As the crisp Icelandic air filled my lungs, I couldn’t help but marvel at the stark beauty of the volcanic and glacial landscape before me. It is easy to see why the island is nicknamed ‘land of fire and ice’. The vast expanse of lava fields, punctuated by craggy mountains and hidden valleys, stretched as far as the eye could see. It was day two of our reindeer hunt, and after 36 gruelling hours of scouring this unforgiving landscape, we had yet to find our quarry. Reindeer are notoriously tricky to find, but as any seasoned hunter knows, patience and perseverance are the cornerstones of success in the field.
Our small hunting party consisted of myself, fellow hunter Mark, our skilled guide Oli, and some friends along for the adventure – Rabbi, a local salmon-fishing outfitter for the infamous River Miðfjarðará, and Neil, another Brit. We had been traversing the rugged terrain on three Can Am six-wheel ATVs, our trusty steeds in this harsh environment. The vehicles had proved their worth, enabling us to cover vast distances in search of the elusive reindeer herds that call this rugged land home.
To hunt reindeer in Iceland, you must enter a lottery for a tag. Hunters, both local and international, must submit their applications before the February deadline to enter the draw. The Icelandic Environment Agency manages this process, allocating a limited number of permits based on scientific assessments of the reindeer population. For the 2024 season, the total quota was set at 800 reindeer, comprising 397 cows and 403 bulls, which is lower than previous years due to data limitations. Successful applicants are notified shortly after the draw, allowing them to plan their hunt for the upcoming season, which typically runs from 15 July to 15 September for bulls and 1 August to 20 September for cows. The lottery system ensures fair distribution of hunting opportunities while maintaining sustainable management of Iceland’s reindeer population. You must hunt with a licensed local guide to make sure that you comply with the area and conditions specified for your tag.
Reindeer are not native to Iceland but were introduced by settlers from Norway and Lapland at the end of the 18th century. Folk law states they were a gift from the King of Norway as a source of protein to feed the population in the harsh landscape. During this challenging period, Iceland faced famine and natural disasters. The hardy locals attempted to become reindeer herders like the Sami in Lapland, but the adaptation proved too difficult and reindeer went wild. With no natural predators, their population exploded by 1817, stripping pastures intended for sheep. As a result, reindeer were widely hunted nearly to extinction until hunting regulations were established in the mid-20th century. Today Iceland is home to around 3,000 wild, free-ranging reindeer, all descended from the original introduction.
As the sun began its slow descent towards the horizon, casting long shadows across the volcanic landscape, Oli’s keen eyes spotted something in the distance. A mere pinprick on the horizon, barely discernible to the untrained eye, but unmistakable to our experienced guide. “Reindeer,” he announced, a hint of excitement creeping into his voice. “A large herd, perhaps 50 or 60 animals.” Our spirits soared at the news. After two days of fruitless searching, we had finally located our quarry. But the real challenge of the hunt was only just beginning. The herd was a good 5km away, across some of the most treacherous terrain I had ever encountered.
We mounted our ATVs once more, embarking on what would prove to be a harrowing journey. The lava fields we had to cross were unlike anything I had experienced before. Jagged rocks jutted out at every angle, threatening to tear into our vehicles’ undersides with each passing metre. The ATVs groaned and protested as we navigated this lunar-like landscape, their suspensions working overtime to absorb the constant impacts. Halfway through our approach, at a high vantage point, the inevitable struck. The unforgiving terrain had claimed its first victim – one of our ATVs. A particularly vicious rock had torn out the transmission and gaskets from the undercarriage, leaving our companion Rabbi and his pillion passenger Neil stranded atop a desolate mountain peak. It was a stark reminder of the challenges we faced in this unforgiving and brutal wilderness. This is why you don’t hunt alone.
With Rabbi and Neil safely laid up and plans made for their later extraction, Mark, Oli, and I pressed on. We finally reached a point where we could begin our stalk on foot, leaving the remaining ATVs behind. The unseasonably warm weather soon had us shedding layers as we began our careful approach, making use of every bit of available cover to mask our presence. As we drew closer, the enormity of the herd became apparent. Spread out before us were indeed 50 to 60 reindeer, grazing contentedly in a small valley. Among them, Oli pointed out our target – a magnificent bull with an impressive set of antlers, sporting a remarkable shovel-like formation at the front. “That’s the one,” Oli whispered, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “A mature bull, perfect for your tag. A great example of the species.”
