Fjord Safari

A wildlife excursion through Iceland’s most remote reserve

Photographed & Written by Silas Fallstich

If you can imagine the absolute best safety meeting possible, one of the main talking points would be cake, and the destination of this meeting would be aboard a sailboat that looks like a pirate ship, with skull and crossbones flag and all. As much as this sounds like fiction, it’s not. This is the first moment aboard the Arktika in Isafjordur, Iceland. Captain Siggi is introducing myself and our already close-knit group of 10 strangers to the itinerary of a six-day wildlife excursion to the Hornstrandir Nature Reserve, the most remote region of the Western Fjords of Iceland. He explains that the vessel and its crew operate as a mobile hut to destinations that have no huts, and without further adieu, we bid our harbor farewell.

Sails up and only 30 minutes from town, we spy a pair of humpback whales. They’re impressive animals and seeing their sprays and flukes is a prequel to coming adventures. Many of the guests including myself stay on deck, not wanting to miss a moment. We sail along, not pressed for time. Fjord after fjord ebbs into and out of view. The ocean is rolling, creating a rhythmic motion like an overused washing machine stuck on repeat, but the Arktika glides effortlessly. Our day of sailing is complete when we arrive at Hornvik Bay. Coming into the protected area reveals 200 degrees of dynamic coast. To the east, and the point of the horn, a steep coastline leads gradually down to a rocky shore, a waterfall spilling into a black sand beach is just visible in the distance. Siggi gives us a quick briefing and we take a zodiac ashore with our crew member Óli at the helm.

Once on land we are allowed to roam freely. I ditch the trail and head upward through yellow and purple fields of flowers. An accumulation of granite boulders my chosen path, wanting to leave the flowers as intact as possible. I climb up for a short spell and reach an area of wet, mossy ground. As I continue there are a few moments of handheld climbing needed on an area with a steeper pitch, then I reach an outcropping. Here I put down my pack and take in the view.

A small patch of sunlight moves across the vacant land before me, occasionally landing on the Arktika below on the water, and then passing on. I remain here and time stands still. Tranquility, peace, and calm come over me and I realize that I’m alone, the only thing in sight is wilderness and a sailing yacht. I’ve needed this.

When I descend the slope it’s with reckless abandon, running and jumping down the mountainside. Back at the beach, members of the group start straggling in. I ride the first zodiac back to the boat. Once on board I beeline for the shower. All cleaned up and dry, I come to find out that everyone on board saw a fox from the deck, it was on the beach not but a few feet from our zodiac landing. I’m clean but feel like the last picked kid at recess.

Dinner makes me feel less left out. The halibut with citrus sauce and stoemp (a hearty potato and vegetable puree) are simple but delicious. For dessert the final crew member Annukka made a fruit fudge. All of us are amazed that such fare has come from the small galley and the talented crew. After dinner we bring out our supply of beer and spirits and remain to socialize, this evening we get a chance to interact with a more lively, slightly inebriated version of Óli.

I’m up at 6 a.m., someone else’s alarm woke me but I’m grateful for it. I have the saloon to myself. I’ve been writing for 40 minutes and nobody has stirred, just the occasional clink of rigging on deck. The deckhouse is warmer than I expected, not that I thought it would be cold. It’s more than the temperature, it has a comforting atmosphere. A lived-in aroma of warmth, hot tea, and cinnamon permeate the space. Siggi at one point alluded to this excursion being like taking family on vacation and I already feel right at home.

Before long Siggi and Óli are making coffee in silence and laying out a simple yet extensive breakfast. Granola, muesli, various breads, every jam and spread you could want, meat, cheese, and fruit. Within no time the whole boat is around the table, talking and eating. Siggi details the day’s itinerary and in a flash we’ve packed sack lunches, layered up, and are back on the zodiac, heading to the eastern shore of the bay.

When I climb off the beach the group is 30 yards ahead of me beyond an A-frame outhouse. As I near my companions, a small but distinct figure slowly reveals itself and I instantly fall to my belly. The tiniest little creature is all but 10 feet in front of me. An arctic fox pup, as gray as metallic metal. His demeanor is relaxed, my posture is working. His movements don’t make a sound and I feel as if my every breath is echoing through the landscape. He is small and delicate yet maneuvers with confidence. He props himself up on his forelegs and poses, searching the land for something unseen.

