Glymur

In the moss-draped depths of the Hvalfjörður fjord, just a short detour from Reykjavík, lies a secret that roars. But you won’t find Glymur waterfall from your car window — this towering cascade, once thought to be Iceland’s tallest, makes you earn the encounter.

At 198 meters (650 feet), Glymur falls into a narrow canyon carved by the river through the millennia. The name “Glymur” comes from the Icelandic verb glymja (to echo or resound) and fittingly, the waterfall doesn’t just fall. It sings.

Unlike other falls like Gullfoss or Seljalandsfoss, Glymur isn’t served up on a tourist-circuit platter. There’s no gift shop, and no coffee stand, only a trailhead off Route 47. The hike is a rugged 3- to 4-hour loop, crossing a log bridge, weaving through a lava cave (called Þvottahellir, or “the Washing Cave”), and scaling rocky slopes with chain ropes as your only support. 

As you climb, the canyon yawns open beside you, revealing veils of mist, sea eagles wheeling in the wind, and, if the sun is right, rainbows arcing like blessings over the drop.

Glymur’s story doesn’t end with geology. Local legend suggests that the canyon was formed when a man transformed into a whale, cursed by a grieving woman and her baby. The whale swam upriver, thrashing and smashing through the valley, eventually causing the land to split and Glymur to form. Some say you can still hear the echoes of the whale’s final cry in the water’s crash. 

The surrounding place names — Hvalklettur (Whale-Rock) and Hvalsgil (Whale-Gorge) —give mythic weight to the tale. This isn’t just a waterfall; it’s a wound in the earth where saga and stone blur.

Until 2007, Glymur held the title of Iceland’s highest waterfall. Then Morsárfoss, a glacial fall in Vatnajökull National Park that emerged when the glacier shrank, was discovered to be taller. But Glymur retains something Morsárfoss doesn’t: presence. It’s not just about height — it’s about drama, effort, and intimacy. Glymur demands engagement. You feel it in your legs, your lungs, and your chest when you finally stand at its summit.

And perhaps that’s the point. Glymur remains untouched by tour buses, reserved for the curious, the intrepid, and the slightly mud-splattered.