DAY 18
Látrabjarg
I'm beginning to think puffins are a myth, a mascot that Bob in marketing thought up one day and, being Bob, he just ran with it before checking with the higher-ups. Unfortunately, this idea went further than Bob ever dreamed of. These higher-ups - who were caught off guard by the public's embrace of this overly cute bit of flying silliness - were left with no choice but to keep perpetuating this myth ever since, like a baseball mascot. It's the Mr. Met of Iceland. It's obviously a CG bird. Nothing that top heavy could fly and migrate and survive. Darwinism should have taken it out centuries ago. Nonsense.
Anyway, there are no puffins in Iceland. Not at the majestic bird cliffs in Látrabjarg, not on the beaches of Breiðavík, and most certainly not in any of these nice pictures. Still, it was a good day. Wrecks of planes and boats, red sand beaches, white sand beaches, a couple of really killer point breaks, and a few churches. There's always churches.
