Winter in Iceland – Snow and Northern Lights

Reynisfjara Beach in December

On this frigid December day, a thick sheet of snow covered much of Reynisfjara Beach. A strong offshore wind swept across the coast, and the exposed black sand shimmered in the low winter sun as Atlantic waves receded back into the sea. In the distance, the basalt sea stacks of Reynisdrangar towered above the shoreline, unmoved by the powerful waves.

This moment came after a long and uncertain journey. We had landed in Iceland early that day, just a few hours before sunrise. With the days being short at this time of year, we were eager to pick up our rental car and head straight for our first destination – the coastal village of Vík, home to Reynisfjara’s iconic black sand beach.

The sky was still pitch black when we stepped through the sliding doors of Keflavik International Airport, bags in hand and car key ready. It was cold but calm. Snow blanketed the walkways and parking lot, and we had to shovel around our SUV before we could get moving. Finally, we loaded our gear, punched our destination into the GPS, and set off.

Despite having four-wheel drive and studded tires, it was difficult to gain speed on the snow-covered road. After nearly an hour without seeing another set of headlights, I began to wonder whether we had taken a wrong turn – or if the road ahead might be impassable. As suspected, soon enough we came upon a car stuck in the opposite lane, the only section of road that appeared remotely drivable, though clearly not for a sedan.

Together with another traveler already on scene, we managed to push the driver free out of the deep snow. He promptly turned around, heading back in the direction from which he had come, disappearing into the darkness.

We were already halfway to Iceland’s southern coast, and turning back didn’t feel like an option. I took a deep breath, stepped on the gas, and aimed for the narrow tire tracks left by earlier vehicles. Luck wasn’t entirely on our side – we got stuck too – but help arrived quickly, and we were back on the road in no time. It was a smoother drive from then on.

As we approached the coast, another delay awaited us. A section of Highway 1 was completely impassable and closed while snow was being cleared. Given the season, this shouldn’t have been a surprise, but I had been overly optimistic in my planning. Fortunately, golden hour lasts nearly all day during winter in Iceland and, if the skies are clear enough, you'll be treated to beautiful colours from dawn until dusk. It happened to be one of those days. By the time we finally reached Reynisfjara, it was well into midday – which is when I took this photograph. We walked on the sand, indulging in the view for a short while, and headed indoors for a much-needed bowl of hot soup.

Bruarfoss in the Snow

It turned out that we had just enjoyed the last bit of relative calm. Over the next two days, a powerful winter storm swept across Iceland, leaving much of the country’s road network impassable. We were confined to a nearby hotel and its immediate surroundings while snow piled up outside. Our itinerary had to be completely reshuffled – but when we finally returned to the capital region, conditions really improved.

We relocated to a hotel in Reykjavik, and were now within driving distance of Bruarfoss – a small but striking waterfall known for its vivid blue-green water. Reaching it required a three-kilometre hike along a narrow, snow-covered trail winding through plains and woodland, following the stream flowing from the falls. With spikes strapped to our boots, we trekked over packed snow as the sky began to brighten. When we stepped onto the wooden bridge overlooking Bruarfoss, we were completely alone. The cascading turquoise water and its majestic swirl were an incredible sight, standing out vividly against the snow-white banks and mountain backdrop – like some kind of enchanted brew.

Before this trip, I had seen countless images of Bruarfoss and worried I might feel underwhelmed in person. The effect was entirely opposite. No photograph – including this one – does the place justice. While editing the image later, I did my best to get the water’s distinctive hue just right, but nothing compares to seeing its colour and flow firsthand.

Reykjanes and our first Aurora

Reykjanes was next, a region we had somehow overlooked on our previous trip to Iceland years earlier. Though the peninsula lies only a short drive from Reykjavik, the roads beyond the city were still icy and snow-packed after the storm.

