 News that Reynisfjara has “dramatically shifted” has travelled fast. Basalt columns now stand in the sea where sand once buffered the cliffs. Sections of beach have been eaten away. Access points look different. Visitors are surprised. Locals are unsettled. But this is not new. This is Iceland. We live on an island that is constantly being reshaped. Volcanoes build it. Glaciers carve it. Rivers rearrange it. Wind strips it bare. The North Atlantic tests it daily. The land gives and the land takes. As with the rest of the Icelandic coastline, Reynisfjara has always been dynamic. The black sand is not permanent ground. It is volcanic sediment in motion. Strong easterly winds and persistent winter surf have simply accelerated what the ocean has always done along the South Coast. Moving material, redistributing sand, exposing rock, reclaiming space. And sometimes, it reverses.  Reynisfjara in February 2026. Image from Iceland Monitor. If prevailing winds shift back to dominant south-westerlies, sand can return in a matter of seasons or years. If Katla erupts beneath Mýrdalsjökull — as it has many times in history — glacial outburst floods could carry enormous volumes of sediment to the coast. After previous eruptions, the southern coastline expanded outward by kilometres in places. What the ocean takes, volcanoes can rebuild. This is not speculation. It is geological precedent. We have seen lava flows on Reykjanes reshape entire valleys within weeks. We have seen earthquakes at Þingvellir widen fissures that mark the drifting of continents. Wind erosion continuously moves and redistributes top soil in the highlands, exposing new textures every year. The North Atlantic steadily chews away at the southern coastline. In the 1990s, the natural stone arch at Ófærufoss — once a magnificent basalt bridge over the waterfall — collapsed. It had stood for centuries. Then it was gone.  Ófærufoss once flowed beneath a natural basalt arch that collapsed in the 1990s, a stark reminder that even Iceland’s most iconic features are shaped — and sometimes erased — by time and geological forces. Images from Wikipedia. And then there is Ok Okjökull (Ok Glacier), a small glacier in West Iceland, was officially declared dead in 2014 after losing its status as an active glacier. In 2019, a plaque was installed, marking it as the first Icelandic glacier lost to climate change. It became a global symbol. But in geological time, glaciers in Iceland have advanced and retreated repeatedly. The difference today is speed — and the human fingerprint attached to it. The Okjökull plaque stands on bare rock where ice once moved, commemorating the first Icelandic glacier declared extinct in 2014 — a quiet marker of climate change and a message to the future.  So what is different about what's going on in Reynisfjara now? The answer is simple. It's visibility. Reynisfjara is one of the most photographed beaches on Earth. It is pinned, posted, filtered and shared millions of times. When it changes, the world notices. A dynamic landscape becomes a “before and after” comparison on Google Maps. But Iceland has never been static. The idea that a landscape should remain frozen in its most photogenic version is a very modern expectation. The deeper story is not loss. It is process. Iceland sits on top of the Mid-Atlantic Ridge. It is one of the few places on Earth where you can witness land being created and destroyed in real time. Coastal erosion, volcanic deposition, glacial retreat, tectonic rifting. These are not isolated events. They are interconnected systems shaping the island continuously. Reynisfjara today is a snapshot in an ongoing geological conversation between ocean and land. Will the sand return? Possibly. Will the basalt remain exposed? Maybe. Will Katla rewrite the coastline entirely? It has before. It will again. Uncertainty is not instability. It is dynamism. And that dynamism has shaped Icelandic culture as much as it has shaped the terrain. Living here means adapting. Farms move. Roads reroute (sometimes because we have to avoid paving through elf habitats). Coastlines shift and harbours are rebuilt. Communities respond. Resilience and adaptability is not a slogan in Iceland. These are practical skills. But there is also a responsibility embedded in this moment. Some changes are natural cycles. Others are amplified by climate change. Rising sea levels, altered storm patterns and intensifying weather systems may accelerate coastal processes beyond historical norms. The distinction matters. Understanding the difference requires science, long-term monitoring and humility in the face of complex systems. Reynisfjara offers a powerful teaching moment that landscapes are not products. They are processes. If we want to truly appreciate Iceland or any environment we visit, we must move beyond the Instagrammed version and begin to understand the forces at work. Instead of asking, “Why doesn’t it look like it did in my photo?” we might ask, “What is happening here, and what can we learn from it?” At GeoCamp Iceland, this is exactly where learning begins. In the field. In real time. Observing change, asking questions, connecting geology to climate, culture and community. Reynisfjara is reminding us that Earth is alive. And perhaps the real lesson is this. If we want to change the world we live in, we must first understand the Earth we live on. Arnbjörn Ólafsson Managing Director of GeoCamp Iceland Fieldwork at Reynisfjara is never just about capturing the “perfect photo.” It is about reading the landscape. With our student groups, we have stood on the black volcanic sand and observed a coastline in motion. Waves redistributing sediment, cliffs exposing fresh basalt, wind reshaping the shore in real time. The lesson is always the same. Iceland is not fixed. It is active, dynamic and alive.
