Puffins, Solitude, and the Soul of the Arctic – There are few places left in the world where you can photograph wildlife in complete solitude—where the only sound is the rush of wind across dramatic basalt cliffs, the echoing cackle of seabirds, and the soft high-speed click of your mirrorless cameras electronic shutter. Grimsey Island, perched on the Arctic Circle just off the north coast of Iceland, is one of those places. It is wild, raw, and unforgiving—but in its ruggedness lies extraordinary beauty and a rare opportunity for intimate encounters with wildlife. Grimsey is the hidden gem of Iceland, packing a photographic punch well above its size and weight.

This May and June, I had the great privilege of leading two back-to-back photography expeditions to Grimsey Island focused primarily on the charismatic Atlantic Puffin, but with ample opportunities to photograph a host of other seabirds and Arctic landscapes. The trips—May 27th to June 2nd and June 3rd to June 8th—delivered not only exceptional bird photography but also some of the most dramatic weather and moody light I’ve encountered in recent years.

Grimsey isn’t easy to reach, and that’s a good thing. Its remoteness keeps it pristine and blissfully free from crowds. To get there, we journeyed north to the Icelandic town of Dalvík, where we boarded the ferry for the three-hour crossing. The first group arrived smoothly, with calm seas and mild winds—a gentle welcome to the north. But the second trip was greeted by nature’s fury: high winds exceeding 30 metres per second and ocean swells over five meters delayed our departure by a full day. While the delay wasn’t ideal, it provided an impromptu opportunity to explore some Lightroom processing and discuss the optimal camera settings for the upcoming photography.  The one-day delay also served as a reminder that in the Arctic, nature always has the final say.

Once we landed on Grimsey, however, everything fell into place. Our home for the week was a humble guesthouse near the island’s southern cliffs—a perfect base from which to venture out for both early morning and late evening sessions. Grimsey is a relatively small island with only a few basic roads. Nevertheless, a car (4WD) is of significant benefit for moving around quickly and accessing the more remote and higher sea cliffs. At both of these workshops, we took a 4WD with us on the car ferry so we could maximise our photography on the island. Other groups don’t necessarily offer car transport on the island, but this can be a significant error of judgment in inclement weather. Over the course of our trip, we watched several groups uncomfortably trudging uphill through the rain with their camera gear, headed for the high cliffs. Meanwhile, we travelled comfortably to the top by 4WD with all our gear, arriving dry and ready to photograph.

The stars of the show were, of course, the Atlantic Puffins. These endearing seabirds return to Grimsey in the thousands each spring to nest high on the cliffs that ring the island’s perimeter. Unlike other sites in Iceland where the birds are often skittish or the cliffs too distant for intimate photography, Grimsey offers something truly special: proximity. Not only does it provide an incredible opportunity to get close to these fantastic birds, but it also offers the chance to photograph these birds in a stunning Arctic setting.

Each day, we were able to approach puffins within mere meters, lying flat on the soft grass as they hung out on the high cliffs or returned to their burrows. With patience and respect for their space, they allowed us into their world. We photographed them in dramatic light, and during moody, misty afternoons that added emotional depth to the frames.

What makes Grimsey exceptional is not just the access, but the solitude. Unlike well-trodden sites on the mainland, we had entire stretches of cliff to ourselves. No tourists and no other visitors. No other groups. Just us, the birds, and the Arctic wind. It’s a kind of photographic meditation—one that allows you to connect deeply with the landscape and your subject.

While puffins were the headline act, they were far from the only performers. Grimsey is a seabird sanctuary, alive with an astonishing diversity of species. Razorbills nested alongside puffins, their bold monochrome plumage striking against the green moss and black cliffs. Black-legged Kittiwakes shrieked and soared on coastal updrafts, offering opportunities for stunning in-flight images as they banked and hovered in the wind. Mixed amongst them were northern Fulmars and common murres.

