–Our “watch” (6-8, am and pm) has quickly become my favorite part of the day. The company is top notch, and I never feel bet ... [more]

–Our “watch” (6-8, am and pm) has quickly become my favorite part of the day. The company is top notch, and I never feel better on the boat than when I’m on the bridge. Rather than feel every pitch and roll in the gut-as happens below deck-working above, steering the ship or pulling sails in the crisp air and occasional snow, is something invigorating. It feels more of a surf, or a dance, than a helpless jostle and tumble, which is the best way to describe life in the cabin. Like a pair of shoes in the dryer.

–That said-there’s comedy, there’s high comedy, and then there’s watching a bunch of landlubbers try to deal with shuffling about the cabin. Stumbles and near-calamities are frequent (we’re talking every couple of minutes) and we’re averaging no less than 3-4 good spills a day as a crew. There will be bruises.

–We’ve chartered a slightly different course, responding to ice patterns and weather concerns. We’re no longer taking the 78th parallel straight across, but rather taking the hypotenuse straight to Scoresby Sund. The upside to this (besides not sailing into sea ice) is that we’ll have more time in Scoresby, the largest fjord in the world, and by all accounts (including Ko’s) is a place of unspeakable beauty.

Now, I must check out to revive the tumbling tummy with a breathe of fresh midnight arctic air above, and to glimpse a touch of the northern lights through the cloudy cover.

(But not before watching Liam land on his arse.)
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Well the melodrama of yesterday has subsided. The arctic awe has given way to the reality of the place, and of this trip.

So we� ... [more]

Well the melodrama of yesterday has subsided. The arctic awe has given way to the reality of the place, and of this trip.

So we’re sailing, after nightfall, and we’ve cleared site of land. Stomachs are somewhat woozy (no proper tossing yet, but it does seem imminent with certain clammy-faced crew members).

My shift “on watch” (above deck, steering the boat, watching for ice, and setting sails when need be) is 6-8 am&pm, and I’m feeling somewhat guilty about such a choice timeslot. My watch crew-Vicky, Brian and myself-is also top notch (although I’d likely feel that way about any grouping I’d find myself in). And we’ve got morning and evening twilight (and sunrise and sunsets, I suppose, if the clouds break).

Interesting realizations of the trip today, that this is no little jaunt around the arctic, but rather a pretty serious endeavour. This somewhat humbling recognition was prompted by Ko (real name, real badass) answering my question about why he came onboard for this voyage, as he’s sailed and travelled the arctic plenty in the past, but has somewhat “retired” from the life of adventure. Now Ko is our “guide” on this trip; he’s insanely knowledgeable about the history and science of the region, and has been to Greenland four times in the past, has been all over the arctic. He seems to have as good a take on the North Atlantic as anyone out there. So I ask him why he comes out of “retirement” for a trip like this, and he starts talking about the “adventure” of it, and how he wants to see how a little boat like ours-which, apparently, doesn’t normally take such a trip-is going to make the trip all the way to Greenland. It’s a trip that Ko-who has done it all-has never done, and he’s in it for the adventure.

So, yes, we’re on an adventure-not just an arctic “experience.” 750 miles at least (as the crows flies, and our route certainly won’t be so direct), which will take 5 or 6 days, depending on the wind. Now the thought of being on this boat for 5-6 days without even a view of land has caused at least a few of us a bit of jittery nerves. Claustrophobia, seasickness, and boredom seem to be the main concerns. (The last seems unlikely to me, but it is really difficult to read or write in this rolling cabin, before the stomach starts to wince. And, that said, even within a parentheses, I must close the computer.)
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Oslo - Longyearbyen (78N 15E) - Anchored at fjord

If the first day of our voyage is at all reprensentative of the trip to
come-an ... [more]

Oslo - Longyearbyen (78N 15E) - Anchored at fjord

If the first day of our voyage is at all reprensentative of the trip to
come-and I have every reason to believe that it will be-then I’m going to
have a lot to learn about expressing awe. It’s a simple exercise to take
something finite and describe it in great detail; it’s terribly more
difficult to forge an account of something as massive and moving as this
place. But we must try.

Flying from Oslo, our crew was collectively jolted from the weary fatigue of
travel (this correspondent tallied up six airports in the 36 hours prior).
The sense of shared bewilderment of 20 relative strangers upon landing in
Longyearben was nearly as stirring as the scene into which we touched down.

A beautiful day blessed our arrival-not common for this place, according to
David-with a mat of clouds keeping temperatures comfortable, if still below
freezing. A jaunt through town yielded the group many a precious souvenir
score-mugs were purchased, a couple of savvy travelers posted cards, and a
run on canvas shopping bags (branded with the ubitquitous Longyearbyen polar
bear, who we fortunately never met in the flesh) impressively left the local
supermarket sold out.

Longyearbyen is an interesting place, seemingly having grown about a coal
mine and power plant that lights and heats the town’s 2000 or so residents,
25-percent of who turn over every year. (Surely there’s an interesting
paradox to be explored about an old coal town that is so clearly being
tugged by climate change, but none of us had the wherewithal to dive into
it.) As a hub for research expeditions and modest arctic tourism, it’s a
place of transience, and our scattershot international crew warranted not a
second glance while traipsing about town in our matching hunter’s orange
caps. (Team Zissou Farewell!)

Returning to the Norderlicht for departure, spirits high as the journey
begins in earnest. Gliding through a thankfully placid sea, as the sun sets
beyond a mountainous island direct off the bow. Cameras working overtime on
deck, so that the post-dinner cabin scene is one of competing wires and
adapters and whirring laptops as memory cards are purged into hard drives.
The anchor drops as the Norderlicht sits in a fjord, mountains surround
rising through the lolling twilight.

Apologies if I’m not so lucid this evening (or for the rest of the trip for
that matter). Typically I feel it’s a cop out to say that “words cannot
describe,” but for once it feels an apt excuse. And the conversations I’ve
had this evening make clear that, for more folks than myself, this
place-this experience-is still a bit beyond expression. [less]