The alarm clock goes off earlier than usual; perhaps it's the last chance we have to see the puffins. We quickly get dressed and have a light breakfast, then hop in the car. The journey is quite short, and my expectations are high. We're in this remote country among the Icelandic fjords only waiting for this moment. The disappointment from the previous evening has somewhat discouraged me, and I don't immediately set up my camera. We park in the adjacent harbor, and I spot a familiar figure, with its duck-like feet and wings flapping rapidly. It's them.
I set up my camera, step out of the car, and climb the staircase leading to the cliff. I'm in the small bay in front, about thirty of them. Suddenly, one emerges from a burrow. The charming bird is about 35-40 centimeters tall, black and white with a large, colorful beak. I raise my camera and capture a burst of about thirty photos. The puffin takes flight, and the tension eases; we celebrate having achieved one of the goals of the trip. In the next half hour, the puffins take turns, and I take a lot of photos. Satisfied, we return to the hotel to pack up and continue our tour of Iceland.