Svalbard Voyage on Ocean Explorer (Jun 2025)

Upon reviewing my calendar, I noted that it has been six years since my last voyage to Svalbard in June 2019. During this period, numerous developments have occurred. Notably, the Norwegian government has introduced a new set of regulations, effective January 1, 2025, aimed at preserving the pristine environment and wildlife, including polar bears, in Svalbard. One of my objectives for the 9 nights Svalbard Explorer trip is to observe firsthand the potential impact of these new regulations on our guest experience, if any.

I can't wait to hop aboard the 138-passenger luxury expedition ship, the Ocean Explorer, and revisit the realm of the polar bears :-)

Day 1 - Jun 17 2025 | Departing for Longyearbyen, Svalbard

I arrived at Helsinki the day before and checked in the Hilton Helsinki airport. It is conveniently located within walking distance from the terminal 2.

After a breakfast this morning, our group set off from the hotel to Terminal 2, guided by Quark’s local staff. Spirits were high - we were finally heading to the Arctic!

Three hours later, our plane touched down smoothly at Longyearbyen Airport. The moment I stepped outside, a sharp breath of polar air hit me - cold, crisp, unmistakably Arctic. On the bus to the city center, I saw six expedition ships in the bay on the left. A buzzing port!

On the right of our bus, I caught a glimpse of the entrance to the Global Seed Vault, nestled high up in the mountainside like a secret meant to be discovered only from afar.

Our driver shared an interesting piece of local news: Mine No. 7, the last active coal mine in Longyearbyen, would close permanently in two days — a long-delayed closure due to the war in Ukraine. This marks the end of coal mining in Svalbard’s history. For now, diesel keeps the lights on, but the town is shifting steadily toward renewable energy.

Before boarding, we had a few hours to explore Longyearbyen on our own. I made a quick visit to the post office on the main street and picked up some beautifully illustrated Arctic-themed stamps and first day covers — the perfect souvenir. Then I headed to the cozy Husky Café, where I warmed up with a hot chocolate topped with a charming bear paw print. A few real-life huskies wandered around the café, wagging their tails and casually demanding head scratches. Who could resist?

🚢 All Aboard: Ocean Explorer

When it was finally time to board, we got lucky — Ocean Explorer was docked right at the pier, meaning no zodiac needed. We simply walked up the gangway, where crew members lined both sides, welcoming each passenger with warm smiles and outstretched hands. You could feel the excitement in the air.

Our cabin was on Deck 4 — a standard balcony room, but surprisingly spacious. Two single beds, a pair of nightstands, a sitting area near the ceiling to floor window with sofa, and a small desk made the space feel like home. Inside the wardrobe, we found fluffy bathrobes, slippers, and extra pillows — a thoughtful touch.

The ship itself is stunning. With its sleek X-bow design, Ocean Explorer is built for comfort, cutting through choppy polar waters with minimal sway. The front of the ship features a stunning open space that connects the Explorer Lounge on Deck 5 to a tranquil library one deck below - the perfect place to read while icebergs drift past. On the top decks, there are multiple outdoor viewing platforms, plus a gym, a sauna, two outdoor hot tubs, and even a small pool. Yes, a pool — in the Arctic!

🧭 Welcome Aboard: The Expedition Team

Before dinner, we gathered in the lounge for our first briefing. Our expedition leader, David, introduced the amazing team who would guide us through this journey. They're from all over — the U.S., the UK, Australia, New Zealand, Canada, Japan and China - and each one brings years of polar experience. It’s reassuring to know we’ll be well taken care of in every way.

🌊 Into the Arctic We Go

At exactly 7:00 p.m., the lines were cast off and we set sail, gliding out of Longyearbyen and into the Isfjorden. As the shoreline faded, I stood on the balcony, watching the Arctic slowly open before us.

We’re heading west and then north — toward glaciers, polar bears, midnight sun, and more. The adventure has only just begun.

Day 2 – June 18, 2025 | Sailing into History

I woke to the morning announcement and pulled back the curtains -only to be stunned by the breathtaking view outside. The sun was already high in a deep blue sky streaked with wisps of white cloud. Below, the water lay like a mirror, perfectly reflecting snow-capped peaks and sprawling glaciers. For a moment, it felt as though I had stepped into a living painting—so still, so serene, so unreal.

