Sjómannadagurinn Reeled Me in Like the Pisces I Am
Earthshine reader —
It's me, Dazé.
No, you're not hallucinating. Yes, this is a new Earthshine transmission, the first one in … 13 months.
Coincidentally, this is issue 13, which I happen to be writing at 13 hours. You're not superstitious, are you?
Look, it's been too long. I admit it. If there were such a thing as a newsletter license, I'd have lost it. But in my defence, I did give a heads-up in my other newsletter, Moonquake. Besides, good things come to those who wait, right?
I needed a break. Breaks can be productive. This one allowed me to reevaluate this newsletter and come back focused and … fecund.
That's right, I'm here to clear the digital dust and cyberwebs, and share some breaking news and a walk I took last week.
Last week? Wait a minute, does that mean …
Yes — I'm no longer cameraless!
If you're a Moonquake reader, you may remember that I sold my camera some time ago. How long exactly? I counted the agony: 640 days!
A photographer, without a camera, for almost two years? Impossible!
Tell me about it. But it's true, and I survived to tell the tale.
Out of curiosity, which camera claimed your heart/budget?
A Nikon Zf, along with two prime lenses: a 40mm and a 28mm.
This is my first time using a Nikon, and all I can say is I'm one elated camper.
Good on you! And what does this mean for Earthshine?
So. Much. Good.
Firstly, most of the photo walks I've featured so far took place a year or two ago. Recalling thoughts and feelings from one distant walk every so often? I can handle that. But issue after issue? That fosters friction. Having a camera means I can take a photo walk tomorrow morning and begin writing it in the afternoon.
Another thing that made my workflow unsustainable was the post-processing. Up until now, I've had to edit every photo from scratch. No curves. No shortcuts. On top of that, I developed the bad habit of applying the "dodging and burning" technique to everything, which led to countless extra hours of work.
To address this issue, I did something I've been fantasising about for the longest time: create a custom image profile (i.e. my own in-camera preset/LUT). This way, when it comes time to develop, my photos are 80% ready to go.
Good riddance! What prompted you to act now?
Nikon's "Imaging Recipes" system. It took me a couple of weeks to achieve the results I wanted, but now my recipe is pretty much flying.
So, all your photos moving forward will be based on this recipe?
Yep, including the ones in this issue.
Are you saying I won't have to wait another 13 months for the next issue?
Correct again. Earthshine "2.0" is here to prevent that from recurring.
… That's it. That's the big news I wanted to share with you.
Now, onto the walk.
Picture a sunny day by the port. The sea laps … The seagulls mew …
It was Sunday, June 7, 2026. In Iceland, this day is known as Sjómannadagurinn, literally "The Fishermen's Day". Overseas (pun intended), it might go by other names: "Seaman's Holiday", "Sea Holiday", "Day of the Seafarer", or "Sea Day".
Last year, I was consulting the bank holidays, and out of the various festivities, Sjómannadagurinn caught my eye reeled me in like the Pisces I am. It hit me then and there: Dazé, have you even been? Your wife, she definitely hasn't. Fix this!
And so I made a mental note to add it to my calendar, forgetting that mental notes don't work on me.
… The day I recalled the note was a day too late. Sjómannadagurinn had sailed off and wouldn't return for another 12 moons — djöfullinn!
My wife shook it off, but my feathers stayed ruffled. I grabbed a red marker and marked next year's date in my planner — bolded, italicised, underlined, circled, with glitter, cute stickers, and other nonsense I found in my wife's stationery. Oh, and I also stapled it for good measure.
It worked! This year, we made it, and I'm here to tell you all about it.
The My plan was simple:
- 11:45 — Arrive at Gamla höfnin ("The Old Harbour"), the place where I assumed (!!) it was going to be.
- 12:00 — Circle the harbour and check out the event's attractions, which I assumed (!!) would take about 30 minutes.
- 12:55 – Return home just in time for the men's French Open final, which I assumed (!!) would be over before a family dinner party.
