Farthest North to Far North - 69° 39 02"N 18° 57 39" E

07:00 - 17 July 2026

We found ourselves in a stunningly stark anchorage. A herd of walrus sprawled across a nearby sandbank, while we anchored beneath a glacier, with another glacier across the way. The weather was overcast, with rain and almost no wind.

Very atmospheric

There were eider ducks everywhere, scattered across the water and busy along the shoreline, while the walruses provided a constant source of entertainment. They certainly made their presence known, producing exactly the sort of noises you would imagine from an animal their size—a bizarre combination of an elephant’s rumble and an oversized pug’s grunt.

Then the rain arrived.

With it came one of those unexpected pleasures of being at sea: the smell of summer. That wonderful, earthy scent of the first rain falling onto dry ground, somehow finding its way across the water and making this remote Arctic landscape feel strangely familiar.

The gentle patter of rain against the boat was incredibly restful. After the noise and movement of the sea, it was almost hypnotic—a quiet soundtrack as the walruses grumbled away outside and the eider ducks carried on with their business.

For a while, there was nowhere else we would rather have been.

A herd (or more accurately, a pile) of walruses.  We can hear the barks and huffs and they lean against each other for a bit of warmth

We slept, we ate and we relaxed. Velvet (our friends on Hull #2 of the Garcia 45 line) was anchored in the next bay, and we planned to leave in the early morning, around 01:00. This would allow us to get ahead of the big seas forecast for later and begin the long passage towards the Norwegian coast.

The makings of a delicious wrap.  We eat well aboard Myrca.

It was such a surreal place. Ice, crumbly hills, walrus and a few birds, all beneath a sky of clouds and rain. There was absolutely no vegetation. Nothing green at all. Just rock, ice, water and wildlife.

01:00 — 18 July 2026

And we were off.

We departed  into a calm, oily-grey sea, with occasional patches of sunshine lighting up the hills and glaciers behind us.

Goodbye, walrus. Goodbye, glaciers.

We get quite close to the walruses as we leave the the lagoon.  They don't seem too bothered by us.

And, of course, birds, birds, birds.

As we moved away, the crumbly mountains gradually disappeared into the haze. The geology was fascinating. The landscape looked remarkably young, as though not much had happened here yet—just a bit of up and down, without the major upheavals and folding seen in older mountain ranges. The horizontal strata were clearly visible in the crumbly rock.

 Our last glances of southern Svalbard - birds and Svalbard reindeer on the shore 

Around the corner, the swell began to build, although it wasn't uncomfortable, and we settled into our watch system of four hours on, eight hours off. Hopefully, this would give everyone plenty of rest.

One of the great advantages of sailing in the continuous daylight was that nobody had to endure that deep, dark night-watch feeling. It was strange to be sailing through the night with the sun never really disappearing.

We had the sails up, and sailing under a full main and the Code 0 was making good progress, although the full sail was making the boat a little harder to steer. The sea was a bit messy but not uncomfortable, with whitecaps and fulmars skimming effortlessly alongside us.

Then we spotted whales.

A couple of humpbacks appeared, one of them flipping its enormous pectoral fin above the water. We had been seeing blows around us, so we assumed these were humpbacks too.

We were making good time, helped by having the sea behind us.

Today's distance: 147 nautical miles, average speed 6.3 knots.

06:30 - 19 July 2026 - 74° 54.401′ N, 16° 15.309′ E

The wind was still a little flaky, coming and going, but the sea remained relatively calm. Rain showers passed through, bringing with them little bursts of wind. There wasn't enough wind to drench us, but certainly enough to keep us damp.

By 10:00, the wind had picked up to a sustained 20 knots. The boat was becoming overpowered, so we put in a second reef in the main and pulled out the staysail. Gusts reached no more than about 24 knots, but the cold Arctic air made them feel considerably stronger. Cold air is denser, and it certainly seemed to pack a punch.

We continued along at around 9–10 knots down the waves. The boat was beautifully balanced and comfortable, although it was definitely a case of holding onto your mug—and walking required rather more concentration than usual.

There were clouds, sunshine, rainbows and, naturally, birds everywhere. We must have been getting further south because we are starting to see fulmars.  The sun was catching the white feathers of the birds makes them very pretty but they are particularly difficult to photograph (with our fancy camera gear - iPhone and a GoPro!). Mostly fulmars, guillemots and kittiwakes, with the occasional skua.

