Cruise
Exploring East Greenland Aboard Vikingfjord: A Journey with Secret Atlas
by Olivia Liveng, photography, Paul Goldstein
The first glimpse of East Greenland through the windows of our chartered Icelandair flight from Reykjavik was unforgettable. Snow-capped peaks rose like jagged teeth, piercing the Arctic sky. Vast, untouched fjords stretched below us, their icy waters glittering in the pale light of a far-northern autumn. For me, this wasn’t just another trip—it was the adventure of a lifetime. I was about to spend several days aboard the MV Vikingfjord, a 12-person expedition vessel, exploring the remote wilderness of East Greenland with Secret Atlas, a company known for its intimate, eco-conscious micro cruises.
What is a Micro Cruise?
Micro cruises, such as the one I embarked on with Secret Atlas, offer a unique and exclusive experience. With a small group of like-minded travelers, usually no more than 12-15 passengers, these cruises take you on an immersive, low-impact journey to some of the world’s most remote and fragile environments. This is not a typical cruise with shopping malls and crowded decks; instead, it’s a profoundly personal and sustainable experience. Every activity feels exclusive, and each moment in the landscape is fully appreciated without the rush of mass tourism. On the Vikingfjord, this small size allowed us to disembark quickly onto the fjords and glaciers, and we could explore areas that larger ships could never reach.
Beyond the logistics, the intimacy of a micro cruise fosters a deeper connection to the environment and wildlife. There is no fighting for space or time to get a good view; everyone can enjoy the landscape in their own time. For photographers, this smaller group dynamic means more opportunities to capture that perfect shot—whether it’s a fleeting glimpse of Arctic wildlife or the ever-changing hues of the sky at sunset.
Life Onboard the Vikingfjord
Once aboard the Vikingfjord, I was struck by the ship’s atmosphere. Unlike the large, commercial cruises that whisk hundreds of people through the Arctic with schedules that feel more like theme park itineraries, Vikingfjord offered something different: space, quiet, and deep immersion in the landscape. Secret Atlas prides itself on low-impact travel, and this ethos was palpable from the start. The small group size meant that every disembarkation, every photo opportunity, and every wildlife sighting felt personal and unrushed. More importantly, it was a constant reminder of our responsibility to the environment and the importance of conservation in our travel experiences.
One of the photography guides for the trip was Virgil Reglioni, an award-winning polar landscape and Northern Lights photographer and conservationist with much experience in polar regions. Before joining the trip, I had read about his energy and passion, but nothing could have prepared me for what I experienced. Virgil’s enthusiasm was infectious. He had an uncanny ability to spot wildlife in the distance, often long before the rest of us could. And his commitment to his craft was relentless—if the light were right, we would be out on deck at all hours, braving the chill Arctic wind to capture that perfect shot.
What set Virgil apart, though, was his dedication to teaching. Whether you were a seasoned photographer or a novice with a smartphone, Virgil’s goal was to help you see the landscape—and its inhabitants—through a new lens. He encouraged us to think about composition, light, and perspective and to push ourselves beyond the obvious. “Take risks,” he would say. “That’s where the magic happens.” More than once, I found myself lying on the frozen ground or precariously balancing on rocks to get a unique angle, following Virgil’s guidance with trust and excitement.
Chasing the Northern Lights
One of the moments that will stay with me forever was our first night aboard the Vikingfjord. The sky was clear, and there was a buzz of anticipation. We all knew what we were hoping for: the Northern Lights. As we sailed further into the fjord, the cold night air bit at our skin, but none of us seemed to care. We were bundled up, cameras ready, eyes scanning the sky.
And then, slowly, the show began.
At first, it was a faint, greenish glow on the horizon, almost imperceptible. But soon, the lights grew stronger, weaving and twisting like cosmic ribbons across the sky. The auroras danced above the fjord, reflecting off the icy waters below. I was mesmerized. I tried to capture it on camera—the long exposure shots allowing the colors to come alive—but more than anything, I just wanted to stand in awe of the natural spectacle unfolding above me.