My heart raced as I took in the sight of this majestic animal. But the real challenge lay ahead. The herd was constantly on the move, shifting and milling about in a ceaseless dance. Our target bull was frequently obscured by other animals, making a clean shot nearly impossible. We used every trick in the book to close the distance, taking advantage of the wind direction and using dead ground for cover, much the same as when stalking red deer on the hill in Scotland. It was nerve-wracking work, knowing that at any moment the herd could spook and disappear into the vastness of the Icelandic wilderness.
Finally, we reached a position where a shot might be possible. I ranged the bull at 310yd – a challenging shot under any circumstances, but particularly so with the constant movement of the herd. I dialled the ballistic correction into my riflescope, using the data from my rangefinding binoculars. Settling into position behind my rifle, I deployed the bipod and prepared for the shot. But the bull had other ideas. He moved 90° from his original position, forcing me to reposition my entire setup. This dance continued for what felt like an eternity – find the bull, lose him in the herd, reposition, and start again.
My thumb bizarrely ached from using the Can Am throttle for hours of driving, adding an extra layer of discomfort as I grasped the pistol grip of the rifle. The warm weather had me sweating beneath my layers, but I dared not move to adjust my clothing. Finally, after what seemed like hours but was likely only minutes, an opportunity presented itself. The bull cleared itself between two other animals and quartered away for a split second, offering a clean shot. Time to react. Taking a deep breath, I settled the crosshairs just behind the bull’s shoulder and squeezed the trigger. The 6.5 Creedmoor barked, sending the 129gr SST bullet on its way. The impact was immediate and unmistakable. The bull dropped where he stood, a testament to the remarkable performance of the chosen cartridge and bullet combination. Even at 310yd it had proved its worth on such a large animal.
As the echoes of the shot faded, replaced by the excited chatter of my hunting pals, I took a moment to reflect on the hunt. It had been one of the best experiences of my hunting career. The vast, unforgiving, and open landscape of Iceland had proved to be both a blessing and a curse – offering unparalleled visibility but also providing countless hiding places in its undulating terrain.
With the bull down, our work was far from over. We still had to extract not only our prize but also our stranded companions from atop the mountain. It was a monumental task, but one that only added to the overall adventure. As we approached the fallen bull, the true majesty of the animal became apparent. With a dressed weight of 98kg, it was a substantial creature. The antlers, with their distinctive formation, were even more impressive up close. It was a trophy in every sense of the word and a fitting reward for the challenges we had overcome.
The extraction process was a major operation in itself. Navigating the treacherous lava fields with our precious cargo required skill and no small amount of luck. The remaining Can Ams soaked up the added weight, with their suspensions pushed to the limit by the terrain as we slowly made our way back across the difficult landscape. Retrieving Rabbi and Neil from their mountaintop perch added yet more complexity to our journey. Towing was the agreed method, but it was no easy task with the terrain as tough as it was. Teamwork and determination managed to bring both men and my beast safely back to our base camp. A job well done and a good story to boot.
The unseasonably balmy temperatures and the rugged, unforgiving nature of the lava fields had pushed our equipment – and ourselves – to the limit, forcing us to adapt our strategies and gear choices on the fly. But in the end, it was these very challenges that made the hunt so memorable. The sight of that magnificent bull, standing proud among his herd. The heart-pounding moments as we stalked ever closer. The split-second opportunity that presented itself. And the satisfaction of a clean, ethical shot.
As I select the images to submit to my editor, my mind is already turning to thoughts of future adventures. But this Icelandic reindeer hunt stands out as a highly memorable experience for its difficulty and the satisfaction of overcoming the obstacles presented by this unique landscape. The hunt tested our skills, patience, and resilience, making it a genuine highlight of my hunting career. I’m already looking forward to a return to Iceland and its extraordinary environment to pursue another reindeer – if I am lucky enough to draw another tag in the annual lottery.