HDS10-25, trip log, Around Spitsbergen and Nordaustlandet

What an incredible first day in the Arctic! Our journey officially began today in Longyearbyen under a good, calm, and partly overcast sky. The embarkation process was an adventure in itself, as we rode a Zodiac for the very first time from the pier out to our expedition ship – M/V Hondius. It was a thrilling experience, and as we got onboard between 4 and 5 pm, we were excited to be joined by a very international group of fellow travelers.

After settling into our cabins and exploring the ship a bit, we gathered for the mandatory ship safety briefing. The briefing was thorough and important, and we learned all the procedures for life onboard. Following the briefing, we took part in the emergency drill, getting our life jackets and making our way to our respective muster stations.

With the formalities out of the way, the evening truly began with the Captain's Cocktails. It was a wonderful opportunity to meet our fellow passengers, and we were all welcomed with a glass of sparkling wine or orange juice. The Expedition Leader Chris and Hotel Manager Albert gave a great welcome briefing, outlining the plans for the days ahead and introducing us to the entire Expedition Team.

The evening concluded with a delicious buffet dinner, and then it was time for the final, and very essential, task of the day: collecting our muck boots! We were called by deck to the Zodiac loading area and made sure to bring our thick socks to get the perfect fit.

It's been a busy but absolutely wonderful first day, and we're all feeling ready and excited for the Arctic adventures that await us.

Today was a day carved out of ice, history, and wonder.

We set off early in the morning, the cold air biting through our layers but the adrenaline kept us warm. It is our first activity, we stepped into the Zodiac, the motor purring gently as we pushed away from the ship. Around us, the waters were scattered with chunks of glacial ice, some the size of footballs, others like floating sculptures of ancient glass.

The Lilliehöökbreen Glacier rose ahead like a frozen fortress. Towering, jagged, and impossibly blue. The scale was overwhelming — 9 kilometers wide, stretching endlessly across the fjord. The stillness was occasionally broken by the deep groan of ice calving, echoing like distant thunder. One massive piece collapsed before our eyes and splashed into the sea — a reminder that this landscape is always moving, always alive.

We spotted some seals swimming under the brush ice and kittiwake darting through the air. The glacier’s retreat over the years, a sobering reminder of climate change even in this pristine wilderness.

By afternoon, we arrived in Ny-Ålesund, the northernmost permanent settlement in the world. Once a mining town, it’s now a hub for Arctic research. It feels surreal — colorful wooden buildings, surrounded by stark mountains and icy fjords, housing scientists from around the globe.

We walked through the town with the guides who led us to the Roald Amundsen statue dedicated to polar exploration. Here, we learned more about Roald Amundsen, the legendary Norwegian explorer. We had known of his conquest of the South Pole in 1911, but today we discovered another side of his legacy.

In 1926, Amundsen departed from Ny-Ålesund in the airship Norge, alongside Italian engineer Umberto Nobile an d others, on the first verified flight over the North Pole. The Norge mast still stands near the edge of the settlement, weathered by Arctic winds but steeped in history.

It was humbling to stand where he once stood, looking out over the same icy expanse. Amundsen wasn’t just chasing glory — he was chasing understanding, testing the limits of what humans could do in the harshest environments on Earth.

Today, we saw the power of nature at Lilliehöökbreen and the courage of human ambition in Ny-Ålesund. The glacier speaks of Earth’s history; the station tells the story of those who dared to explore it.

We awoke at 07:45 to the muffled sound of the wake-up call, the ship gently swaying beneath a thick shroud of Arctic fog. The world outside had vanished—sky and sea blended into a pale grey veil. Breakfast was served from 08:00 to 09:00 on Deck 4, and though the dining room was warm and cheerful, there was a quiet tension in the air—the ice was out there, and so were the bears.

At 09:15, guests gathered in the lounge for a photography lecture with QB and Juan. They shared not only technical tips but also stories from years of working in polar conditions, capturing fleeting moments when fog parted to reveal the secrets of the ice. The irony wasn’t lost on us—visibility outside was still almost zero.

By 11:15, Jacob had taken the floor, guiding us through the complex and fragile science of sea ice. With Mandarin translation available, he spoke of the ice surrounding us—how it forms, how it shifts with the seasons, and how it now melts faster than ever before. Looking out the fogged-up windows, we could feel the weight of that change in the air.

Lunch was served from 12:30 to 13:30, but few lingered afterward. By early afternoon, the entire Expedition Team had taken up positions on the bridge and observation decks, scanning the ghostly horizon with binoculars. The fog clung to us like a second skin, muting every sound but the distant crackle of ice and the occasional call over the ship’s radios.

