Located about 40km off the north coast of Iceland, this windswept strip is home to one of Europe’s most remote settlements and a thriving seabird population.
Even on a sunny day in late August, the wind on the island of Grímsey blew through our waterproof layers so hard that a strong gust felt like it could wipe us off the map forever.
My husband and I arrived on the beautiful, windy shores of Grímsey with a pair of wooden walking sticks – not so much to help us balance against the elements, but rather to protect us from Arctic terns, which are notorious for swooping down on unassuming tourists who stray too close to their nests along the rugged coastline. As we slowly walked along the island’s dramatic basalt cliffs, we also spotted a few straggling puffins that had yet to migrate out to sea before returning to Grímsey in full force in April.
Grímsey, a 6.5 km2 island located about 40 km off the north coast of Iceland, is the northernmost inhabited point in the country and the only stretch of Iceland lying within the Arctic Circle. In many ways, this frigid, remote island, set apart from a frigid, remote island nation, is Iceland at its most elusive and extreme – and therein lies its appeal.
Until 1931, the only way to reach Grímsey was by hopping on a small boat that delivered letters twice a year to the island. Today, 20-minute flights from the town of Akureyri and three-hour ferries from the village of Dalvík take adventurers to this rocky, remote island, most of whom, like us, are eager to see one of Europe’s most remote settlements and its incredible array of seabirds and wildlife. In addition to kamikaze Arctic terns and a thriving population of puffins, kittiwakes, auks and common guillemots, along with free-roaming Icelandic horses and sheep, also inhabit this idyllic island. It is estimated that seabirds outnumber residents by about 50,000 to one.
“You won’t believe it, but there are only 20 of us living here full-time,” explained Halla Ingolfsdottir, a local tour guide and owner of Artic Trip.
Ingolfsdottir, born in Reykjavik, grew up in southeastern Iceland and began spending long periods of time on Grímsey after visiting her sister, who had moved to the island years earlier after meeting and marrying a local fisherman. After more than 20 years living part-time on Grímsey, Ingolfsdottir said she decided to become a full-time resident in 2019 and hasn’t looked back since.
“People think I moved here for love, but I fell in love with the island,” she explained. “There is a magic and I fell in love with the way people lived here, with the islanders and with nature. Nature is very powerful here; it is a different natural force in winter, and with darkness comes the northern lights, stars and storms. In spring comes the light and the birds; every season is special,” she added.
In addition to running a tour company, Ingolfsdottir also owns and operates a nine-room guesthouse in her home. When she’s not leading tours and serving her visitors, Ingolfsdottir stops by the Grímsey power station once a day to make sure the island is generating enough electricity to keep everything running. While mainland Iceland relies heavily on geothermal and renewable energy, Grímsey is so remote that it’s not actually connected to the national power grid. Instead, the entire island is powered by a single diesel-powered generator.
“People who come on my tours always ask me if I’m bored, but I have plenty to do,” Ingolfsdottir says. “We do the same things as those who live on the mainland: we work, we go to the gym, we exercise, but it’s nature that keeps me here.”
There is no hospital, doctor or police station on Grímsey. In case of emergency, Ingolfsdottir says the Coast Guard and emergency services have trained the islanders to be able to respond. “When you live here, you have to learn to be flexible and adapt to different situations and scenarios,” Ingolfsdottir says. “We are prepared for anything. In case of emergency, we are trained to be ready for the first response, and a doctor comes to visit us every three weeks by plane.”
On the southwest side of the island is a small cluster of homes (many of which also serve as guesthouses for tourists). The settlement, known as Sandvík, also includes a school that now functions as a community center, as well as a craft gallery and a café offering homemade Icelandic products, knitting and other knick-knacks. There is also a small grocery store that is open for about an hour each day, as well as a restaurant with a bar, a swimming pool, a library, a church and an airstrip, which is also a popular landing spot for birds.
Like many small towns and villages in Iceland, Grímsey’s history is rooted in local tradition. As the story goes, the island’s name is linked to a Norse settler named Grimur who is believed to have sailed from the Sogn district of western Norway. The first known reference to Grímsey dates back to 1024, as recorded in Heimskringla, an ancient Icelandic saga in which King Ólafur of Norway requested Grímsey as a token of friendship. Local leaders refused, considering the island too valuable to give up, thanks to its abundance of fish and birdlife.
In the late 18th century, Grímsey’s population nearly collapsed due to pneumonia and fishing-related accidents – a combination of small rowboats, bad weather and lack of a natural harbour making landing here a risky activity. Still, the community survived, thanks to a steady stream of fishermen from the mainland and those who came to trade with the nearby settlement at Húsavík, located on the north coast of Iceland.
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In 2009, Grímsey became part of the municipality of Akureyri, but the few brave inhabitants of the island remain proud of their unique identity. “Today, the lands of Grímsey are owned by the residents, the city of Akureyri and the Icelandic state, who work to preserve the island’s legacy as a natural treasure and a resilient community,” says Maria H Tryggvadóttir, project manager for tourism
Like many who visit this captivating island, Tryggvadóttir has developed a special connection with Grímsey. “What fascinates me most about Grímsey is its remoteness, [its] unique light and its incredible birdlife,” says Tryggvadóttir. “There is something truly exceptional about walking along the rugged cliffs of this grassy island, feeling the deep tranquillity of the landscape, while being surrounded by thousands of seabirds. But it is the sincerity and warmth [of the people] that creates a welcoming and close-knit community [and] makes Grímsey truly special.”
Apart from the puffins, the island’s other big tourist draw is its geographical location. Located at 66° north latitude, Grímsey celebrates its status as the only part of Iceland located on the Arctic Circle with not one, but two landmarks. In 2017, a 3,447kg concrete art installation called Orbis et Globus was unveiled, which was placed on the highest, northernmost part of the island to mark the imaginary line where the Arctic Circle and Grímsey intersect.
“It’s been a great marketing tool for the island, but it’s impossible to move it and we have to get a special team from the mainland to move it,” Ingolfsdottir said. “We have another monument for the Arctic Circle, which has been here much longer – since 1970, I think. I hope you’ve had a chance to visit it!” she added.
Since the Earth spins on an axis tilted at 23.5 degrees, the sphere must also move annually to align with the Arctic Circle’s line of latitude — typically by about 14 meters each year. Depending on the year, the sphere has moved as much as 130 meters south. In 2047, when the island is technically no longer within the Arctic Circle, the plan is to roll the sphere off a cliff and send it into the ocean forever.
Grimsey’s position so far north also means that islanders experience polar nights, when the island is plunged into a months-long period of total darkness from early December to mid-February. “For me, the darkness doesn’t bother me. Some people do after a certain point, but we know it will be light again,” Ingolfsdottir said.
One of the ways the islanders have decided to cope with the darkness is by making their own light. “We start decorating for Christmas early because we want to light up the darkness, and we decorate a lot with Christmas lights. It’s like a little Christmas village here, and we don’t take them down until February,” Ingolfsdottir said.
As for the future of Grímsey, Ingolfsdottir says there are plans in the works for some new developments as early as next summer, including a retreat for writers and other creatives who will come and stay in a set of existing houses that will be renovated to accommodate longer stays.
In the end, we weren’t attacked by terns during our visit, but our brief time on Grímsey left me with a deeper appreciation for the importance of community — and an even deeper desire to return for a longer visit.
“We don’t want mass tourism on the island,” Ingolfsdottir said. “One of the things I love about this island is how personal it is, and we have a limit on how many people can come here – it’s something the island has been doing well from the start and something the rest of Iceland should take note of before it’s too late.”
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