The Strandir region is a treasure trove of secrets, unfolding its stories only to those patient enough to listen. Perhaps it’s the isolation that keeps tales hidden a little longer; perhaps it’s simply the rhythm of life here. Nestled between Djúpavík and Norðurfjörður lies Trékyllisvík, a quiet cove in Árneshreppur, the northernmost corner of Iceland’s northernmost municipality. A few houses scatter the shoreline, yet the only sound is the raucous calls of arctic terns slicing through the air.
This remote spot is whispered to be where the witch-hunts of the Westfjords first ignited, with three women reportedly burned at the stake in the 17th century. The air is thick with this somber history. Here, you’ll find a school and a small museum, but it’s the unusual sight of two churches, Árneskirkja and Árneskirkja II, facing one another across the road that truly piques curiosity.
Gone are the days of having a priest in the area, and the reason for the existence of both churches remains a tantalizing mystery. “I was confirmed in one but got married in the other,” a local shares with a shrug, leaving the rest of us to ponder the enigma.
Photo by Art Bicnick
Grandpa’s Little Museum
At the heart of Trékyllisvík, I find Kört, a diminutive museum marked by a gate no higher than my knees. A sign instructs visitors to ring the bell for entry. I do just that, prompting a teenage girl to emerge from the house behind to welcome me. When I ask if she can guide me through the museum and share its history, she looks puzzled before saying, “Let me call my grandpa.”
“But it’s really the view that steals the show: a dramatic cliff on one side and an endless stretch of ocean on the other.”
Moments later, Valgeir Benediktsson, the museum’s founder and my guide, appears. A farmer by trade, Valgeir has spent years amassing an eclectic collection of crafts and everyday objects: old tools, textiles, and items fashioned from stone and driftwood. His growing collection soon drew attention from passersby, leading him to build a dedicated space for it in 1996.
Kört exists, Valgeir explains plainly, to preserve “the stories of interesting lives that have since passed.”
As we peruse the museum, his granddaughter patiently translates. Valgeir delves into tales of a fisherman with 18 children, a man who used a tobacco case to predict the weather, and a walrus tooth believed to be between 10,000 and 12,000 years old — a fact he verified.
Valgeir admits his favorite item shifts constantly, but for now, it’s a stunning askur — a traditional Icelandic wooden bowl with a lid, once used as a lunch container. In the tiny turf houses of old, tables were a luxury, so each household member had their own askur. With the advent of proper houses in the 20th century, they fell out of use. “It’s fascinating that this one has remained intact,” he observes. “Usually, they get damaged.”
Next, he shows me a centuries-old candleholder carved from stone, designed to hold lýsi, a traditional oil used for lighting. “The wick was made from cotton grass. These lights stopped being used in Iceland after 1400,” he notes.
We explore the museum further, which also sells local knitwear and some of Valgeir’s own woodwork, including carved birds native to the region. As we say our goodbyes, I watch his granddaughter pull the flag down — certainly enough curious visitors for one day.
Photo by Art Bicnick
Photo by Art Bicnick
Krossnes, Finally
Traversing this majestic, untouched landscape, it’s hard to imagine a more perfect day. Yet, one thing can elevate it: a visit to a pool. Not just any pool — Krossneslaug has been on my radar since a 2022 interview with Jón Karl Helgason, the director of Pool Stories, a documentary exploring Iceland’s rich bathing culture.
In his travels across the country for the film, Jón identified standout pools, and when I pressed him for his favorite, he immediately replied: “Krossnes is breathtaking. When you’re in there, you can see the horizon, the ocean — and feel like you’re alone in the world.”
Krossneslaug is situated at the very end of the road. To venture further north requires either a hike, a rugged jeep ride that only goes a few fjords further, or a return trip to Norðurfjörður — the last stop for food and refreshments, now operated by Hotel Djúpavík. Last year, I came close to this pool — only to find it drained upon my arrival. (For those interested, there’s a mud football championship every Verslunarmannahelgi, the first weekend in August, where muddy players often head straight to the pool afterwards for a soak, which means a day or two of closing for cleaning.)
This time, luck is on my side. The pool is open, and a cheerful Kristín greets me at the cash register. After spending winters in Austria, Strandir has drawn her back home. “I heard there are young farmers in the area. Do you know them?” I inquire. Kristín chuckles, “Oh yes, those are my parents.”
Celebrating its 70th anniversary, Krossneslaug holds a cherished place in the community — a haven where local children learned to swim. Recently, two hot tubs even warmer than the pool have been added. But it’s truly the view that enchants: a towering cliff on one side and an endless sea on the other.
A few others are enjoying the pool, and we engage in light conversation. Someone playfully remarks that only the adventurous dare to live here. Perhaps there’s a grain of truth in that. But if “adventurous” means relishing a soak in this stunning setting day after day, I’d call that a well-deserved reward.
Photo by Art Bicnick
This is the third piece in a series of articles documenting our recent journey to Strandir. Grateful to Hotel Djúpavik for their hospitality and Go Car Rental for providing the wheels. Book your car at gocarrental.is.