 This week we were honoured to speak at the Global Summit on Climate Education, hosted by the Institute for Global Learning at Appleby College, Toronto. Our session “From Lava Fields to Learning Labs: Outdoor Climate Education Case Studies from Iceland” was delivered by Arnbjörn Ólafsson, Managing Director of GeoCamp Iceland, and Sigrún Svafa Ólafsdóttir, Project Manager for Education at Reykjanes UNESCO Global Geopark. We shared how Iceland’s active volcanic landscapes are shaping hands-on climate learning for students and teachers alike. At the heart of our approach is a simple belief: to change the world we live in, we must first understand the Earth we live on. That ethos runs through all of our work with schools and universities, where field-based learning turns complex climate systems into lived experience.  Why Iceland—and why Reykjanes? Reykjanes is a living laboratory. Sitting astride the Mid-Atlantic Ridge, it has experienced a remarkable run of eruptions in recent years, turning theory into real-time case study for visiting students and local schools. This dynamic setting helps learners connect climate, geology, risk and resilience to everyday life and infrastructure—from geothermal energy to coastal communities.  Ripples: climate learning that starts on the doorstep Our workshop introduced Ripples, a practical framework we co-develop with local UNESCO schools to make outdoor climate education immediate, walkable and repeatable. Teachers begin with three “ripples” of place: the school grounds; the next-door neighbourhood; and nearby features within roughly 500 yards. In each ripple, learners ask measurable questions, monitor simple indicators, and build inquiry from what they can observe in minutes. We invited participants to sketch their own “ripples”, choose one local indicator to track monthly, and name a community stakeholder to involve—turning ideas into next-week practice. Teacher-led innovation, shared tools We highlighted how regional and international partnerships give teachers the confidence and tools to lead fieldwork. Through Erasmus+ and Nordplus (including the Empowering Educators initiative) educators co-create lesson ideas, test them outdoors, and share resources across geoparks. Our emerging Green STEAM work adds open-source sensor kits and a growing library of field tasks, so a class in Toronto can compare water-quality readings with a class in Reykjanes—or adapt a glacial melt study to their own urban watershed.  Climate stories that connect science, memory and responsibility Iceland’s glaciers offer a powerful context for climate literacy. The country has already lost a significant share of glacial volume since the 19th century, and the disappearance of Okjökull—commemorated with a plaque—underscores how data, place and human stories meet. We discussed how these narratives, alongside Indigenous seven-generations perspectives, help students frame climate not only as science, but as legacy and civic responsibility. What participants took away Colleagues left with adaptable, low-cost activities that work in any setting—urban or rural—and a method for building a culture of outdoor learning one short, repeatable walk at a time. Most importantly, they saw how partnering with local stakeholders and connecting data across schools can amplify student voice and agency in the face of change. We’re grateful to the Institute for Global Learning and Appleby College for convening an inspiring global community of educators. If you’d like to explore collaboration, bring a student or faculty group to Iceland, or adapt our Ripples approach for your campus, we’d love to hear from you. GeoCamp Iceland is, after all, a gateway to nature’s ultimate classroom. Find out more at geocamp.is or contact us to start planning your field-based climate learning with Reykjanes UNESCO Global Geopark. |
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GeoCamp Iceland is an educational project and travel agency dedicated to increasing knowledge and understanding in natural sciences with practical and active learning. We develop educational content, student and teacher guides and curricula, organize and receive international study groups focusing primarily on natural sciences, environmental challenges, climate change and STEM education.
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