We watched and photographed Common Murres and Guillemots packed shoulder-to-shoulder on the narrow cliff ledges, each pair tending to a single egg balanced precariously on bare rock. Northern Fulmars glided effortlessly past our lenses on fixed wings, while Arctic Terns dive-bombed intruders with typical ferocity.

We were fortunate to encounter several rarer species as well, including Black Guillemots, the delicate Red-necked Phalarope in its breeding plumage, and even the elusive Little Auk. Each day brought new sightings—Snipe performing aerial displays, Golden Plovers calling from lichen-covered rocks and buttercup-covered fields, Snow Buntings flitting along the coastal paths.

Throughout the two trips, we documented and photographed an impressive list of 30 species. I did not personally photograph every single species, but very much enjoyed keeping a list of those species we encountered.

• Atlantic Puffin
• Razorbill
• Black-legged Kittiwake
• Common Murre
• Brünnich’s Guillemot
• Black Guillemot
• Northern Fulmar
• Arctic Tern
• Red-necked Phalarope
• Snipe
• Golden Plover
• Snow Bunting
• Redwing Thrush
• Raven
• Common Eider
• Long-tailed Duck
• Black-headed Gull
• Gannet
• Black-tailed Godwit
• Common Ringed Plover
• Ruddy Turnstone
• Eurasian Oystercatcher
• Sanderling
• Common Redshank
• Arctic Skua
• Dunlin
• Mallard
• White Wagtail
• Meadow Pipit
• Canada Goose

Each species presented its own photographic challenges and rewards, from fast flight patterns to elusive behaviour. But the overarching theme was access—Grimsey offers unparalleled proximity to birds in their natural environment, free from the pressure and disruption of human traffic.

The Arctic teaches patience and rewards those who are flexible. Throughout our time on Grimsey, we encountered an extraordinary range of weather conditions: wind, sun, sea fog, and sudden downpours. But far from being an obstacle, the changing weather only enhanced our photography. I have long mandated that dramatic weather makes dramatic photographs, and Grimsey delivered in spades for both our workshops.

One particularly memorable morning, fog and mist rolled in off the ocean, blanketing the cliffs in a pale, blue-grey hue. Visibility dropped, but the mood became magical. Puffins stood like statues in the mist, their colourful beaks luminous against the muted backdrop. That afternoon, the fog burned off to reveal crisp skies and overcast light, and we returned to the same spot to photograph puffins against the ocean.

Another evening brought towering clouds that swept across the island like theatre curtains, letting shafts of light fall onto the sea. With long lenses and careful compositions, we captured seabirds soaring through these natural spotlights—a breathtaking juxtaposition of nature’s grandeur and raw simplicity.

Grimsey isn’t just about birds. The island itself is staggeringly beautiful. A windswept plateau broken by basalt cliffs and rolling meadows, it feels like a place lost in time. We explored beyond the nesting colonies to photograph the broader landscape: coastal rock formations, dramatic sky-scapes, and wild, empty vistas that echo the purity of the far north.

At times, the play between scale and subject became a powerful compositional element. A lone puffin perched on the edge of a massive sea stack. A pair of Black-legged kittiwakes on their nest. A group of murres slicing through shafts of light over a cobalt sea. Grimsey gives photographers room to breathe—to pull back and frame the subject in its environment with honesty and reverence.

Perhaps what made both trips so special was not just the wildlife or the location, but the people. Our small, tight-knit groups quickly bonded over shared meals, gear chats, photo reviews, and the inevitable jokes that come after long days in the field. We worked as a team—scouting, spotting, sharing tips and excitement. When one of us found a nesting site or a particularly photogenic perch, the news spread quickly and everyone benefited. There was no competition, just a shared passion and respect for nature and photography. Evenings were spent reviewing images, charging batteries, and discussing light, behaviour, and composition. More than a few nights ended well after midnight, reluctant to put our cameras down even as fatigue set in.

