Svalbard

 In July of this year my father and I traveled as far north as is possible to go via commercial aircraft. We landed in Longyearbyen on the island of Svalbard and disembarked into an icy wind at the small airport. We were part of a National Geographic/Linblad expedition and were quickly hustled through the terminal into waiting buses. A short drive later (the island's roads are not extensive) and we were walking aboard National Geographic Explorer.
 As we sailed out of Isfjorden that night we realized how spectacular this place was - the sun was high still (and would never dip below the horizon during the whole trip) and the craggy, desolate terrain spilled into the water in a hurry. Thin strands of snow still in the rills of the hillsides ran vertically along steep black rock and eventually fed into massive tidewater glaciers calving bergs into the sea. The bergs mixed with pack ice and filled the ocean with a tapestry of shattered bits. The light played off of these pyramids of ice and open water in such a way to look almost tangible. You felt as if you could see the light falling through the sky, and see it bouncing back upwards after refracting off the ice. I know it sounds crazy but there is no adequate way to describe the high Arctic light and it is the elusive quest of many a professional photographer to capture it. It is enough to say that it has a magical, ethereal quality that plainly transfixes you. As a result, my Dad and I spent hour upon hour on the deck of the ship.