When I read the email from the captain of Freyja, one of the Icelandic Coast Guards vessels, I felt a rush of adrenaline: He was confirming a twelve days lighthouse trip onboard his ship that I was invited to take part in.

The wind is so violent that I can barely stand on my feet. Bracing for the next brutal gust, desperately holding onto my tent flapping loose in all directions, I notice in horror that my unattended backpack is being pushed by the wind toward the ocean. If I try to save it I will have to let go of my tent, but if I keep holding onto my shelter my backpack and all its contents will be lost to the raging waves.

I woke up from a strange dream. Back in reality with my mind still cloudy, I can’t make sense of what I am hearing in the house: footsteps.

It is impossible to sum up two summer months of lighthouse adventures so I decided to tell you about one mission in detail. But instead of choosing my most successful one, I decided to tell you about the one I failed at, which was the lighthouse of Fjallaskagi in the Westfjords.