A longtime friend and familliar face from our trips in recent years, Alex Libby is an adventure athlete with a passion for exploration. In the hunt for cold, empty waves and a slower pace to life, he tells of his recent mission to experience Iceland's surf frontier for himself.
Cold Water Calling: Iceland's Surf Frontier
20.12.25
4 min read
Written by Alex Libby
Photography by Fabio
There was no grand masterplan. My good mate Fabio and I booked flights, grabbed an epic 4x4 rental with a camping shell on the back (mostly to avoid FOMO if we couldn’t push on to a remote wave), loaded up the boards and a pile of warm Finisterre gear, and began to follow our nose toward the delicious scent of an empty lineup.
We had pulled the pin after checking the charts, but that was it. Our plan moving forward was simple… pick a random spot that looked interesting on the map, drive until something felt right, then turn off on winding roads and enjoy the ride no matter the outcome. And boy did Iceland deliver!
It was a proper old school surf trip, the kind I grew up dreaming about.
What struck me first was how isolated the towns are. You can drive for hours through lava fields covered in ancient moss, weave past the most stunning waterfalls ever seen, and then suddenly arrive at a little cluster of houses with a church, petrol pump, and swimming pool.
Yes, every town, no matter the size, seems to have a swimming pool with hot tubs, saunas, and cold plunges. This is one part I truly loved. The towns are proud of their pools. They are cherished as meeting places for the community, bringing everyone together. They are great places to chat to locals and hear stories of cold winters and northern lights. You arrive as a stranger and leave feeling like you were part of the place for a moment.
One evening we followed a local we had met in the water for beers and pizza. He was a proper character, full of stories, with that mix of toughness and warmth you get from people who live with real weather. After one too many pizzas, he took us to his isolated town’s store. The shop had this brilliant, slightly chaotic energy – costumes, vegetables, tools, sweets, light bulbs, all under one roof. A true hub. Inside, the charismatic woman who ran it was packing for the long winter ahead, stacking jars and preserves with a huge smile on her face.
We tried on every hat in her store as she laughed at our poses and characters, then she showed us all her recipes she was cooking and preserving for the winter ahead.
Watching her calmly prepare for months of darkness made my perception of what winter is feel almost silly...
It reminded me how soft our idea of cold can be.
When it came to the waves, respect is always important to us. We are guests. If there was a crew out, we would often surf the other side of the tide, give them the best window, and then take our turn when it was a bit fuller, a bit less perfect, but often empty. The waves may have been slightly less “perfect”, but it felt right, and I got to surf empty waves.
Between surfs we spent a lot of time just driving and staring. Sometimes an hour would pass in silence. You turn another corner and suddenly you are in a different universe - black sand giving way to white snow; a blast of sulphur fields, steaming and yellow; a huge waterfall throwing water into a canyon. Almost without speaking we would pull over, grab a towel, and do a quick cold dip under the most stunning waterfall you’d ever seen, then bundle back into the car and carry on; heaters maxed out.
One of my favourite memories was when pushed inland, onto rougher roads - the 4x4 earned its keep. We ended up on a high plateau looking over a glacier, parked on a dry lava riverbed, set up chairs, boiled the kettle, and drank tea with our own private glacier spread out before us. Just endless lava, ice, and that profound quiet that makes you feel simultaneously tiny and alive.
Surfing in Iceland is unlike anywhere else I have been. One session we paddled out past chunks of ice, weaving between small icebergs to reach the peak.
Standing on a piece of ice with a board under my arm had been a strange goal of mine for years...
It looks romantic in your head but in reality, even wrapped in a thick hooded wetsuit with boots and gloves, the cold bites so hard it almost burns. You feel it in your bones.
By the end of the trip, we had circumnavigated the island in a short window of time. We scored some beautiful empty waves, but looking back, that is almost a side note. Most of the memories live in the long drives, the bad jokes, the sometimes-ridiculous shared meals cooked on a little stove in the middle of nowhere.
And then there’s the quiet trust between friends, willing to go all that way for a chance at something special. Fabio and I believe in each other, and that belief is what makes trips like this possible. You commit to the mission without any guarantee you’ll score, and you hold each other up through long slogs and tired moments. And when it all comes together, when you finally stand up on a cold, clean wall alone, with snow on the mountains and your mate screaming for you, it feels like more than just waves.
Iceland gave me that in a big way. The waves, the weather, the locals, the hot springs, the tiny shop that sells everything, and the endless roads. It all added up to something that felt simple, yet magical. A true cold-water adventure.
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