“We’re about to go where no other Swan Hellenic cruise ship has ever been,” says our expedition leader, Richard, as he points to a spot on the map known as Snow Hill Island. “Conditions are in our favour, and we can manoeuvre through the ice. This is going to be an adventure.”
An adventure it is. The next day, I wake up to a literal ice bath; beneath my balcony, huge white slabs scatter the water in lily pad formations, cracked and fissured like sugar icing on a cake, hissing and crackling as the chunks break and crumble.
