Meltwater from Icelands largest glacier thunders into a canyon, drawing tourists to the precipice. Until now most raging rivers like this—a huge potential source of hydroelectric power—have remained wild.
The 650-foot-high K�rahnj�kar Dam blocked the J�kuls� � Dal River in 2006, flooding 22 square miles to generate electricity for a new Alcoa aluminum smelter in the east, where jobs are scarce. The project has polarized Icelanders and raised their environmental consciousness.
Young people reunite each summer in the eastern village of Baakkagerdi, where they once worked in the fish factory. Hallveig Karlsd�ttir (at center, in glasses), who now works in a bakery in the capital of Reykjav�k, says that though she and her friends miss the camaraderie of village life, "we can't find good jobs here."
Iceland's highest paying jobs and two-thirds of its people are packed in and around Reykjav�k, the only city and the center for environmental activism.
Aluminum-sided apartments house students from the countryside. Since the construction of the smelter on the east coast, a few young people have headed back there.
Alcoa located its power-hungry smelter at Reydarfj�rdur to exploit low-cost electricity from K�rahnj�kar Dam. The company also received a waiver of limits on greenhouse gas emissions. Refined bauxite ore is imported from the tropics; finished aluminum is shipped mainly to Europe.
Activists unfurl a banner at the Grundartangi smelter, denouncing an expansion that will increase its power demands and its output of pollutants such as sulfur dioxide. Despite fierce opposition, a new smelter is to be built in Helguv�k, and another is planned near H�sav�k.
Molten lava flowing across wetlands and into the cold waters of Lake Myvatn set off steam explosions that created a chain of pseudo craters more than 2,000 years ago—a landscape that draws sightseers today.
Glacial melt and subterranean fire define Iceland.
A millennium ago Iceland's landscape inspired a pagan poem's end-of-the-world vision: "The sun turns black, earth sinks in the sea, the hot stars from heaven are whirled; fierce grows the steam and the life-feeding flame, till fire leaps high about heaven itself."
From the house he was born in, J�nas Bjarnason looks with sadness toward fields where his son's sheep graze above a magnificent fjord near H�savk. A proposed smelter would block the view and force the family to pasture them elsewhere.
Crisscrossing the land, pipes carry steam to the Hellisheidi geothermal plant to generate power.
Dwarfed by the jagged wall of the Kambhorn, derelict buildings mark where a family struggled to wrest a living raising sheep until its last members died out. Since 1900 the percentage of Icelanders in farming has fallen from 77 to 4.
Adalheidur Vilbergsd�ttir's children can grow up amid the austere beauty of sea and stone because she took a job at the new smelter. They will inherit the balance their country strikes now—between harnessing its power and preserving its glory.
Attracting barely a glance, a street comedian strolls through the center of Reykjav�k in a copy of the "swimsuit" worn by the movie character Borat.
Environmental protesters, part of Saving Iceland's "clown army," block traffic in downtown Reykjav�k, testing the patience of the police. Galvanized by the building of the K�rahnj�kar Dam and the aluminum smelter at Reydarfj�rdur, local and international activists have staged demonstrations to stop further development of heavy industry and hydroelectric and geothermal power.
Alumina, or refined bauxite ore, is transformed at high temperatures into aluminum in one of the "pot" rooms of the new smelter at Reydarfj�rdur. The alumina is dissolved in a bath of molten cryolite, then electrolyzed so that liquid aluminum, which is denser than the cryolite, sinks to the bottom of the melting vats for collection.
At Reynisdrangar, on Iceland's south coast, waves eroded softer parts of the rocky shore near the village of V�k, leaving these pillars of hard basalt standing alone in the ocean. Geologists call such formations sea stacks.
The huge lip of 2,500-year-old Hverfjall crater, on the east side of Lake M�vatn, testifies to the explosive volcanic activity that continues to shape Iceland. Environmentalists argue that the danger from eruptions is one reason not to pursue massive hydroelectric dam projects. Iceland's unstable geology puts dams at risk, and dams themselves can increase volcanic activity. Some geologists speculate that the new reservoir behind the K�rahnj�kar Dam may be linked to increased earthquake activity and a greater risk of a volcanic eruption at Upptyppingar, a mountain some 13 miles to the west.