Our guide’s voice breaks the silence, even-toned, but with a noticeable sense of urgency. “We need to get back to the Zodiacs—there’s been a polar bear sighting.” Twenty-five SLRs freeze mid-click. We file back along the rocky shoreline towards the boats, an energy in our steps equal parts thrill and fear.
It’s one thing to read about polar bears in National Geographic. It’s quite another to come face-to-face with one on his home turf.
My eyes scan the shore, the sea, and past the huddle of walruses we haven’t had nearly enough time with. I don’t see a bear, and quietly wonder if the guides are being overly cautious. Later, I’ll learn that a polar bear can catch the scent of a seal from miles away.
I don’t doubt them again.
I slide onto the black neoprene hull and glance back at the heap of blubbering, grunting, and burrowing walruses I’ve come so far to see. I pray to the wildlife gods this isn’t our only encounter with them. But in the Arctic, nothing is guaranteed. Each day reveals something different, whether it’s a sleek minke whale swimming alongside the ship, an Arctic fox playing with her newborn cubs, or a too-close-for-comfort call with a tumbling iceberg.
Back on the ship, I grab my binoculars and head to the bow, ready to spot the elusive bear who so rudely interrupted our first polar landing.
The Poles are Magnetic
“Didn’t you just go to Antarctica?” my friend asks over coffee. Slightly embarrassed, I say, “Yes… Two years ago. But this time I’m going to the Arctic. You know, the land of polar bears and Santa Claus?” She laughs, “Of course you are.”
What’s funny is that someone who loathes cold weather, cold water, even iced coffee, chooses to spend so much time in the chilliest places on Earth. The irony isn’t lost on me. I’m obsessed with all things glacial. I binge-watch Frozen Planet. I dream about whales.
There’s something magnetic about the poles—the barren and remote landscapes, the improbable wildlife, and the lack of infrastructure. There’s the added element of danger; this is the home of the world’s largest land-dwelling carnivore, mind you. The underlying thrill is addictive.
So back to the tundra I go. This time, to Svalbard, an archipelago located deep within the Arctic Circle, accompanied by my 21-year-old daughter and 80-year-old stepfather. Spanning three generations, each of us is keen to experience the Arctic in our own way.
This trip will not only change me, it will teach me. I’ll learn the differences between auks and murres. I’ll hike to historical trapper huts whose rickety wooden shelves are still lined with empty bottles of whiskey. I’ll linger in the glow of the Midnight Sun. Stepping out of my ordinary life, even if briefly, I’ll see the world—and myself—a little differently.
Who Goes To The Arctic Circle?
According to The Washington Post, approximately 100,000 tourists explored the Arctic via cruise ships and expeditions last year. The rise in popularity is attributed to several factors, including retreating sea ice, which has opened up more navigable routes, as well as an increased interest in traveling to extreme destinations. Melting glaciers are surely significant drivers—the desire to see this remote part of the world before the ice is gone.
Nearly two-thirds of these visitors arrive in Svalbard, which was officially recognized as a Norwegian territory in 1920. Svalbard comprises over 100 islands, but the majority of the archipelago’s land is on its four largest islands: Spitsbergen, Nordaustlandet, Edgeøya, and Barentsøya.
The town of Longyearbyen is on Spitsbergen, the largest island. It’s not only the northernmost settlement on the planet but also one of the most isolated. Having arrived here on a flight from Helsinki via London, via Washington DC, it’s our gateway to the Arctic.
Have you read this book?
No? Then stop right here and place your order. I’ll wait. It’s a must-read, whether or not you’re interested obsessed with the Arctic. Every character is memorable and lovable, especially the dog.
The Memoirs of Stockholm Sven
The Arctic Summer and the Midnight Sun
It’s mid-June, and our expedition aligns with the Midnight Sun, a phenomenon that occurs between May and August, when daylight is experienced around the clock. Our trip also coincides with the summer solstice, the longest day of the year. This seems entirely redundant in the Arctic, where the longest day of the year lasts four months.
The perks of never-ending days need little explanation. Never-ending days mean there’s no time we can’t spot wildlife or admire snow-streaked mountains. Continuous daylight allows for longer excursions and more hours to photograph scenery.
The downsides of endless days are few—and are easily overcome with blackout shades and a silk eye mask.
Don’t Call it a Cruise
Maybe unfairly, the term cruise conjures up images of uninspired breakfast buffets, cringey late-night shows, and rounds of bingo. Every time someone asks, “When’s your cruise to the Arctic?” I say, “It’s not a cruise, it’s an expedition!” The differences between Quark’s Ultramarine and a Princess Cruise are as wide as the Barents Sea.
For one, our ship is purpose-built for polar travel, not a boat that was once used to ferry senior citizens from Miami to the Bahamas circa 1982. A purpose-built ship means the motorized Zodiac boats, which take us on our twice-daily excursions, are located at sea level so that no time is wasted getting out on the water. And because our ship is fully equipped with the latest technology for polar travel, it can reach destinations that other ships can’t.
