The Quiet Thread
Issue No. 03 A knitting Journey to Svalbard. Part II: Heading South
Stories from our home at 682.5 metres above sea level
A Knitting Journey to Svalbard. Part II: Heading South
August 5 – Longyearbyen, Polar Bears (on Sweaters), and the World’s Northernmost Chocolate
We woke to a quiet thrill: land. After nearly 24 hours at sea, the fog had finally lifted, and Svalbard revealed itself. The sun was out, the skies were partly cloudy, and the ship had glided into Billefjorden — the mountains rising around us like something out of a polar fairy tale.
We could see Pyramiden in the distance — a strange little outpost, part Soviet ghost town, part Arctic curiosity — and beyond it, the glaciers that carve their way down to the water. It was absolutely stunning.
Naturally, Arne wore his polar bear sweater. Just as naturally, everyone took a photo of him.
Everyone loves Arne’s bear sweater! The pattern is available in our webshop.
We spent the whole morning on deck, watching the light play across the mountains and ice. There’s nothing quite like Svalbard in the sun — it’s otherworldly, and completely real at the same time.
After lunch (Magdalena, the sourdough starter was, once again, in top form — we are not tired of her, nor do we expect to be), it was time to head into Longyearbyen.
The ship docks about 20 minutes outside town, in a secure zone where passengers can walk freely — no polar bears, just gravel roads and shipping containers. In past years, Carlos has walked from the dock into town. But with one ankle still not on speaking terms, we opted for the shuttle. That said, the first departure was expected to be packed, and there was no guarantee of seats — even for those with visible limps.
So Arne called a taxi.
And not just any taxi — the largest taxi in Longyearbyen. What arrived was a full-sized bus.
So off we went: Arne, Carlos, our fantastic tour leader Githa, and a few grateful guests from our group, who were only too happy to join. Private Arctic transport, just for us.
We’ve been to Longyearbyen many times, but it never disappoints. There’s shopping (tax-free), good coffee, a café that also sells yarn (Fruene), and more “world’s northernmost” signs than you can count. We went to Fruene, where the knitters gathered in great joy. We bought chocolate shaped like polar bears at the world’s northernmost chocolaterie. We picked up a few needles — possibly from the world’s second northernmost yarn provider, depending on how you define “yarn shop.” We tried to visit the art gallery, but it was closed.
Carlos eventually returned to the ship when the ankle started complaining again. Arne stayed behind — he had one more mission.
He set off for Bruktikken, the town’s second-hand shop. It had been listed online and sounded promising. But when he arrived, the welcome was less than warm. A stern voice informed him that the shop was “only for locals.” Apparently, it’s more of a community exchange than a shop — bring something in, take something out. No browsing. No exceptions.
Arne was disappointed. He peeked in. He saw lovely things. But no treasures came home from Bruktikken — only the memory of what might have been.
Eventually, he returned to the ship, and we spent the rest of the afternoon on deck. The sky stayed perfectly clear. That night, everyone gathered to knit under the midnight sun — no jackets needed. Just light, stillness, wool, and the low hum of needles clicking.
Later in the evening, as the ship continued its course north, we passed close by Barentsburg — another Russian outpost in Svalbard, perched on the edge of the water. We’ve read a lot about it, but this was the first time we’d seen it up close. It was strange and fascinating — quiet, industrial, slightly faded. We don’t believe it’s an active mining town anymore, and from what we understand, it’s now difficult to visit. Still, seeing it from the deck as the light shifted over the mountains was a moment in itself.
Barentsburg — a remote Russian-run settlement on Norwegian Svalbard.
One final observation before we close: it’s unusually warm up here. Warm enough to knit comfortably outdoors all day, even at this latitude — which is wonderful, of course, but also a little unsettling. Svalbard shouldn’t be this warm. As we write this, we’re still on deck, looking out over the water. It’s slightly cloudy now, but the sun is holding steady, and the air is soft. Beautiful, yes — but worth pausing over.
Tomorrow, we sail into Ny-Ålesund — the world’s northernmost settlement, and one of the quietest places on Earth.
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August 6 – Ny-Ålesund, Midnight Sun and a Very Small Reindeer
We didn’t sleep much last night. Not because of waves, but because of the midnight sun. It poured through the curtains like a spotlight determined to make itself known. And then there was the excitement — today would be our first time ever seeing Ny-Ålesund in sunlight.
