The riverbed frame, head-on

Skógafoss drops sixty metres off the old sea cliff in a single unbroken curtain, and the flat gravel bed of the Skógá river lets you walk straight at it — no fences, no platforms, just a widening cone of spray that decides how close you get. The head-on composition is the reason everyone comes: two small figures against a wall of falling water.

Spray is the whole craft here. On sunny days it throws a rainbow — often a double — that arcs exactly where you want the couple; the sun needs to be behind you, so middle hours work better than golden hour for the rainbow itself. The trade is that the closer you go, the wetter the lens: your photographer will work in bursts, wiping between frames, and a change of jacket for the couple is worth carrying. Early morning has the riverbed near-empty; by ten there is a queue of people wanting the same axis.

Don't skip the stairs on the eastern side: 527 steps to a platform over the lip, where the river bends out of the highlands and the coastal plain runs flat to the sea. And ten minutes' walk east along the cliffline, Kvernufoss hides in its own mossy gorge — a waterfall you can walk behind, usually with nobody there.