Overnight, our ship had carried us to the Northwest Spitsbergen National Park. By early morning, we arrived at Gravneset, a landing site nestled in one of Svalbard’s most beautiful fjords.

Gravneset holds a fascinating history beneath its icy silence. In the 16th century, British whalers established a station here. Though whaling activities ceased by 1623, the site remained a burial ground until 1790. Around 130 whalers are laid to rest on this remote Arctic shore, making it one of the largest cemeteries in Svalbard. Standing among the remnants of the station, listening to our expedition guide share stories from the past, I could almost see the rugged men who once battled the cold and the sea here, day in and day out—many of whom succumbed to scurvy.

In the late afternoon, our vessel sailed deeper into the wilderness, entering Bjørnfjorden (Bear Bay) at the end of Smeerenburgfjorden.

Everyone leapt at the chance for a Zodiac cruise. The scenery was nothing short of magical. Glaciers descended into the fjord like frozen rivers, and the water teemed with floating icebergs—some glowing a soft, mysterious blue in the sunlight. It reminded me of Antarctica.

Arctic terns swooped above us, their sharp cries piercing the silence, while a few harp seals lounged lazily on distant ice floes.

As we explored in Zodiacs, a group of king eiders glided cheerfully past our bow. Towering snow-capped mountains surrounded us like silent sentinels. Far in the distance, kayaks slipped quietly through the water, barely leaving a ripple. Everything around us felt untouched, unscripted, and pristine—a scene from a dream you never want to wake from.

The Arctic can be many things—wild, harsh, silent—but in moments like this, it becomes deeply intimate. I felt incredibly small, in the best way possible. Humbled, awed, and deeply grateful to witness this corner of the planet where time seems to slow—and beauty speaks in whispers.

Day 3 – June 19, 2025 | What a Beautiful Day!

The Bay of Sorrow and the Joy of Arrival

Six years ago, the icy claws of the Arctic barred our passage to the remote northeastern reaches of Spitsbergen. That unfinished chapter has lingered with me ever since. Now, with the rhythm of the ship beneath my feet and the summer solstice light casting its ethereal glow across the horizon, that long-held dream has finally come full circle.

Last night, our vessel veered east and slipped quietly into the Hinlopen Strait, the watery divide between Spitsbergen and Nordaustlandet—the two biggest islands of this frozen kingdom. By morning, we landed at Eoluneset, near the west shore of Sorgfjorden, or “Bay of Sorrow.” The name is no poetic flourish—treacherous floating ice still haunts these waters, ready to trap even the most cautious mariner. In 1683, it sealed the fate of thirteen Dutch whalers who were forced to flee, abandoning an entire summer’s catch. Their tale, nearly swallowed by time, still echoes in these desolate fjords.

Before we even set foot on land, a welcoming party of sorts lay waiting—dozens of walruses sprawled across the pebbled beach. We approached slowly, single file, letting the wind carry no sound of our awe. Around forty or fifty lay in a heap of leathery bodies and ivory tusks. One mischievous walrus tried to wedge itself into the cozy center of the pile, only to provoke a wave of protest—heads lifted, tusks waved, and low bellows rippled across the group like a stern rebuke for cutting the line.

Above them, on a snowy slope, stood a solitary wooden cross. Erected in 1855 by a man named C. Holmgren, it honors those who perished in the 1693 Franco-Dutch naval battle right here in Sorgfjorden. History in Svalbard doesn’t shout; it lingers, weather-worn and wind-scoured, etched into the ice and stone.

Though officially still spring, a thick blanket of snow clings to the land. Yet, pushing through the white silence, I spotted something that made my heart lift—tiny red and golden wildflowers blooming defiantly. Life, even here, refuses to wait.

The Cliffs That Sing

In the afternoon, we sailed toward Alkefjellet—Svalbard’s fabled bird cliffs. Its name in Norwegian means “Guillemots Mountain,” and as we approached, it quickly became clear why. These sheer basalt walls, streaked with dark dolerite and crowned by the icecap Odinjøkulen, rise like a fortress from the sea—and are alive with wings.

