. Even now, though, I get cold toes just looking at this image.
I’ll always think of this image and the memory as simply “Frozen Toes.”