Additionally, Ultramarine prioritizes sustainability and conservation. The ship is paperless, is equipped with high-tech machines that clean our muck boots after each polar landing, and is committed to eliminating single-use plastic.
Guests are provided with reusable water bottles, and filling stations are located on every deck. They support polar conservation, donate hundreds of thousands of dollars towards polar research, and partner with local communities and organizations.
The Ultramarine is badass.
Meeting Our Arctic Team
My stepfather and I are familiar with the ship, having taken the Ultramarine to Antarctica. We know what to expect: amazing tales of adventure, knowledgeable guides, freshly cooked meals in two panoramic-windowed restaurants, the best sauna on the sea, and modern rooms with heated bathroom floors, oversized flatscreen TVs, and windows overlooking the beauty of the High Arctic.
But this is Ella’s first time on board. Beyond the wildlife, I want her to meet the expedition team. I’m secretly relying on them to inspire her to a career beyond a cubicle on Lexington Avenue. To realize that not every college graduate is required to beeline to (New York, Chicago, Boston) within nanoseconds of receiving a degree. The world is wider than ever. A traditional office can wait.
Quark’s team includes experts in every field, spanning all ages and representing all parts of the world, from the islands of Washington State to the islands of New Zealand. They’ve circumnavigated Svalbard by sea kayak, photographed polar bears cuddling their cubs, and collectively covered thousands of nautical miles.
I’ve never seen a group of people so passionate about (pack ice, puffins, paddling, pinnipeds, polar history, polar bears, photography) as our expedition team. I don’t toss the word ‘passion’ around casually, but the Quark team embodies it. I want Ella to realize there is more than one way to work. More than one way to live.
The Wildlife Capital of the Arctic
Our journey begins in Longyearbyen and takes us clockwise around the island of Spitsbergen, ‘the wildlife capital of the Arctic.’ We tuck into bays and cruise along fjords, navigating our way north. Our voyage is dictated, first and foremost, by weather, which can change on a moment’s notice.
Sarah, our expedition leader, works in tandem with the captain, constantly making decisions, pivoting, and rerouting our course based on factors the passengers are blissfully unaware of. They want us to cross the bays and hike the mountains in the best conditions the Arctic can offer.
Spitsbergen lives up to its name, and our earlier evacuation leads to hours of polar bear viewing from the safety of the bow. Through scopes, binoculars, and zoom lenses, every passenger is on deck watching. Only two guests have brought zoom lenses powerful enough to capture the bear in any detail. I’m not one of them. My jealousy of their lenses borders on criminal.
In the Footsteps of the Polar Bear
The male bear we encounter lumbers along the base of the mountains. Twice, he rolls down the powdery slope like a six-year-old on a snow day. Eventually, he slips into the sea and swims miles across the channel. Once on the other side, he continues his journey over the mountain. I follow until he is fully out of sight, cursing my fuzzy polar bear photos. Yet, I’m enamoured nonetheless with this incredible moment.
Kayaking one morning, we see the massive footprints of a bear leading away from the water’s edge. I try to sound light and airy when I ask our guide, “How fresh are these tracks, do you think?” She shrugs.
I think back to our first sighting, when I learned these bears can swim for days without a break. This tidbit of knowledge brings a new intensity to the excursion. Who in the world thinks it’s a good idea to venture into polar bear country on a non-motorized plastic boat?
For the polar bear curious, there are rules governing how to observe them. This is for the safety of the polar bears, but I imagine we humans benefit, too. When sighted, a distance of at least 300 meters is strictly enforced.
However, this rule doesn’t apply when traveling through international waters, where ships will sometimes unknowingly pass a bear navigating drifting sea ice. No expensive zoom lenses are necessary for those lucky travelers who get a front row seat to the best show in the Arctic Circle.
Other Arctic Sightings
Ask most guests on board, and they’ll tell you they’re here first and foremost for the polar bears. While they are undoubtedly the biggest draw of the Arctic, there are many other amazing experiences to be had.
We see arctic foxes shedding their white winter coats to blend in with the gravel-gray mountains of summer. We see another walrus haul-out (yes, there is a wildlife god) blissfully sunbathing.
One hike, we spook a few Arctic reindeer, who, with their short legs and small, round heads, look cartoonish as they run circles around us. A circus of puffins flies past, their bulbous bodies an homage to their nickname, ‘flying potatoes.’
In Alkefjellet, living walls of birds dominate the landscape. The pungent smell of guano fills the air. Towering hundreds of feet above the sea, these bird cliffs are composed of massive columns formed by Jurassic-era geology. Every inch of the cliffs is alive with thousands of breeding pairs of kittiwakes, guillemots, and auks.
Our sea kayaking group drifts along the cliff walls. The cacaphony becomes ever more deafening the farther along the cliffs we paddle. The auks swoop so close that I instinctively duck, feeling the pressure of their powerful wings flapping against my head. A vicious fight breaks out between two territorial black guillemots. A ring seal plays hide-and-seek with our kayaking group. The Arctic teems with activity.
