The striking Barrow’s Goldeneye is resident in Iceland, Greenland, parts of eastern Canada and Pacific north America. It must be difficult to miss them at Lake Mývatn, since this was pretty much the default duck of my four-day visit. The locations of the previous three posts were probably the best in which to get reasonably close to them.

This Icelandic specialty is slightly larger than Common Goldeneye with a clearly different head profile, that being longer and triangular with a higher forehead and flatter crown. Breeding males (pictured below) exhibit a deep purple gloss on the head, with a white, crescent-shaped face patch between eye and bill. A line of white “windows” on the wings is another stand-out diagnostic. Females are predominantly grey-toned with rich brown heads and a mostly orange-yellow bill. Drakes are notably territorial.

These ducks thrive here on Mývatn’s abundant food supplies of insects, molluscs, crustaceans and aquatic vegetation. Since there are no large trees in the tundra landscape, such as Common Goldeneye prefer for nesting in hollows, Barrow’s typically favour laval fissures and other suitable cavities in the ground, or even buildings. After breeding these birds may relocate to separate moulting grounds, then in winter they move to other, non-frozen inland and coastal waters.

Further more notable regional ducks the above noted food resources support are Scaup, Common Scoter, Red-breasted Merganser and Long-tailed Duck; while the Swans here are all Whoopers. I recorded the first three of those in one place on 15th, when to complete the day (after Laxárdalur and the visitor centre) I visited Sigurgeirs Bird Museum on a large peninsula in the lake’s north-eastern section. Along one side of the access road there were pools in the tundra that offered good viewing, while the other side looked over the lake to the south.

• Scaup – a fairly common, migratory breeding species in Iceland that mostly winters in the British Isles and north-west Europe.
• Common Scoter – Lake Mývatn hosts around 80 per cent of Iceland’s breeding population of this wide-ranging sea duck. Drakes return to the coast in mid-summer to moult, while females remain for longer to rear young.
• Red-breasted Merganser – a widespread breeder that particularly thrives around Mývatn. The Icelandic population is part of a larger migratory group that includes birds from eastern Greenland and the British Isles. Small numbers may winter on non-frozen waters but the majority migrate southward.
• Whooper Swan – a well-established Icelandic breeding species with a growing population of 43,000 individuals and 3 – 4000 breeding pairs. Some may winter in the southern parts of Mývatn that do not freeze due to thermally heated water sources, but most depart for the British Isles and north-west Europe.

In addition to the breeding plumage aspect of this trip, the cause for evolution was further served by being able to witness the seasonal antics of birds I am more used to seeing at other times of year. Everywhere I trod the bird-scape seemed infused with amorous and procreative intent. The air was full of the various noisy calls of territorial Redshank, and the haunting sound of drumming Snipe. And at intervals breeding groups of Black-tailed Godwit, of which there is an Icelandic sub-species, would announce themselves in their rich summer colouration (pictured below). But those waders are all resident year round in Great Britain of course, so perhaps the most apt example was hearing the song post calls of male Redwing.

I based myself at the excellent Vogar Travel Service, a hostel and camp site close to Mývatn’s north-eastern shore. The shared, self-catering facilities here met my needs very well and there is an adequate supermarket in the nearby village of Reykjahlíð. Iceland is of course notoriously expensive due to it’s high economic level, but not as costly as visiting Norway. Having brought some of my own food and stocked up with perishables in Akureyri, I used the local store mainly for lunch-time sandwiches, that worked out at £7-ish a time. There is also a Pizzeria and fish and chip shop here at around £15 a meal.

The locality is dominated by the brooding presence of Hverfjall (slide show below), one of the world’s largest high tephra explosion craters at 396 metres (1300 ft) in height and around a kilometre in diameter. In volcanology tephra means fragmented material of any size ejected during an eruption that settles on the ground. The imposing black ash cone of this natural wonder was created in a single, massive event dated to 2500 BC. Much of the surrounding area is also still covered in the same deposits. A hiking trail runs around the complete rim of this feature, but in the time available and being asthmatic I thought better of the steep climb.

