Why camping in Iceland is nothing like camping elsewhere
Iceland has roughly 370,000 people and 103,000 square kilometres of terrain. In summer, the sun barely sets. In some parts of the interior, you can drive for hours without seeing another vehicle. Camping here isn’t just a budget option — for a lot of travellers, it’s the only way to actually experience the country rather than just pass through it.
But Iceland also has rules, and they changed significantly in 2015. Before that, wild camping was largely tolerated. After a surge in tourism caused real damage — fire rings on lava fields, human waste near drinking water sources, tyre tracks across protected moss that takes centuries to grow back — the authorities drew a line. Knowing where that line is will save you a fine and, honestly, a fair amount of embarrassment.
Iceland camping rules you actually need to understand
The core rule is simple: outside of designated campsites, you may only camp on uncultivated land, for one night at a time, with no more than a small group. In practice, this means no pitching a tent in a farmer’s field, no pulling up to a famous waterfall and spending the weekend, and absolutely no camping inside national parks unless you’re at a designated site.
Þingvellir, Snæfellsjökull, and Vatnajökull national parks all have specific campgrounds. You must use them. The same applies to the Westfjords nature reserves and most of the highlands. Rangers do patrol, and fines are real — starting around 50,000 ISK (roughly €330 / $360) for violations in protected areas.
The campsite registration system
Since 2022, many of Iceland’s most-visited campsites require advance booking during peak season (late June through August). Skaftafell campsite inside Vatnajökull National Park, for example, fills up fast on weekends and around the July school holidays. I’ve seen people arrive at 10pm, tent on their back, and have to drive 40 kilometres to find space. Book ahead. It’s not optional anymore.
Fees at registered campsites typically run between 1,500 and 2,500 ISK per person per night (€10–17 / $11–18). Some smaller sites on the Snæfellsnes peninsula or in the east still operate on an honesty-box system, which I find quietly charming. The warden comes round in the morning, you pay, everyone moves on with their day.
Fires and the rules around them
Don’t light a campfire. I know that sounds harsh, but I mean it sincerely. Iceland has almost no native woodland, very little topsoil in many areas, and wind conditions that can take a spark somewhere catastrophic within minutes. Open fires are banned in most of Iceland from June 1 to September 15, and even outside those dates, they’re restricted to designated fire pits at specific campsites. Bring a gas stove. The lightweight canister stoves — MSR, Primus, Jetboil — are the standard here, and you can buy fuel canisters in Reykjavík at 66°North on Bankastræti or at Útilíf on Laugavegur.
What gear actually works in Icelandic conditions
People underestimate Icelandic weather. This is the most common mistake I see, and it costs people their trip. The temperature in July in the highlands can drop to 4°C overnight. Rain can arrive sideways. Wind on the Reykjanes peninsula or along the south coast regularly hits 15–20 m/s, which will wreck a flimsy tent in a few hours.
Tent
You need a four-season or expedition-grade tent, or at minimum a very solid three-season model with full coverage and strong pole architecture. The MSR Hubba Hubba NX is a popular choice among hikers doing the Laugavegur trail — it’s light enough to carry and tough enough to handle most of what the highlands throw at it. If you’re car camping around the Ring Road, you have more flexibility on weight, but don’t go lighter than a three-season rated model from a brand you trust.
Guy lines are essential. Stake deep. On lava fields, you may need to use rocks to weight your guy lines because stakes won’t hold. I’ve watched a tent cartwheel across a campsite near Vík í Mýrdal because someone thought four stakes was enough in wind coming off Mýrdalsjökull. It wasn’t.
Sleeping bag and mat
A sleeping bag rated to 0°C is the minimum. I’d go to -5°C if you’re camping in September, in the highlands, or if you run cold. Combine it with a quality sleeping mat — an inflatable mat with an R-value of at least 3.5, ideally 4 or higher. Cold comes up from the ground as much as from the air. This is the detail that separates a good night’s sleep from a miserable, shivering one.
Clothing layers
The layering system applies: moisture-wicking base layer, mid-layer fleece or down, and a wind and waterproof shell. Your shell jacket matters most. Iceland’s wind is relentless in exposed areas. A cheap rain jacket from a fast fashion brand will fail you on the Fimmvörðuháls trail or anywhere on the south coast. 66°North makes excellent Icelandic-made shells, though they’re expensive. Outdoor Research and Arc’teryx are the other brands I see most on serious hikers here.
Waterproof trousers are not optional if you’re hiking. Waterproof boots with ankle support — Salomon X Ultra 4 GTX is the model I see on about half the hikers I meet on the Laugavegur. Merino wool socks, two pairs minimum per day of hiking.
