What It’s Like to Cruise Arctic Norway in Summer

“Oh typical,” the handsomest crew member mutters, looking out past the crowd gathered on the bow. “We won’t be able to go in. There’s a ship there.”

Although it’s the middle of the night, everyone is out on deck of the Havila Castor. The cliffs on either side of us are mirrored in the green water. The low sun, hidden behind clouds, still manages to pick out each ripple like a line drawing. And as I find a spot at the railing, it’s clear that the crew member I’d privately named Kjuti was wrong: We are going in.

Even with dozens of people out on deck, Trollfjord is silent as a church — because the Castor has switched to battery power. As my ears adjust, the sounds of the fjord fill the silence.

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Water laps the walls on both sides. Thin waterfalls splash down the rock walls. Passengers murmur with appreciation at the captain’s skill as we maneuver close to one cliff to avoid the ship that sits at the far end of the inlet, refusing to give way.

This is why Havila ships don’t need entertainment.

I glance around the crowd and spot my parents, but not my husband or son. Suddenly I remember that my husband had told me about an hour ago, as he left the jacuzzi, that he was off to bed.

They have to see this.

When I step back inside, the HVAC system seems to roar. I run down two stairways to our corridor, my sandals slapping the rubber edge of each step. In our cabin, the curtains are open, but my son is facing away from the window, playing with his Nintendo Switch, and my husband is connected to his CPAP, dead to the world.

“Wake Dad up! You guys have to come out on deck and look at this beautiful fjord!” I order. Then I run back upstairs and out onto the deck. I can’t wait for them and risk missing the rest of this experience.

This time, I stand on the smaller prow observation area, which is less crowded. Once the ship has fully executed its turn to leave the fjord, I run up to the roomier back deck, above the jacuzzis. I watch the green water churn into turquoise in our wake, as the ship so impudently parking in Trolljord shrinks into a toy. Pockets of snow speckle the mountains.

We are about 200 miles north of the Arctic Circle.

Gliding in and out of Trollford was the highlight of our seven-day Havila Coastal Voyage, but it wasn’t an anomaly. The whole trip felt like that, at varying levels of intensity: Beautiful sights, frequent bouts of awe, jumping in and out of bed at odd hours for once-in-a-lifetime experiences. Feeling, with the never-ending daylight, that I didn’t dare sleep for fear of missing a second of breathtaking Norway.