We pushed northeast into the drifting floes, the ship’s hull carving through patches of ice that groaned beneath our bow. Despite the limited visibility, we pressed on with discipline and hope. Guests rotated between the bridge, bow, and outer decks—watching, waiting, sharing quiet conversations and pointing out the subtlest movement in the white.

The fog would lift for mere moments—just enough to get our hopes up—then close in again like a curtain. Still, we pressed on. If there were bears nearby, we were determined not to miss them. The ship moved slowly, carefully, like a predator itself.

By 18:15, we regrouped in the bar for the daily recap. No polar bears had revealed themselves, but the Expedition Team spoke of the challenges of wildlife scouting in such weather. There was no disappointment, only respect—for the Arctic’s moods, and for the patient, relentless work of the team who’d spent the entire day exposed to the elements, eyes on the ice.

At 19:00, we gathered once again in the dining room for a plated dinner, warm and well-earned. Conversations hummed with anticipation for tomorrow—we knew the Arctic doesn’t give up her treasures easily. But we were here, deep in her realm, and our voyage had only just begun.

At 10 a.m., the expedition leader suddenly announced we would land on the sea ice! Despite the thick fog and poor visibility, everyone's enthusiasm remained undimmed. We put on our life jackets and boarded the Zodiacs in groups, heading toward the floating ice.

The moment we stepped onto the ice, a faint crack sounded beneath our feet, as if we were stepping on the breath of thousand-year-old ice. The mist enveloped everything, and the Hondius nearly vanished into the white void, leaving only a faint outline. We stood like true explorers at the edge of the world, our feet on ice that had existed for millennia, surrounded by silence so profound we could hear our own heartbeats.

We took turns posing for photos on the ice. The expedition team reminded us to stay safe, but excitement was written on every face—after all, standing on Arctic sea ice was already a once-in-a-lifetime experience!

Unfortunately, the fog grew thicker, and for safety reasons, we had to cut the landing short. As we returned to the ship, the Zodiacs sliced through the dark blue water, leaving the drifting ice behind like a fading dream.

At 3:15 p.m., Tiphanie was giving a lecture on Arctic seals in the observation lounge, and everyone was engrossed. Suddenly, Expedition Leader Chris’s voice crackled over the intercom:

“Everyone! Possible polar bear sighting at 1 o’clock, a few kilometers away!”

The room erupted in excitement! The lecture came to an abrupt halt as everyone grabbed their jackets and cameras, rushing to the deck. Binoculars were passed around, and we all held our breaths, straining to spot that legendary figure.

At first, it was just a tiny white speck on the ice, nearly blending in with the floes. But as the ship slowly approached, its outline became clearer—an adult polar bear, lazily napping on the ice!

We dared not make a sound, afraid to disturb it. Camera shutters were set to silent mode, and everyone simply watched in quiet reverence, as if partaking in a sacred ritual.

Then, its ears twitched slightly. It lifted its head, blinking sleepily as it surveyed its surroundings. When it noticed our ship, it showed no alarm. Instead, it rose leisurely, shook out its thick fur like someone straightening a coat, and began walking toward us!!!

A hushed gasp spread across the deck. Some clutched their companions’ arms; others covered their mouths to stifle their excitement. The bear moved with calm, deliberate steps. It stopped just a few meters from the ship, lifted its head, and studied us with dark, curious eyes.

Time seemed to freeze in that moment. We stood face-to-face with one of the Earth’s most powerful land predator—not with fear, but with awe. It sniffed the air, as if assessing whether we posed any threat. As it closed the distance to within ten meters, we could see every detail: the mist of its breath in the cold air, the tiny ice crystals clinging to its fur. This was a bear in its prime—broad shoulders supporting a thick layer of fat, a rounded belly swaying slightly as it moved, powerful hind legs visible beneath its fluffy coat.

Then, as if deciding we were unworthy of further attention, this graceful predator turned and ambled away, leaving deep paw prints in the ice.

The ship slowly pulled away, and as the bear’s figure disappeared into the mist, we were left brimming with satisfaction, eagerly discussing this rare encounter. Some scrolled excitedly through their photos, while others relived every second in their minds. Tiphanie laughed and said, “Well, I guess my seal lecture lost to live fieldwork!” But no one really minded—because today, we had witnessed the true king of the Arctic.

As we returned to our cabins, our fingers numb from the cold, we knew our hearts were warm. Tonight’s dinner would surely be filled with bear stories, and this memory would stay with us forever—a priceless treasure from the polar wilderness.