Everything else worth mentioning
- Headlamp with spare batteries — even in summer, some mountain huts and highland campsites are dark inside
- Trekking poles, especially if you’re crossing glacial rivers on the Laugavegur or Fimmvörðuháls routes
- A dry bag or roll-top pack liner — I use an 8L Sea to Summit dry bag for my electronics and documents
- Sunscreen — yes, even in Iceland, especially on snow or glacial terrain where UV reflects strongly
- Insect repellent for the Mývatn area in summer, where midges are legitimately unpleasant
The best campsites in Iceland for different types of trips
For a first camping trip
Reykjadalur campsite, about 30 kilometres east of Reykjavík near Hveragerði, is a solid starting point. It’s well-maintained, not far from a hot river where you can soak, and gives you a real taste of the landscape without being remote. The drive from Reykjavík takes about 35 minutes and the campsite costs around 1,800 ISK per person.
For the south coast
Skaftafell campsite in Vatnajökull National Park is one of the best-positioned in the country — glacier views, walking trails straight from the tent, and a visitor centre with good facilities. It’s popular for a reason. Book at least two weeks ahead in July. Nearby Jökulsárlón glacier lagoon is 50 kilometres east and worth building a day around.
For the highlands
The Laugavegur trail between Landmannalaugar and Þórsmörk is Iceland’s most famous multi-day hike, and the mountain huts along it have adjacent camping areas. You must book these in advance through Ferðafélag Íslands (the Iceland Touring Association). Landmannalaugar itself, at the northern end, is one of the most otherworldly campsites you’ll find anywhere — surrounded by rhyolite mountains in shades of pink, green, and brown, with a natural hot spring a two-minute walk from your tent. The road in (F225) requires a 4WD with decent clearance.
For the north and east
Ásbyrgi campsite in the Jökulsárgljúfur section of Vatnajökull National Park is underrated. It sits inside a horseshoe-shaped canyon that blocks wind and creates a sheltered microclimate — genuinely pleasant even when the rest of the north is blowing a gale. The Golden Circle route gets most of the attention for day trips, but this corner of the northeast has scale and solitude that the south lacks.
Practical things that catch people off guard
Water in Iceland is safe to drink from streams and rivers, unless you’re downstream of a farm or geothermal area. Above the 400-metre line in the highlands, most running water is clean. Use your judgment — turbid, warm, or sulphur-smelling water should be filtered or treated. I carry a Sawyer Squeeze filter on multi-day trips, though honestly I drink straight from the highland rivers without a second thought.
Toilets at remote campsites are often composting or pit toilets. Bring your own hand sanitiser. If there’s no toilet at all — which can happen on wild camp spots — bury waste at least 70 metres from water sources and 15 centimetres deep. Leave No Trace principles apply here, and people actually follow them in Iceland, which I respect.
Never drive off marked roads to reach a campsite. This is a major legal issue and a real environmental one. The moss and vegetation in Iceland’s interior are extraordinarily fragile — tyre tracks can last for decades. Stick to marked F-roads and park in designated areas, even when it means a longer walk to your spot.
Grocery shopping before you head into the highlands is essential. Kronan in Selfoss and Bonus in Hveragerði are the last reasonable supermarkets before you head south toward the interior. Once you’re on the F-roads, you’re on your own for food. I usually cook one-pot meals — pasta with olive oil and tinned fish, or lentil soup — but proper freeze-dried camping meals from Útilíf are worth it for longer trips when pack weight matters.
When to go camping in Iceland
June through August is the window most people aim for, and with good reason: longer daylight, more accessible highland roads, and the best odds of reasonable weather. July is peak season and the highlands are genuinely accessible, but campsites are busiest.
September is my personal favourite month for camping. The highland roads are still open in early September, the tourist crowds thin out noticeably, autumn colours hit the lowlands, and you get the first real chances of seeing the northern lights. It’s colder — plan for overnight temperatures of 2–5°C in the south and below freezing in the highlands — but the trade-offs are worth it if you have the right gear.
May can work for the south coast and Snæfellsnes, but highland roads typically don’t open until mid-June, and conditions vary year to year. Veðurstofa Íslands (the Icelandic Met Office) at vedur.is is the website you should check daily. Not weekly. Daily. Weather changes fast here, and the forecast 24 hours out is much more reliable than anything further ahead.
If you’re planning a highland camping trip for next summer, now is the time to sort your gear list, check the Ferðafélag Íslands booking calendar, and nail down the F-road access dates — they usually publish those in late April or early May based on snowpack conditions.