Before we even saw the cliffs, we heard them. A rising tide of sound—raucous, relentless, otherworldly—greeted us as thousands upon thousands of birds called from every ledge. Here, some 100,000 to 200,000 Brünnich's guillemots gather to breed, their black-and-white bodies crowding every inch of rock. Kittiwakes and Arctic gulls weave through the chaos like drifting snowflakes.

As our Zodiac floated beneath the cliffs, the sky seemed to move. Birds soared, squabbled, dove into the waves, then rose again in a dizzying aerial ballet. I watched as clusters of guillemots slapped at the water with their wings in awkward yet endearing attempts at takeoff—perfectly evolved for life at sea, but comically clumsy in the air. They nest here on these vertical sanctuaries to escape their land-bound predator, the Arctic fox.

We were blessed with rare fortune. Another ship had planned to visit this morning but was thwarted by heavy sea ice. Just before our arrival, a strong southern wind swept the passage clear, and nature offered us this fleeting window of wonder.

The air was bitter, the wind sharp as a blade, but no one complained. Before such wild majesty, language falters. All we could do was look—and listen to the cliffs sing.

A Bear on Ice

After dinner, we thought the day’s wonders had come to a close. But the Arctic had one more gift in store.

A message crackled over the ship’s speakers: the captain had decided to continue south through Hinlopen Strait in search of surprises. We gathered once more on deck, wrapped in layers and hope. The Ocean Explorer broke its way through a sea of scattered ice floes, each one a drifting island in this frigid mosaic. From the upper observation deck, the view was mesmerizing.

Then—movement. A small minke whale surfaced just off our starboard side, exhaling gracefully before vanishing beneath the ice-rimmed water like a whispered secret.

We returned to the dining hall glowing with quiet satisfaction when the loudspeakers came alive again: a polar bear had been spotted. We surged back onto the deck, eyes wide, hearts racing.

There, on a distant floe, lay a lone bear—its great head resting on the ice, its massive body curled in post-feast slumber. It looked almost cartoonishly serene. The engines went silent. So did we. No one spoke; we simply watched.

After some time, the bear stirred, lifting its head to sniff the air. It looked around lazily, then yawned—a deep, almost theatrical yawn—and gently lay its head back down.

In that moment, all time seemed to stop. There, between wind and water, ice and sky, I felt the stillness of the world. The privilege of witness. And the hush of the Arctic, broken only by the breath of a bear.

Day 4 – June 20, 2025 | Polar Desert

Woke up unusually early this morning — no idea why. It wasn’t even 7 yet when I found myself with a cup of tea in the Explorer Lounge just settling down. And then came the announcement: “Polar bear sighted ahead!”

Huge shoutout to the expedition team. By the time we got up to the observation deck on the 8th floor, they’d already set up several telescopes. Off in the distance, on the shore, a polar bear was feasting — its morning meal, apparently a walrus, judging by the two long tusks sticking up. The bear’s face and half its body were smeared with blood. It ate for a long time, then slowly wandered off, pausing now and then to glance around.

Later in the morning, we landed at Torrelneset on Nordaustlandet — the second-largest island in the Svalbard archipelago. This was Ocean Explorer’s first landing on Nordaustlandet for the 2025 Arctic season.

Unlike Spitsbergen to the west, Nordaustlandet is a true polar desert — most of it covered by ice caps. The pressure from the ice has shaped the terrain into gentle plateaus and rounded mountains. With very little vegetation, wildlife is sparse.

The landing lasted about an hour and a half. Torrelneset’s terrain is quite gentle. Along the way, we came across several whale bones. Wildflowers were blooming stubbornly between the bones, drawing nutrients and shelter from what remained. In some spots, patches of moss were starting to appear. Spring is clearly on its way — even here.

Our guide, Karl, shared stories as we walked — about collecting specimens, including whale skeletons, and his own hands-on experience preparing them. Fun fact: his first date with his girlfriend was in a specimen storage room. No kidding!

In the afternoon, we were supposed to go zodiac cruising near Brasvellbreen, the southern edge of the Austfonna ice cap. The towering ice cliff there rises more than 50 meters above the sea — stunningly dramatic. But thick fog rolled in, and visibility dropped too low, so the excursion was canceled. Instead, we cruised in nearby ice floe, which turned out to be beautiful in its own quiet, eerie way.