The species list for this trip, including birds seen only during my stop-over in Akureyri (in italics) on 12th, and impacted by having binoculars for just half the time, is: Red-throated Diver, Slavonian Grebe, Whooper Swan, Greylag Goose, Mallard, Wigeon, Shelduck, Scaup, Tufted Duck, Barrow’s Goldeneye*, Harlequin Duck*, Long-tailed Duck, Common Scoter, Common Eider, Red-breasted Merganser, Rock Ptarmigan*, Oystercatcher, Lapwing, Ringed Plover, Turnstone, Golden Plover, Snipe, Curlew, Whimbrel, Black-tailed Godwit, Redshank, Red-necked Phalarope, Arctic Skua, Great Black-backed Gull, Lesser Black-backed Gull, Black-headed Gull, Little Gull, Arctic Tern, Skylark, Meadow Pipit, White Wagtail, Magpie, Raven, Northern Wheatear, Redwing, Mistle Thrush, Fieldfare, Yellowhammer = 43 (lifers in bold)

NB If visiting Lake Mývatn be sure to use insect repellent on all exposed skin

As well as it’s triple-lifer potential this trip also offered scope for observing some iconic birds – Diver, Grebe and Phalarope – in their full and colourful breeding plumages, that only pass through southern England on spring migration. After the previously recounted Harlequin adventure, I moved on to the Mývatn visitor centre at Skútustaðir (see here) on the lake’s western edge. There, with the aid of substitute binoculars loaned to me by the rangers, I realised more of those desired experiences.

This Red-necked Phalarope (above) was the trip’s third stand-out close encounter, together with the subjects of the previous two posts. I had never observed a female in full breeding plumage until now. Like my three past Oxfordshire encounters – at Farmoor Reservoir (Nov 2013 and Sep 2017) and a male at Bicester Wetland Reserve (May 2015) – this individual fed with quick picking actions before me, moving busily forward as it did so and needing to be chased. The feeding technique is often by spinning in the water as I recall from an older record at Farlington Marshes, Hants (Oct 1987).

RNP is a fairly frequent May and June Icelandic breeder in wet marshes or pools such as here, where they nest in the tundra. Unusually, the less colourful males incubate the eggs. This population departs from early July to lead a pelagic life off the coasts of west Africa. Grey Phalarope (known as Red Phalarope in north America) is far less common in Iceland and does not usually occur at Lake Mývatn.

The visitor centre is situated amongst a cluster of craters (below), adjacent to an enclosed lagoon, Stakhόlstjörn that is cut off completely from the vast water body of the lake itself. A 2.3 km trail, from which the birds now presented were all observed, runs around the area.

Slavonian Grebe is the sole species of its group to breed in Iceland, and is common only at Lake Mývatn. The now modest population is in significant long-term decline for reasons that are not fully understood. These birds winter on north-western European coasts, though a few may linger along the southern coastline of Iceland itself. I came across them in a number of locations during this trip, and several at this site. As at Farmoor Reservoir earlier in the spring (see here) their dark, bright colouring in prevailing glare didn’t aid the cause of picture taking. The following records are the only two I kept from many attempted.

Slavonian Grebe

Long-tailed Duck, Scaup and Common Scoter all breed here, and I crossed paths with the threesome around Stakhόlstjörn. The first of those has an estimated breeding population of between 2 and 3000 individuals at Mývatn and across northern Iceland. Wintering numbers, swelled by migration from other regions, are in excess of 110,000. The other two ducks will be dealt with in the next post.

Long-tailed Duck (record shots)

Arctic Tern arrive here at this time of year and remain until August. Since I am used to recording that trans-global migrant only when passing through southern England on their progress northward, it was now quite exhilarating to watch large numbers of the elegant and graceful item hawking for the super-abundant midges over the lagoon’s surface. Such sights only occur at my local Farmoor Reservoir when birds passing high overhead are driven down by foul weather, and usually involve a drenching. All the Terns in Iceland are Arctic.

Arctic Terns

Earlier in the day I had located another summer plumaged trip target Red-throated Diver at Laxárdalur, upstream from the rapids. The Icelandic breeding population is estimated at between 1500 and 2000 pairs. These birds mostly bond for life and re-visit the same nesting locations year upon year. The bulk of them winter in western Europe, though a small, sedentary population remains on the south-west coast. This (below) was my first ever record in the breeding plumage. Iceland’s other summer Diver, Great Northern or Common Loon, was one of two wish-list items that I failed to convert; the other being Gyrfalcon.

The Skútustaðagígar pseudo-craters are not magma-producing volcanic vents but were formed around 2300 years ago when molten lava from two nearby eruptions flowed over cool, wet surfaces here and pressurised the earth downwards. That trapped steam under the weight of the lava, and when the pressure became too great explosions were triggered creating depressions in the ground. The largest of these features is Ytri Kleifarhóll, on the lagoon’s eastern side (slide show picture 2); and for me the most imposing is Rófugerðishóll (picture 3). A smaller cluster closest to the visitor centre itself rather resembles a golf course as viewed from the road (picture 4). To my mind this landscape has a peculiar scenic allure that has formed a lasting impression, hence its inclusion herein.

