An Elusive Encounter at the Port of Hafnarfjörður
Earthshine reader —
It's me, Dazé, and I'm feeling for a change of pace.
The previous issue diverged slighly from the structure I've been employing, and I feel Earthshine should continue this trend of expanding its variety whenever the material asks for it. This way, it's more than just one pattern, over and over.
So, unlike its predecessors, this issue won't follow a walk nor will it feature a lot of photos. Instead, it will focus on a story. Why? Because I think it's a good one, and because … I don't have a lot of images to show.
What story, you ask? Well, at the beginning of the year, I had an elusive encounter at the Port of Hafnarfjörður. I owe this remarkable experience to my wife, my inner child, and — believe it or not — an influencer.
It was January 25, 2024. I was staying at my father's house in Reykjavik writing a short film and reworking my resume. My wife and I had spent the holidays there, right after the end of our 2-year stay in Japan. She had left for Paris a few weeks before to be with her family. We messaged daily.
One morning, I woke up to this:
I just saw this on Insta! If it's true, you have to go and take pics!
Below the message was an Instagram reel of an Icelandic influencer standing in Hafnarfjarðarhöfn. In front of her was no ordinary sight: a large humpback whale casually cruising on the surface, seemingly inches away. I was amazed. The influencer mentioned it had been there for a week (!!!).
As an Icelander, I can tell you this is rare. Unless you're a fisherman, the only practical way to see a whale up close is to sell one of your kidneys and go on a whale-watching boat — no guarantees, mind you. For a whale to come this close to land, it's either because it's lost or simply passing through.
So what was this fellow's deal? My narrative brain ignited: Could it be disoriented? No, the Port of Hafnafjörður is no labyrinth … Had it struck gold and found a krill bonanza all for itself? Maybe … Or could it be that I was overthinking it? Was this whale simply social, and appreciated the attention it was getting?
Hungry for answers, I skimmed through the Icelandic news sites; this was a big deal, and yet I hadn't heard one mention of it. Had this become a common occurrence? How long was I away for?! I found a couple of small articles published the week prior, which made me wonder: Is it still there? Right now?!
My wife kept me informed:
The influencer says she's going again today to see the whale, so it must be there now! You should go check it out! Ah, I would love to go!
That settled it; I had to find out, not just for me, but for her!
I jumped out of bed and shared the news with my old man. It's usually a challenge to get him to go out, let alone on a spontaneous adventure. This time, though, he agreed. I grabbed my camera, and we drove into the cold, overcast day.
On the way, he reminded me of a tragic whale incident that took place in his hometown on April 8, 1960: A total of 15 sperm whales beached themselves in Sandvík, a bay in Vopnafjörður, Northeast Iceland. As a kid, I was fascinated by this account; as an adult, I still am. Whales, such mysterious creatures …
As we drove into Hafjnafjörður, I noticed there wasn't much activity on the port; the scene was as ordinary as it could be. A sprinkle of doubts withered my spirit. Had I fallen for a scam? Had my wife confused the year? Or were we simply a day too late? It sure looked like the party was over. Nevertheless, I kept an open mind.
We parked near the port and stepped into the cold Atlantic breeze. I wore a coat and gloves, but the only thing protecting my Viking father was his everyday jacket and a thin hat oddly labelled "Bratz". Dad … I knew what this meant; in the back of my mind, a timer began to count down.
We walked into the port and scanned the surface … Nothing. I looked around and spotted two running cars parked by one end. Onlookers? I couldn't tell. I readied my camera, and prowled along the port, eyes darting around for any sign … And then, it happened: a loud, gush of air. I looked out and saw the back of a large entity emerge from the steel-blue water about 20 meters away. I turned to my dad and we both got nuts. I raised my camera, but the guest was gone. The only thing left were remnants of its apparition.
With our spirits rekindled, we hurried down the port following the whale's direction. A minute passed … And another. Suddenly, I heard the blowhole again. Oddly enough, the giant was nowhere to be seen. How hard can it be?! I spun around and found it cruising in the opposite direction, inches from the port. I aimed my camera at it but missed it again. Nei!
I signalled to my father and advanced until I ran out of concrete; how foolish of me to think I could anticipate its surfacing point … My dad and I glanced at each other and we knew we were thinking the same thing: Aren't we the two luckiest blokes in Iceland right now? Suddenly, the fellow popped up by a few moored ships. This time, my reflexes caught up with it.
At last! Evidence! My dad shot me a thumbs up and I noticed his nose turning red; time was running out. Just then, a young woman and her partner arrived. I couldn't tell if they were locals or not. Seeing us goggling across the port, she asked in flawless English:
Is it here?
She too had seen the influencer's reel. My dad didn't hesitate; he pointed toward the ships and yelled in his thick Icelandic accent:
Jes! Ower therr! Vi sow itt!
The couple lit up and we all surveilled the rippling pelagic coat. Moments later, the whale resurfaced, and the most heartfelt "Wow" I've ever heard bellowed across the port. I turned around and found the young woman stunned, tears crystallising down her icy cheeks. She wasn't exaggerating; I'm glad someone did it justice.
This went on for a while, and with each passing minute, more people arrived at the scene — to my ears, all tourists. I mentioned this to my old man and we couldn't help but chuckle at the fact that we were the only influenced locals.
The humpback continued to deliver to its ever-growing audience, cruising up and down the port in three to five-minute intervals. Sadly, it never got as close as it did to that influencer; no doubt her powers had affected it too. I had a telephoto lens in my bag but didn't want to miss a moment, so the 35mm prime stayed on.
Eventually, the redness of our noses extended to the cheeks, and my father began to shiver; the counter in the back of my mind had concluded. Before departing, I turned around and snapped a photo of the huddling crowd.
We left Hafnafjörður with a dumb smile and a lingering sense of wonder. What a strange morning it had been. Seeing a whale from dry land was something I never expected to do in my life, let alone on this random Thursday. What made the moment truly special, however, was sharing it with my dad. Thanks, inner child. Thanks, wife. And thank you, madame influencer — you lived up to your title.
As I write this, nine months have passed, and still, so many questions linger in my mind … I asked my wife to check with the influencer to see if there had been any more news on the whale. Well, news she had: The fellow stayed for a whole month (!!!) before taking to the blue.
But why? Why here, in Hafnafjörður? I guess I will never find out, just like I will never know what drove all those sperm whales to end their lives on the black sand beach of Sandvík on April 8, 1960.
… Once again, I find myself wonderstruck by life and all its wonderwork.
Until next time,
D