I had read about Icelandic horses while planning the trip and had been keen to see them for myself. Along the way, I photographed them whenever I had the chance.
They were small enough to make me wonder if they were ponies, with long manes and shaggy winter coats. Apparently, they descend from horses brought here in the Viking era and have kept their distinctive traits for over a thousand years, with very little mixing with other breeds.
On my April trip, on the way from Þingvellir to Geysir, I came across horses behind a pasture fence right beside the road. This was no tourist farm. They were simply grazing on wet ground beside the road. To me, they were the Icelandic horses I had wanted so much to see; here, they were probably just an everyday sight. As I took my time photographing them, another car pulled over and people got out. Someone looking intently at something can make even an ordinary spot seem worth a look. I suspect that was what happened here.
In a pasture near my accommodation in Flúðir. I had left the hotel early, but the sight of horses in the morning sun made me stop and take photographs. There was something almost divine about them.
Taken at a farm on the east coast in August. The two photographs below are from the same place. The horses were used to tourists and let us stroke them.
I took this photograph shortly before reaching my accommodation in Flúðir. The horses were standing on a small rise in a pasture. There was something lovely about their silhouettes.
I also took a few photographs through the bus window in August, but none turned out well enough to include here.
