I try to turn my kayak in time but wind up sideswiping yet another iceberg. Kayaking in the Arctic is a steering challenge, what with chunks of ice everywhere. Navigating ice is part of the adventure while sea kayaking on a Quark Expeditions cruise to Svalbard aboard the ship Ultramarine. And does it ever pay off! Being surrounded by vast mountain ranges, paddling close to walruses, and listening to sparkling chunks of ice crack as they melt are unforgettable experiences.
“You’ll remember those sounds your whole life,” Jane Whitney, our kayak expedition leader, assured me.
I was extremely lucky to get a spot in the sea kayaking group, as only 10 were available. Our group got to paddle seven times during the cruise. Everybody else spent their off-ship time on land or taking Zodiac safaris. There was also a scaled-down paddle program, where people went out once or twice on sit-atop, inflatable kayaks.
Where is Svalbard?
This Norwegian archipelago lies between Norway and the North Pole. You get there by flying into Longyearbyen, the world’s northernmost settlement of more than a thousand people. Longyearbyen is on Spitsbergen, the archipelago’s biggest island. Tourism isn’t new to Svalbard — American John Munro Longyear visited on a cruise back in 1901, then returned to extract coal from the impressive seams — but it’s become more accessible in the last couple of decades.
Now, Longyearbyen is the jumping-off point for trips offered by Quark and other cruise lines. After my 10-day excursion with Quark left from Longyearbyen, we saw few signs of human life except for occasional glimpses of other boats. Instead, we experienced vast ranges of snowy mountains, icebergs, floating sheets of ice, 24 hours of sunlight, and quiet broken only by cries of seabirds.
Whales in the Arctic
At almost 1 a.m. on our second night, an announcement came over the loudspeaker: a blue whale had been sighted near the boat. I stumbled out of bed, pulled on my Quark-issued yellow polar parka, slipped on some shoes, grabbed my key card, and climbed two flights of stairs to deck five.
There, I joined a handful of fellow passengers who had answered the call. Some were smart enough to put on wooly hats or grab their sunglasses. The sun on the water is ferocious in the middle of the night in Svalbard, at the top of the world. Most people threw on their yellow jackets or white robes. Their lower halves were mostly pajama bottoms or bare legs.
The captain stopped our ship, and everything stood still. The blue whale had dived. It could take 30 minutes for the creature to reappear. In the meantime, the much smaller minke whale made an appearance, part of its back flashing in and out of the water. I held a hand in front of my face this way and that, trying to shield my eyes. Would I get frostbite and/or go blind from looking at the midnight sun before this whale resurfaced?
I almost gave up. But then part of the blue whale’s long back broke the surface. When it spouted, we heard a loud snuffling noise, like it was sighing out water. We see more back and more spouting as it dives and resurfaces. The dives were shallow — it must’ve been feeding close to the surface — so we never saw the tail. Our fingers were freezing, but we couldn’t stop watching. Every time I thought about going back to bed, that long, dark gray back popped up, and the spout sighed and snuffled. I didn’t stop watching until the ship started moving again, and we left the blue whale behind.
Penguins and other Arctic wildlife
In Svalbard, you have to put in the time to spot animals. Many passengers on my cruise had previously been to Antarctica, where apparently penguins are everywhere, and you don’t even need binoculars to see them.
“This is more like being on a safari,” fellow passenger Carol Lafrenaye told me. Quark had trained spotters stationed around the ship with binoculars 24/7. And they weren’t shy about waking us up for sightings, as we learned several times.
We had some excellent walrus sightings from our kayaks. Whitney has led tours all over the Arctic, among other places. She worries more about walruses than polar bears when kayaking.
“They won’t try to eat you,” she said of walruses, but they’re clumsy and curious. A 2,000-pound animal does not mix well with a tippy sea kayak. We were careful to keep our distance as we paddled by walruses, both when they were onshore and floating on sea ice.
Neither the walrus nor the reindeer were fazed by our presence. Reindeer kept grazing as our group paddled or hiked by them. Arctic foxes were warier and took off zigzagging up the mountains.
Everybody wanted to see polar bears — to the point that several times when we saw seals, a fellow paddler wished aloud that a polar bear would show up to eat them. On the very last night of the cruise, we had an incredible opportunity to see a polar bear swim right by the boat, then hunt two seals that were floating on sheets of sea ice. Spoiler alert: the seals both got away. After its failed attempts, the bear dragged itself out onto an ice floe and proceeded to do a series of calisthenics. This included dragging its chest against the ice with its butt in the air and rolling on its back while waving its legs around. Truly amazing.
Land excursions
Time on terra firma included hikes or perimeter landings. This meant that we landed by Zodiac, then stayed within the perimeter formed by our armed polar bear guards. Yes, a disturbing fact about Svalbard is the requirement to carry firearms. Expedition guides who revere wildlife must be prepared to kill a polar bear to save a guest.
While sea kayaking was the best part of my trip, our best bird viewing was from land or on Zodiacs. At one stop, we climbed a snowy, icy hill to see a breeding colony of little auks, darling black and white birds. We sat and watched them swirl overhead. And, of course, everybody wanted to see adorable puffins. At Krossfjorden, our Zodiac drivers took us to the base of the cliffs. There, we were close enough to see the puffins’ red-orange beaks and feet.
In between off-boat expeditions and while in transit, we spent time on the deck looking through binoculars or in the auditorium listening to the resident geologist, ornithologist, historian, and marine biologist give lively lectures on the world of Svalbard.
Catching the Arctic bug
Not everybody appreciates the Arctic, Whitney tells me. She’s had people compare the austere rocks and ice to a gravel dump. “They didn’t see the light and they didn’t see the ice,” she said. “Other people are blown away by it. It depends how you see things. I think you either catch the Arctic bug or you don’t.”
Judging from my hundreds of photos celebrating a newfound appreciation for ice, I think the Arctic bug has bitten me.
