Iceland has many faces, and some reveal themselves most vividly where water meets stone. This time, the journey explores two waterfalls that stand in silent conversation with each other: Kvernufoss and Seljalandsfoss. Separated by approximately 27 kilometers as the crow flies, they offer contrasting moods and endless possibilities for those who stand before them with camera in hand.

Kvernufoss – The Hidden Twin

Kvernufoss lies in a landscape that feels wilder, less manicured by tourism. The waterfall itself falls around 30 meters, but the terrain surrounding it carries a different energy than its more famous neighbor. It is less visited, less celebrated in guidebooks, and somehow more secretive.

According to local lore, Kvernufoss is home to hidden folk — the huldufólk, the elves of Icelandic tradition. These beings are said to inhabit the rocky terrain that surrounds the waterfall, and to reveal themselves only to those with the right kind of attention or respect. Whether you believe in such stories or not, standing at Kvernufoss on a quiet summer day, with mist rising through the basalt cliffs, makes the idea feel less like folklore and more like a possibility.

The waterfall itself has a raw quality — a cascade that is narrower, more forceful, and set against sharp, weathered rock formations. There is something unfinished about it, as though the landscape is still being carved, still being shaped by the relentless flow of water and time.

What Kvernufoss offers photographers is solitude and raw texture. The basalt columns and weathered stone create strong geometric patterns. The spray and mist interact with these angular forms in ways that produce striking compositions. Long exposures here feel essential — not just to soften the water, but to blur the mist into bands of tone that enhance the sense of movement and power.

The composition also allows for more intimate framing. Rather than capturing the entire scene, you can focus on sections — the way water meets stone, the texture of the rock, the geometry of the cliff face. The smaller crowds and quieter atmosphere allow for the kind of slow, deliberate work that black and white photography rewards.

What makes Kvernufoss truly special is the possibility of walking behind the waterfall. The path behind the curtain reveals a different perspective entirely — a view from within, where you become part of the landscape rather than an observer of it. This passage is less traveled and less obvious than at its famous neighbor, adding to the sense of discovery. The light shifts as you move through the spray, the sound changes, and the mist transforms from distant vapor to something you walk through. The geometric rock formations frame the falling water in unexpected ways, creating abstract compositions that are impossible to capture from the front.

Seljalandsfoss – The Veil and the Passage

Seljalandsfoss is one of Iceland’s most recognizable waterfalls, a ribbon of water that falls from a height of 60 meters into a basin below. What makes it unique is not only its graceful form, but the well-established possibility of walking behind the curtain of water — a passage that feels like stepping into another realm entirely.

Legend surrounds this waterfall with whispers. Some stories speak of hidden beings dwelling in the mist and the spray, spirits drawn to places where water and land create their own geography. Others suggest that the waterfall marks a boundary between the visible world and something older, something that existed before humans learned to name things.

The practical reality is that Seljalandsfoss invites intimacy in a way few other falls do. Walking behind the water, you experience it not as a distant view but as an enveloping presence. The roar becomes physical, the spray touches your skin, and the light filters through in ways that shift moment to moment.

For photographers, Seljalandsfoss demands patience and experimentation. From the front, the classic composition shows the full curtain against the surrounding landscape. Long exposures soften the water into silk, revealing the graceful arc of the fall. The rocky basin below provides texture and tonal variation. Walking to the side or behind the waterfall opens entirely different framings — partial views of the cascade framed by stone, abstract patterns of water and mist, the interplay of light filtering through the falling water itself.

The passage behind Seljalandsfoss is more accessible and more traveled (in fact, it is often packed with tourists) than its counterpart at Kvernufoss, yet it offers equally compelling photographic opportunities. From within the curtain, the water becomes a translucent veil, and the landscape beyond appears fragmented and ethereal. The challenge here is managing the spray and the mist while keeping your lens clear — but the rewards are compositions that feel entirely different from anything possible from the front.

The moss-covered rocks surrounding the pool create rich textural opportunities in black and white work. Every angle of approach, every change in light, offers a new story to tell. The challenge lies in deciding when to capture the whole, and when to focus on fragments — the detail that speaks as loudly as the grand view.

Two Falls, Two Moods

What emerges from standing before these two waterfalls is the realization that they are not duplicates, despite their proximity and similar mechanics. Kvernufoss feels like a secret kept by the landscape, revealed only to those patient enough to find it. Seljalandsfoss, by contrast, feels like an invitation — accessible, generous, iconic. It has the quality of a classic work of art, recognized and studied by many.

For photographers, both offer distinct challenges and rewards. Kvernufoss invites a more exploratory approach, where each visit and each angle reveals something previously unseen. Seljalandsfoss rewards the search for the single, perfect composition — the one image that captures its grace and accessibility. Yet both reward those who take the time to walk behind the falling water, to experience the waterfall from within rather than from without.

The moss, the stone, the light, the spray — these elements are the vocabulary. How you arrange them, how you expose for the subtle tonal gradations between water and mist and rock, becomes the language through which the story is told.

Photographing in the Presence of Myth

Standing between these two waterfalls on a summer day in Iceland, separated by only a few kilometers yet existing in distinctly different atmospheres, surrounded by legends and the constant voice of falling water, the practical and the mythical merge. You are there to capture an image, to solve technical problems of exposure and composition. But you are also standing in a place where stories have been told for centuries — stories of hidden beings, boundaries between worlds, and the raw power of a landscape that continues to shape itself moment by moment.

The challenge for the photographer is to honor both: the technical precision required to render texture and tone in black and white work, and the awareness that these images are also records of myth, of legend, of the way a place whispers to those who take time to listen.

In the end, what Kvernufoss and Seljalandsfoss offer is not one perfect photograph, but an invitation to return again and again, to see what the light reveals each time, and to understand that some places demand not a single visit, but a conversation stretched across multiple encounters.

Check out these posts for more photos from magnificent Iceland.