The blog
Jan Mayen - a glacier covered volcano
Our first views of Jan Mayen were a mostly white mass of snow and ice far in the distance, kind of lost against a grey sky and darker grey ocean. Huge flocks of birds danced in unison just above the horizon far away. It felt kind of surreal.
We’d once again need to zodiac to shore, after just the night before, getting permission from the Norwegian military to visit, so as we approached a protected cove, we got the word that conditions were “workable” and out we went to the island.
We were sort of restricted to a smaller area, but I felt again like I didn’t have enough time. I spent so much time bird watching at the top of a cliff that I didn’t have all the time I wished I could have had to explore other areas. Everything just felt sort of intoxicating, I lost track of time and was obsessively interested in everything. There was just too much to see, too much to photograph, too much to breathe in.
Killer whales cruising the coast of Jan Mayen with us
Whooper swan
At the end of our day on Jan Mayen, I joined the last zodiac back to the ship (because of course I did) with a few others, and we took a little detour cruising up the coast to where some puffins were hanging out on the water and on the cliffs. Our guide was so thoughtful, manouvering us around the puffins so the sun would be at our back for photography, so we’d drift in closer to them. It was just the best, it was so special being so close and at almost eye level with them, watching them disappear between swells. And then it was here we ran out of gas (oh no, how terrible), and it took some time while we switched tanks. Finally we did get fuel flowing from the backup tank and we were back at the ship, all of us even happier for the extra time out, obviously.
Then during dinner, as we continued to sail the coast, gorgeous blue skies opened up over the volcano peaks. It was just like magic, truly. There was an energy you could feel, everyone was so happy and completely amazed.
Northern bottlenose whales
Dinner views
Deeper into the Faroes
It was the breakfast with the most beautiful view of my life. I could feel my heart in my chest. Half of me couldn’t run out to the bow of the ship fast enough while the other half could stay with my hot coffee, breathing it all in from breakfast for ever.
We were sailing up from Tórshavn to the small village of Funningur, on the island of Eysturoy toward the north of the Faroes.
On this morning, I had this anxious feeling that I couldn’t waste a moment. I wanted to see every grass covered hill, every stream and waterfall, every sliver of sunlight on a mountain or the ocean. In reality, there was no panic. We were going to have all day - all day to hike, take in a guided tour around town, and time to explore. It just hadn’t even really begun and I already couldn’t stand having to leave.
It reminded me of when I picked up my rental car in Iceland. The rental agent confirming my reservation out loud to me ‘5 weeks… Okay… And what do you plan to do in Iceland for 5 weeks?’
And to me, he was the crazy one. 5 lifetimes would not be enough, never mind 5 weeks.
And the Faroes just felt the same, and I knew it would be that way. The heart being ripped out of my chest feeling when it was time to leave — and it was definitely that.
The village of Funningur
After a little quiet time with some sheep up at the top of town - a waterfall above me, a stream cutting just in front of me, and the ‘pier’ down below me, I knew I should probably be getting back down to return to the ship, but I had that sinking feeling in my stomach.
“Of course it’s Sean!”
Coming around the corner of a building and down to the zodiac landing site, all our expedition guides and staff are lined up and one sees me and says with a smile and a laugh “Of course it’s Sean!”
I smirked, seeing that I was obviously the last one back joining a few others lingering around… “I know, I know - but I don’t want to, I don’t want to, I don’t want to!”, I say with a laugh back.
Getting to and around Tórshavn, Faroe Islands
Following our departure from North Ronaldsay, there were a few of us crazies up in the panorama lounge loving life being thrown around by the ocean. Most of the ship was far less thrilled than we were though. The dining room at dinner was kind of laughably empty, and I chuckled with the dining room staff every time the ship got a good jolt. They had just come up from Antarctica and a season crossing the Drake, so this was all still childs play to them. But for me, the thrill of the waves rocking the ship made me feel like a child again. I loved it.
