The 3 S’s are
Surf skate ski
SURF
I first learned to surf on a family trip to Canada, where we took lessons on the West Coast in a tiny town called Tofino. We fell in love instantly. Since then, my family and I have surfed almost everywhere you can imagine: Hawaii, Australia, Bali, Lombok, Jersey and, eventually, Iceland.
Surfing in water between 3°C and 6°C is officially known as Arctic Surfing, and it’s exactly as intense as it sounds. It requires wetsuits up to 8mm thick, a handful of survival minded tricks warm water surfers never need, and an extremely generous attitude toward discomfort. In Iceland, for example, we wear authentic sheep-wool socks under our surf boots to prevent hypothermia. Local surfers have even formed agreements with the many heated pools dotted across the island, giving us a place to thaw out and change after long, freezing sessions.
Although surfing is a global sport, Iceland remains relatively untouched. This is mostly because the water feels like it’s plotting against you. My father and I consider that one of its greatest strengths. The beaches are quiet, the lineups are empty, and weekends turn into small expeditions as we explore new parts of the country, tracking down waves no one has surfed before. When we find one, we get to name it ourselves. A small claim to discovery that feels rooted in our human emotions.
I started skateboarding during the first 2020 lockdown in London, after finding an old board my dad had abandoned in our garage. With nowhere to go and far too much time on my hands, I practised outside our house day and night. What began as a quarantine distraction quickly became an obsession, and before long, I’d fallen into the lively, slightly chaotic London skate community.
Moving to Iceland was a plot twist. The skate scene was tiny, and skateboarding wasn’t exactly considered “cool.” I kept at it anyway, rolling around empty streets and gradually meeting the handful of other skaters scattered across Reykjavik. Eventually, a few of us started organising skate jams. Our way of turning parking lots into temporary skate parks and proving that the Icelandic skate community, though small, has plenty of personality.
SkatE
SKI
My father never allowed excuses when it came to skiing. According to him, if I could walk, I could ski, and so on my first birthday, I got my first pair of tiny skis and was sent wobbling down a hill. I’ve loved it ever since.
Over the years, I drifted from simple downhill runs into the far more entertaining world of freestyle skiing. Snow parks became my second home: jumps, rails, boxes, and anything that involved leaving the ground were instant favourites. I spent countless hours learning new tricks, perfecting old ones, and occasionally discovering new ways to fall. Off-piste skiing became another obsession. Chasing fresh snow, ducking into tree lines, and exploring the parts of the mountain that felt just a little bit forbidden.
Skiing has been in my life as long as walking has, and at this point, I’m not sure which one I’m entirely better at.