We move down the trail along the beach and begin climbing. As we gain the ridge I bear-crawl to the edge and look out over a sheer thousand foot cliff into an expanse of vast blank ocean, into the Arctic. To curtail my landscape interest, I spot a napping fox 15 yards from the trail I’ve just left. His body is curled into his tail, only his snout exposed. I lay in the grass not far from him, both of us neither sleeping nor moving. A siesta on a cliff with an arctic fox as a companion.

The group walks down the trail and we hit the ground again when we come upon another fox doing what seems like yoga. Disinterested in distance, it beelines straight up the path to us. Leisurely walking within five feet of our faces, it pauses for a moment, offers us the most dismissive of glances, and runs off straight past the remainder of our hiking group. This feels like an amusement park of wildlife sightings. For a moment I even think Siggi is impressed. The group fractures at this point and our close-knit group of fox observers heads for the beach.

Five minutes after regaining the beach what else but a fox appears on the trail ahead of us. He surveys the landscape for a moment and then lets out a scream. It’s a high pitched yelping bark that gives me goosebumps and makes me feel more connected to the land than I’ve felt in a very long time.

Within the hour we find ourselves at the waterfall. It doesn’t fall directly on the beach but into a small lagoon that’s surrounded by the ever-present yellow and purple flowers. We head for the beach and hail Óli and the zodiac to hasten us back to the boat.

The zodiac’s nose is pointed for the Arktika, there are seven of us on board, and everyone is silent. The only noise is the subtle splash the craft makes on the water and the hum of the engine. I take long deep breaths, letting this immense day of hiking and nose-to-nose fox sightings set in. This has been a truly incredible day and we haven’t even gotten to dinner.

We leave Hornvik Bay in the morning, feeling a little sad as it has shown us so much. We motor a few miles north of the bay into the Arctic Circle. Siggi cuts the engine and when everyone is on deck he asks if anyone wants to jump in. Without thinking, I’m down in my bunk and then back in board shorts, fearful of missing this chance.

The rope chords are smooth as I climb one ring at a time, unsure of myself at first. With each ring I gain confidence. Six heaves upwards, not to the top of the rope ladder but high enough for me, as I rest here for a moment, someone says backflip. I turn my attention on the deck and not the dark black, oddly still waters. Óli says jump away from the boat, his voice a clear instruction above the other jests, encouragements, and happenstance words. Time slows down. I inhale two big breaths, I want arctic air in my lungs if I’m to go plunging into the sea. I yelp out a fox howl and spring from my perch. My hands steady me in the air, I can’t feel anything just the sweet kiss of the ocean as I plunge feet first. There is a submerged moment of stillness when everything stops, my eyes shut tight I hold everything in. I could stay in this moment—this so peaceful moment—for eternity. Caught between a fox yelp and a whale spray. The noise on deck, the crash of waves, is all lost. Pure silence. I break the surface with a spout of my own and the cold hits me. I swim to the boat, it only takes a few strokes, and hoist myself up the short ladder, the metal of the deck colder than anything else. I’m back on deck, deaf to everyone yet still hearing what I need most. “Jump again! Jump again!” And for no apparent reason I lose my puffy coat, regain my perch, and go plunging into the sea a second time. When I climb aboard again I know I’ve had my fill and that all is well for there is laughter on deck and a hot shower only a few feet away.

As if jumping into the arctic ocean isn’t enough for the day, we sail south to Sambòl and put ashore. En route, Siggi gives us an ever-changing itinerary, but it’s delivered with confidence and always creates the perfect experience. Once underway, we cross a bog that leads to a slow rising mountain, up a snowfield that’s barely surviving the summer, and gain the high ground. The walking is easy as a well-used path with large rock towers

marks the route. Once in sight of the next fjord, Siggi gets a phone call from his dad and it only takes a few moments of scanning the horizon for him to point out his dad’s boat. It’s miles off and mostly an indistinguishable blur to me. I take the second half of the hike to myself, letting the natural progression of the path be my guide. We are bound for Hesteyri and our first order of cake.