North of North Ronaldsay enroute to the Faroes
Some quiet time in the panorama lounge after dinner, culling bird photos, way too many bird photos, to the soothing motion of the ocean and a deepening twilight sky after sunset finally gave way to bed. Tórshavn would be in the morning, and the alarm for breakfast always comes way too early.
The night was… a little rough. But just how rough? My Apple Watch detected enough motion through the night to award me with standing hours while I was lying in bed sleeping.
Every so often I would be jolted awake to the thunderous boom of a wave hitting especially hard. I could feel myself smile and go immediately back to sleep.
My first puffins right alongside the ship as we slowed nearing the harbour of Tórshavn!
We had all day in Tórshavn, and started with a hike from the outskirts of town over to Kirkjubøur - a small community just over the mountains. It was more breathtaking than I could ever tell you or show you. The weather changed every 5 minutes, and our guide bumped into a farmer he knew so we stopped to gush over all his beautiful sheep. The views of dramatic mountainsides rising and falling into the sea, covered in grass and the most beautiful rock were just perfect. I loved the town, I loved the culture, I loved the nature, and it had been all of about 3 minutes.
For the rest of the day back in Tórshavn now, I walked the coast, criss-crossed through town, and of course, took the opportunity to seek out wool sweaters which was both overwhelmingly expensive and successful. A few of us showed up to dinner back onboard the ship that night in our distinctly Faroese hand knit sweaters.
It was the best, most magical day ever.
Trial by fire; zodiac edition
I was sitting in Abbotsford International Airport, about 20 minutes before boarding my first of 3 flights, wrapping up a call with Scotiabank to finalize my mortgage for Yellowknife. Possession day was 5 weeks away, and in 24 hours, I’d be touching down in Aberdeen, Scotland. From there, a couple days later, boarding the Quark Expedition Ultramarine for almost 2 weeks to sail further north than I’d ever been in my life.
I didn’t know what to expect of Scotland, or this entire cruise. I’d barely had time to think about it. For the week before flying out, I was sleeping on yoga mats on the floor of my dad’s place, painting, cleaning and packing the final few boxes of his life before he’d leave forever for the Philippines.
Retirement, at last.
My flights over took me through sunset, the northern lights, sunrise, way too much time in Heathrow, and a second sunset. I fell in love with Aberdeen. European grocery stores, twilight walks, daytime walks - accidentally to the next village down the coast in one instance. Grassy cliffs and fields blowing in the wind, hills of yellow flowers and charming neighbourhoods at every turn. Dolphins and seals visible from the harbour and cliffs. It was heavenly. I loved every second.
“Everyone’s a birder. Some of you just don’t know you are yet.”
Our first night on board the Ultramarine started with, of course, endless safety briefings, but also some news that a little storm was headed to us which gave such little hope of being able to go ashore to Fair Isle, we were instead making a last minute decision to try North Ronaldsay instead, where we ultimately were able to anchor down, zodiac to shore, and spend as much of the day as the weather would allow us.
I chose the long bird walk, because as Mark, our amazing, amazing bird expert expedition guide on board said to us our first night, “Everyone’s a birder. Some of you just don’t know you are yet.” And I loved it. I needed little convincing. I was hooked. Ready to give up a life of aurora chasing for birding, until he told me there’s no money in it either.
So instead of heading back to the ship via the zodiacs over increasingly rough seas we were warned about the night before, I and one other, literally, ran over to the 173 year old lighthouse to climb the couple hundred steps inside up to it’s balcony. That was one of the coolest experiences I think of my life. The wind up there made it nearly impossible to get all the way around the deck, but the views were breathtaking. But finally, windburnt, sweaty and out of breath, I ran back to the shore to begin what would become a trip long habit of being on the last zodiac back to the ship. Waves crashed up over the bow of the zodiac and over our heads. I understood without a doubt why waterproof clothing, head to toe, was mandatory, and not just recommended.
