We left Hólmavík on Route 61 and climbed immediately into the mountains, crossing the Steingrímsfjarðarheiði pass before dropping toward Ísafjarðardjúp on the other side. The pass sits at just over 1,500 feet — exposed, no guardrails, wide views in both directions.

The descent on the western side opens up the full length of Ísafjarðardjúp, 50 miles of fjord running inland from the Atlantic, with the uninhabited Snæfjallaströnd shore opposite where snow sits year round and nobody lives.

The roadsides were covered in lupine (Nootka lupine, Lupinus nootkatensis). It was introduced from Alaska to Iceland in the 1940s to combat soil erosion. Its nitrogen-fixing roots enrich depleted soil and it spreads faster than anyone anticipated. It is now as controversial as it is widespread. In late June at peak bloom it covers every ditch and cutting along the road in solid purple, against the grey rock and blue fjord below. It looks like it has always been there. It has been here less than 80 years.

Litlibær is a turf farmhouse from 1895 on the Hvítanes peninsula directly on the shore of Ísafjarðardjúp. Two families lived in it simultaneously in a space measuring 13 by 24 feet until 1969. The building is maintained by the National Museum and serves coffee, pies and waffles from the adjoining timber house. After Glaumbær, Litlibær reads as the stripped-back version of the same building tradition — one structure, grass roof, nothing else. The fjord behind it does most of the work. They make good pies.

A short distance further along the shore, a signed car park at Hvítanes gives access to a seal viewing point on the waterline. We saw four or five harbour seals warming on the rocks in the sun. Harbour seals are non-migratory and present here year round — the colony grows in summer when pups born in June start joining the adults on the rocks.

The Kambsnes viewpoint looks across Ísafjarðardjúp to the Snæfjallaströnd shore opposite — a long uninhabited mountain wall on the far side with Vigur island sitting in the middle of the water. The fjord runs straight and wide from here toward the Atlantic.

Driving west along Route 61, salmon farms sit at intervals across Ísafjarðardjúp — circular net pens, orange floats, feed barges anchored in the fjord. The Westfjords has become one of Iceland’s primary aquaculture zones, with Norwegian and Scottish companies expanding here after facing tighter regulations at home. The industry provides employment in a region that has been losing population for decades.

We ended the day at the Arctic Fox Centre in Súðavík, 12 miles east of Ísafjörður. The Arctic fox is the only land mammal native to Iceland — it arrived at the end of the last ice age, walking across the frozen sea before the island separated from mainland Europe. Everything else with four legs was brought by humans. The center combines an active research program with a public exhibition and an outdoor enclosure where rescued foxes that cannot be released live permanently.

The exhibition covers hunting behaviour, denning, population dynamics, and the history of fox hunting in Iceland. The Icelandic government paid bounties for fox kills until 1994. The population today is estimated at 8,000 to 10,000 animals, still classified as vulnerable. The foxes in the enclosure came in as orphaned kits or injured adults that could not be returned to the wild. They are active during visitor hours and close enough to observe in detail.

We camped just outside Ísafjörður for the night.