For the first time in living memory, Iceland’s summer seas are quiet. No harpoons cut through the mist, no processing ships dock in Reykjavík’s harbour with the hulking silhouettes of whales. In April 2025, the country’s last active whaling company, Hvalur hf., announced it would cancel its hunting season for the second consecutive year.
The decision, reported by Euronews and Iceland Review, effectively signals the end of Iceland’s whaling era—a centuries-old practice that once shaped the nation’s coastal identity. “The economics simply don’t make sense anymore,” said Kristján Loftsson, CEO of Hvalur hf., in an interview with RÚV (Iceland’s national broadcaster). “Demand has fallen, costs are high, and the debate around animal welfare has changed everything.”
Whaling in Iceland began as a matter of survival. For centuries, coastal communities harvested stranded whales for food and oil. But in the late 19th century, foreign—mostly Norwegian—companies introduced industrial whaling methods, transforming the practice into a booming export business.
By the 1950s, Iceland had fully industrialized its whaling fleet, exporting whale meat and oil primarily to Japan. At its peak, the industry employed hundreds of Icelanders and was seen as an emblem of national resilience in the harsh North Atlantic.
However, everything changed in 1986, when the International Whaling Commission (IWC) imposed a moratorium on commercial whaling. Iceland halted its operations but rejoined the practice in the early 2000s, arguing that it was part of its maritime heritage and “scientific research.”
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The Return—and the Backlash
In 2006, Iceland officially resumed commercial whaling, issuing licenses to hunt both minke and fin whales. Hvalur hf. became the country’s dominant player, focusing on fin whales (Balaenoptera physalus)—a species listed as vulnerable by the International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN).
Between 2009 and 2018, the company killed more than 1,500 fin whales, according to data compiled by the Icelandic Marine and Freshwater Research Institute. The operations sparked global outrage. The European Union, United States, and multiple environmental groups condemned the hunts as “inhumane and unnecessary.”
“The method of killing—using explosive harpoons—often leaves whales suffering for minutes before death,” said John Frizell, campaigner for Greenpeace Nordic. “It’s an outdated industry that belongs to the past, not the future.”
The first cracks in Iceland’s whaling business appeared in the 2010s. Domestic consumption of whale meat had plummeted, and international markets—especially Japan—were shrinking. Younger Icelanders increasingly viewed the practice as cruel and unnecessary.
When the COVID-19 pandemic hit in 2020, whaling operations were suspended. The cost of fuel, labor shortages, and export delays made the business unsustainable. By 2022, whaling contributed only a fraction of Iceland’s maritime revenue.
In 2023, the Icelandic government—then led by Minister of Fisheries and Agriculture Svandís Svavarsdóttir—temporarily suspended the hunting season after a government-commissioned welfare study revealed that whales took too long to die after being harpooned. “The conditions are not acceptable,” Svavarsdóttir told Iceland Monitor. “We cannot justify this practice based on economic or ethical grounds.”
The Turning Point: 2025
Despite lobbying from a few remaining stakeholders, the 2024 season never resumed. And in early 2025, Hvalur hf. confirmed that operations would remain closed indefinitely.
“We’ve reached the end of the road,” said Loftsson. “There is simply no market left for whale products. It’s time to move on.”
The announcement was met with relief by conservationists. The International Fund for Animal Welfare (IFAW) called it a “historic moment” for marine protection. “This is the culmination of years of advocacy and changing public sentiment,” said IFAW’s regional campaign manager Patrick Ramage. “Iceland has shown that a whaling nation can evolve toward coexistence with whales rather than their exploitation.”
Ironically, what helped end whaling in Iceland was not politics—but tourism. Whale watching emerged in the 1990s as a niche eco-tourism activity. By 2019, it had grown into a multi-million-dollar industry, drawing over 350,000 visitors annually, according to the Icelandic Tourist Board.
From Húsavík to Akureyri and Reykjavík, fleets of small boats now carry tourists eager to glimpse humpback, minke, and blue whales in the wild. “The whales are worth far more alive than dead,” said Margrét Hrönn Magnúsdóttir, owner of North Sailing, one of Iceland’s largest whale-watching operators. “Each whale can generate tourism income for decades. It’s sustainable, it’s educational, and it’s beautiful.”
Even former whaling towns have transitioned. The once-industrial port of Hvalfjörður—where Hvalur hf. maintained its processing station—is now being considered for redevelopment into a marine heritage site and visitor center.
Global Ripples
Iceland’s shift adds pressure on the few remaining whaling nations—Norway and Japan—to reconsider their own policies. Norway continues to allow the hunting of minke whales, while Japan resumed commercial whaling in 2019 after withdrawing from the IWC.
But as global awareness of ocean conservation grows, Iceland’s example offers a path forward. “This is a defining moment,” said Kristin Ingólfsdóttir, a marine policy expert at the University of Iceland. “It shows that economic adaptation and ethical reflection can align. Ending whaling doesn’t erase tradition—it redefines it.”
For Icelanders, the ocean has always been both a provider and a mystery. Whales once symbolized sustenance; now they embody coexistence and respect.
Standing on the cliffs of Húsavík, it’s easy to see why the transformation feels almost poetic. Where once cannons fired from decks, now camera shutters click. The same fjords that echoed with the cries of dying whales now hum with the quiet excitement of travelers spotting a tail fin rise from the waves.
As the sun sets over the North Atlantic, the end of Iceland’s whaling era is more than a political decision—it’s a reflection of humanity’s evolving relationship with nature. (Sulung Prasetyo)
