A Midwinter Journey Far North: Unraveling Iceland’s Hidden Charms
For those of us who have ventured north to call this land home, it’s hard to argue against the sheer magnetism of Iceland. Reykjavik proudly holds the title of The World’s Most Northerly Capital City, and it’s only natural to expect that Iceland’s northernmost settlement, Raufarhöfn, would possess an equally cool allure.
Nestled at the remote latitude of 66.454°N, Raufarhöfn—a coastal village in northeast Iceland—certainly fits that description. On a dark midwinter morning, my wife and I set off from our home in Akureyri, steering our rented Dacia Duster on an adventure to uncover Raufarhöfn’s chilly charm.
Dog Paws and Atlantic Shores
The drive to Raufarhöfn stretches across 200 kilometers of Iceland’s captivating northern scenery. But any hopes of taking in breathtaking views were thwarted by an unrelenting snowstorm. The heavy snowfall—known in Icelandic as hundslappadrífa, a poetic nod to snowflakes the size of a dog’s paw—shrouded the roads, forcing us to concentrate furrow-browed, barely discerning the edges of the road.
Winter is undoubtedly my favorite season in Iceland, but one must be prepared to submit to the whims of the weather gods. A word of advice: if you’re venturing out during this time, be sure you know how to navigate snowy roads—discovering the edge in an unwelcome way is an experience best avoided.
“Eventually, the cold compelled us to leave the enchantment of the stones and retreat back to our car.”
Upon arriving at the Grásteinn Guesthouse, our generously hosted accommodation just outside Þórshöfn, we were greeted by a lively blur of black and white fur darting across our headlights. Arctic foxes, perhaps? I reached eagerly for my camera, only to discover it was Kappi and Bessi, the farm’s exuberant sheepdogs, offering a warm welcome. As we transferred our bags to our cozy little cottage, our furry companions insisted on “helping,” their enthusiasm compelling us to shower them with affection.
With dawn breaking and the snow finally lifted, we fully appreciated the seclusion of our surroundings. Our north-facing porch opened onto a valley blanketed in radiant white, kissed by the soft pink hues of sunrise. Aside from the distant, steady roar of the Atlantic surf, which met a far-off shore, all was silent.
Spiritual Stones
As we entered Raufarhöfn that morning, our Duster’s dashboard declared a brisk -6°C outside—not so much northern cool as it was simply freezing. Driving through the quaint town, our gaze was drawn to the top of the nearby Malrakkaás hill, crowned by Heimskautsgerðið, or The Arctic Henge. This artistic landmark, reminiscent of England’s Stonehenge, commands the landscape.
Heimskautsgerðið merges art and functionality with its impressive arches—some reaching heights of ten meters—constructed from locally sourced stones that can weigh up to three tonnes. It serves as both a tourist attraction and a spiritual beacon, celebrating Icelandic literary culture while functioning as a solar calendar.
The four outer arches, named Norðri, Suðri, Austri, and Vestri, reference both cardinal directions and the mythical dwarves from Icelandic lore, who are said to support the heavens. This unique structure is carefully aligned to capture the sun’s rays, unobstructed by mountains or buildings, thanks to the flat expanse of the surrounding landscape.
“The current lack of visitor infrastructure is refreshing, evoking a sense of untouched natural beauty rather than that of a conventional tourist hotspot.”
We passed the town’s snowplough, diligently clearing yesterday’s accumulation. Although the vehicle’s efforts didn’t extend to the road leading to the Heimskautsgerðið car park, our resilience paid off as our plucky Duster powered up the hill with minimal slipping, making us the sole visitors.
Before we even had a chance to fully appreciate the site, we witnessed two other cars enter the parking lot, circle briefly, and depart. Was this a new trend in quick-visit tourism? It felt absurd. Nonetheless, we bundled up and ventured into the invigorating winter sun, enduring a short walk to the stones.
Experiencing Heimskautsgerðið in solitude is genuinely breathtaking. The low winter sun painted the stones in captivating contrasts, illuminating some while casting others into shadow. The fresh snowfall muffled all sound—a serene blanket that enhanced the magic of the scene. My unaccustomed fingers stung with the cold each time I had to remove my gloves for a camera adjustment, and eventually, the chill nudged us back to the warmth of our car.
Managed by a local non-profit, the Heimskautsgerðið project began about two decades ago, initiated by a dedicated hotelier. Still a work in progress, it evokes comparisons to Gaudí’s Sagrada Família in Barcelona—a beautiful, spiritual site that remains unfinished and always in search of further support.
From a practical standpoint, Heimskautsgerðið is still transitioning into a fully-fledged tourist destination; there are currently no facilities at the site. So be sure to visit local businesses for refreshments and restrooms before making the trek. Parking is free and open at all hours, adding to its charm. Enjoy the opportunity to witness a natural wonder before the tourist infrastructure inevitably arrives.
You Can’t Miss the Hi-Viz Lighthouse
Looking southeast from Heimskautsgerðið, a picturesque outcrop of land juts out into the Atlantic, crowned by a striking orange lighthouse, a quintessential symbol of Iceland. As we made our way over for a closer look, we discovered that the area surrounding the Raufarhafnarviti lighthouse, built in 1931, offered breathtaking views of Raufarhöfn and its unspoiled surroundings.
On a nearby hill stand the bretastangir, or British rods—radio communication towers erected by occupying forces during World War II. As we descended the outcrop, we passed Raufarhafnarkirkja, the town’s Lutheran church, constructed in 1928 under the careful design of Guðjón Samúelsson, the architect behind several iconic Lutheran churches, including Akureyri’s and the legendary Hallgrímskirkja in Reykjavík.
Once a bustling fishing hub in the mid-20th century, Raufarhöfn thrived with several thousand residents who capitalized on the herring boom. Today, the populace has dwindled to around 200, and while the town now holds little beyond essential amenities, that doesn’t mean there’s no reason to visit. The rich history of fishing and wartime significance, coupled with the innovative spirit of Heimskautsgerðið, greatly enhances its appeal amidst the stunning natural backdrop.
John Pearson is a journalist and photographer. You can follow his work at johnpearson.co.
