The pull-off on the pass road, over the whole fjord

On the way down from Fjarðarheiði, where the road turns back on itself above the town, there are marked pull-offs looking straight down the fjord. From up here Seyðisfjörður reads as what it is: a line of coloured roofs on a flat strip of land at the head of a long blue inlet, with mountain walls a thousand metres high on both sides and thin waterfalls running down them the whole way.

This is the frame that explains the place, and it is the one people forget to make because they drive past it on the way to the church. Put the couple large on the grass shoulder with the fjord dropping away behind, and use a longer lens so the village stays legible rather than becoming a smudge. Turn the other way and the pass road itself, with its hairpins and the waterfall chain beside it, is a second composition.

Light comes down the fjord from the east in the morning and along it in the evening. Summer evenings are the strongest: the sun lands on the far wall and lights the waterfalls while the town below sits in shadow. In winter there are only a few hours of low daylight, and the same view arrives blue and white with snow on the walls — spectacular when the road is open, which it often is not.

Which is the caution. Fjarðarheiði is a high pass, exposed, and closed by snow and wind for stretches of the winter; it is also the only road into the town. Check road conditions before setting out, and never treat a marginal forecast as worth trying. At the pull-off itself: park fully off the carriageway, this road carries lorries and the ferry traffic; keep everyone on the inside of the barrier or the shoulder, well back from the drop; and expect strong, gusting wind at the turns even when the town below is calm.