Back to the roots
In a separate tab, I open my blog to check on my last post and manage to surprise myself seeing that it was back at the end of February. I knew it had been a long, long time, but I didn’t think that long.
I also knew when I titled it ‘Closing in’, that it was a subtle lean into what was coming - a somber end to my few years in Whitehorse. At the time I wrote that post, my apartment was under offer, I knew where I was going, but not yet where I would be living, and between those two small life changes, I would be embarking on the trip of a lifetime that never once felt quite real - but more on that next post.
For right now, my days are filled with reacquainting myself with where this life of chasing the northern lights nightly began. I am home again in Yellowknife, exactly 10 years and 2 days from when I moved here the first time, to once again take possession of a home I had not yet actually seen.
With so much to do, we wasted little time and began light renovations the day after I moved in, and it all remains ongoing. Tours begin in August, and I cannot, cannot wait. And finally I’ll lead you out of Whitehorse, through the summer in BC, and finally up to Yellowknife with a chaotic collection of photos.
After moving out of my place in Whitehorse, I spent some weeks with Doris in hers before I would head south for an abbreviated summer. We packed, and repacked every single box I thought I had perfected to all fit into my Sienna to take with me. No moving company this time, just what I could bring with me. But I had too much stuff, and I was too heavy. Moving day was not the best day of my life.
Over the next week and a bit, we opened every single box, re-sorted and repacked them, got rid of a lot (Doris will be eating dried lentils and rice for the next 3 lifetimes), weighed every single box and loose item, and set aside 2 boxes to ship ahead of another Canada Post strike.
All of this set me up full to the car ceiling, exactly 40kg under the car’s maximum takeoff weight, for an early, early morning out of Whitehorse to drive straight-ish through to my mum’s place, some 2,200 kilometres south. But this was not without a cat nap or two along the way as my eyes got heavy, twisting myself over and around boxes and plants to stretch out, time at the Liard Hot Springs, of course, and photography stops too.
Late, late pizza takeaway after move out day
Just completely taking over Doris’s life with my chaos here…
Weight ended up becoming a bigger issue than space
A little tail heavy despite my best efforts…
Driving through the night in northern BC and of course she kept me company
Typical summer views from my mum’s place in Kamloops
The final weeks leading up to departure day for Yellowknife were chaotic in everything from helping move my dad to the Philippines, couriering original (thank you, NWT, for being so relentlessly, painfully archaic - never change), notarized documents to Yellowknife from BC in the midst of another potential Canada Post strike, and making endless design decisions for spaces I had once again not actually seen.
With our final days planned and our departure from Kamloops sured up, we first spent some nights in Calgary with my grandparents, making final final decisions on design with trips to Home Depot and IKEA, but most importantly, bean bag toss tournaments in the backyard.
From there, just 1,800 kilometres and one overnight in smoky northern Alberta was between us and Yellowknife.
Smoky morning leaving High Level
Christmas in June…
So this is about where things stand. 70L of white eggshell paint down, 3 major appliances unexpectedly replaced, many IKEA orders received, more still on the way, and the main bathroom 2/3 gutted but on it’s way back, with the ensuite mostly finished, and a few closets gutted and redone.
When my dad asked how it feels to be back in Yellowknife, I said I wasn’t really sure because I haven’t actually really interacted at all with Yellowknife yet. I’ve barely been outside for more than repeating trips to Home Hardware and Canadian Tire.
But I am settling in, sleeping more than 5 hours a night finally, and taking time to breathe and practice yoga, of course. Sparrows, yellow warblers, and robins sing outside my windows all day, a neighbourhood cat wanders into my yard at breakfast for cuddles, and both the front and back steps make for perfect afternoon fika spots.
My first tour is already only about a month away, and I can’t wait for that, but all of this time since closing day in Whitehorse on March 28th has passed far, far too quickly. For now, time could not slow down enough, but this evening I’ll prepare for my new dishwasher that I should be wrestling into my place sometime tomorrow, while the rest of the bathroom walls upstairs are calling for the tiling to continue…
