“Do not go near the water,” Hawk our tour guide implored, the usual dulcetness of his voice suddenly evicted. Like a herald of woe, he would repeat himself two other times, once after we disembarked from the jeep and again as we made a beeline for our destination.
Stomach-churning precedents lend the black sand beach of Vik, Iceland, its mystique. Ferocious waves, unrelenting and non-discriminatory, have taken the lives of unsuspecting tourists and fathers who ventured too far out. Overhead, spiralling flocks of puffins, fulmars and guillemots lay claim to the sky. I flew my drone at a low altitude so as not to encroach.