A Walk with Wildlife

8 – 10 May 2026

If a child were raised by fire and ice, waves and basalt, barrenness and life – well, here is one. And look what they made of it!

Iceland is a volcanic eruption, or to be exact, many eruptions that have collectively punched a hole through our optimism that Earth is stable. It grew, and is still growing, where where two continental plates pull apart and a magma hotspot rears an impatient head. To stand on Iceland is to peer into the primeval, to visit a workshop where land is an artwork in progress.

The volcanoes are the chief craftsmen, and their names ring bells around the world: Surtsey for raising new land, Eyjafjallajökull for shutting down European airspace, Snæfellsjökull for inspiring Jules Verne. More chillingly, there is Laki to remind us that humans are not as powerful as we pretend to be. In the 18th century it dumped 120 million tonnes of sulphur dioxide into the atmosphere and sent global temperatures into freefall. A repeat today would be catastrophic.

It is hardly surprising that the geology is now an international tourist attraction. But there are others, non-human and busy, who seek this bizarre place.

The plover has come to sing away the snow, to sing away sadness; it’s in her power. She has told me the curlew is coming soon, and sunshine in valleys and fields in flower.

She has taken me to task for my failings, for slacking off and sleeping too soundly. She has told me to stay awake and labor and, in good hope, welcome summer roundly.

So says a 19th century Icelandic poem by Páll Ólafsson. The golden plover has a special place in Iceland’s calendar – the signpost of spring, celebrated each year in the press as she arrives to sprint in stylish gold-flecked feathers over harsh volcanic rock. These magical little birds travel up the Atlantic to nest in Iceland’s nightless summers, but they are not alone in enjoying the almost nightless north.

Black-tailed godwit

Wheatear

Common seal

So there is life amongst the chaos of violent construction. Lichens and mosses experiment with dried lava fields and redwings sing sweetly on jagged rocks. There is a freshness and impatience to it, as if ecosystems do not have time to wait for the island to quieten down.

The wise do take those opportunities. For who knows when the volcanoes will wake again?