Kristján Loftsson has spent decades finding ways to keep Iceland’s whaling industry alive. The 83-year-old Icelandic millionaire’s latest idea is to turn whale meat into iron supplements.
But he may soon face a problem no new product can solve.
On Aug. 29, Icelanders will vote on whether to restart negotiations to join the European Union. A “Yes” vote would reopen a path toward membership — and toward EU rules that prohibit the killing of whales.
The EU’s Habitats Directive bans the capture or killing of all cetaceans, the category that includes whales as well as dolphins and porpoises. For Loftsson, joining the bloc would almost certainly mean the end of the hunt.
Loftsson is the driving force behind Icelandic whaling. His company, Hvalur hf., has operated on and off since 1947 and today runs the country’s only commercial whaling fleet. Through the summer season, his two ships, the Hvalur 8 and 9, have been patrolling Icelandic waters to hunt fin whales, notching up over 50 kills so far.
Iceland is one of just three countries, alongside Norway and Japan, that still permit commercial whaling. But the business has become increasingly difficult.
Icelanders, on the whole, do not eat whale meat. The country does not have a longstanding tradition of commercial whaling, and the practice is controversial even within its borders. A government report found that Hvalur’s whaling operations led to a loss of about 3 billion Icelandic krona, or €21 million, between 2011 and 2021.
Hvalur halted sales of whale meat to Japan, citing unprofitability. According to one government disclosure, the company was investigating the possibility of selling whale meat as feedstock for pigs and cattle.
Loftsson is in search of creative solutions. Hence the iron supplements. Earlier this month, Hvalur — the name means “Whale” in Icelandic — announced plans to grind fin-whale meat into powder and market it as an iron supplement, pointing to the nearly 2 billion people worldwide who suffer from anemia.
“It’s one of the biggest health problems in the world — lack of iron,” Loftsson said. “This has taken us five, six years and we feel that we have found out the method now.”
The hunt
It takes about an hour to drive from Reykjavík to Hvalur’s base at the far end of the Hvalfjörður, or Whale Fjord. It’s a scenic ride through the gently winding 30-kilometer stretch of coast, which includes an off-piste stretch of loose gravel road.
It’s late summer, and the air is already chilly. Arne Feuerhahn is wearing a navy blue windbreaker jacket. He points to the whaling station across the water, on the north side of the fjord. Feuerhahn is the founder of Hard To Port, an NGO dedicated to documenting Icelandic whaling to bring transparency to the practice. The activist said he got his start in 2008, when he witnessed the killing of a minke whale by Japanese whalers in Antarctica.
“Seeing cruelty stays with you,” he says.
Feuerhahn spends most of the year in his native Germany, where he works for a waste management company. In the summer, at the start of the whaling season, he travels to Iceland and drives his van to a spot outside of Hvalur’s station to photograph the whales as they are brought in.
Ships arrive at the concrete pier with the harpooned animals lashed alongside the hull, dragging them through the water. A cable is tied to their flukes and the carcass is dragged up a concrete ramp with a mechanical winch to be butchered in the open air.
Workers peel away the blubber, which will be rendered together with bones in boilers. They use a steam-powered saw to break the jaw and long flensing knives attached to wooden poles to carve out fillets from the flesh. The meat is frozen, then trucked to a refrigerated warehouse on the outskirts of Reykjavík.
Fin whales are the second-largest animals on Earth, after blue whales. An average adult measures some 20 meters — the length of a tennis court — and easily weighs more than 50 tons. Their skin is charcoal-grey, with asymmetrical bands of silvery pigmentation running down their heads and backs.
They are solitary creatures and incredibly fast swimmers. They roam the ocean in search of krill and fish like capelin, sprat and herring, said Conor Ryan, a marine scientist who has campaigned against whaling: “They just break away and race, like they’re galloping over the horizon.”
Ryan acknowledged that the number of whales being hunted by Hvalur — which has been granted a quota of 150 specimens this year by Iceland’s Marine and Freshwater Research Institute — is unlikely to put a dent in the fin whale population in the North Atlantic. Fin whales are classified as vulnerable by the International Union for Conservation of Nature, but a regional assessment of the population that travels through Icelandic waters categorized it as “Least Concern,” with “no evidence of continuing decline.”
Ryan justified his opposition to whaling on the grounds of cruelty. “There is no way to kill a whale that’s up to the modern standards of dispatching a mammal,” he said.
The technology underpinning the hunt is largely unchanged from the heyday of commercial whaling in the early 1900s. A spotter sits in the crow’s nest searching for the tell-tale spout. When a whale is seen, a gunner will cross a catwalk to the prow of the ship, where the harpoon is mounted.