This was a very rewarding and enjoyable few hours at what was the week’s best Mývatn location in which to connect with this post’s various described birds. And by the time of publication my binoculars had been repaired under warranty by the manufacturer, Opticron.

NB If visiting this site be sure to use insect repellent on all exposed skin

I think it is reasonable to state that recording the subject of this post in the British Isles must involve ascending above the snowline on Scottish Highland mountains at certain times of year. Indeed I recall when that appeared to be a popular pursuit amongst some fellow Oxon birders early in the previous decade. So when upon reading the gallinaceous item also occurs in the Lake Mývatn area I added a third potential lifer to my Iceland trip wish list.

One thing I overlooked in preparing for the featured May adventure is that it does not get properly dark so far north at this time of year. So there is potential to bird at silly o’clock from around 3am in the morning, and discover what is going on. On my final day at Mývatn I compromised ahead of the journey home with a 6am start at Kálfaströnd in the lake’s south-eastern corner. The intent was to re-connect with Ptarmigan, that I had first encountered there unsatisfactorily two days previously. Not so on this occasion.

At Kálfaströnd a circular trail leads around an irregular shaped peninsula that extends into the lake, enabling viewing over secluded and in places enclosed waters. Then it crosses the area’s higher interior expanse. The tranquil location is noted for it’s volcanic rock formations (below).

On 16th, as soon as I got out of my hire-car a cock Ptarmigan announced itself from the start point of the trail, but it flew off some distance upon noticing me. This time I made a complete circuit of the Klasar trail and the open, hilly land of it’s homeward stretch proved to be a prime location for encountering my quest. Being bright white these birds stood out readily in the landscape. The white dot in the centre of the next picture, for instance is one. I watched this almost pure white cock for some time, while it sunned itself in the early morning air. There was a nesting hen to its left in cover, then when I walked further along the track a second female flew up then across to join the other two birds. At that point the cock went out of view.

Then I noticed another cock further on along the trail (above right), and setting down my scope walked forward to see how close I could get to it, taking pictures all the while as I went. To my astonishment this bird let me walk right up to it. The lead image and the next two (below) were captured at just a few metres from the subject that even then kept stock still. I have never been able to approach Partridges in the same way, that invariably go up before I see them, but am told by a more experienced colleague that such confiding behaviour is not unusual in Ptarmigan. This was perhaps the ultimate close encounter of a week filled with such. The bird did not fly until I began to walk away.

Rock Ptarmigan is the only upland game bird of Iceland, with a sedentary population currently estimated at around 300,000 birds. Numbers have fluctuated greatly historically in relation to climatic factors, breeding success and hunting pressure. Due to long-term decline, the species is red-listed nationally as near threatened, but numbers can be significantly larger by the end of each breeding season. A hunting moratorium introduced in 2002 sought to address that decline, and since 2005 hunting has been permitted only within a set period through November for personal consumption. In Iceland Ptarmigan is a traditional Christmas dish. The population is monitored annually to ensure a sustainable harvest.

Cocks establish territories in spring on grassland and heathland, and research shows the gender distribution within breeding populations is roughly equal. Ptarmigan feed on berries, buds, germinating seeds and insects when available; and their chief predators have historically been Gyrfalcon and wintering Snowy Owl. In winter the plumage is all white, turning to that in this post’s close-up pictures from late spring.

My initial sighting came two days previously while I was tracking Barrow’s Goldeneye. Suddenly a crackling sound I had researched issued from the middle distance where a cock Ptarmigan was standing on top of a rock stack (pictured above). I communed with this bird for some time from a distance, but during this the focus ring fell off my binoculars, which really shouldn’t happen on a birding trip. After it flew I crossed paths with the same bird while walking back to the car, then it went up again for some distance to high ground.

NB If visiting this site be sure to use insect repellent on all exposed skin

Rock Ptarmigan is now one less game bird I need to think about going to Scotland to observe; having recorded both Red and Black Grouse there in May 2023, and Capercaillie in Estonia in April 2017. Willow Grouse and Hazel Hen in Scandinavia remain on the wish-list that prompted this post’s trip. Having gained a third lifer for the week my career western Palearctic bird list now stands at 526.

Earlier this year I learned from another OB listed blog that two residual items on my Westpal birding wish-list – Barrow’s Goldeneye and Harlequin – may be observed quite readily at Lake Mývatn in northern Iceland. So since recording either in British waters would almost certainly involve the sort of twitching I just don’t do, I at once planned a solo visit of my own (in the great Rn’S tradition) to their home ground.

