Fjords feel wild and primal. A landscape of imperial domination that puts us inconsequental humans squarely in proper place. Google talks about fjord formation in delicious terms of ‘isostatic post glacial rebound’ which seems to means everything finds its own level once the glaciers have retreated. Whatever the geological impetus, despite the biting chill in the open boat, the fjords never failed to stir the soul.

In the polar night when the sun doesn’t rise, it’s a putative predawn glow and post sunset afterglow all in one sitting.