Personally, I shot over 22,000 images during the two workshops on Grimsey Island (not hard when your R1 camera goes at 40 FPS with birds in flight!). After an initial first pass, I was able to delete around 13,000 images, leaving approximately 9,000 keepers (sharp photographs with interesting compositions that are worth a second look). That is an extraordinary number of photographs to sort, edit, process, and catalogue, and the photographs in this report represent just a very small fraction of those I chose to keep and have processed to date. It will likely be many years before I finish mining photographs from these two workshops. This makes Grimsey Island one of the most productive locations in the Arctic to photograph Arctic birds.

Grimsey Island is not a destination to add to your bucket list. It’s something more profound: a place to slow down, to reconnect with the rhythm of nature, and to immerse yourself in the art of observation. It’s a place where puffins aren’t props for selfies but sentinels of a wild world that still exists if you’re willing to seek it. Both of these trips reminded me why I fell in love with wildlife photography in the first place. It’s not about the number of images or the reach of your lens—it’s about presence. About being there. About watching a puffin return to its burrow against the wind, or witnessing the sudden flash of an Arctic Skua as it harasses a tern mid-flight.

If you’re looking for an experience that combines intimate wildlife encounters, cinematic landscapes, and genuine solitude, Grimsey offers something truly rare. I’ll be back—and I hope to see you there, lying flat on a clifftop, your lens trained on a puffin with the wind in your face and the Arctic sun at your back. Details for our June 2026 trip are now online, and places are limited. Please contact me for details – Until next time, stay wild.

In early February 2025, I led two back-to-back Arctic fox photography workshops in the remote and rugged Hornstrandir Nature Reserve in northwestern Iceland for two seperate groups of photographers. Hornstrandir is a true wilderness, offering some of the best opportunities anywhere in the Arctic to observe and photograph Arctic foxes in their natural habitat. Unlike much of Iceland, where foxes are still hunted, the nature reserve provides them with full protection. As a result, they are more approachable here than in other parts of the country, making it an exceptional destination for wildlife photography. Accessible in the winter, and only by boat, the Hornstrandir Nature Reserve also offers a wonderful getaway for photographers looking to get back to Nature and spend quality time with their subjects.

This year’s workshops presented a mix of conditions that kept us constantly adapting. We arrived to find a good covering of snow, which is always ideal for clean, wintery backdrops. However, strong southerly winds soon brought in sporadic rain, initiating a rapid thaw. Iceland’s freeze-thaw cycle is highly dynamic, and even in the depths of winter, conditions can change within hours. While this can be frustrating, it also presents opportunities—by working with the available weather and terrain, we were able to capture a diverse portfolio of Arctic fox images in just a short span of time.

Over the course of the two workshops, we encountered a total of six different Arctic foxes, each with its own distinct personality and behaviour. The majority of them (five out of six) were blue morphs, which are much more common in coastal regions like Hornstrandir. Blue morph Arctic foxes retain a dark brown coat throughout winter, unlike their white morph counterparts that shift from brownish-grey in summer to pure white in winter. The contrast of the dark blue morph foxes against the snow-covered and rocky landscape provided excellent photographic opportunities. The sixth fox, a striking white morph, was a particular highlight—seeing a white fox in winter is always a special moment, as they blend seamlessly with their snowy surroundings. The opportunities for white-on-white minimalist photography are at their very best in winter with the White morph.

Among the foxes we observed was a dominant male, clearly in control of his territory. He was confident, bold, and regularly patrolled his area, occasionally chasing off younger or less dominant foxes. We also photographed several other males, females, and first-year cubs. The cubs, still relatively inexperienced, displayed playful and curious behaviour, which made for some fantastic interactions and storytelling images.

One of the most rewarding aspects of these workshops was the ability to spend extended time with individual foxes, allowing us to observe and document their behaviours in depth. Patience was key—by positioning ourselves carefully and waiting quietly, we were often rewarded with intimate moments of foxes resting, hunting, and interacting with each other.