We drove as close to the coast as conditions allowed, parked near the end of a snowy trail past the lighthouse, and continued on foot towards the ocean. It was bitterly cold – somewhere between ten and fifteen degrees Celsius below zero. Standing at the southwestern tip of Iceland, we watched Atlantic waves roll in one after another, colliding with jagged coastal rocks and occasionally exploding upward in dramatic bursts of spray.

A day or two earlier, at this very location, we had witnessed our first show of the elusive Northern Lights. We were halfway through the trip by now, and with clear skies finally in the forecast, we knew this might be our best chance to see the Aurora before leaving the country. Late that night, we drove back out to the Reykjanes coast and waited. It was the coldest night yet – around twenty below zero – and despite being well dressed, we could only spend minutes at a time outside the car.

We sat in darkness, headlights off and heat running, scanning the sky through the windows for any signs of green. At first, we noticed faint grey-green streaks near the horizon, easily mistaken for thin clouds. Unsure whether they were real or imagined, we used our phone cameras as a test. On the screen, the green was unmistakable – we were finally in luck.

The green patterns grew brighter and more defined, drifting across the sky – first appearing behind the lighthouse, then shifting toward the coast, and eventually lighting up more of the horizon. We stepped into the freezing cold. We heard the waves splashing against the coastal rocks below, and felt the icy wind blowing from the ocean.

I looked straight up. Directly overhead, the lights were ever-changing, dancing slowly among the stars, and every few seconds materializing into a newly created image in the sky.

What I didn’t capture on camera was the even more spectacular Northern Lights show we witnessed later the same night. As we drove back toward Reykjavík on a busy motorway, surrounded by city lights, ribbons of green and purple suddenly appeared overhead. They were unmistakable this time, brighter than we'd seen before, despite the city light pollution.

We pulled into the next gas station, and got out of the car to enjoy this amazing sight. Bands of colour – green, purple, events hints of blue – flowed across the dark sky. The show lasted no more than fifteen minutes. We caught a few last glimpses of it after pulling into the driveway, and the sky went dark again. It was as if we had imagined the entire thing.

Kirkjufell and the Snæfellsnes Peninsula

Our journey continued west to the Snæfellsnes Peninsula, home to Kirkjufell – often cited as the most photographed mountain in Iceland. Although its name translates to “church mountain,” it reminded me more of a wizard’s hat from this viewpoint. Rising sharply from the surrounding flat landscape, Kirkjufell changes shape as you drive around it, offering countless perspectives. After weeks of sub-zero temperatures and days of heavy snowfall, the waterfalls in the foreground were frozen solid, the entire scene blanketed with snow.

Later that day, after warming up in a local cafe, we continued toward the coast. As we drove west, the sun dipped lower, casting a blue-yellow gradient across the sky, with pink-orange clouds lining the horizon. The moon grew brighter as Iceland’s seemingly endless winter golden hour finally began to fade. We passed through vast lava fields – black, porous rock dusted with snow – interrupted occasionally by volcanic mountains and craters appearing along the road. Whether they were extinct or merely dormant, I couldn’t say.

Snaefellsnes felt like a world of its own, unlike any other part of this already unique island.

A Final Morning at Thingvellir

On our last morning in Iceland, the first day of 2023, we drove out to Thingvellir (Þingvellir) National Park. We hadn’t slept much after dinner and fireworks in Reykjavík the night before, but the forecast for that morning was clear, and we wanted to make the most of it.

Thingvellir is home to one of the most remarkable geological sites on Earth: the meeting point of the Eurasian and North American tectonic plates, and the only place where the Mid-Atlantic Ridge can be observed above sea level.

We couldn’t have asked for a better farewell. After watching the sun rise, we picked up some tea and headed for the airport. Despite the cold, the snowstorms, and the challenges of winter driving, this trip confirmed that a winter journey to Iceland is absolutely worth it.

Iceland is a place I continue to return to, and no two trips ever feel the same. For a broader look at the country, across different seasons and regions, explore my Iceland in Photos – Iconic Landscapes and Hidden Gems post.

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