I have stumbled ahead of the group and Siggi radios me to order for everyone when I arrive at the cafe. When I get there I leave my muddy boots at the door and find a server. When I say that I need to order for 11 she looks baffled. It takes some convincing and looks from the cook that would scare the devil out of most anyone, but before long the owner of the cafe comes along, in a few blinks all of us are sharing hot coffee, some of the most delicious pancakes I’ve ever had, and the host even plays us a tune.

The next morning I rise early, knowing this will be our last full day aboard. We return to Hesteyri and Annukka leads us to an abandoned whaling station. She does an incredible job detailing the process and which procedures happened where. One of the guests is an avid geocache enthusiast, so during the hike I jump into an abandoned silo, milling around with minimal light to find the cache even though I had no clue what I was looking for. The joy on her face was something to marvel at when I emerged from the decrepit silo holding a small plastic box. A short hike later, we are back at the cafe having hot coffee, pancakes, happy marriage cake, and lamb pate toast.

We depart the bay in haste and motor towards Vigur Island, our final destination. Along the way whales begin to show themselves, at first one and then two. After a short spell of this, there seem to be whales in all directions. I feel as if I don’t know which way is up and which is down, this is euphoria of a different kind. There are illicit shouts of glee as someone spots a spray or fluke. The shared energy on deck is as important and as keenly felt as the sight of these incredible beasts.

At Vigur Island our time is slightly hedged in. We are given strict rules as this is a smaller and more inhabited place, as well as there being nesting terns. When we reach the coast a small cluster of us find a nice rock outcropping with a horde of puffins. We sit seaside starring at the puffins as the tide brings them into the shore and out again. The energy of the birds heightens as they near us and then wains. The repetitive nature of this is a joy.

Once back near the boat we find that there’s yet another cafe. The farmer and operator of the cafe gives us a tour of one of the preserved historic houses. It’s an instant snapshot into history. They have kept many of the ornaments of the home intact, making it easy to visualize what life in a different time entailed. After the tour we retire to the cafe for coffee and our second helping of happy marriage cake. I still can’t get enough.

Back on board we settle into the same routine of preparing for dinner. Then one and all gather at the table for a feast with a happy hum of conversation all around the room. Like many nights on board, we stay up late. Tonight the creative side has appeared from somewhere and soon Siggi and Óli are digging bottles out of storage. With the most incredibly random hodgepodge of spirits on the table, Óli invents the Fox on the Beach, a cocktail of varying portions of all the liquors, beers and nonalcoholic drinks. It’s a murky sludge-like color, smells of corroded earth, and tastes like a kitchen sink. We all take turns making rounds and boat life revelry encompasses the space. To cap off the evening a highly spirited Óli commands the group to jump from the boat the next day before finishing the journey.

In the morning, his speech comes to fruition when three guests jump into the water, one backflipping his way from boat perch into the sea. After these incredible feats, several others depart on kayaks and SUPs. The area is calm and we even see a car from the boat, which alarms us and reminds us we aren’t so far from civilization anymore.

We embark for the harbor in silence. I climb the highest rope ladder and find a momentary perch that seems to suit the moment. Before long our personal pack of whales returns and brings the boat back to life. We are once again reveling in the experience, with whale spouts hastening us all the way to Isafjordur.

Can you think of the best day you’ve had in the last year? Or no, go further, the last five years? Don’t answer quickly, really think on it. I’m sitting over a half-eaten lukewarm bowl of curry, the roll of the ocean tells me it’s calm but the presence of the sea is close at hand, there’s a hum of happy, excited conversation all around. I’ve just had the best day in recent memory, full of Arctic Circle views, rugged cliff lines, hiking from black stone beaches to mossy summits and back to a seaside waterfall strewn with yellow and purple wildflowers. All of this interspersed with rubbing noses with arctic foxes. Oh, and of course second helpings of curry. You will be hard pressed to find as much adventure, cheerful laughter, and enthusiastic nature-induced revelry as aboard the Arktika with Captain Siggi at the helm. *

Home Harbour: Isafjordur, Iceland info@aurora-arktika.com aurora-arktika.com