The execution was another story …
Upon arriving in Reykjavíkurhöfn, I found it desolate. Not even a tourist? But how? How indeed. I don't know where I pulled my assumption from (yes, probably there), but Sjómannadagurinn was very much elsewhere.
What's worse, the only thing there were these ominous whalers. Whaling, the one type of fishing I did not come to celebrate. I felt like Harry Potter when he took a wrong turn while using the Floo Network, ending at Borgin and Burkes, a dark magic shop located in a seedy shopping district near the wondrous Diagon Alley.
After some Internet dependency/reassurance, we learned that the event was happening somewhere further down the port, so we got moving …
The next pier looked more promising, but this wasn't it either.
On the bright side, an army of overpriced whale-watching boats pulled into the port, breathing some life into it. Whale watching — that I can tolerate. (By the way, whoever came up with the idea of marking the boat with "WHALE HELLO THERE", feel free to adopt me.)
Another positive sign was the maritime flags strung across some of the boats. We were getting closer. I could feel it. My mantra thus became: Follow the flags!
Pier by pier, the flags, through their seemingly interconnected strings, like one big wave stretching into the horizon, proved themselves as a reliable guide.
It turned out that the celebration was being held at the outermost — and biggest — part of the port, synchronously called Grandi.
Quelle patate !
In French, that translates to "What a potato!", and it's what my wife calls me when the fool in me blooms.
Yes, we had made it to the right place. But something was off:
Where was everyone? All the news reports I saw growing up always showed Sjómannadagurinn teeming, the very reason why my parents never took my brother and me. 20 years later, was this all the crowd it could muster?
What made things even more bizarre was that the presenter, who appropriately wore an oilskin that still hurts my eyes, had to rely on his phone to announce the "packed schedule ahead", and did so as if addressing a crowd of 500.
Unable to sustain this odd atmosphere, I looked around and noticed some children, all running in the same direction …
The excitement led through this makeshift offshoot and converged in an enclosure purposefully — and thematically — assembled for the occasion using the staple utensil of Icelandic ports: insulated fish bins. I started counting them, but my wife ushered me onwards.
At the end was a sandbox like no other:
A DIY crafting station, stacked with all the tools and materials an inspired young blood might need to let their creativity fly: sawed timber, cork stoppers, bottle caps, worn pieces of rope, paper, twine …
(For a moment, I had the daunting suspicion that the organisers had hired elves from Santa's workshop to give the impression that kids still care about the outdoors and making stuff. I need to work on my cynicism, don't I?)
I considered building something myself, but the image of a grown man fighting over a pair of scissors with an eight-year-old convinced me otherwise.
The end result of this creative bonanza?
Unsurprisingly, most were boats, but there were a few wheeled vehicles too. Out of the dozens I spotted, no two were the same.
I moved on, trailing a family who seemed to know exactly where to head next:
This attraction reminded me of something I discovered in Japan: kingyo sukui (金魚すくい) or "goldfish scooping", a game in which kids guide goldfish into a bowl using an extremely delicate paper scoop known as poi. In contrast, these tubs were all void of life, except maybe bacteria.
To capture this photo, I climbed onto … — I can't even describe it; a stack of a black receptacle thingy made out of hard plastic? — that had been repurposed as seats for idling adults.
While up there, I spotted a quieter station:
Likely the first time these two were allowed to watercolour to their heart's content all over a mirror and its frame? My parents certainly never issued me an invitation to do so.
On closer inspection, is the girl on the right writing my name on the mirror? … Most likely, yes.
(Incidentally, notice the message written on the left of the pallet? That's the Icelandic form of "Hey!", written with one of our oddities: Æ/æ.)
Behind the mirrors was a whole different ball game:
Behold … "buoyball"? Ingredients: a fish bin, crab traps, marker buoys, plastic drums, and truck tyres. (That's a series of words I never expected to weave together without sounding insane.)
As the boys cleared the crab traps, the girl continued playing by picking up the buoys and throwing them into the depository. This one's going places …
But buoyball didn't end there:
These independent crab traps had been placed some distance away and flipped upside down. Surplus? Decoration? Regardless, they weren't neglected.