We’ve visited twice before, but it’s always been grey, foggy, and cold. Today, though, promised something else entirely: full sun, clear skies, and calm waters at almost 79 degrees north.
At 05:30, we got up, made tea, poured it into the thermos, and stepped out onto deck. The ship was gliding into Kongsfjorden, and the light was stunning — no clouds, just gleaming blue water and mountain peaks rising all around us. We’ve never seen this place like this. It was beautiful. It felt like a gift.
Of course, the one time we get perfect weather in Ny-Ålesund is also the one time Carlos is on crutches. But we weren’t going to miss anything — so we signed up for the short hike to the mast, just outside the town limits. It’s only accessible in small guided groups (maximum 18 people), and only with an armed polar bear guard.
The terrain was very uneven — gravel, ridges, mossy patches — but Carlos managed with two crutches and a lot of determination. It was worth every slow step. The view from the mast was breathtaking, and we were treated to a surprise: two tiny Svalbard reindeer, shorter and more compact than their mainland cousins, quietly grazing nearby.
Someone reported spotting an Arctic fox, but Carlos was too focused on the ground beneath his crutches to catch sight of it. Arne joked that maybe this wasn’t the best day for a polar bear to show up, but Carlos assured him he’d be fine — he could definitely outrun at least a few people in the group.
On the way back to the settlement, we stopped at the general store, which — naturally — is the world’s northernmost. It caters to the 30 people who live here year-round and the roughly 100 who stay for the summer research season. Our group bought yarn. Arne bought a postcard and refused to say what he wrote. Carlos suspects it was a birthday greeting as his birthday is coming up soon.
There’s no mobile signal here and no internet. Ny-Ålesund is a zone of radio silence, and it was oddly wonderful to be offline. No emails. No notifications. Just fresh air, blue skies, and the soft sound of knitters talking.
We returned to the ship and spent the rest of the afternoon on deck. Dinner was lovely — and ended with pavlova. Arne mentioned — rather loudly — that Carlos didn’t make him one for his birthday this year. (Carlos was forgiven, since we were in Iceland at the time.) Still, Arne couldn’t resist telling the waiter that Carlos’ pavlova is significantly bigger. And then, with impeccable timing, he suggested the chef might benefit from a private tutorial and offered Carlos’ services on the spot.
As the evening stretched on, we all gathered outside once more — knitting, chatting, watching the sky. Some played cards. Others just sat, waiting. Only 90 minutes left until midnight. It felt a bit like New Year’s Eve — that same quiet excitement.
We were waiting to see the midnight sun — truly see it, sitting low and golden on the horizon, refusing to set. Would it stay clear? Would the light hold? Would the clouds drift in just before midnight? It felt suspenseful — and somehow festive.
Carlos, meanwhile, was deep in thought about Magdalena, the ship’s beloved sourdough starter. Is it possible to take a piece of her home? Could she travel in hand luggage? Would she make it through security? Checked baggage was out of the question — far too cruel.
We have five days to sort it out. For now, we sit under the Arctic sun — surrounded by knitters, a few card games, reindeer stories, and warm wool in hand. Feeling lucky.
Not just to be here, but to be here like this — in light, in laughter, and in very good company.
Colourful houses in Ny-Ålesund, Svalbard’s northernmost community.
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August 7 – At Sea (Again), Gourmet Delusions, and the Gentle Art of Keeping Busy
Today was a day at sea.
Arne swore one was enough. Just one. But here we are again, sailing through open water with nothing but sky and horizon — and honestly, we wouldn’t have it any other way.
These quiet stretches are part of the rhythm. They give the journey space to breathe. There’s no landscape rushing past the windows, no excursion to pack for. Just time — long, wide, and a little unstructured.
Still, we do like to keep ourselves slightly overoccupied, so we signed up for everything.
First: gourmet breakfast, because why not start strong? Then a three-course gourmet lunch, followed by a strategic nap, and later a five-course gourmet dinner. We’re hoping for appearances by Magdalena, the ship’s sourdough starter and spiritual anchor. Her bread continues to bring us joy and emotional stability.
There was also an arts and crafts workshop on the schedule. We didn’t ask what it was. We simply showed up. These are the choices we make on sea days.
Between lunch and dinner, there was an akvavit tasting. We considered it, briefly. But decided it might cost us our dignity — and after dessert, we’ll need what remains of that.