After dinner, the crew hosted a bingo night. Not long after it began, our expedition leader David came on the radio again — “Polar bear sighting ahead — a mother and cub on the ice!” We all rushed to the deck. Through the telescopes, we watched in awe as the pair slowly moved across the floating ice. Another lucky moment in this land of rare encounters.

By then, it was close to 10 PM, but the sun still hung high in the sky, refusing to set. Under a crisp blue sky, with snowy mountains, floating ice, and perfect mirror-like reflections on the water, none of us wanted to leave. It was one of those scenes you know you’ll carry with you for a very long time.

Day 5 - June 21, 2025 | More Nordaustlandet

At last night’s daily briefing, our expedition leader David presented us with the latest ice chart. A large swath of red now covered the area south of our ship’s current location—signifying an impassable frozen zone. So, we turned northward, continuing our journey into the unknown, through this world woven of white, black, and blue.

Our landing site this morning was Kinnvika, on Nordaustlandet, the second largest island of the Svalbard archipelago. Standing quietly here is a polar research station built in 1957, mainly funded by Finland and Sweden for the International Geophysical Year of 1958–59. Over a dozen buildings are scattered in the snow, whispering stories of the unforgettable years scientists once spent in the Arctic. Most intriguing of all, one of the buildings was constructed specifically for a sauna. In the biting wind, humanity’s longing for warmth still burns stubbornly.

As we trekked across snow-covered hills, we passed a monument—erected in 1978 by the Italian Explorers’ Association to mark its 50th anniversary. When I turned my head around, a heartwarming scene unfolded: a mother reindeer, accompanied by her calf less than a month old, was foraging in the snow. The little one, still adjusting, kept burrowing under its mother’s belly for milk.

In the afternoon, we landed at the more mysterious Nordre Russøya. This is one of only two remaining sites in Svalbard with original Orthodox crosses. Due to its exceptional historical significance, no more than 39 people are allowed to land at a time.

Since the 16th century, Pomors from the White Sea of Russia fished and lived here, leaving behind weathered structures and cultural fragments.

The frigid wind was so strong it was hard to keep our eyes open. Standing in front of these long-eroded ruins, I gazed silently. Red bricks lay scattered on the ground; reindeer bones rested quietly in the snow. Most striking of all was the massive skeleton of a blue whale, lying across the remnants of the site. The Pomors lacked the means and technology to hunt blue whales, so it is believed the whale had died at sea and was washed ashore by the waves. The Pomors took advantage of its skeleton and used it an arch over the entrance to a building.

At dusk, as we stood by the shore waiting for the Zodiac to take us back to the ship, a few grey phalaropes leapt from the water, fluttering freely among the waves. It was as if they were gracefully drawing perfect end to our day’s polar journey.

Day 6 June 22 2025 | Land of the Midnight Sun

Early in the morning, still lingering in the haze of sleep, I was gently roused by the announcement: “A polar bear has been spotted in the bay ahead!”

Sunlight flooded the deck—it was another bright and pleasant day. Off the starboard side, at the foot of the snow-covered mountains, a polar bear was ambling slowly along the shoreline, calm and deliberate. A nearby expedition guide pointed toward a distant ice floe and told me that a seal was lying there. It’s said that polar bears can smell their prey from as far as twenty miles away. Perhaps this bear had already caught wind of its target.

We stood quietly on the deck, watching this silent game of survival. If the bear moved any closer, the seal might see its presence. As if aware of this, the bear paused, turned toward the water, scanned the surroundings, and then silently slipped into the sea. All that remained on the surface was a faint ripple and a hint of white.

After what felt like a long time, the bear reached a small island in the middle of the bay. It came ashore and gazed toward the direction of the ice floe, seemingly searching. But the seal was gone already — perhaps it had already sensed the danger and slipped away.

The polar bear stood there for a moment, appearing somewhat disappointed. Then it turned and vanished behind the other side of the island …

By now, our ship had sailed back to the northwestern corner of Spitsbergen Island, anchoring in a peaceful bay at the mouth of Raudfjorden, a place called Hamiltonbukta. The morning's activity was a zodiac cruise.