Among the other attractions I saw but was too present to photograph, we have:
- Ziplining over water
- Soap bubble making from a large pot
- Police officers lifting kids onto their motorcycles
- A rideable rotating car
- Pre-teens singing "Part of Your World" inside a stage truck
But to witness the most anticipated programme of the day, I had to return to the main stage …
There, the cast of the senior high school musical Barbie sang and danced to modern pop songs. The group was led by singer and actress Sunneva Rán Steingrímsdóttir. Backing her were two phenomenal nautical-clad dancers.
As I scanned my surroundings, I had two realisations.
- So, arriving here at half past noon is considered "early"?
- At least Sjómannadagurinn remains alive and well.
Sunneva popped this thought bubble by dropping her melody and addressing the smallest members in the audience, which gave me an idea for a composition:
It was during the build-up of the last song. The three young ladies invited the children to dance along when the drop came. They certainly knew a thing or two about influence, because all the kids sprang into movement.
After their performance, the presenter took to the stage with his fire-orange, retina-scything oilskin, and reminded everyone that Brim (a seafood company and no doubt the main sponsor) had cooked 1,000 litres (!!) of fish soup. In his words:
For the love of God, help yourself to some soup!
I checked the time: 13:00. Not only had we thrown the food court idea out the window, but we were also missing the start of the Roland-Garros final. But it didn't matter. The sun was out, the port was merry, and free lunch awaited us …
The line wasn't that bad. A minute or two tops.
Inside the tent — staff? volunteers? — distributed Brim merch, including caps, pool bags, chalk sets, and water bottles.
But most important of all, they served one of the best fish soups I've tasted:
The cups even had a neat list with the ingredients printed on the side, something I failed to capture in this photo — I remember there was some ginger.
The soup was so good that I pulled an Oliver Twist on the tent ladies. Their eyes said it all: 1,000 litres aren't going to drink themselves.
This time, I accepted one of the hundreds of chocolate chip cookies in stock, which I want to believe were hand-pressed by 1,000 loving sailor wives, but worry they were instead amassed with a single trip to Costco.
As I slurped down the remainder of my second serving, I heard a piercing scream. I handed the cup to my wife, turned a corner, and saw this:
Sea jumping had always been a highlight in the TV reports of Sjómannadagurinn.
This year, the organisers had prepared three launchpads: a small trampoline, a large one, and a scaffolding on two floors.
There was also a sponsor (Hoppland), lending out wetsuits to anyone brave enough to confront the Icelandic sea …
Unlike the other attractions, this one wasn't only intended for kids. I saw more than one adult succumb to the temptation, and why wouldn't they? Nurishing your inner child is important — mine was certainly being spoiled.
Although the weather was great, this is Iceland, where summer temperatures fluctuate between 10–20°C (50–68°F). The wetsuits definitely helped, but the ultimate remedy against the cold wasn't made out of neoprene …
Once again, the fish bins proved amusingly useful. A hose led into them with hot water, allowing the children — and the odd, slightly embarrassed adult — to stay warm between the cannonballs.
Opposite these hot tubs, towering over the pier, was my next destination:
I'm like a bee to a flower when it comes to unusual vantage points, and this imposing trawler promised a full bloom.
You may be expecting at least one image of the inside — the canteen, the captain's quarters, the helm — but I got nothing. This bee was too excited to pollinate:
I must have been glued to the camera's eyepiece, because it took my wife several shirt tugs before I turned to her and followed her index finger:
Members of Björgunarsveitinn ("The Rescue Team", a volunteer SAR squad operating across Iceland), nonchalantly cruised into the pier, making sure everyone was safe. This is the nectar I came for!
Fearing I was letting more scenes slip by, I scattered to the other side of the boat and captured another trilogy of heads:
*Sigh* … If only Tinker Bell would answer my birthday candle wishes one of these years and shower me with her pixie dust.
Birds, I hope you realise how fortunate you are.
