Suspended twenty meters above the deck over the Donna Wood, the surrounding view is astounding, otherworldly. Icebergs as far as the eyes can see, immense glaciers winding their way downward before calving into the ocean, snow-capped mountains in all directions. The boat lists from side to side, the movement intensified by my elevated position, yet I'm able to time my shots accordingly with the swell and gusts of cold wind, photographing between rigging lines as the ship circles a spectacular, pyramidal-shaped iceberg just fifteen meters off the starboard side. From above I see well it's form beneath the surface, the crystal clear, turquoise hues helping define eerie shapes below. Approximately eighty percent of this iceberg rests underwater, leaving around thirty meters jutting into the sky. For now at least. Each day it will continue to melt and then eventually roll over, generating powerful and ominous sounds as nature changes its shape over and over again, until it vanishes forever.

Since 1980 I've photographed around the world, alone or occasionally with one or two companions. Participating in a multi-day group workshop with twelve photographers was completely foreign to me, even somewhat intimidating at first, yet it was one of the more enriching experiences of my life. Some of this can be attributed to the group dynamic: We all got on well, passing many hours together for over a week in a fairly small space though never feeling confined. The food was excellent, we ate and drank often, and conversation was relaxed as we got to know each other a little more each day. By the end of the journey I believe we all felt a certain connectedness, as new friends who had just experienced something truly remarkable. Sailing through remote and majestic waters on a 100-year old schooner can do that, providing unique opportunities to quickly bond with like-minded adventurers from all over the world.

Exploring these fjords is a visceral experience, with towering icebergs formed into bizarre alien shapes, impossible to imagine, northern lights streaking across the sky in vibrant multicolor, all on a scale so immense that one feels small and insignificant yet very much connected to the landscape. Breathing in deeply the cold, unpolluted Greenland air somehow feels different, as if it holds more oxygen and fills my lungs more than usual. A cold breeze from the southwest adds to the intensity of my position high above the deck, and I pause often to take in the 360° panorama. Now in the Bear Islands, we've clearly reached the highlight of our week, a perfectly tailored itinerary, like an orchestral crescendo. Granite spires including the spectacular Grundtvigskirken, rise two thousand meters directly out of the sea, most never touched by human hands.

Near the end of our voyage, at the eastern end of Ofjord, we anchored in a beautiful cove with views of mountains in all directions, jutting upward from the narrow passage. The following morning, several of us opted for a cross-country hike, to view the landscape from above and profit from some much-needed exercise after nearly a week at sea. We weren't the first to visit this area, though it felt like virgin territory from beginning to end, with no signs of human impact whatsoever. Traversing lichen-covered rocks and scrub we arrived at a pristine lake in azure blue perched hundreds of feet above the sea surrounded by vibrant autumn foliage, a lone birdsong echoing across the basin the only sound breaking the silent stillness. Climbing a bit higher, we reached a spectacular viewpoint from where we could look down to the Donna Wood anchored far below, while to the south the immensity of Scoresbysund, speckled with icebergs and stretching onward, seemingly forever. This excursion was undoubtedly another major highlight of the trip, and if you have the opportunity to hike, even briefly, in the Bear Islands, definitely do not miss out.

Greenland is a timeless place, where the sounds we often hear are primal, prehistoric, of nature in constant motion as it always has been – ice creaking, avalanches crashing, wind and snow and water. Where silence is so void of sound it's somewhat eerie. The landscape continually speaks to us here, and we feel connected to it. And by journey’s end, replenished.

Greenland Photo Gallery

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