From one ledge on the island of Vágar, Sørvágsvatn appears to hang hundreds of metres above the Atlantic. In fact the largest lake in the Faroe Islands sits barely thirty metres above the sea, held off the ocean by a low rim of rock. The whole effect is a matter of where you stand. At the southern end the ground breaks off in the cliff called Trælanípa, and from low down near its edge you see the water and the open sea together. The two surfaces overlap, the horizon loses its place, and the lake looks like it is floating. A camera pushes it further: the famous photographs are all taken from that low angle at the lip, aimed along the cliff face. When you move a little inland, or simply stand up straight, the sea comes back into view and the lake is a lake again.
Getting there is an hour's walk along the eastern shore, across open moor grazed by sheep, climbing gently the whole way. Near the start an old stone boathouse and a small red boat sit at the water's calm edge. The walk is easy; the arrival is not. The turf runs right to the lip, the rock falls 142 metres straight into the sea, and nothing guards the edge, so most people cover the last few metres on their stomachs. Trælanípa means the slave cliff. Faroese lore says that in the Viking age masters threw slaves too old or sick to work from this ledge onto the rocks below, and the name has held. The lake has never settled on a name either. Sørvágur, on its west shore, says Sørvágsvatn; the villages to the east say Leitisvatn; many Faroese skip the argument and call it Vatnið, the lake. At its far end the water leaves over the rim at Bøsdalafossur and drops straight into the Atlantic. That short fall is the real distance between the lake and the sea, and from the ledge behind you it looked like hundreds of metres.