Photo: Kjell Fredriksen / www.hamsuns-rike.no
Travel has become for me not only a pleasure and a profession, but also a precious opportunity to connect with people working in the hospitality sector who, with courage and vision, strive to develop tourism by restoring remote yet extraordinarily fascinating places. These locations are not only charming destinations but also guardians of living traditions and communities that continue to resist, despite the accelerating process of administrative centralization and the depopulation of small villages. Within this context, many areas of the Nordland region struggle to keep their cultural roots alive and to embrace tourism as a path toward sustainable growth. Part of my scouting work, aimed at promoting exclusive places for conscious travelers, has also become a chance to better understand these dynamics and to meet the true heroes of resilience: men and women willing to take care of sites that once played a significant role in history and who today continue to preserve and carry forward their legacy with care, dedication, and passion.
Standing before Tranøy Fyr in Hamarøy, one cannot help but feel transported back in time. The lighthouse rises alone on the islet of Stangholmen, stranded on bare rock, facing the formidable Lofoten Wall across the Vestfjorden. Around it stretches the raw beauty of Arctic landscapes, and an atmosphere so silent that even the sound of waves feels like a distant memory. Looking at the lighthouse, you can almost sense the hardship of those days. Men would leave at dawn to battle the unpredictable seas, fishing for cod in freezing winds, while women stayed ashore, raising children, tending animals, and enduring the gnawing uncertainty of whether their beloved would return home. The lighthouse keeper’s family, stationed here in isolation, played an essential role in this fragile balance of survival. The beacon they tended was more than just light in the darkness—it was a promise of return, a silent guardian guiding fathers, sons, and brothers back to the safety of their homes.
There is a timelessness here that awakens something deep inside, a reminder of lives once lived in harsher times. Hamarøy is a corner of Nordland where raw nature and cultural depth meet in harmony. Here, the mountains rise like sculptures above the sea, offering trails that range from gentle coastal walks to the dramatic ascent of Hamarøyskaftet, one of Norway’s climbing gems.
Photo: Roger Johansen / www.nordnorge.com
The fjords mirror the Arctic light in shifting shades, inviting kayakers and dreamers alike. Beyond nature, Hamarøy carries the legacy of Nobel laureate Knut Hamsun, with the striking Hamsun Center and the writer’s childhood home standing as reminders of literature rooted in the landscape. Small villages like Tranøy add another layer of discovery, with galleries, sculptures, and communities determined to keep traditions alive.
Photo: Ernst Furuhatt / www.nordnorge.com
The history of Tranøy Fyr begins in 1864, when the lantern was lit for the first time. A modest light was installed in the gable wall of what became known as the “old lighthouse keeper’s house.” Alongside it stood a small caretaker’s house for storing firewood and oil, and even a few cows and sheep were kept to sustain the isolated family. With no road connections, the lighthouse was accessible only by boat, reinforcing both the solitude and the responsibility of those who lived there. The first keeper moved in with his family, staying for twelve years and setting a precedent for generations of keepers who would dedicate their lives to this lonely but vital duty.
Over the decades, Tranøy Fyr evolved with technology and the growing demands of maritime navigation. In 1910, a flashing light was introduced, and by 1933, a compressed air fog signal was installed. The lighthouse we see today was reconstructed piece by piece from an earlier dismantled tower. In 1936, the new structure became fully operational. Standing 28 meters tall, the tower served as a steadfast landmark for sailors navigating some of the most treacherous waters in Norway. For decades, the lighthouse remained staffed until automation in 1986 gradually rendered keepers unnecessary. The last lighthouse keeper retired in 1991, closing a chapter that had lasted more than a century.
Yet Tranøy Fyr did not fall silent. Instead, it entered a new era. The once isolated outpost now welcomes visitors from Norway and abroad, inviting them to immerse themselves in its layered history and extraordinary setting. To walk along the rocky shore, to hear the wind sweep across the fjord, and to gaze at the beam of light stretching into the Arctic night is to feel both humbled and inspired. It is a living reminder of resilience—of the people who once held this coastline together and of those who today work to preserve its legacy for generations of travelers seeking meaning beyond the ordinary.
Photo: www.tranoyfyr.no
The first time I met Anne-Gry was during a business trip, a moment as simple as a “hi” exchanged in passing. Yet, within that instant, she had already managed to make me feel welcome. Her smile carried the warmth of someone who knew the power of hospitality, and her energy gave me a glimpse of what awaited at the place she had so courageously decided to call her own: Tranøy Fyr.
For years, she had worked in the south of Norway for a major multinational company, climbing the ladder of corporate life. Then, with a mix of bravery and belief, she chose another path: to take over a lighthouse stranded on a rock at the edge of the Arctic and transform it not just into a place for guests, but into a living vessel of memory, preserving the legacy of Northern Norway’s maritime past. Her decision was not only a business move; it was an act of faith. Faith in people, in place, in the power of stories.
When she invited me to visit Tranøy Fyr, it was impossible to say no. There was something irresistible about the prospect of seeing through her eyes this gem she had committed to nurturing. And indeed, my first impression was not that of entering a guesthouse but of arriving home. Clothes drying in the wind beside the lighthouse tower, the sea glittering under a sharp Arctic sun—suddenly I was transported back to my childhood in Italy. The scent of sun-dried linens, the memory of my grandmother’s hands folding them with care, filled the air. Yet here I was, over the Polar Circle, in a place that should have felt remote but instead felt intimately familiar. It was a miracle of associations, sunlight stitching together two worlds into one.
The stone wall that separated the property from the ocean became my vantage point. There, I lay back under the northern sun, listening to the wind whisper ancient names and untold stories, while the waters shimmered with a silence only broken by seabirds. Later, as evening drew in, the landscape caught fire, the fjord glowing in golden hues for what became one of the most unforgettable sunsets of my life. Tranøy Fyr revealed itself as a paradox: a place hard to reach, yet harder still to leave.
This is a sanctuary for open souls—for writers seeking inspiration, painters chasing the right light, travelers yearning to breathe in wilderness and breathe out the noise of modern life. No lighthouse keepers remain here, and yet, the place still hums with guardianship: a reminder that we are never truly alone. There is always a light to guide us, a safe harbor waiting, nature ready to nourish our inner selves.
At the heart of it all is Anne-Gry. Her home has become more than a refuge; it is an invitation. Around her table, travelers share fresh fish, local products, and stories that stretch from near to far. She has opened not only the doors of the lighthouse but also those of her beliefs, showing that preserving a past can illuminate a present, and that every guest carries away not only memories of a landscape but also a piece of her vision.
Tranøy Fyr is not just a lighthouse. It is a reminder that courage can turn isolation into belonging, and that hospitality, when rooted in history, nature, and sincerity, becomes a light that never goes out.