Senja - Part II
- Matthias
- 1 day ago
- 7 min read
Updated: 15 hours ago
After the sunrise above Segla, I remained on Senja. The intensity of that morning faded quickly, replaced by a quieter rhythm. There was no longer a need to chase light or summits. The following days unfolded slowly, shaped by small movements, changing weather, and time spent simply being present.
Before walking out onto the rocks and toward the tidal pools, I spent time at Tungeneset itself. The wooden walkway felt like a quiet threshold between road and sea. It guides you gently toward the view of the Okshornan peaks across the fjord, without ever claiming the landscape as its own.
Tungeneset is part of the Norwegian Scenic Routes programme and was designed by Code Arkitektur. Their intention was not to create a landmark that competes with the mountains, but a structure that extends into the terrain almost like a natural continuation of it. The use of timber, clean geometry, and low horizontal lines allows the architecture to echo the layered rock formations and the horizon beyond. It feels precise, yet understated.
I took my time there. With the Sigma 50mm f/1.2, often wide open, I isolated details in the rhythm of the wooden planks and the subtle interaction between warm timber and cold northern light. Switching to the Sigma 20mm f/1.4, I stepped back to include the broader context, letting the architecture sit within the vastness of sea and mountain rather than dominate it.
The longer I stayed, the more the structure seemed to dissolve into the landscape. It was less about photographing a building and more about observing how lines, textures, and weather met in quiet balance.
Sony A7 RV, Sigma 50mm f/1.2 and 20mm f/1.4 DG DN Art, Maven Filters Polarizer, Gitzo Systematic Tripod
Only afterward did I move beyond the walkway, out onto the rocky beach, drawn toward the water and the dramatic rock formations on the opposite side of the fjord. The architecture had gently positioned me there, and without quite noticing it, I had transitioned from design into wilderness.
Sony A7 RV, Sigma 20mm f/1.4 DG DN Art and Sigma 100-400mm F5-6.3DG DN OS, Maven Filters Dark CPL (ND1000+CPL), Gitzo Systematic Tripod
The tidal pool in the next image created some foreshadowing and I simply call it "tidal pool of doom" for now.
After the quiet lines of Tungeneset, I spent the day moving slowly across the island. No summit, no big objective. Just light, water and space.
In Bøvær and around the small islands of Bergsøyan, the sea shifted into a colour I did not expect this far north. Turquoise, almost unreal. In shallow bays the water looked as if it belonged somewhere in the Caribbean rather than above the Arctic Circle.
White sand. Dark rock. Kelp drifting beneath the surface. And beyond it all, the familiar outline of steep mountains rising straight from the sea. From above, the geometry became even clearer. Small islands scattered like fragments. Pale beaches tracing their edges. Deep blue water turning suddenly into luminous green where the seabed rose close to the surface.
Later that afternoon, after the turquoise waters around Bøvær and the scattered islands of Bergsøyan, we returned to Mefjordvær.
Sony A7 RV, Sigma 50mm f/1.2 and 20mm f/1.4 DG DN Art, Maven Filters Polarizer, Gitzo Systematic Tripod
The light was still high but softening. I walked through the village without a clear objective and eventually hiked up toward the Knuten vantage point. From there, Segla appeared from the opposite side, less iconic, more grounded. I stayed longer than planned, photographing slowly, letting the shape of the mountain settle into a different context.
As evening approached, I turned my attention to something much smaller.
The striking public toilet building in Mefjordvær, often referred to locally as “Naustdassen”, stood quietly at the edge of the village. Designed by Fur Arkitekter, the structure has been highlighted regionally as part of Norway’s thoughtfully designed public facilities along the Scenic Routes. It does not announce itself loudly, yet it carries a clear architectural intention.
Timber, restrained geometry, and warm interior light against the cooling evening air. Functional, yes. But also deliberate. A small building treated with the same care as a much larger project.
