The Arctic Ocean’s lovely ... come on in!
A holiday in icy northern Norway? Wendy Driver takes the plunge...and discovers it’s much more fun than it sounds
IHAVE to admit I was having second thoughts. As I clambered down the boat’s ladder, I felt more than a little apprehensive. After all, submerging myself in the Arctic Ocean with only a thin layer of neoprene between me and the icy water seemed like a crazy idea.
But it turned out to be a very relaxing experience. With the temperature only just above freezing, I drifted downstream along the edge of the fjord. I resembled a giant red lobster, but to my amazement I felt warm and snug inside my survival suit.
It may have been the middle of May but spring had yet to arrive on Senja, the second-largest island in Norway, more than 100 miles inside the Arctic Circle.
I had flown to Tromso on a selfdrive holiday, and having picked up my car, I followed narrow roads banked with snow. They were deserted except for the occasional reindeer or Arctic hare which leapt out in front of me.
Look at a map of Senja and you will see slivers of land branching out into the ocean like moose antlers. Every bend in the road opened up panoramic vistas of frozen lakes, cobalt-blue inlets and barren crags.
At Ersfjord, I stopped the car to walk along the crumbling jetty opposite tiny wooden cabins huddled beneath towering cliffs. Their black jagged pinnacles resembled witches’ hats.
Further on at Bergsbotn, a platform is built out high above the water, from where you get spectacular views of the fjord.
Few tourists have discovered this remote island and there are limited places to stay. In the main resort, Hamn, there are a series of twostorey cabins overlooking a sheltered harbour where there was once a thriving fishing industry.
My spacious suite with floorto-ceiling windows came with a sitting room and fully fitted kitchen, but I preferred to eat in the restaurant where delicious freshly caught fish was served every evening.
Afterwards I would make my way to the lighthouse out on the point to watch the midnight sun hover over the horizon as the shimmering snow- crusted peaks turned pearly pink.
I was intending to hike to Husfjellet and Segla Mountain from the coastal village of Skaland on my first morning, but with the footpaths still smothered in snow, I decided to join the locals in celebrating Norway Day instead.
We gathered for a church service before following a brass band in a long procession along the seashore, waving our flags.
Everyone wore national costume: women in embroidered waistcoats and skirts, and men in velvet-collared jackets and breeches with silver buttons.
Afterwards I was invited to a feast in the village hall, tucking into lapskaus – a Norwegian dish of pork, potatoes and carrots, with gooey cream cakes to follow.
Determined to attempt a gentle hike, I set off to the Utsikten viewing point above our hotel. Within minutes I found myself trudging through deep snowdrifts and tramping past meltwater cascading down the hillside. After a tough climb I found myself on a ridge looking out over hundreds of rocky skerries far below.
Lasse, my hunky guide, took me kayaking among this maze of islands where the sea was as smooth as glass. Landing on one of the whitesand beaches, Lasse scooped up handfuls of crushed coral as I gazed across a turquoise sea. I could almost imagine I was on a tropical island but for the bitter wind buffeting us from all sides.
Paddling back to shore, we passed seals popping their heads above the surface, while eider ducks skimmed the waves. Cormorants jostled for space on narrow ledges and magnificent white-tailed sea eagles circled overhead, their ragged wingtips resembling fangs.
Birdwatchers should head for Andenes on the northerly tip of the island of Andoy, less than two hours by ferry from Senja. It was the next stop of my tour and I checked into the Gronnbuene Rorbu Hotel on the waterfront before joining Captain
I looked like a big lobster as I drifted along the fjord’s edge
Rolf aboard his fishing vessel to visit Bleiksoya, one of Norway’s most famous bird cliffs.
A cone of rock rose from the ocean, its sides dotted with the nests of 200,000 puffins. The birds were so numerous that the sea was speckled black and they flew around us like a swarm of mosquitoes.
Wheeling above the summit were no fewer than a dozen sea eagles, swooping down to snatch fish that Rolf threw into the water.
Others saved their energy and perched on the grassy hummocks waiting to gobble up the puffins when they returned to their burrows. Sperm whales are year-round residents here, so I spent an afternoon searching for them with Whale Safari. Our ship was equipped with two hydrophones attached to the hull so I knew we stood a good chance. Before long I heard a rhythmic tapping sound over the loudspeakers on deck. Underwater, these clicks are louder than a jet engine at take-off.
‘Be patient,’ urged our guide Sara. ‘Once it goes silent the whale will surface.’ Within minutes, it emerged just a few yards in front of the ship.
It stayed with us for about ten minutes until the captain warned us it was about to dive. With cameras poised, we all captured the moment its fluke disappeared beneath the waves.
On my last evening I wallowed in the hot tub on my balcony dreaming of my next visit. Maybe I’ll come back in the depths of winter to see the Northern Lights and get to swim among the icebergs.