Aboard the Nordkapp

Last night the clouds part and I am witness to an incredible sunset. The entire sky turns brilliant orange, and the sun, giant luminous ball slowly skips a path to the northeast before gradually settling behind the mountains. I sleep soundly, but awaken at 5 am. On my way to the wash room I look at the sky. There is not a single cloud visible. It is going to be a good morning.

The way to get around the North Cape is via the Hurtigruten, the ferry line that doubles as both a passenger ship and a freighter, carrying supplies between isolated Arctic towns. In late morning I pedal out of the mountains, back along the lake and into to Kirkeness. The MS Nordkapp is already moored in the harbor. I clamber aboard, now familiar with the ticketing routine, and book passage. I splurge on a cabin with not one, but two port holes. The bike is loaded into the hold with supplies and a few cars.

As we leave Kirkeness, the sun break through the clouds. In the distance are the mountains of Siberian Russia, the sun glinting off a score of rivers cascading down bare rock. They shine in the glare like beads of molten silver. The other side of the fjord is masked by veils of rain, obscuring the mountains. It seems odd to have the sun out here in the most northern reach of my trip. Who would have thought I would be out basking on sun deck in the Arctic Ocean? But nothing lasts long here and before long it is cold and cloudy again.

We stop at Vardø, brightly painted houses clinging to an island where nothing larger than a blade of grass grows. Vardø sets a new standard in grimness seen on this trip, and there has been a lot. As the boat approaches the harbor, three men clad in 18th Century costumes, one carrying a drum march down a lane to the quay. One carries a drum, another a fife and the third holds a standards. With fife and drum playing, the ship ties up at the dock. As passengers stream off for a short shore excursion they follow the trio as they march through town pie-piping their way toward a museum.

By sunset we are at Batsfjørd, obscured by a sheet of rain, but beyond the sun peaks through a tumultuous cloud layer. A perfect rainbow emerges framed against the red-brown sedimentary cliffs that line the shore. I spend the night in the luxury of my cabin, which even has a television. Believe it or not I can catch up on the news via BBC.