I photographed it as darkness approached. The glow from within became stronger as the sky turned blue and the full moon apread behind Segla. It felt less like documenting a restroom and more like observing a quiet architectural gesture in a remote place.
Sony A7 RV, Sigma 20mm f/1.4 DG DN Art and Sigma 100-400mm F5-6.3DG DN OS, Maven Filters Polarizer, Gitzo Systematic Tripod
I returned to Tungeneset the next evening to scout compositions for the Aurora Borealis. The light was soft, the rocks still warm from the day. I took one last image at sunset. I didn’t know it would be the last one with my Sony A7 RV.
Earlier I had noticed one particular tidal pool aka "Tidal Pool of Doom" I mentioned earlier. When I stepped onto the rocks again, the air had turned more humid. The surface was slick. I began sliding very slowly toward the water. It felt almost suspended in time. There was nothing to hold on to. A row of mussels at the edge stopped the slide abruptly. A second later I did what in German we call a Bauchklatscher (belly first) straight into the tidal pool. Camera in hand. I was completely soaked. So was the camera. On instinct, I removed the battery immediately. And then I had to laugh. The slow-motion absurdity of it all. The quiet before. The inevitability of the slide.
Back at the van I changed clothes and checked the damage. Saltwater was dripping from the memory card slots and the battery compartment. I placed the camera body in front of the diesel heater and hoped. The Sigma 20mm f/1.4 survived without any visible damage. The Sony A7 RV did not. It was a total loss. Fortunately, insurance covered it. Still, watching saltwater seep from a camera you trust and rely on feels different. It marks a moment. And that sunset frame at Tungeneset remains the last image my trusty Sony A7 RV ever made. Later I returned to the beach with my iPhone and enjoyed the spectacular sunset.
Later, back at the house, I dried my clothes and laid everything out as if order could undo what had happened. Luckily, I had brought my older Sony A7 RIII as a backup. Not the camera I had planned to use but the one that would carry the rest of the journey.
The day felt unhurried, there was no rush to reach another viewpoint, no need to chase light across the island. Time moved quietly. By evening, the sky began to clear. From the house in Mefjordvær, I watched the conditions settle and decided to return once more to Tungeneset.
The drive felt familiar. The same curves in the road, the same line of mountains across the fjord. Sunset came first — softer than the previous night, less dramatic, but steady. I worked slowly, careful with each step across the rocks.
As darkness approached, the anticipation shifted. The horizon faded, and the sky turned deeper blue. I stayed, waiting for the Aurora Borealis to reveal itself above the water and the distant peaks.
I returned to Tungeneset for sunset, this time with calmer weather and clearer skies. What had felt chaotic the evening before now seemed almost composed. The mountains across the fjord slowly dissolved into silhouettes, and the first stars began to appear.
While waiting in the fading light, I met a small group of photographers. Two of them had travelled from Finland and spoke with impressive calm about solar wind speeds, KP indices, and cloud forecasts. Their confidence was quiet but contagious. A few others from Germany joined us, and soon the rocks of Tungeneset felt less isolated and more like a shared lookout.
Then it began. At first, a faint green arc low on the horizon. Easy to miss if you were not paying attention. Within minutes it intensified, stretching higher, moving faster, shifting shape. Curtains of light unfolded above Segla and Okshornan, reflected softly in the tidal pools between the dark rocks.
Sony A7 RIII, Sony 16-35mm f/2.8 II and Sigma 20mm f/1.4 DG DN Art, Maven Filters Polarizer, Gitzo Systematic Tripod
We had been lucky. The forecasts aligned, the sky cleared at the right time, and the activity strengthened just enough to turn a hopeful wait into a memorable night. There was laughter, quiet concentration, the clicking of shutters, and moments where no one said anything at all. Standing there, after the loss of my camera only a day earlier, it felt like a small redemption. Not because of the images alone, but because of the reminder that even after mishaps, the sky can still surprise you.
That was my farewell from Senja, soon the ferry would carry us onward, across open water and toward Lofoten. A new chapter of my road trip is waiting.
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