It all started with a single sentence in a blog post about Iceland: “A farmer is looking for support at a weather station and sheep farm.”
It was 2012, and, after studying photography in the industrial German city of Dortmund, I was ready for a change. I’d long planned on visiting Iceland, and when I read about the secluded farm, everything came together. I replied to the post, landed the job, sold most of my things and booked my flight.
Marsibil Erlendsdottir, the farmer and weather station attendant, picked me up at the small airport in Egilsstadir, near Iceland’s easternmost edge.
The drive to the weather station took nearly two hours — through snow-covered mountain passes, alongside waterfalls, past reindeer and empty summer houses. As we neared our destination, the road grew narrow and rough. Finally, we arrived at the end of an isolated fjord, where a small yellow lighthouse appeared in the distance.
“Welcome to the end of the world,” Ms. Erlendsdottir said, laughing.
The Icelandic Meteorological Office runs 71 manned weather stations around the country, 57 of which report the precipitation, snow depth and ground cover once per day. Ms. Erlendsdottir, who goes by Billa, oversees one of