The story is this: During wwII the British and the Americans used this fiord as a place of safe harbor to resupply before setting out again across the very dangerous Atlantic. There are now ruins of what appeared to be a pretty busy little village. There are partial walls left and an occasional street light pole left standing in this field of moss covered lava rock. There remains evidence of a pier. But that's all that remains. Standing there, looking out at the water and the mountains, I felt like I could almost, but not quite, hear the voices. British and Yank voices from long ago.

Stumble It!