Every day MV Polar Front – a former Norwegian weather ship with a reinforced hull and deep draft of 4.5 metres designed to plough through ice – carried us down deep fjords, fractured by jigsaw puzzles of chilly turquoise ice slabs, in search of minke whales, walruses, reindeer and little awks. The experience was consistently exhilarating, humbling and addictive.
Quickly, we learned the signs. Rinie, Rickard or Chris would spot something, whereupon there would follow a hushed conversation. Then, after briefing us, they would call out the Zodiacs – the brand of rigid inflatable boats used on polar expeditions to take passengers away from the mother ship towards sites of interest. As these dinghies were lowered into the water, we rushed for our overalls, lifejackets and muck boots before clambering down a steep ladder to leave the security of our mother ship for an unpredictable sea where we were at the mercy of the elements.
Cold comfort
I always put everything on – two base layers, a mid-layer, a fleece, waistcoat, down coat, a windcheater as well as collars and four head covers (a hood, hat, balaclava and windproof) – and yet still the cold found unguarded crevices in my neck and clutched at my fingers. On some days, the decision on whether or not to take a photo involved a precise calculation that weighed the likely quality of the picture against the time it would take to remove my gloves to press the button and get them back on again.
But here you cannot stop taking photos. The glaciers, in particular, are dazzling. Deceptively small from our ship, they are in reality huge: 40-50ft high and nearly a mile wide. They engulf every valley.
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