It’s day 10 and we’re further north than any of us have even been.  Isbjorn is making short tacks, gliding through the frigid water into a glacier lined fjord.  As we make the last headland the fjord opens up to reveal a unbelievably huge glacier dominating the southern wall.  Every few minutes a low thunder rumbles, reverberating off the fjord walls like a canon shot, caused by tons of ice calving off the face and dropping into the frozen waters below.  It’s 10:00PM and we’re in one of the most remote and wildest places in the entire world.  The midnight sun is shining and the weather is ideal.  It’s time to explore!

Ah, it feels so good to be back in cold weather. I’m bundled up and sitting on the rail of Isbjörn.. My entire body covered in layers upon layers and my face tucked away from the biting wind. My hair peeks out and flutters against my glasses, their polarization dramatizing the already extremely dramatic environment which lay before me. I close my eyes and let the never setting sun warm me, or at least trick me into thinking so. They flick back open and focus on the foggy clouds which are water falling over the ancient snow covered peaks. It as if they yearn to blanket the mountains which lie permanently frozen. The entire scene feels like one vast canvas, on which mother nature experimented with patterns and textures of an ice cool pallet.