Greenland / Summer 2025

Early September – Arctic Light, Icebergs & Giants of the North

There are few places on earth that feel as alive—and as humbling—as Disko Bay and the Ilulissat Icefjord. Visiting in early September places you right at the turning point between summer’s endless glow and the first hints of Arctic autumn. The air is crisp, the sea is calm, and the low-angle sunlight paints the entire landscape in soft gold for hours at a time.

It’s the perfect setting for photography, especially if your goal is to capture whales against the towering icebergs of one of the world’s most dramatic UNESCO World Heritage sites.

Disko Bay is home to humpbacks throughout the summer months, and in September they’re still actively feeding before beginning their long migration south. Out on the water you can often hear them before you see them—breaths echoing across the still bay, tails lifting against a backdrop of ancient blue ice, and entire families gliding through crystal-clear water.

For photography, it’s a rare combination: wildlife, Arctic light, and some of the largest ice structures found anywhere on the planet.

The Ilulissat Icefjord adds another layer of scale and intensity. Fed by Sermeq Kujalleq—one of the fastest-moving glaciers in the world—the fjord releases colossal icebergs that drift slowly toward Disko Bay. From a boat or the coastline, these ice giants create an ever-changing canvas.

In early September the weather is generally stable, making it ideal for drone work (where regulations allow), telephoto wildlife shots, and wide-angle landscapes that show just how small we are in such a monumental environment.

This gallery captures those moments: whales surfacing between shards of ice; golden Arctic light reflecting off polished water; and the quiet, overwhelming beauty of Greenland at the threshold of winter.

It’s a place that rewards patience, slows you down, and leaves you with photographs—and memories—that feel almost unreal.

What we saw that morning felt almost surreal: a quiet Arctic bay broken only by the sound of whales surfacing between drifting ice. The light was soft and muted, giving the icebergs a gentle pastel glow while low clouds drifted across the hills of Ilulissat.

In the distance, humpbacks moved slowly through the water—tails lifting, breaths rising like steam in the cold air.

At times the whales were dwarfed by the sheer scale of the ice around them; at others, they seemed to weave effortlessly between the scattered floes, completely at home in this frozen, shifting world.

It was one of those rare travel moments where everything slows down and the landscape feels both ancient and alive.

We managed to catch this shot at the perfect moment, just as the humpback lifted its tail and the water poured off in a slow, graceful curtain. It was one of those brief, silent seconds where we felt completely connected to the cold Arctic water and the gentle power of the whale disappearing beneath it.

We sat on a small boat in front of the towering Eqi Glacier wall, eating lunch while the Arctic silence wrapped around us. Every so often the stillness broke with deep cracks and booming echoes rolling through the fjord as the glacier shifted and fractured. We found ourselves instinctively pausing mid-bite, listening for the next rumble and watching the ice wall for the slightest movement.

Sitting there, floating in front of something so ancient and alive, felt both peaceful and powerful—like witnessing the heartbeat of the glacier itself.

We came across this little red lighthouse on the coastline of Disko Island, perched above a landscape that felt untouched and ancient. From here we watched sculpted blue icebergs drift past in the cold Arctic water, their shapes changing as the light shifted under the grey sky. The ground around us was a mix of weathered rock, soft moss, and shallow pools reflecting the lighthouse’s colour.

Standing there, looking out over the vastness of Disko Bay, we felt the quiet, remote beauty of Greenland at its strongest — a place where the ice, the sea, and the land seem to exist entirely on their own terms.

Out on the water we drifted past some of the most extraordinary icebergs we’d ever seen, each one shaped differently by time, pressure and melt. Some rose from the sea like frozen mountains, others curled and folded into impossible textures, and all of them glowed with shades of blue that didn’t seem real — deep turquoise at the waterline, pale electric blue through the cracks, and almost white at the peaks.

As we moved around them, the colours shifted with the light and the movement of the boat, revealing just how dense and ancient the ice really was. It felt like sailing through a floating gallery of sculptures carved by Greenland itself.