From Crossing Iceland

Part of this journey’s purpose was to investigate how energy developments, such as wind, hydroelectric, and geothermal, have altered the landscape and what the future of the Highland may be if even a portion of the myriad possibilities for further development are actualized. Looming above were great transmission towers whirring in the wind—andromorphic geometric titans grasping the latent power embedded in the natural wonders all around us, wrested from the earth and concentrated in a buzzing black line, flitting through the sky at nearly light speed towards toasters and thermostats.
 
These are our gods now. Raging rivers, torrents of wind, scalding water and steam energized by the earth’s natural subterranean radioactive decay—the wild, unruly forces of nature—each harnessed by walls of concrete, towers of aluminum, and networks of pipes and lines, by engineers and energy companies. The powers of the former gods have become our plaything. To a point of course. Volcanic eruptions still threaten flights and infrastructure, in Iceland and beyond, and basically do what they are going to do despite us [1].
 
Usable energy is clearly a good and integral to modern economies and modern life. The question is: what sort of good is it and how does it compare with others? Iceland is the highest per capita energy producer in the world, by nearly double its closest competitor, Norway. This energy is almost entirely renewable, produced by hydroelectric and geothermal power plants. Iceland is world famous especially for its innovative geothermal energy, giving it a green reputation. However, the story of energy in Iceland is far more complicated than this simple green sheen.
 
Tolstoy once asked in an essay: How Much Land Does a Man Need? Well, we might ask, how much energy does a nation need? How much does Iceland need? One answer might be all of it. This may sound ludicrous (what could it even mean?), but it’s not far off from the thinking of many development-minded Icelanders in the recent past and quite a few still today.
 
Dreams of developing Iceland’s energy resources begin in the early 20th century when it was still under Danish control: “When King Frederick VIII visited the country in the summer of 1907, he and Minister Hannes Hafstein rode with their entourage to Gullfoss, the imposing waterfall in Hvítá River. Sipping Champagne, they hailed the endless power that could be harnessed there.” [2] These grand ideas were enthusiastically supported by Icelandic poet Einar Benediktsson but opposed by others, including a local woman who threatened to throw herself down the waterfall in protest.
 
In the first decades of this century, there were proposals to dam nearly every major river in Iceland to generate up to 30TWh of hydroelectric power. The primary result of this millennial energy push was the 4.6 TWh Kárahnjúkar dam in Iceland’s southeast, primarily to power a large Alcoa aluminum smelter. It flooded Iceland’s longest and deepest canyon, a heavily vegetated portion of Iceland (the only area vegetated from the sea to its glacial source), and disrupted reindeer, fish, and bird habitat. Prior to its construction, there was intense opposition including a variety of protests such as encampments and protesters locking themselves on to machinery. It remains a sore spot for many Icelanders to this day.
 
Icelandic author Andri Snær Magnason dedicated most of his locally bestselling 2006 book Dreamland to describing this era of energy ambition in the deeper context of Iceland at a turning point in finding its path in the world, just prior to its spectacular 2008 economic collapse and the subsequent explosion of tourism in the years following. At that time, energy companies and politicians were arguing forcefully that it was of vital necessity that Iceland develop its latent hydroelectric energy for the primary purpose of powering heavy industry. This was cast in the terms of a moral duty to the world to not waste Iceland’s resources. What was not considered, Magnason points out, is the tiny addition this would make to Europe’s energy supply, much less the world’s. Furthermore, did not Iceland have a moral obligation to its beautiful landscapes and natural wonders?
 
This maximization agenda was formerly epitomized by the director of the National Energy Authority in 1970, Jakob Björnsson. Halldór Laxness, one of Iceland’s most famous authors, forcefully rebutted Björnsson in a 1971 essay, War Against the Land, a wide spanning critique of environmental degradation in Iceland from the settlement era up to the then present-day, addressing, among other things, plans to flood the biologically significant marshlands of Thjórsárver under a reservoir. Another infamous dam was to be built on the River Laxá, where it would have flooded one of Iceland’s most prolific Salmon rivers and displaced local farmers. In protest, locals bombed a smaller dam (which was built without local consent, and perhaps illegally, 9 years prior)—an explosion heard around the country.
 
Out of this contestation eventually emerged a process—the Master Plan for Nature Protection and Energy Utilization—a model imported from Norway, ostensibly intended to resolve these conflicts, but which some environmental groups in Iceland criticize as being slanted towards industry interests. Snæbjörn Guðmundsson, head of the environmental organization ÓFEIG Náttururvernd, for instance, has argued that the purpose of the master plan is not so much to protect nature but “primarily to help the country’s energy companies to find the most convenient and easy power plant options”. [3] He supports his position by referring to a comment on a bill by the Minister of Industry in 2010: “the bill [is] intended to promote greater consensus on energy production and reduce the uncertainty of energy companies when choosing power generation options.” [4] Others do defend the process as fair and comprehensive however. At present, there are about 50 new energy sites being considered.
 
