Around Iceland: A Summer of Sailing in the Cold North
Editor’s Note: This reader-submitted report shares a firsthand cruising adventure around Iceland. We welcome your stories too—every trip, big or small, adds to the cruising conversation and sparks ideas for fellow sailors.
After six days crossing the North Sea, green mountain peaks rose from the horizon, jagged and lush against a sky of shifting clouds. It was early June, and aboard Stravanza, we were bound for Iceland. But the land looming ahead was not yet Iceland—it was the Faroe Islands. Even from a distance, the islands’ dramatic cliffs hinted at the adventures awaiting us.
Fascinating Stopover in the Faroe Islands
The Faroes demanded attention. Sailing past would have been unthinkable. Tórshavn, the capital, welcomed us with sunshine and a quiet bustle of boats in the harbor. A floating dock in the heart of town became our temporary home.
We walked along narrow streets, past colorful, grass-roofed houses, bright red churches, and small fishing boats swaying in the fjord. The air carried a crisp, briny scent, and the landscape impressed with sheer vertical cliffs plunging into the sea. Every corner invited lingering glances. The Faroes made an immediate and lasting impression.
A Battlefield
In Kvívík, a sobering scene greeted us. One hundred eighty-seven pilot whales lay on the shore in front of the church, some already dismembered. At first, the sight shocked us.
Locals approached us kindly, explaining the centuries-old practice of pilot whaling. Meat was salted or frozen and distributed to families according to a traditional formula. Each villager processed “their” whale. Knowing this did not erase the starkness of the scene—blood and carcasses remained—but it provided context and a deeper understanding of a practice rooted in survival and culture.
Football Defeats and a Crossing to Iceland
Every village had a pristine football pitch, a reminder of Austria’s famous 1990 loss to the Faroes’ young national team. Islanders still celebrated that first away victory in song. As Austrians, we exchanged amused smiles when our origin came up. The memory of that match lingered across decades and oceans.
The weather finally aligned for our crossing to Iceland. For two days and nights, we rocked gently on aft winds, accompanied only by seabirds. Not a single vessel appeared on AIS, and VHF remained silent. The sun barely slipped below the horizon, bathing the sea in perpetual twilight. Stravanza felt suspended in a world of our own making.
Our handmade cockpit enclosure proved invaluable, shielding us from the cold while allowing full view of the rolling waves. Nights were long, but comfortable.
Dramatic Landfall
Two miles from shore, the fog lifted, revealing Iceland in full drama: snow-dusted mountains and emerald slopes rose steeply from the water. Waterfalls tumbled from cliffs on either side as puffins darted near our bow. The fjord embraced us with a mixture of awe and serenity.
At Seydisfjördur, the harbor master and customs officer met us at the jetty with a warm, hearty “Welcome to Iceland!” For the first time, we truly felt the island beneath our feet and the salt air in our lungs.
Langanes: Iceland’s Cape Horn
From Seydisfjördur, we set out to circumnavigate Iceland counterclockwise. The Langanes Peninsula—the “Cape Horn” of Iceland—awaited. Its reputation preceded it: thick fog, strong currents, and confused seas shaped by the notorious Röst tidal stream.
We met British sailor Mike Henderson, author of the Iceland harbor guide we carried onboard. His firsthand tips proved invaluable for rounding Langanes and navigating the northern and western coasts.
We hugged the cape’s rocky shoreline, guided by Navionics and radar, and breathed easier once past its dangers. The experience was humbling, a reminder of the raw power of these northern waters.
Whale Day off Húsavík
As we sailed north, a sudden, unmistakable sound shattered the quiet: a minke whale surfaced beside Stravanza, tail fin slicing the waves before it disappeared. Our hearts leapt. This was our first whale encounter, and the moment felt intimate, almost sacred.
Húsavík bustled by day with colorful whale-watching boats ferrying visitors, yet by evening, the harbor emptied. A low-pressure system swept through, and we escaped to the Geosea Hot Pools perched above the bay. The infinity pool held 100-degree geothermal water, steam curling into the cold wind. Ice chilled our ears if we lifted our heads, but warmth spread through us nonetheless. Later, we explored the town’s brewery and savored world-famous Icelandic hot dogs, simple pleasures after days at sea.
Grimsey: Puffins on the Arctic Circle
From Húsavík, we sailed to Grimsey, our northernmost stop, positioned precisely on the Arctic Circle. Thousands of puffins clung to the cliffs, their antics endlessly entertaining: some chattered near burrows, others soared and dived with prey in their beaks. Each bird seemed to have a personality, a rhythm all its own.
While exploring the island, a fishing crew gifted us a freshly caught cod. Generosity and connection with locals became a recurring theme in our journey.
Sail Repairs and Weathering
Forecasts predicted strong winds and snowfall. On the way to Dalvík, a late reefing maneuver ripped the mainsail. Once moored, we brought the sail below deck and repaired it with our onboard Sailrite machine. Sailmakers were rare here; preparation was essential.
Hrisey: The Pearl of Eyjafjördur
Sun returned, and we sailed to Hrisey, known as the “Pearl of Eyjafjördur.” The summer festival was in full swing, and we quickly immersed ourselves in island life. Birds abounded, though terns attacked intruders aggressively.
Hrisey provided all a sailor could hope for: a safe harbor, friendly locals, a cozy pub with fresh fish and beer, hiking trails, and a hot tub with mountain views. The festival culminated in a midnight bonfire and village-wide singing—a communal ritual that left goosebumps. Reluctantly, we departed, daughter Anna waiting in Siglufjördur.
Crisscrossing the Interior
With Anna’s 4WD, we traversed Iceland’s highlands. Rivers were forded, campsites were remote, hot pots and waterfalls refreshed us, and lava landscapes and glaciers dazzled the senses. Ten days later, we returned to Stravanza, recharged but ready for more maritime exploration.
A Glacier at the Anchorage
From Siglufjördur, we headed west toward Hornstrandir National Park. Along the way, two cod were hooked within minutes, a reminder of the North Atlantic’s abundance.
Each fjord held its own personality. In Leirufjördur, we anchored beneath the Drangajökull glacier. Hiking icy streams and picnicking in the sun, we spotted whales surfacing in the fjord, their gentle presence amplifying the sense of isolation and wonder.
West Side Story
South along the west coast, seabirds and breaching humpbacks accompanied us. Dynjandi waterfall, wide and majestic, was ours alone to admire.
Snæfellsjökull glowed orange-red at sunset on the Snæfellsnes peninsula. By mid-August, darkness returned at midnight, a reminder that summer in the north was fleeting. Reykjavík offered city comforts after weeks of remote anchoring.
Vestmannaeyjar Islands capped our journey, where the 1973 volcanic eruption shaped both land and lives. Museums and conversations with locals revealed resilience and connection—an emotional and fitting end to our loop around Iceland.
Farewell to Iceland
From Heimaey, we set sail southeast toward Scotland. Vatnajökull glimmered on the horizon, a final reminder of the vast, untamed beauty we left behind. “Bless, Iceland,” we called. “You have burned yourself into our sailors’ hearts. We will return.”
About the Authors
Ingrid and Robert Schnabl have sailed since the 1980s. Their first yacht, Idemo, carried them and their three-year-old daughter on a four-year circumnavigation. Today, they sail Stravanza, an Alubat Onvi 435, across the North Atlantic.Follow their voyages: stravanza.at | 3umdiewelt.info
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