Set some 40km off Iceland’s northern coast, this windswept sliver 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 cut through our waterproof layers with so much force that one bad gust felt as if it could wipe us clean off the map for good.
My husband and I arrived on Grímsey’s beautiful, blustery shores carrying a couple of wooden walking sticks – not so much to help us keep our balance against the elements, but rather to ward off the Arctic terns that are notorious for dive-bombing unassuming tourists who wander too close to their nests along the craggy coastline. As we slowly walked around the island’s dramatic basalt cliffs, we also noticed a few puffin stragglers who had yet to migrate out to sea before returning to Grímsey in full force come April.
A 6.5-sq-km island set some 40km off Iceland’s northern coast, Grímsey is the country’s northernmost inhabited point and the only sliver of Iceland located within the Arctic Circle. In many ways, this frigid far-flung isle cast off a frigid far-flung island nation is Iceland at its most elusive and extreme – and therein lies its appeal.
These days, 20-minute flights from the city of Akureyri and three-hour ferries from the village of Dalvík whisk adventure-seekers to this rocky, remote island – most of whom, like us, are keen to see one of Europe’s most remote settlements and its incredible variety of seabirds and wildlife. In addition to the kamikaze Arctic terns and a thriving puffin population, black-legged kittiwakes, razorbills and guillemots – along with free-roaming Icelandic horses and sheep – also call this idyllic island home. It’s estimated the seabirds here outnumber residents by roughly 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.
Born in Reykjavík, Ingolfsdottir grew up in south-east Iceland and started spending extended stretches of time in Grímsey after visiting her sister, who moved to the island years earlier after meeting and marrying a local fisherman. After more than 20 years living part time in Grímsey, Ingolfsdottir said she decided to become a full-time resident in 2019, and she hasn’t looked back since.
“People think I moved here for love, but I fell in love with the island,” she explained. “There’s a magic, and I fell in love with how people lived here, the islanders and the nature. Nature is very powerful here; it’s a different natural force in the winter, and with the darkness comes the Northern Lights, the stars and the 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 out of her home. When she’s not leading tours and tending to her visitors, Ingolfsdottir stops by Grímsey’s power station once a day to ensure the island is generating enough electricity to keep things running. While mainland Iceland relies heavily on geothermal and renewable energy, Grímsey is so remote that it’s actually off the national power grid. Instead, the entire island runs on a single diesel-powered generator.
“People on my tours always ask if I get bored, but I have so much to do,” Ingolfsdottir said. “We do the same things as those who live on the mainland: we work, we go to the gym, we exercise, but it is nature that keeps me here.”
The most popular time to visit the island is from 10 April to 10 August, when puffins descend on Grímsey to nest in its cliffs. Arctic Trip offers guided birdwatching walking tours, while other operators run birdwatching boat tours.
There is no hospital, doctor or police station on Grímsey. In case of emergency, Ingolfsdottir says that the Coast Guard and emergency services have trained islanders to take action. “When you live here, you must learn to be flexible and adjust to different situations and scenarios,” Ingolfsdottir said. “We are prepared for anything. In case of an emergency, they train us to be ready for the first response, and a doctor comes to visit every three weeks by plane.”
A small collection of homes (many of which double as guesthouses for tourists) is located on the south-west side of the island. The settlement, known as Sandvík, also includes a schoolhouse that now functions as a community centre, as well as a handicraft gallery and cafe that offers homemade Icelandic wares, knits and other knickknacks. There is also a small grocery store that’s open for about an hour each day, as well as a restaurant with a bar, a swimming pool, library, church and the airstrip – which doubles as a popular landing spot for birds.
As the story goes, the island’s name is linked to a Norse settler named Grimur who is believed to have sailed from Western Norway’s Sogn district. The earliest known reference to Grímsey dates to 1024, as recorded in the Heimskringla, an ancient Icelandic saga in which King Ólafur of Norway requested Grímsey as a token of friendship. Local leaders refused, deeming the island too valuable to relinquish, thanks to its abundance of fish and birds.
By 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 pursuit. Still, the community endured, thanks to the steady stream of fishermen from the mainland and those who arrived to trade with the nearby settlement on Húsavík, located on Iceland’s northern coast.
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In 2009, Grímsey became part of the municipality of Akureyri, yet the island’s few hardy locals remain proud of their unique identity. “Today, Grímsey’s land is owned by residents, the town of Akureyri and the Icelandic state who work to preserve the island’s legacy as both a natural treasure and a resilient community,” said María H Tryggvadóttir, Grímsey’s project manager for tourism.
Like many who visit this beguiling island, Tryggvadóttir has developed a special connection of her own with Grímsey. “What fascinates me most about Grímsey is its remoteness, [its] unique light and incredible birdlife,” Tryggvadóttir said. “There’s something truly exceptional about wandering along the steep cliffs of this grassy island, feeling the deep tranquility of the landscape, while being surrounded by thousands of seabirds. But it’s the sincerity and warmth [of the people] that create a welcoming, close-knit community [and] make Grímsey feel truly special.”
In addition to puffins, the island’s other main tourism draw is its geographical location. Located at 66°N latitude, Grímsey celebrates its status as the only part of Iceland located in the Artic Circle with not one but two landmarks. In 2017, a 3,447kg concrete art installation called Orbis et Globus was inaugurated and placed on the highest, northernmost part of the island to mark the imaginary line where the Arctic Circle and Grimsey intersect.
“It has been a great marketing tool for the island, but it’s impossible to move and we have to have special equipment 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 believe, I hope you had a chance to visit it!” she added.
Because the Earth rotates on a tilted axis at 23.5 degrees, the sphere must also be moved annually to align with the line of latitude for the Arctic Circle – generally about 14m each year. Depending on the year, the sphere has been moved as much as 130 meters south. In 2047, when the island will technically no longer fall within the Arctic Circle, the plan is to roll the sphere off a cliff and send it off into the ocean for good.
Grimsey’s position so far north also means that islanders experience polar nights, when the island is cast into a months-long stretch of total darkness from early December through mid-February. “In my case, the darkness does not bother me. It does bother some people after a certain point, but we know that it will get light again,” Ingolfsdottir said.
One of the ways 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 the Christmas lights. It’s like a little Christmas town here, and we don’t take them down until February,” Ingolfsdottir said.
As far as the future of Grímsey goes, Ingolfsdottir says there are plans in the works for some new developments as soon as next summer, including a retreat for writers and other creatives to come and stay in a set of existing houses that will be renovated to accommodate longer-term stays.
We didn’t end up getting 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 term 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 very beginning and something that the rest of Iceland should take note of before it’s too late.”
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