Much of the criticism of Iceland’s current energy makeup and future prospects is that the vast majority goes towards heavy industry, including data centers and silicon manufacturing, but overwhelmingly aluminum smelting—an especially energy intensive process. While they do offer high paying jobs (for Icelanders and foreigners), nearly all the profits from these industries do not stay in Iceland. About 80% of Iceland’s electricity production is for heavy industry, while only 4% is used by homes and utilities [5]. Part of the justification offered for this tremendous disproportionately is that Iceland is doing its part to offset carbon emissions. One version of this, which has not thus far gained any real traction, is to sell energy directly to Europe, transported through an undersea cable. Another is to frame aluminum ingots smelted in Iceland as an embodied low-emissions energy export. Similar discussions are buttressing dreams for future hydrogen fuel production.
 
While Iceland’s electricity production is entirely renewable, its fishing fleets and ships, international and domestic flight emissions, some of its transportation sector, and the intermittent reliance on diesel generators by certain of its industries, are not. When accounting for these, only 85% of Iceland’s energy use is currently renewable (meaning not derived from fossil fuels). The Icelandic government in 2024 released a set of scenarios for energy futures. The highest growth scenario, which includes total decarbonization of land, sea, and air as well as catering maximally to heavy industry calls for an addition of 23.7 TWh to its present approximately 20 TWh of electricity production. This would be a total of over 40TWh, greater even than the older dreams of 30 TWh. To generate this capacity, or even half of it, Iceland would need to significantly expand its development of hydroelectric, geothermal, and wind production. This would necessitate dozens of new and expanded energy sites, and requisite infrastructure such as roads and transmission lines, throughout the country, including in the Highland. An alternative offered by environmental groups is to close an old smelter near Reykjavik, which would easily make up for the difference.
 
The logic of maximal exploitation is still very alive. Energy companies, certain politicians, economists, and sympathetic constituents speak often of a “looming energy shortage” in Iceland despite its status as the highest in the world per capita energy producer. What this suggests is that interested parties are driven by something other than legitimate concern for sustainability.
 
Magnason’s point must be revisited. Iceland’s total present energy production is about 20.24 TWh. Even with an additional 40 TWh, making 60TWh, this is still just a drop in the world’s bucket. Norway generates 153.6 TWh, the United States 4,249! [6] To get anywhere close to this 60 would come at a tremendous cost to Iceland’s landscapes and ecologies. Clearly, Iceland should do its part for climate, but it seems disingenuous and perhaps a bit masochistic for that part to be all its parts—its free-flowing rivers and undeveloped expanses. It may be irrational to boot, as it would almost certainly come at the expense of tourism, which is currently Iceland’s largest economic sector (tourists are usually drawn to Iceland to witness its untamed nature).
 
But what does any of this matter, what does it mean? Picture for a moment the Northern Lights (you may not have seen them in person, but you can imagine. Hint: photographs almost always oversaturate the color). The Aurora Borealis is formed when solar waves of charged particles enter the earth’s magnetosphere—extending about 40,000 miles (64,374km) towards the sun—which directs this energy towards the poles, where it collides with the various elements of the earth’s atmosphere causing it to light up in luminous, milky sheets of green, yellow, and red. Consider the tremendous energy of the Aurora [7]. What if we could stick an electron straw up into the sky and suck it all down into our cars and appliances. The sky emptied of its singular and heavenly beauty for our banal convenience and profit. Would we? Can you imagine the uproar if energy companies proposed such a sacrilege?!
 
As it happens, Magnason explores such a possibility in his surreal dystopic sci-fi LoveStar centered on a powerful tycoon of the same name who uses a balloon to tap the Northern Lights (among many other strange innovations). Upon reaching their heavenly heights, “a blazing electric river was sucked down the copper wire like a whirlpool down a drain”. How, really (and I think this is Magnason’s point), is that different than doing the same to a mighty river and great canyon, or a prolific marsh, or a frigid, austere, uninhabitable plateau where the earth’s diverse, creative geological power is on naked display? And if it’s not so different, then how do we decide what to obliterate and why? The cold logic of economics? Or something else?

[1] Though Icelander’s have valiantly tried. See https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/1988/02/22/i-cooling-the-lava
[2] Jóhannesson, G. T. (2013). The history of Iceland. Bloomsbury Publishing USA.
[3] https://kjarninn.is/skodun/2021-02-12-yngstu-kynslodir-islendinga-snidgengnar/
[4] https://kjarninn.is/skodun/rammaaaetlun-i-thagu-virkjunar-eda-verndar/
[5] 43% of Iceland’s total final energy consumption, including imports and non-electrical energy use, is for heavy industry
[6] https://ourworldindata.org/energy/country/iceland?country=ISL~USA
[7] It’s a lot, 500 billion watts (0.5 TW) according to https://solarsystem.nasa.gov/genesismission/gm2/science/solarmax_modules/solarmax_planets.htm
But distributed too widely perhaps to realistically utilize.