In the event both these special ducks were converted on day one (13th), before I even reached Mývatn (pronounced Miir-vaagh with a Klingon emphasis on the second syllable) itself. That was at the point where highway 1 from Akureyri runs close by then crosses the river Laxá that drains the spring-fed lake from its south-western corner. First I noticed then crept up with the camera on two pairs of Barrow’s, then from the road bridge Harlequin were active in the river below. Reading things up that evening, I realised this spot is seasonally the prime option for observing the latter. And so I returned the next afternoon to attempt to do them justice.

Immediately upstream from the bridge is a series of rapids marked on Google maps as Laxárdalur where my quest play out their days in May dabbling and diving in the fast-flowing, foamy waters, and resting in the lush marginal vegetation (pictured above). The River Laxá is exceptionally fertile since untold quantities of minute organisms drift out from the nutrient-rich lake to be filtered from the water by myriads of Blackfly (Simulium) larvae. Those in turn are feasted upon at this time of year by both the ducks of my intent, that move on when the adult insects emerge from June onwards. The biting, blood-sucking Blackfly migrate long distances upstream each year to lay their eggs in the lake outlet here. All is explained on the parking area information board.

I had not been aware of all that prior to self-finding this place, which made the wildlife spectacle I now witnessed over two visits all the more pleasing. The hot-spot may be accessed from a small parking area just across the bridge and to the right. Walking out I found three pairs of Harlequin sheltering at the water’s edge, so not knowing how skittish they might be or wanting to put them up, I sat down at a safe distance and waited to see what might transpire. More of these ducks were in view upon the river, on islands in it or perched on rocks in a low waterfall a little upstream.

Suddenly three more birds moved out from right below where I was sitting, and when those showed no fear of me I stood up and approached the initial group that were similarly unconcerned as I took this post’s lead and more pictures. Eventually they slipped into the water themselves but did not fly off downstream which is what I had wanted to avoid. The images I gained mostly suffered from being at least partially into the sun. In the morning the light would be behind me more and so I resolved to come back for another turn.

The elaborately patterned Harlequin is classed as a small sea duck, and has a sedentary population of up to 3000 pairs in Iceland. Otherwise it is distributed across sub-Arctic regions of north America and far-eastern Asia, and is always associated with fast-moving water. Inland it breeds in such tundra habitats, while when wintering it favours rocky coastlines in the Atlantic north-east and Pacific north-west Americas, Alaska and the far-east of Russia. It is an extremely rare vagrant to western Europe.

During my two spells of communion with this iconic species I noted various behaviour traits. Harlequins always swim busily and energetically, often into strong currents while diving, and such a dangerous lifestyle is said to result in frequent injury. Repeatedly they would ride the surf in small groups, or run across the water’s surface like the Red-knobbed Coots at El Fondo (see here). When interacting they squeak in a quite un-duck like fashion, and it was very noticeable how bonded pairs stick closely together while dabbling. This item has elected to lead lives of constant buffeting and being tossed around.

There but for fortune go any of us, perhaps? When I came back at 7am on 15th I was at first discouraged to find bright sunshine reflected on the water. The ducks were in just the same places as before, and I was able to gently coax one pair into a more favourably lit area (pictured below, top).

Then I walked upstream, encountering many more Harlequin, some in presumably bachelor groups, and their above-described antics were wonderful to behold. I had come all the way from England to see these ducks, and now here I was moving amongst them at close quarters. I remained completely alone here, just me and the birds in just the same way that I prefer to commune with insects in remote wild places. That scenario repeated itself throughout the five days of the trip and made its outstanding experiences even more fulfilling.

Some of the pictures selected herein suffer from bright sunlight on their subjects and glare on the water, but that is how these birds were experienced. I was visiting Iceland during an exceptional weather window for the country, with all day, wall to wall sun and temperatures in the high teens. I was told that normally: “We might get this in July if we’re lucky.” It was great for the locals, who would strip off and strut out in shorts while I yet donned an extra layer against the still cool wind, but quite difficult for picture taking. The sun was invariably in my eyes and there being no tall trees in the tundra landscape, there was no shade anywhere.

This trip was right up there with my best ever wildlife experiences, and what has just been described may take some ousting as the top one for 2025. I was birding once more and here was the way to do it. Time and again, alone in wild places, I self-found and recorded my various, new, different and exciting targets, often at very close quarters. This will all take some time to write up and picture edit. More of the highlights will be presented as separate posts.

NB If visiting this site be sure to use insect repellent on all exposed skin