The Arctic sun, which never truly sets this time of year, cast a soft, golden light over the glassy waters of the fjord as we geared up for our morning Zodiac cruise. Our destination: the immense, frozen face of Monacobreen.

Skimming across the water in our little rubber boats was like gliding through a refrigerator. The air was crisp, and the only sound was the hum of the outboard motor and the occasional crack and thunderous roar of calving from the glacier's face in the distance. But the real show was on the water and in the air.

This glacier is named for Prince Albert I of Monaco, a pioneering oceanographer, he led expeditions up here in the late 1800s, charting these wild coasts. They named this frozen giant in his honor. The name, so evocative of a sunny, European principality, felt wonderfully out of place here.

But the story has a somber chapter. The signs of climate change that are impossible to ignore. The glacier's face is dramatically higher than it was just decades ago, a sign of intense thinning. We could see where a large section of its southern flank has retreated so much it's now grounded on land, no longer calving into the sea. The Arctic is warming four times faster than the rest of the planet. All this life we're seeing adapts, but the ice… the ice is disappearing. This glacier is retreating and thinning faster than it can accumulate new snow.

After a warm lunch, we arrived at a completely different historical site: the infamous Texas Bar on the shores of Liefdefjorden. We were divided into hiking groups – long, medium, and short.

With every careful step, we were encouraged to look down at the incredible tenacity of life. Delicate white flowers of mountain avens nodded in the breeze, their fuzzy stems protecting them from the cold. It was astounding to see such delicate beauty thriving in this harsh, mineral world.

The botanical reward was matched by the scenic one. From the summit, the view was breathtaking. We could see the entire Monaco Glacier system sprawled out before us, a river of cracked white ice flowing from the inland ice caps all the way to the sea.

After hiking, we descended towards the famous hut. Norwegian trappers built this as a meeting point. They named this tiny, remote shack the 'Texas Bar' as a joke. To them, Texas meant something huge, bold, and warm. It was their little piece of ironic humor in the vast, cold wilderness.

As we sailed away in the evening, we felt a unique mix of emotions: the awe of nature's scale, the sobering reality of its fragility, and a deep connection to the tenacious life and human history etched into this raw, beautiful land. What a day!

On the previous days of our journey, the Arctic had been rather kind to us – letting us warm ourselves in the rays of its northern sun and teasing us with games of hide-and-seek, occasionally wrapping us in a thick veil of fog. But today the Arctic decided to show its fierce side and remind us that it does not forgive carelessness, no matter what one might think.

Early in the morning – even earlier than scheduled – the voice of Chris, our expedition leader, came over the speakers. Along with the usual announcements, he told us that our ship, Hondius, was near Brasvellbreen Glacier. This glacier is part of, or more precisely, the seaward face of the vast ice dome that covers Nordaustlandet. The longest glacial front in the northern hemisphere, belonging to the world’s third-largest ice dome – definitely something worth seeing!

A quick glance out the window made it clear the weather would not favor us today: gusty winds, foaming waves, grey skies, and cold rain. Above the glacier – in fact, above the entire dome – a patch of clear blue sky shone like a halo above a saint, adding a surreal touch to the scene.

From time to time, thin streams of waterfalls spilled down the glacier’s face. Thin, because in the night cold most of the water had frozen solid.

After fully taking in this polar beauty, we moved on. Captain Ernesto steered us straight into the heart of the storm, setting course for Freemansundet, the strait separating Barentsøya from Edgeøya.

As we pressed through rain, fog, and wind, our guides took the opportunity to teach us more. Jakub, our glaciologist, gathered us in the observatory lounge and delivered a fascinating, though sobering, lecture about glaciers and their uncertain future. We dispersed to our cabins in silence. Soon after, another guide, Koen, gave a talk on polar bears – a perfect follow‑up to what we had witnessed two days earlier.

Meanwhile, the swell grew stronger, and many of us began to feel seasick. At lunch, nearly a third of the restaurant’s seats remained empty. Those who resisted the malady, however, enjoyed a hearty meal.

At last, Hondius reached Freemansundet. Visibility was poor, yet through the curtain of rain we could make out the soft outlines of mountains and the shoreline of the strait’s northern coast. Our guides, binoculars in hand, scanned eagerly for polar bears. The strait is known as “Polar Bear Alley,” such is the high chance of spotting them here. And then Lucia – our wonderful guide from far‑off Puerto Madryn – spotted a bear sprawled lazily on the shore! The announcement was made, and we rushed to the decks with binoculars and cameras to admire the true master of these lands.