Virgil was there with us, offering tips on photographing the auroras, but he also reminded us to take it in with our eyes and hearts, not just through the lens. “Sometimes,” he said, “the best memory is the one you don’t capture.” And he was right. The Northern Lights were more than just a beautiful phenomenon—they were a reminder of how small we are in this vast, majestic world.
An Adventure Abound in the Greenlandic Arctic
Our first full day on the water began early, with a thin veil of mist clinging to the fjord as we cruised deeper into the wilderness. The air was crisp, the sun still low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the mountains. Icebergs, some the size of small buildings, floated silently by, their surfaces glowing blue under the morning light. The stillness was profound—no engines, no human noise, just the occasional crack of distant ice shifting in the fjord.
On the second day, we first encountered Greenland’s wildlife. As we navigated a particularly narrow passage, our expedition leader spotted movement on a distant rocky shore—two musk oxen, their shaggy coats blending perfectly with the rugged terrain. We immediately dropped anchor, hopped into the small inflatable zodiacs, and headed ashore. This was my first time seeing musk oxen in the wild, and I was struck by their sheer size and ancient, almost prehistoric appearance. We were reminded to stay downwind and move slowly to avoid disturbing the animals, who continued grazing, seemingly unaware of our presence.
The thrill of being so close to such creatures in their natural habitat was indescribable. With only 12 passengers, our group moved quietly and respectfully, taking time to appreciate the wildlife and the vast emptiness surrounding us. It felt like we were the only people on earth.
Our days aboard the Vikingfjord followed a flexible routine—no rigid schedules, just a general sense of moving with the rhythms of nature. Some mornings, we woke to the ship anchored in the middle of a fjord, where towering cliffs rose steeply on either side, creating a cathedral-like atmosphere of solitude and grandeur. Other times, we would head out early in the zodiacs to explore hidden inlets, where waterfalls tumbled down icy slopes and the autumn colors of Arctic flora clung vibrantly to the landscape.
One of the most striking features of East Greenland is its glacial landscape, and no trip here would be complete without visiting the region’s iconic glaciers. On one particular day, we approached the edge of a massive glacier that crept slowly toward the sea, its crevasses gleaming in the sunlight. As we got closer, the scale of the glacier became almost overwhelming, a reminder of nature’s sheer power and the impermanence of even the most seemingly eternal landscapes. The sound of ice calving—chunks of the glacier breaking off and crashing into the water—echoed through the fjord, a stark reminder of the effects of climate change in this fragile environment.
Photography was a constant theme throughout the trip, with Virgil always providing tips, feedback, and encouragement. But for me, the experience was about more than just capturing the perfect shot—it was about slowing down, being present, and truly experiencing the beauty of this remote part of the world. Whether I was photographing the delicate light of an Arctic sunset or simply sitting in silence on the deck, watching the landscape pass by, I felt a profound connection to the place.
The Magic of the Arctic
In the evenings, after long days of exploration, we would gather in the cozy standard room aboard the Vikingfjord to share stories, review our photos, and discuss the day’s adventures. The small group size created a sense of camaraderie and shared purpose. We weren’t just tourists—we were travelers, adventurers, and, in our small way, stewards of the Arctic. Conversations would often turn to conservation, and the expedition leads spoke passionately about the need to protect these remote regions from the impacts of climate change and over-tourism. It was clear that for them, this trip was not just about photography or “checklist travel”—it was about raising awareness and inspiring others to care deeply for the polar regions.
When we returned to Constable Point, I felt changed in ways I hadn’t anticipated. The journey had been physically and mentally demanding, but it had also been deeply fulfilling. I had learned so much—not just about photography, but about the fragility and beauty of the Arctic and the importance of being mindful and respectful in such an environment. The small group size, the expert guidance of Virgil and the expedition leaders, and the pristine wilderness of East Greenland had combined to create an experience that felt intensely personal and transformative.
As we flew back over the ice-covered fjords, I thought about the lessons I would take home: to slow down, look closely, and appreciate the quiet beauty of the world’s wild places. The Vikingfjord may have been small, but the memories it created will stay with me for a lifetime.
