"How would you feel about a winter surf expedition in Iceland early November?"
On October 8th, I received a text:
"How would you feel about a winter surf expedition in Iceland early November?"
My fingers hovered over the reply. My gut reaction? Equal parts intrigue and apprehension. Surfing in Iceland? I’ve surfed all over the world, from the Telos Islands in Indonesia to Baja’s sun-drenched points, and the rugged shores of South Korea. I’ve even surfed on the 38th parallel, riding waves that literally divided North and South Korea.
But my experience in cold water was limited to a January session in Alaska and a handful of frigid outings in Korea, where locals with admirable foresight installed hot showers right by the beach. Iceland was another beast altogether— volcanic shores, relentless wind, and water temps that flirted with freezing. Still, I couldn’t shake the pull of adventure.
I began digging into what I could find about surfing in Iceland.
The imagery was dramatic: black sand beaches, jagged coastlines, and waves that looked as raw as the landscapes they crashed against. Reports were a mixed bag—short-period storm swells, howling winds, and plenty of uncertainty. It wouldn’t be comfortable, but isn’t that half the point of adventure?
We cobbled together a loose plan: rent a 4WD camper van, head for the south coast, and chase waves and Northern Lights. The trip also doubled as a chance to create content for Sad Bird. I packed bags of coffee, brewing gear, camera equipment, and my surfboards, praying the airlines would be gentle.
When I landed in Reykjavík, I spotted my board bag intact on the carousel. Relief. But my second bag, a hodgepodge of camera gear, mountaineering equipment, and Sad Bird’s coffee stash, was nowhere to be found. The baggage office gave me a hopeful, “It’ll arrive tomorrow.” It did arrive, but it looked like it had fallen from the sky, run over by a baggage cart, and then stuffed into a jet engine for good measure. Cameras, a drone, camp stoves, even Nalgene bottles—crushed.
Still, with storm swells hitting the coast and daylight in short supply, there was no time to sulk. We drove south to Þorlákshöfn, a rocky point break known for its consistency. The 45°F water was biting, but we braved it for a few hours, rewarded with clean overhead waves. Surfing unfamiliar spots is always nerve-wracking, but apart from a few curious minke whales, it was just us and the Arctic Ocean.
Over the next few days, we surfed spots near Grindavík and Garður. The weather was classic Iceland in November: wind-whipped rain and endless gray skies. But the promise of the Northern Lights lured us further east to Vík. The drive was brutal—50 mph winds, rain coming in sideways, and a two-lane road where passing trucks felt like cannonballs hurtling through the darkness. But just as we set up camp for the night, the clouds parted. For an hour, the sky exploded in waves of green and purple, fluttering across the stars. It was like the universe hit pause just for us.
The next morning, we turned our focus to the Vatnajökull glacier. Hiking its icy expanse reminded us of Iceland’s sheer scale. The landscape was otherworldly, and while summiting Iceland’s tallest peak wasn’t feasible (thanks to my crushed crampons), the experience was humbling.
One of the trip’s highlights came at Stokksnes, a black sand beach near Höfn. The wind finally relented, and the sun made a rare appearance, lighting up clean, playful waves.
Seals popped up to watch us surf, and a minke whale circled before heading north. It was the kind of session that makes all the effort worth it. On our way back west, we stopped in Vík again. The swell was enormous—double overhead waves crashing on steep black sand. The wind howled, pushing gusts over 50 mph. We stood there, debating whether to paddle out, but in the end, we opted for bowls of lamb stew over Arctic punishment.
Iceland is unlike any place I’ve surfed. It’s wild, unforgiving, and stunningly beautiful. The waves are raw, the weather unrelenting, and the rewards immense. Surfing in 45°F water isn’t for everyone, but for those willing to embrace the cold, Iceland offers an adventure like no other. This trip was a reminder of why we seek these experiences in the first place. It’s not just about the waves or the destinations. It’s about the stories, the camaraderie, and the moments that leave you in awe of the world’s raw beauty. Iceland is not for the faint of heart, but for the hardy (and perhaps a little foolhardy) it delivers memories that linger long after the cold subsides.