The harpoon is aimed at the whale’s neck to maximize the chances of a clean kill. It’s tipped with a grenade that explodes when it hits the animal, sending shards of metal through its body. Simultaneously, the harpoon’s metal claws open up, gripping the animal.
Icelandic regulation states that the animal should be killed instantly. Pregnant and nursing whales are to be avoided. In practice, the killing can take much longer. In June this year, for example, one fin whale required four shots and was estimated to have taken 31 minutes to die.
Enter Brussels
The cruelty of the hunt is one argument against Icelandic whaling. The EU poses a more definitive threat: Membership would almost certainly end it. Polls put the referendum vote neck-and-neck, with the “Yes” vote marginally ahead.
Arni Finnsson, chair of the board at the Iceland Nature Conservation Association, said that in 2009-2012, when Iceland first entered into talks to join the bloc, whaling was seen as one of the roadblocks to a deal.
“The foreign minister in charge, he said, ‘Well, we’re not going to budge. We’re going to stick to it,’” Finnsson explained. He added that the fishing industry was trying to make whaling a wedge issue again this referendum.
“Of course the whaling will be forbidden,” said Guðlaugur Þór Þórðarson, a member of Parliament for the conservative Independence Party. He’s now in the opposition, but he served as environment minister between 2021 and 2024.
With short-cropped grey hair and an expressive face, he’s a talkative man. He has a pin with “Áfram Ísland” (Forward Iceland), the motto of the “No” campaign in the referendum, stuck to the lapel of his suit. He spoke to POLITICO between pinches of snuff.
“I think there is absolutely no way we could get an exemption,” he said. Þórðarson said that whaling helped control the whale population, which, if left unchecked, could threaten Iceland’s fisheries.
And yet, Þórðarson said he wasn’t in any rush to eat the whale himself.
“I have childhood memories of whale meat, and I had definitely better meals at my home,” he chortled.
For opponents of EU membership, whaling is part of a much larger argument about who controls the resources in Iceland’s waters. Whaling might be economically marginal, but fishing remains an important part of the country’s economy, accounting for nearly a tenth of the nation’s gross domestic product.
“Icelandic authorities must put Iceland’s interests first,” Árni Sverrisson, CEO and chairman of the Icelandic Ships’ Officers Association, told POLITICO in a written response. “In my mind, there is no other option than to keep our Icelandic fisheries policy unchanged and continue whaling.”
Katrín Oddsdóttir, a lawyer and anti-whaling advocate, disagrees. She keeps a picture of Björk at an anti-whaling event in her office. The Icelandic singer ranks among those vocally opposed to the hunt.
“This is basically just a really perverted hobby of one millionaire,” she said.
Iceland’s last whaler
Loftsson looks at least a decade younger than his 83 years. He’s got feathery white hair, a beard and expressive eyes. He shows up to a meeting with POLITICO in a navy windowpane suit jacket over an ember-red polo shirt.
Loftsson is by turns charming and combative; he’s open to debate but also convinced that he’s right. He backs up his points with printouts, including a fact sheet from the International Union for Conservation of Nature.
Whaling is a side business for Hvalur. Loftsson made his real money when the company moved into fishing in the 1980s. Since then, it has diversified into other sectors, including investments in banks and telecoms.
Loftsson’s ties to whaling go back to childhood: At 13, he spent a summer working as a mess boy aboard one of his father’s whaling ships. Asked why he continues operating the whaling fleet at a loss, Loftsson pointed to his investments tied up in the processing station. “It’s maybe some small loss, but that’s nothing compared to throwing everything away,” he said.
The iron supplements are his next big bet. Synthetic iron supplements are hard to digest and can cause constipation, he says. Hvalur will grind the iron-rich meat into a powder to make 500 mg capsules. The first batch is expected to be ready next year.
He’s accustomed to debating about whaling. Earlier in the year, Iceland’s Industry Minister Hanna Katrín Friðriksson signaled that the 1949 law that allows whaling was outdated and needed to be revised. According to two people in Iceland with knowledge of the matter, including one high-ranking politician, Washington is threatening Iceland with tariffs if it doesn’t stop hunting whales.
In the interview with POLITICO, Loftsson declared himself unconcerned. Iceland has periodically tried to ban whaling, including the imposition of a 20-year hiatus that ended in 2006. “They never get anywhere,” Loftsson said.
Brussels, however, is different. He likened the EU to a “soft version of the Soviet system.” Joining, he said, would spell the end of whaling. But, he added, he didn’t think “Yes” would win.
He puts on his coat and stands up, then turns to answer a final question from POLITICO.