Jagged cliffs rose abruptly beside the glacier, where hundreds upon hundreds of kittiwakes had built their nests. On the snowy shore, the footprints of polar bears and Arctic foxes crisscrossed the white. A playful seal briefly popped its head above the icy water, then vanished again—leaving all of us craning our necks, hoping for one more glimpse.

Raudfjorden stretches about 20 kilometers long and 5 kilometers wide. In the afternoon, we disembarked for a hike on the Buchananhalvøya Peninsula at the southern end of the fjord. It was a land like something out of a dream. From the ship, we could see mirrored waters reflecting snow-capped peaks and a boundless blue sky. Ice floes of every shape and size drifted slowly past, adding delicate brushstrokes to the serene canvas.

Our group made its way across deep snow, small streams, and soft mossy tundra, steadily climbing upward. After an hour’s hike, we finally reached the ridge. Several glaciers cascaded gently down from the heights, flowing silently into the sea. Under the sunlight, they shimmered with silvery light. Wisps of cloud cloaked the mountain peaks, casting a veil of mystery over the scene.

As the initial excitement faded, silence took hold. We spread out, each of us immersed in the vast beauty of the Arctic. In this moment, words seemed superfluous. Only the wind whispering through the snowfields and distant birdsong accompanied us.

After some time, the stillness was broken by a soft call from our guide, Yukie: “Arctic fox!” I turned just in time to catch a glimpse of a tiny white figure vanishing like a wisp of smoke. On the way back down, we were still reliving that fleeting moment. To our surprise, the curious little fox reappeared. This time, it stood not far from us, watching intently for a few seconds before bounding lightly up the slope. Then, as if playing a quiet game of hide and seek, it turned around and came trotting back.

In this world wrapped gently in ice and snow, the boundary between humans and nature felt suddenly and beautifully thin. And we—mere footnotes in this vast, pristine landscape—stood quietly, in awe.

Day 7 - Jun 23 2025 | Back to Spitsbergen

Our ship slowly made its way south along the western coast of Spitsbergen overnight. At 7 a.m., the voice of our expedition leader David suddenly came over the broadcast: “Beluga spotted at one o’clock, off the bow!”

Still not fully awake, I leapt up and rushed to the observation deck in just a few strides. Out on the sea ahead, flashes of white flickered in and out of view—at least a dozen beluga whales glided silently through the water. Their snow-white backs surfaced and disappeared, clearly visible even from afar. I stood quietly for a good ten minutes, afraid to disturb this dreamlike encounter.

The morning’s plan was a zodiac cruise around Fjortende Julibreen, the “14th of July Glacier,” named after France’s national day. Stretching roughly 16 kilometers, the glacier is flanked by towering mountains—home to tens of thousands of black-legged kittiwakes and guillemots.

Not long after the cruise began, we received word: a seal appeared to be resting on ice in front of the glacier. Our Zodiac carefully approached. Sure enough, it was a bearded seal, lying lazily on the ice, seemingly savoring a rare moment of leisure. Suddenly, as if sensing our presence, it jerked its head up, glancing around with alert eyes before slowly lowering itself back down.

This place truly is a paradise for kittiwakes. The blue-and-white ice floes were packed with them, constantly taking off and landing, noisy but somehow orderly. On the mossy slopes above, reindeer grazed in small groups, their hooves gently stirring the yellow-green tundra like brushstrokes in a living painting.

Our Zodiac continued slowly along the coast. Jagged cliffs jutted out over the sea, crowded with chattering seabirds. Suddenly, a flash of red streaked past—an Atlantic puffin! Its striking black-and-white feathers and colorful beak gleamed in the air. Most amusingly, when it landed, it leaned forward and lifted its tail like a bow—a peaceful gesture, signaling to nearby birds, “I come in peace.”

In the afternoon, we were fortunate enough to land at Ny-Ålesund, once a coal-mining settlement and now a major hub for polar scientific research. Ten countries have established permanent research stations here, with over ten more running seasonal expeditions.

At the heart of the town stands a statue of Roald Amundsen, the legendary polar explorer. On May 12, 1926, Amundsen and his crew successfully flew over the North Pole in the airship Norge, marking a milestone in the history of polar exploration. The original airship launching tower still stands, as if echoing the countdown of that historic flight.