At some point, the ship passed near Bjørnøya, home to a small weather station. Tradition says you wave at the crew with tiny Norwegian flags. We briefly considered borrowing a few — not to wave hello, but to signal for help. Not serious help. Just a change of scenery. Or a board game.
Bjørnøya — halfway between mainland Norway and Svalbard.
We brought a yarn swift on board for our participants, but today we seriously debated rewinding all our personal yarn just to pass the time. Other ideas floated: restyling our outfits, rearranging the closet, or trying every shampoo sample we packed. We stared longingly at a 5000-piece puzzle in the library. It features fish. No one touched it. But we noticed.
There’s also a fitness room. We’ve never been inside. But today we paused outside it, considered Pilates, and walked on. Still, the moment was real.
Despite all this — or maybe because of it — we love these days. They’re absurd and peaceful at once. They offer something most travel doesn’t: the chance to do very little, together.
And so we knit, snack, chat, and gently unravel and rewind the day.
Magdalena is thriving. So are we.
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August 8 – Land, Lectures, and the Rib That Wasn’t
We woke to land. Actual, solid, unmoving land. After two days of nothing but sea and sky, it felt like spotting a dear old friend — the kind you didn’t realise you’d missed until they walked back into the room and said, “Well, here I am.”
Arne was beside himself. He announced the news to anyone who’d listen. Not once. Not twice. But in a steady loop all morning. (“Look! Land!”) Even people still in their cabins knew there was land, because Arne had already told them.
The other big event was our second lecture — this time on the history of traditional Norwegian colourwork knitting, with detours to Iceland, Shetland, the Faroes, Denmark, and, of course, Norway. We were in our element. The room was full, the questions were smart, and the applause at the end was warm enough to count as a standing ovation (without anyone having to actually stand).
Lunch was on deck 5 today, instead of our usual deck 8 with Magdalena watching over us from her post at the counter. We missed her. But at dinner, our sommelier Oscar solved that by bringing the entire jar to our table. There she sat, sourdough royalty, while we enjoyed her bread — soft, warm, and vanishing at record speed.
Dinner with Magdalena — the ship’s sourdough starter.
Somewhere between lunch and dinner, I perfected the art of doing nothing. My ankle is much better, though I’m not quite ready to let go of the last crutch. It has, after all, enforced a pleasant pace.
We also handed out the final clue of our mystery knit-along during yesterday’s sea day. There’s now a faint look of desperation in some eyes, knowing there are no more clues coming. Tomorrow in Lofoten, yarn shopping will no doubt spark a fresh round of projects. The mystery itself will stay under wraps — we’re planning to run it again in late September.
Arne, meanwhile, is still clawing his way back from a knitting mishap. What began as a single skipped row became 48 rounds unravelled — 12,096 stitches, gone. He claims he’ll be caught up by tonight. We’ll see.
In the evening, we set off on what was supposed to be a rib safari. Unfortunately, the rib had broken down. Five volunteers were offered a smaller metal boat instead — and naturally, we said yes. What followed was a slow, private loop around the fjord: just five of us, calm water, and the late Arctic light. The others, crammed into the working rib, sped off in spray and noise; we had space to breathe and chat.
The organiser felt so bad about the switch that he gave us the excursion for free. Now we have shipboard credit burning a hole in our pockets. The question is: do we spend on something entirely ridiculous in the gift shop?
At midnight, we sail away from Senja toward Stokmarknes in Vesterålen. Tomorrow is one of our favourite days of the voyage — and if the weather holds, it might just be perfect.
Wearing my new hat in soft, luxurious qiviut — knitted by my own hands.
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August 9 – Västerålen, Lofoten, and a Coffee Date in Henningsvær
We arrived in Stokmarknes, the capital of Västerålen, at 08:00 and stayed for two hours. Arne went ashore. I stayed on board — still pacing myself after the ankle injury — and decided it was a good moment to catch up on laundry.
To be clear, Arne actually started the laundry before he left. My contribution was retrieving it from the machine, folding everything neatly, and ironing a few shirts. I love an ironed shirt. The process felt calm and satisfying, especially with the steady hum of the ship in the background.
From Stokmarknes, we sailed through Raftsundet, one of the most beautiful stretches of coastline here. Västerålen and Lofoten are breathtaking — huge mountains rising straight from the ocean, as dramatic as any landscape we’ve ever seen.
