Oqaatsut in Winter – How I found magic in a settlement of 30 people
My adventure to the snow-covered world of Oqaatsut started in front of Shop Siku, just next to Hotel Hvide Falk in Ilulissat. A small group of us bundled into a car that took us down to the harbor, where most of the small boats looked like they were stuck mid-escape — frozen solid into the ice. From there, we walked carefully to the edge of the bay and were helped aboard a small covered boat bobbing gently at the edge of winter.
A Frozen Window Opens in March
This tour only runs in March, when the sea ice has just thinned enough for boats to carve a path through. In February, the ice is usually still too thick to get through by boat — meaning Oqaatsut remains completely isolated by sea until late winter. That makes March a kind of magical window, where travel becomes just barely possible again… and feels all the more adventurous for it.
The ride was pure magic: about 30 minutes cruising through a sea of floating icebergs, each one crackling and shifting around us like icy sculptures on a slow parade. The winter ocean was otherworldly, silent except for the occasional crrraaack of sea ice breaking beneath the hull. Disko Bay sparkled on our right-hand side, and by the time we reached Oqaatsut, I was pretty convinced we’d just sailed into a snow globe.
Landing on Ice and Entering a Different World
Now, here’s the cool part — literally. The harbor in Oqaatsut is frozen solid this time of year, so we didn’t exactly “dock” in the traditional sense. Instead, we got out of the boat onto the ice. Two meters thick and strong enough to dance on — not that I tried — it stretched all the way into the bay. The guides from Restaurant H8 met us right there, helped us across, and gave us a warm introduction to the tiny settlement of just 30 people (and probably 60 sled dogs). Oqaatsut is remote, yes — it sits about north of Ilulissat — but it’s also warm in spirit. The houses are colorful, the dogs are loud, and the stories are as rich as the landscape. While some of the group strapped on snowshoes for a hike, I made what I still believe was the correct decision: dog sledding.
Sled Dogs and Arctic Silence
At H8, I was handed a full-body suit, the kind local fishermen wear, and quickly transformed into a clunky-but-cozy marshmallow person. My musher, who barely needed to speak to be understood by his dogs, was already preparing the sled.
The dogs were howling, jumping, excited — like kids at recess. Moments later, we were off. We glided across the frozen bay and into the Greenlandic backcountry. The air was so still, the only sound was the soft puff puff of the dogs’ paws in the snow and the musher calling out commands. It’s hard to explain what it feels like to be pulled by a team of sled dogs across a frozen wilderness, but “wildly peaceful” might come close. Somewhere in the middle of a snow-covered valley, we stopped to rest — both dogs and humans — and just took in the view. Not a house, not a road, not a sound. Just ice, snow, sky, and a sense of absolute calm.
A Bowl of Soup That Changed My Life
After about an hour of dogsledding, we returned to the village — cheeks pink, spirits lifted, and toes… well, toes slowly returning to room temperature. I was invited into Restaurant H8, a small and cozy place run by warm-hearted people who not only greet you, but also cook for you.
I ordered the shrimp soup (life-changing) and a Greenlandic beer called Qajaq (surprisingly tasty!). The shrimp were so fresh and flavorful, I briefly considered writing a love letter to them. The restaurant uses local fish and meat from Greenlandic nature — and yes, if you have any dietary restrictions, it’s good to mention them in advance.
Settlement Impressions and a Farewell on Ice
After lunch, we explored the village a bit more. There’s a tiny school that doubles as a church, a communal building where locals do laundry and shower (most homes here don’t have bathrooms), and a clever desalination system that turns salty sea water into usable water. Practicality meets tradition — that’s Oqaatsut in a nutshell.
It’s a day of contrasts: gliding over the ice, warming up with soup, the silence of the snow, the laughter in the restaurant.
Just a quick advise:
The sled ride can get quite bumpy, especially over frozen lakes — not exactly smooth terrain! If you have back, leg, or neck issues, keep that in mind before hopping on.
Solo travelers: you might be paired with another guest to share a sled. On my trip, though, I was the only guest, which meant I had the sled all to myself — just me, the musher, and an incredibly eager team of dogs.
Eventually, the time came to say goodbye. We crossed the ice once more, climbed into our little boat, and sailed back toward Ilulissat under a sky that had started to blush with early evening light.
Oqaatsut in March is more than a destination — it’s a fleeting moment of magic when the ice begins to let us in again. A remote, authentic, snow-covered whisper of Greenlandic life. And the best shrimp soup I’ve ever had.