Glorious evening sun with a following wind

By around 20:30 the wind had eased again. We took out a reef and continued into a gorgeous evening, with sunshine reflecting off the sea. The second electric winch was proving its worth, particularly when reefing. It certainly saved a bit of work.

Distance today: 163.3 nautical miles Average speed: 6.8 knots

20 July 2026 — 06:00 - 72° 13.818′ N, 18° 12.661′ E

Glorious sunshine and blue skies greeted us. The swell was only around a metre and there were hardly any whitecaps.

A rainbow is better than a lightning bolt

The sun was doing its strange Arctic dance. At noon it was in the south, while at midnight it would be in the north, and then it simply continued around and around. It never climbed particularly high, hovering at perhaps 20° above the horizon. The moon was also up for a few hours, but we generally couldn't see it because of the daylight and clouds.

12:00 - 71° 33.210′ N, 18° 38.214′ E

The wind had dropped to F2 and swung around to the south. The sea was now running slowly with us, so we were still making more than 6 knots.We persevered with the main and the staysail while the sun shone from a brilliant southern sky. The sun was now much higher—around 45–50° above the horizon. What a difference a thousand kilometres made!

Meanwhile, the delicious smell of lunch began drifting out of the galley. Richard was cooking pasta, and everyone was getting rather peckish.

For a ship at sea, we are certainly eating well

There weren't quite as many birds as we had seen further north, although there were still plenty around. It was perfect whale-watching weather—if only there had been a whale to watch!

The wind continued to drop and the ocean took on that wonderfully smooth, oily appearance. Sunlight glistened off the water ahead of us, making steering by the sun rather tricky. Up here, we'd be sailing in circles!

By dinner time the wind had picked up again, around 10 knots on the nose, but we expected that to be about the worst of it. We were still making 6–7 knots under sail.

18:30 - 70° 55.392′ N, 19° 01.764′ E

We should reach the Norwegian coast tomorrow afternoon.

What a difference another thousand kilometres made.

There was sunshine and warmth. We could sit in the cockpit without gloves, although we were still fairly rugged up. Most importantly, land was in sight.

We were getting there.

The sea remained relatively calm, with a gentle swell running with us. We had around 10 knots of wind on the nose but were still measuring about 6 knots of boat speed. The sun was now in the western sky, around 35° above the horizon. Around and around it went. The moon was also up, but we couldn't see it—perhaps hidden behind clouds on the horizon.

Then came the moment we'd been waiting for.

Land.

Green land.

Trees.

After weeks of ice, rock and almost complete absence of vegetation, the sight of green was vaguely overwhelming.

Today's distance: 152.3 nautical miles; Average speed: 6.4 knots; Maximum speed: 10.5 knots

21 July 2026 - 06:00 — 70° 04.443′ N, 19° 37.248′ E

Welcome to the fjords and trees!

... and lovely, calm water.  No more waves and swell!

The land smelled different. There was a lushness that seemed almost extravagant after the stark Arctic landscape we'd left behind. It was glorious sunshine, and there were birds everywhere.

Large flocks of puffins, razorbills and gulls gathered on the water, and then, just to make the arrival complete, a minke whale popped up right next to the boat.

We switched off the engine and drifted for a while, watching the birds and waiting to see if the whale would reappear.

Richard was still trying to capture the perfect puffin photograph.

Not the perfect puffin photo - but a puffin photo none-the-less! 

We eventually continued towards Tromsø, meeting a cruise ship in the main channel and following it towards the city. The mountains became greener, the waterways busier and the landscape increasingly civilised.

And then, finally, we arrived.

10:00 — Tromsø - 69° 39.033′ N, 18° 57.647′ E

We tied up in Tromsø.

After the stark wilderness of Svalbard, arriving somewhere with trees, roads, buildings and people felt almost overwhelming.

Today's distance: 46.19 nautical miles; Average speed: 5.7 knots

Total Trip: 581.7 nautical miles; Average speed: 6.5 knots; Top speed: 11.6 knots

Total passage - Longyearbyen to Tromsø: 581.7 nautical miles; Average speed: 6.5 knots

From glaciers and walrus to green hills and trees—a pretty spectacular transition. Worthy of a celebratory drink!

Crémant and chips tied up in Tromsø