The bear, in fact a female, was not asleep. She lay with her head on her paws, gazing wearily at the grey and hostile world – clearly unimpressed by today’s weather either. When she noticed the ship, she rose and began to stroll slowly along the beach, almost as if posing for us. Camera shutters clicked without pause. After a while, she seemed to tire of us, turned inland, and soon vanished from sight. As for us – we carried on, for our journey was far from over.

Before dinner, we gathered for the traditional recap in the observatory lounge. Afterward, our guides Kana and Li invited us to join a pub quiz. It was lively and fun – especially the questions about the guides themselves.

And so, even a day with the worst possible weather can still turn into one filled with joy, discovery, and energy.

Onward we go!

Our day aboard Hondius began with a sense of anticipation as we found ourselves anchored near Treskelodden, a narrow and geologically fascinating isthmus nestled within the southern reaches of Spitsbergen’s Hornsund fjord system. This slender land bridge—whose name means “cross hill”—offered the perfect setting for a range of hiking excursions, catering to all interests and energy levels.

After breakfast, guests disembarked in groups of long, medium, and short hikers. The long hikers set out first, heading toward the higher ridges and open tundra in search of sweeping views over both the eastern and western sides of Hornsund. What began as a confident trek quickly turned into an unexpected challenge. Several sections of the route had transformed into thick, sticky mud, a result of recent snowmelt and permafrost thaw. Despite their best efforts to bypass or brave these boggy patches, the group found themselves partially bogged down, quite literally! Nonetheless, in true expedition spirit, there was plenty of laughter, camaraderie, and perhaps even a bit of healthy competition over who ended up with the muddiest boots.

Back on firmer ground, the medium and short hiking groups enjoyed a more leisurely—but no less rewarding—exploration of Treskelodden’s striking geology. The terrain here is marked by layers of ancient sedimentary rock, many twisted and uplifted into dramatic formations by millennia of tectonic activity. Guides pointed out features such as folded strata, glacial erratics, and evidence of past glacial scouring. With the skies clearing slightly and the Arctic light casting long shadows across the land, it was a perfect setting for photography, reflection, and a deeper appreciation of Svalbard’s timeless natural beauty.

After returning to the ship, guests were greeted with a hearty lunch and time to relax on deck as Hondius repositioned further into the fjord system. Our afternoon destination: the spectacular Burgerbukta, a deep fjord arm known for its dramatic landscapes and rich birdlife.

The Zodiac cruise in Burgerbukta exceeded all expectations. We glided past sheer cliffs that rose sharply from the water, their ledges and cracks bustling with nesting seabirds. Most exciting of all were the puffins, darting through the air with their characteristic wingbeat, occasionally pausing on the water to rest or dive. These charismatic little birds captivated everyone—binoculars were raised in unison, and cameras clicked non-stop.

As we ventured deeper into the fjord, we approached the glacier front, a towering wall of ancient ice glowing blue in the filtered light.

This morning, visibility was remarkably clear as Hondius glided slowly into Bellsund. Even before we boarded the Zodiacs for our landing, Sasha’s voice rang out across the ship, announcing the presence of belugas along the shore — a small family, in fact, easily recognised by their grey-coloured calves.

Our landing took place at Calypsobyen. Bellsund, often kept free of ice thanks to the Gulf Stream, has long attracted whalers, trappers, and opportunists hoping to make a quick fortune in Svalbard. The settlement is named after the British expedition ship Calypso, which charted part of the area in 1895. It was here that the Northern Exploration Company (NEC), a British venture, attempted to establish a coal mine between 1918 and 1920. A handful of huts were constructed for the operation, but like many such enterprises in the archipelago, the mine proved unprofitable and was eventually abandoned. We were still able to walk among the buildings, some of which had been used by Polish scientists as recently as 2024.

We split into four hiking groups. One headed towards the Renardbreen glacier — ‘Fox Glacier’ — a name hinting at its past as a productive trapping site. Others remained near the old settlement, where remnants of coal can still be found scattered amongst the last of the summer tundra flowers. Another group ascended to a viewpoint showcasing classic polygonal ground formations, with a fine view of the glacier. Along the way, we were treated to sightings of several reindeer.

After a hearty lunch (the hamburgers were especially well-received), we made our way to Vårsolbukta to try yet another way of experiencing the Arctic. Vårsolbukta is a picturesque bay on the northwest side of Bellsund, framed by jagged peaks mirrored in the calm waters of the fjord. Lush green tundra welcomed more reindeer, peacefully grazing beneath a dramatic cliff where kittiwakes nest in great numbers. A flurry of wings and high-pitched cries greeted our arrival.