And on that note:
This falcon kite caught my attention, fluttering in the Atlantic breeze. Is this the scarecrow equivalent of ports? Is there such a thing as a "scaregull"?!
(Random thought: This allure for unique perspectives must be one reason I love ambling through a city like Tokyo. Metropolises tend to offer a rich pedestrian infrastructure via bridges, overpasses, underpasses, balconies, rooftops, towers, etc. For a photographer, these accessibility networks feel like a playground. They provide a special sense of freedom and escapism, the kind that augmented reality devices and some video games chase.)
I wanted to stay longer and explore more viewpoints, but something intervened:
A PA system answered the question on everyone's mind: Björgunarsveitin was about to perform a search and rescue simulation at sea.
I had seen something like this once before on a quirky Christmas trip to Ireland, years ago. This time, I could also photograph it. Sure — count me in!
I rushed to the exit and discovered I wasn't the only one sold on the proposal:
I don't know if Björgunarsveitin does this every year, but judging by the general zeal, it didn't seem like it.
Luckily, the queue moved fast. After all, the event was imminent. No time to lose. Run! Secure the front row!! Hurry!!!
*Rushing footsteps* … *Heavy breathing* …
Phew! And with time to spare to see the team speed out of the pier and drop two orange figures into the sea.
Within seconds, the heroes arrived:
What a soundscape they brought (!!) The way the rotor blades roared, disturbing the surface, sweeping it in all directions … The photo doesn't do it justice.
In the distance, you can see two of Reykjavík's biggest landmarks, Harpan and Hallgrímskirkja, no doubt thanking their architects for such a height.
Before long, the rescue swimmer descended, and one by one, the volunteers were hoisted out of the water.
And just like that, the demo was over …
But the helicopter wasn't the only thing that had flown by: 15:20?!
As everyone left the wharf, I checked my step count: over 13K. No wonder I was feeling my legs. Some of my fellow explorers showed similar signs:
Despite the mileage, I felt like I had only just scratched the surface of Sjómannadagurinn. I yearned to stay, but since we wanted to catch the last sets and arrive on time to the gathering, we decided to call it a day.
Fortunately for me, the discoveries continued until the end:
These windsocks reminded me of another Japanese festivity staple called koinobori (鯉のぼり) or "carp streamers", which can be seen in abundance every May 5, on kodomo no hi (こどもの日) or "Children's Day".
In contrast, I never saw anyone tame a koinbori in Japan. Here however …
… I know.
This windsock wielder was fixed to a pole, which I believe qualifies him as a sway pole acrobat. And what a spectacle he delivered with such a (seemingly) simple stunt. My abs hurt just watching him twist and turn on that contraption …
If you look closely, you'll notice he used a pair of earphones. I wonder what was keeping him going. Classic rock? Hard techno? Rap? It's likely, but I secretly hope he was listening to the soundtrack of Avatar: The Last Airbender.
I took 112 photos of him in 112 epic poses, but chose this one because of the boy riding horseback (yes, that's how high the pole stretched!).
This photo perfectly encapsulates my overarching emotion from the outing: wonder. I may not have participated in the kid activities, but this whole time, my inner child was at the wheel, and it showed: starry eyes, dumb smile, impulsiveness, tantrums, dragging my wife back to the same spots …
Taking a more mature standpoint, I must say that my favourite part of Sjómannadagurinn is how, for a day, the world rewinds, and activities of centuries past are embraced like the latest tech. There's a simple yet timeless quality to each one. They exude humility, invite creativity, and applaud resourcefulness — and what better time to remind mankind of such qualities than now.
We left Grandi at 15:45, almost two (!!) hours later than scheduled. No regrets.
To top it off, as I started the car, raindrops began hitting the windshield. I'm a screenwriter, and I orchestrate charms like this all the time, but having it orchestrated for me, after such a day … that was something.
16:10. That's the time I turned on the TV and watched Flavio Cobolli secure the fourth set against Alexander Zverev. But as the fifth and final set was starting, it was time to leave for my mother's. The sacrifices one has to make for family, eh?
D