Snapshot: Life on the Ultramarine
Though our days are shaped by routine, our experiences are anything but. Around 7am, Sarah’s voice sings out over the PA system announcing breakfast—a highlight. All the meals are highlights, and that’s not only because I’m always hungry. There are omelettes made to order and an (inspired!) buffet with oodles of hearty delights that set me up for the day. By the second morning, the waiters already know my coffee order by heart.
During breakfast, Sarah tells us where we are. Why we don’t know our whereabouts is because the boat moves to a new location each night. It’s hard to explain what fun it is going to bed enveloped by one extraordinary landscape and waking up in another extraordinary one.
Sarah informs us which of the four excursion groups is heading out first. She lets the sea kayakers know their ready room meeting time and the departure times of the hiking groups. The schedule is a finely tuned machine—until it isn’t. This is the Arctic; anything can happen. But Sarah is on it.
Rick, Ella, and I are in the Kittywakes group. Sometimes we choose to sea kayak (a program limited to a select few who book early enough to get a coveted spot). Sometimes we choose to hike. Sea kayaking is a standout activity, an opportunity to be even closer to the sea and ice—a chance to work off buttermilk pancakes and brioche French toast.
By the time our morning excursion is over, it’s time for lunch, where, in addition to the buffet, there’s always a surprise waiting to satiate our hunger. That surprise can take the form of a taco bar, an Indian feast, or a colorful tower of sushi. No one goes hungry on the Ultramarine.
New Day, New Adventure
Before we can blink (or digest), it’s time for our second excursion. This time, the Reindeer group is first in the rotation, followed by the Kittywakes, Walruses, and Arctic Foxes. The inherent thrill of the unknown is what this trip is all about. I’m as giddy as a kid on Christmas morning.
What will I see today? A calving glacier? A bearded seal? Will I take a hike to one of the northernmost trappers’ lodges in the entire Arctic? The excursions last for 2-3 hours but pass by in the blink of an eye, kind of like Christmas morning.
Sleep comes hard and fast, despite the Midnight Sun. The Arctic is exhausting.
The Arctic is Transforming
They say transformative travel is trending. I’d argue that anyone who travels will change. Some destinations may be more extreme than others, but all travel encourages us to see the world (and our lives) from the outside in.
In the Arctic, the change feels urgent.
Travel fosters resilience, perspective, and connection. It connected my daughter and her grandfather when they shared a tandem kayak along the Lillihook Fjorden. It created bonds between me and Rick when we hiked a steep, snowy mountain towards a trio of grazing reindeer.
The connections continued both on and off the ship—between strangers who became friends due to shared wildlife sightings and a mutual love of adventure. Ella connected with the guides, many of whom were closer in age to her than me.
One fearless guide named Tara described her 72-day, unsupported sea kayaking expedition around the islands of Svalbard, during which she encountered 60 polar bears. Her story of endurance silenced every passenger, even the annoyingly chatty ones.
On the flip side, we heard from Gordo, our head of client services. He spoke about his experiences living in Longyearbyen for a year, during which he spent four months in complete darkness fending off polar bears and insanity. Gordo’s story had us roaring with laughter, and I wondered if his side hustle is stand-up comedy. It should be.
Polar Takeaways
We disembark. And even though the expedition has exceeded my expectations, I feel sad at the realization that this may be my only time here. It’s a greedy sadness. With eight hours to kill before boarding our first of three flights home, we spend them roaming Longyearbyen, visiting the Svalbard Museum, and getting an extended caffeine fix at the Husky Café, where reindeer meander among the tourists.
The museum’s glacier exhibits are made all the more compelling after having seen them up close. The receding ice is documented in a way that can’t be ignored. Like many things in life these days, I’m paralyzed by fear of not knowing how to help. If anything, these photographic reminders of climate change will encourage me to reconsider some aspects of my lifestyle.
Once home, I ask Ella her thoughts on the trip. I don’t smirk when she says she realized there were so many opportunities to work in unexpected places. She added, “And, visually, there was so much to see, both big and small, a place of contrasts.”
Each of us on board was given a window of opportunity to step outside of our regular lives and reset. To observe the effects of climate change in real time. I wonder if Ella’s generation will be the last to see the Arctic ice before it’s gone.
The Sound of Silence
I’m on the bow, my favorite place on the ship. Sarah’s voice breaks the silence, “Welcome to the furthest point the Ultramarine has ever ventured, 81° 23′ North. We’re approximately 500 miles from the North Pole.” I lean over the edge. The pack ice shatters as if in slow motion, creating mesmerizing patterns of white and blue. I stand still, listening to it crash and groan, watching it crack, humbled by the bleak landscape.
Out there, polar bears prowl the shifting ice searching for prey. Out there, icebergs tip, tumble, melt, and reshape. Out there, the Arctic transforms.
Up here, I do, too.
Planning your next adventure, but either don’t have the time or don’t know where to begin? Let me do the research for you. Click here to learn more with a complimentary discovery call.
Jamie Edwards Travel Coaching. My Research. Your Adventure.
