Kirkjufell is a lone curving arrowhead of rock rising 463 metres straight off the north coast of the Snæfellsnes Peninsula. Nothing stands near it. The land around was ground flat by glaciers and this one peak was left, so sharply symmetrical that Icelanders named it Church Mountain for its steeple point. Its sides are layered — old lava bands alternating with sandstone, capped with tuff — and from some angles it reads as a folded green cone, from others as a blade. A small three-step waterfall, Kirkjufellsfoss, sits in the field in front of it, and the two together make the most photographed view in Iceland. The fishing town of Grundarfjörður lies just along the shore, and the fjord water beside the mountain goes flat on still evenings.
Most people come for one frame. From the path on the lower west bank of the falls, the three steps drop in the foreground while the cone rises directly behind them, and the composition assembles itself. The pull-in is two minutes from the road and fills with tour buses around midday, so early or late is the difference between a photograph and a crowd. The mountain then changes with the light. On dark clear nights from about September to March the aurora arcs over the summit; in deep summer the low midnight sun sits behind the peak for hours. The waterfall is open all year, but the summit is another matter. Reaching the top is a technical climb with three fixed-rope sections, and after several fatal falls it is closed from 1 November to 15 June. Stand at the base at dusk, wind coming off the fjord and the falls loud behind you, and the reason for all those photographs is plain.