In the summer of 2025, I journeyed to Hornstrandir, an isolated peninsula in the far northwest of Iceland. Remote and untouched, this wild nature reserve feels like the very edge of the world; cascading waterfalls, vast seabird colonies, black sandy beaches, mountains rising into mist, and weather that shifts its mood in the blink of an eye.

Here, in this place of solitude and wonder, lives the Arctic fox. The only native land mammal of Iceland. Perfectly attuned to their world, they can endure unimaginable cold, thriving in temperatures that plummet to –70 °C.

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I was fortunate enough to spend an entire week with one family: two adults and their four playful cubs. We camped in a quiet bay, nestled beneath the mountain, where the rocks and heather sheltered us from the restless wind. Each day the foxes wandered the shoreline, foraging among the seaweed and driftwood for whatever the tide had carried in. Watching them play, forage, and rest, I felt as though I had been granted a glimpse into a secret life that unfolds quietly, beyond the notice of most who pass through.

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There was a kind of magic in those days; wild, fleeting, and unforgettable. Hornstrandir offered not just sights to capture, but a glimpse of something eternal and untamed.