After lunch, we arrived in Svolvær, the capital of Lofoten, and set off by bus with our entire group to Henningsvær, a charming fishing village. It has two yarn shops and one coffee shop — and naturally, we visited all three. At the coffee shop, we invited everyone for coffee and freshly baked buns.
Henningsvær — a charming fishing village in the Lofoten Islands.
I do wonder whether Magdalena will be jealous if she hears we’ve been enjoying other baked goods. She hasn’t seen us today, so we’ll find out tomorrow whether the bread has… changed.
It was a lovely afternoon, but I was still a little tired from yesterday and dozed off on the bus ride back. Apparently, in that time I missed an important announcement: tomorrow at 14:00, our entire group is having a portrait taken. I suppose I’ll find something to wear.
This evening, we had dinner and attended the ship’s auction, where Hurtigruten raises money for organisations doing meaningful work. A few years ago, I bid on (and won) a map, so I’ve technically contributed before. Tonight there was a nice flag, but nothing I felt compelled to compete for. If it doesn’t sell, I might take it — but probably not.
Tomorrow we’re headed to Brønnøysund. Traditionally, I climb Torghatten — the mountain with the hole in it — but that’s not happening this year, rain or no rain. This has been a slower cruise for me: a lot of elevators, a lot of sitting, and a lot of resting my feet. Necessary, but admittedly… a little boring.
Still, slowing down has its own kind of view. There’s time to notice the way the light changes across the water, the sound of knitting needles in the lounge, and the rhythm of the ship itself. It’s not the same as climbing a mountain — but in its own way, it’s just as much a part of the journey.
P.S. Yesterday, Arne unravelled 12,096 stitches after missing a row. He’s reknit 7,056 so far — only 5,040 to go.
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August 10 – Trolls, Torghatten, and Three Seasick Pills
We woke up in Brønnøysund, having crossed the Arctic Circle sometime in the night. Normally this would be the day to climb Torghatten – the mountain with a hole straight through it – but with Carlos still on crutches, that was firmly off the table. Torghatten will have to keep its secrets for now. In the meantime, we stayed on board, waving off the more able-footed members of our group. They returned later with reports of a closed second-hand shop, a tantalisingly out-of-reach vintage Barbie doll in the window, and confirmation that we weren’t missing much… apart from the mountain with a hole in it, of course. Arne has made a note to investigate the Barbie further when we return in October.
Before the waves began in the afternoon, Arne sat down with the photos he had taken the day before in Trollfjorden and began drawing trolls into them. He is convinced they live there, hidden in plain sight, and wanted to identify a few. The results were, shall we say, convincing – you can judge for yourself.
At lunch, the crew warned us of larger waves expected between 16:30 and 18:30. This suited us perfectly, as our dinner was booked for 18:30. Arne, who is quick to feel seasick, took the full day’s allowance of three pills, then promptly fell asleep and slept through the weather entirely. Less knitting for him that afternoon, but arguably a better outcome than the alternative.
Dinner was delightful. We shared a table with several from our group – many laughs, many nice moments, and plenty of delicious food. Magdalena made an appearance but had serious competition from brioche. Since brioche is not baked using Magdalena’s sourdough starter, we worried she might cause a scene. But she proved herself a generous spirit: even if she wasn’t number one during dinner, she arrived later, as happy as ever. The relationship between Carlos, myself, and Magdalena remains as strong as ever. And as it turns out, Magdalena is more versatile than we realised. She also appeared on our plates as part of a ceviche – deep-fried and perched on top like a golden crown. It was stunning. So good.
After dinner, we headed to 1893 – the bar on board – for an evening of knitting with the group. There was another quiz. Arne may have won the first music quiz, but this time we left in shame: three Norwegians in our team and we still didn’t manage more than half the questions right. Then again, a knitting cruise is all about generosity… so naturally, we let someone else win.
Tomorrow will be our last full day of the cruise, and it promises to be a grand finale. We’ll visit Ålesund – one of the most beautiful, if not the most beautiful, cities in Norway – completely rebuilt after a devastating fire in the elegant curves and flourishes of Art Nouveau. From there, we’ll sail into the majestic Hjørundfjorden, one of Norway’s most breathtaking fjords. And then, inevitably, there will be packing. This will be done with a tear or two in our eyes, as we can hardly believe this incredible journey is nearly at an end.
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