Even on a sunny day in late August, the wind on the island of Grímsey cut through our waterproof layers with so much force that one bad gust felt as if it could wipe us clean off the map for good.

My husband and I arrived on Grímsey’s beautiful, blustery shores carrying a couple of wooden walking sticks – not so much to help us keep our balance against the elements, but rather to ward off the Arctic terns that are notorious for dive-bombing unassuming tourists who wander too close to their nests along the craggy coastline. As we slowly walked around the island’s dramatic basalt cliffs, we also noticed a few puffin stragglers who had yet to migrate out to sea before returning to Grímsey in full force come April.

A 6.5-sq-km island set some 40km off Iceland’s northern coast, Grímsey is the country’s northernmost inhabited point and the only sliver of Iceland located within the Arctic Circle. In many ways, this frigid far-flung isle cast off a frigid far-flung island nation is Iceland at its most elusive and extreme – and therein lies its appeal.

Until 1931, the only way to reach Grímsey was by hopping aboard a small boat that delivered letters twice a year to the island. These days, 20-minute flights from the city of Akureyri and three-hour ferries from the village of Dalvík whisk adventure-seekers to this rocky, remote island – most of whom, like us, are keen to see one of Europe’s most remote settlements and its incredible variety of seabirds and wildlife. In addition to the kamikaze Arctic terns and a thriving puffin population, black-legged kittiwakes, razorbills and guillemots – along with free-roaming Icelandic horses and sheep – also call this idyllic island home. It’s estimated the seabirds here outnumber residents by roughly 50,000 to one.

“You won’t believe it, but there are only 20 of us living here full time,” explained Halla Ingolfsdottir, a local tour guide and owner of Artic Trip.

Born in Reykjavík, Ingolfsdottir grew up in south-east Iceland and started spending extended stretches of time in Grímsey after visiting her sister, who moved to the island years earlier after meeting and marrying a local fisherman. After more than 20 years living part time in Grímsey, Ingolfsdottir said she decided to become a full-time resident in 2019, and she hasn’t looked back since.

“People think I moved here for love, but I fell in love with the island,” she explained. “There’s a magic, and I fell in love with how people lived here, the islanders and the nature. Nature is very powerful here; it’s a different natural force in the winter, and with the darkness comes the Northern Lights, the stars and the storms. In spring comes the light, and the birds; every season is special,” she added.