Wandering through the peaceful town, I found my thoughts drifting. It felt as though history whispered in my ears—the footsteps of explorers, the roar of airships taking flight—echoing across time. I could almost feel the passion and determination that once burned in the hearts of these pioneers. Without them, our journey to the Arctic today would not be possible. My deepest respect to these brave trailblazers!

Day 8 - Jun 24 2025 | Reindeers, Arctic Foxes and Last Day of the Arctic Immersion

Time flies - it’s hard to believe today is already the final excursion day of our journey!

This morning’s landing site was Bamsebu, located south of Longyearbyen in the Van Keulenfjorden. In the 1930s, this area served as a key whaling base. Even today, you can still see numerous remnants along the coast - beluga whale bones scattered across the shore, overturned boat wrecks, and more. There’s also a well-preserved hunter’s cabin that is still in use.

Across the bay, snow-covered mountains clearly reveal layers of sedimentary rock. Beneath our feet, the soft tundra is dotted with tiny flowers - some familiar, some unknown - blooming in full force, embracing the Arctic’s brief but passionate spring.

Back on the ship, I made a quick visit to the outdoor pool on Deck 8. To my surprise, the water was quite hot. Floating gently in the heated pool, surrounded by snow-capped peaks, was the perfect way to relax. I finished with a soak in the Jacuzzi before heading back to my room, fully content.

Our final landing of the trip was at Camp Millar in Bellsund. This site marks the remnants of the Northern Exploration Company (NEC)’s gold prospecting activities from 1910. NEC conducted several mining projects in Svalbard, the most famous being the marble mine in Ny London. They also built similar hunting cabins throughout the region. These were rented to hunters for free or at low cost during winter, on the condition that they maintained them - helping NEC maintain a sense of presence and territorial claim.

Even before our Zodiac reached the shore, I could already see groups of reindeer scattered across the landscape. These Svalbard reindeer are smaller than their mainland Norwegian relatives, with short legs and necks, feeding year-round on surface vegetation. They have few natural predators and often die of old age, unable to eat after their teeth wear down.

Our group hiked slowly uphill. This area is a major breeding ground for Little Auks, and their calls echoed constantly around us. Occasionally, entire flocks would swoop overhead. After quite a long walk, we reached the edge of a nesting area, sat down, and quietly observed the birds going about their busy day.

Just as we began our reluctant descent, our team leader YT’s radio crackled to life: an Arctic fox had been spotted near the landing site, moving parallel to our group! What luck - we watched as the curious little creature passed nearby, unhurried and alert. Its winter coat hadn’t fully shed yet, and brown summer fur was already visible. It trotted up the slope with light steps. The nesting season of the Little Auks is peak hunting time for the Arctic fox. Nature has arranged everything so intricately - every creature has its place in the cycle.

After dinner, we gathered once more to watch a special video prepared by Steve, our onboard photographer, reliving the unforgettable highlights of our journey. The room echoed with laughter and applause - heartwarming and full of joy.

The End

When Norway introduced new Svalbard regulations in January 2025, I was concerned that they might impact the overall expedition experience. But those proved unnecessary. We had three excellent opportunities to observe polar bears at length. The expedition team set up six or seven high-powered telescopes on the observation deck and provided plenty of binoculars. I can confidently say this Svalbard journey was a complete success.

We were also incredibly fortunate to become the first group on Ocean Explorer this season to successfully land on Nordaustlandet. Huge thanks to David and the entire expedition team - I could truly feel their deep passion for the polar regions. Whether it was wildlife, plants, geology, or history, they had so much to share. I'm equally grateful to the captain and his crew, who ensured our safety while maximizing our experience of Svalbard’s natural beauty. The captain even adjusted the ship’s position to avoid direct sunlight to TV screens during the video presentation - what thoughtful attention to details!

Finally, thank you to my fellow polar travelers. One hundred friends from 13 countries across five continents, with an average age of 57 - the youngest just 14, the oldest 82. Whether in the Zodiacs, on the hiking, or chatting in the restaurant or on the observation deck, our shared passion brought us together.

Though our time together was short, the warm memories will stay with us forever.

Farewell, Svalbard - until next time!