This time, Chris, our expedition leader, marked out a safe perimeter within which we could explore the tundra at our own pace. While some listened to Rose’s informative geology talk aboard, others wandered the broad area freely. Here too we found historical traces: Camp Bell and Camp Millar, both built by the NEC between 1908 and 1910, as part of early efforts to prospect for gold and platinum.

The opportunity to explore at leisure in such fine weather — under blue skies and unusually mild temperatures — was deeply appreciated. Many of us managed to capture excellent photographs of reindeer calves, Arctic skuas, and even an Arctic fox.

Later, we returned to the ship just in time for Rose’s lecture, which we didn’t want to miss — especially with the added promise of a barbecue on the outer deck this evening! To our surprise, the captain chose to cruise through Van Mijenfjorden during the meal — a rarely visited fjord, making the occasion even more special.

Spirits were high. As the barbecue wound down, music began to play, and soon many were dancing late into the evening — joined by crew and expedition staff alike.

Meanwhile, Hondius sails on gently towards our next destination.

We started our day filled with anticipation—wondering if the walruses would still be on the beach. At this time of year, they often begin their migration south, so we weren’t sure what we’d find. Then came Chris’s wake-up call with the exciting news: they were there! A wave of excitement swept through the group—another moment that reminded us just how lucky we’ve been on this journey.

The day was split between learning and exploring. Half of the group stayed on board for a fascinating lecture on climate change with QB, while the other half headed ashore. Later, we switched, giving everyone the full experience.

Landing at Poolepynten was nothing short of spectacular. We were able to observe a group of 10 or more walruses from about 30 meters away. The group was calm and undisturbed, allowing us to witness their natural behavior—snorting, snuffling, and occasionally shifting positions. Their deep, guttural sounds echoed along the shore, and yes, the smell was unmistakable—a true sensory immersion into their world.

Standing there, watching these magnificent creatures in their natural habitat, felt like a rare privilege. It was a powerful reminder of the wildness of this place, and the importance of preserving it.

After returning on board from our incredible walrus encounter, we enjoyed some well-deserved downtime and a delicious lunch. Spirits were high, with great anticipation for what would be our final landing of the voyage.

In the afternoon, we arrived at Alkhornet, and the scene that greeted us was breathtaking. The iconic, cone-shaped mountain towered above us, its dramatic presence made even more stunning by the perfect weather. Nestled along the cliffs were bustling bird colonies—mainly kittiwakes—with welcome appearances from purple sandpipers, guillemots, glaucous gulls, and even a few Arctic skuas. On the tundra below, Svalbard reindeer grazed peacefully, benefiting from the nutrient-rich vegetation nurtured by the presence of so many birds.

To make the most of the area, we split into hiking groups—long, medium, and short—allowing everyone to explore at their own pace and comfort. Whether scaling higher ridges, strolling through mossy valleys, or simply pausing to take it all in, the experience was deeply personal and moving.

As the afternoon wore on, a quiet sense of nostalgia began to set in. This was it—our last landing, our final zodiac ride. None of us were quite ready to leave.

Back on board, we gathered for the Captain’s Farewell. The captain shared heartfelt words, reflecting on the journey we’ve all shared, the moments of wonder, and the bonds formed along the way. Glasses were raised in a warm toast to this unforgettable voyage.

We ended the day with our last dinner on board, the mood a mix of celebration and reflection. Tomorrow brings disembarkation—and with it, a touch of sadness—but also immense gratitude for the rare privilege of exploring this extraordinary Arctic world.

This morning we were woken up one final time by Chris’s soothing and soft voice. We will surely miss waking up like this ;). Our adventure had come to an ending and although we were incredibly happy and grateful for having experienced such amazing landscapes, the pack ice and the extensive wildlife, we were also sad that it was time to leave the ship and its wonderful and friendly crew.

While we were having breakfast, the expedition team carried our luggage of the ship and once the buses had arrived it was really time to say goodbye. A goodbye to new friends and a goodbye to the staff and crew that had been looking after us in such a friendly and professional manner. We will surely miss them! Maybe we’ll meet in the future on another adventure with Oceanwide Expeditions.

On behalf of Oceanwide Expeditions, Captain Ernesto Barria Vargas , Expedition Leader Christian Long, Hotel Manager Albert Don, and all the crew and staff of M/V Hondius, it has been a pleasure travelling with you!