Winter photography in Hornstrandir presents a unique set of challenges and rewards. The ever-changing conditions meant that we had to constantly adjust our approach. Some days were dominated by heavy cloud cover, creating soft, diffused light that was perfect for close-up portraits and details as well as wide vistas. Other times, brief windows of clear skies allowed us to work with directional light, emphasizing the texture of the foxes’ fur and the rugged landscape. We also took the opportunity to photograph some of the bird life in this area.

One particularly memorable session took place in the late afternoon as the low winter sun briefly broke through the clouds, casting a golden glow over the landscape. A blue morph Arctic fox paused on a rocky outcrop, bathed in the last light of the day, allowing us to capture a stunning series of backlit portraits. Moments like this are what make winter wildlife photography so rewarding—being in the right place at the right time, ready to seize an opportunity when the elements align.

The thawing snow added another dynamic element to the imagery. As the white landscape receded, patches of dark volcanic rock and golden-brown tundra began to emerge, creating a striking contrast with the foxes. This gave us a more varied and unique portfolio than a uniform blanket of snow might have allowed. Some images showcased the foxes navigating a pristine winter landscape, while others depicted them against a more transitional, raw, and textured background.

After the conclusion of the workshops, I traveled to a new, previously unexplored location in northwestern Iceland to scout for future Arctic fox photography opportunities. This region offers not only a dramatic coastal setting but also supports both blue morph and white morph Arctic foxes, making it a particularly exciting prospect for future trips.

The scouting trip was highly productive—I was able to locate multiple foxes and observe their behaviour in this environment. The landscape features towering cliffs, black sand beaches, and rugged fjords. The combination of these elements provides a striking backdrop for wildlife photography, adding another layer of visual interest to Arctic fox images.

I also took the time to assess the logistics of operating a workshop in this new location. Accessibility, accommodation options, and weather patterns all play a crucial role in determining the viability of a new workshop destination. From what I experienced, this area has tremendous potential, and I’m excited to return for more in-depth exploration.

Following the success of this year’s workshops, we will be returning to Iceland in February 2026 for another round of back-to-back Arctic fox photography expeditions. Hornstrandir remains one of the best locations in the Arctic for reliably finding and photographing these elusive animals, and with the addition of a new location in northwestern Iceland, we will have even more opportunities to create exceptional imagery.

Each workshop is limited to a maximum of five photographers, ensuring a highly personalized experience with ample one-on-one guidance. Whether you’re interested in capturing intimate portraits, dynamic action shots, or environmental compositions that showcase the foxes within their rugged habitat, these workshops are designed to maximize photographic opportunities in one of the most breathtaking winter landscapes on Earth.

If you’re interested in joining us for this incredible experience, feel free to reach out to register your interest. With small group sizes, spaces fill quickly, and this remains one of the most sought-after wildlife photography experiences in Iceland.

Photographing Arctic foxes in winter is both a challenge and a privilege. These animals are perfectly adapted to one of the harshest environments on the planet, and spending time with them in their natural habitat is an unforgettable experience. The combination of dramatic landscapes, rapidly changing weather, and the intimate encounters we had with the foxes made this year’s workshops a tremendous success. As always, adapting to the conditions was key. Iceland’s winter is unpredictable, and working with what nature provides—rather than against it—ensures the best photographic results. The freeze-thaw cycle, while sometimes frustrating, ultimately allowed us to create a diverse and compelling portfolio in just a short period.

With the addition of a new location for future expeditions, I’m looking forward to expanding the possibilities for Arctic fox photography in Iceland. These workshops remain a highlight of the year, and I can’t wait to return in February 2026 to once again immerse myself in this incredible environment. If Arctic fox photography in the wild is something you’ve dreamed of, now is the time to start planning. I hope to see you in Iceland next winter for another unforgettable experience!