Journey to the Top of the World

The Last Great Unknown

In my travels, I have been fortunate to visit places that have long ignited the human imagination and my own—Timbuktu, Antarctica, the Himalayas, the Amazon and Lac Télé in the Congo. But the North and South Poles belong in a completely different category.

The poles are among the most remote, desolate and hostile places on Earth. These frozen worlds are so far from civilization that humans reached them only relatively recently.

During the heroic age of exploration in the 1800s and early 1900s, explorers ventured into the last unknown corners of the planet. Jungles were crossed, mountains climbed, deserts traversed and oceans charted. Yet the poles—the very top and bottom of the Earth—remained mysterious and almost unreachable.

This was an era before satellites, GPS and reliable radio communication. No one knew exactly what awaited explorers at the ends of the Earth.

The Race for the South Pole

The South Pole was the first pole to be reached. Both poles presented enormous challenges, but in one important way, the South Pole was more straightforward: it was located on land.

That land was buried beneath nearly two miles of ice and stood more than 9,000 feet above sea level. Because of the thin atmosphere, however, the physical effects could feel like being at an elevation of more than 11,000 feet. Temperatures commonly plunged far below zero.

As with many great expeditions, reaching the pole became a competition between explorers and nations seeking glory, riches and a place in history. Many of those who entered the polar regions met grisly fates, dying from exposure, starvation, disease or exhaustion. Still, there was never a shortage of men willing to gamble their lives.

Norwegian explorer Roald Amundsen and his team became the first people confirmed to have reached the South Pole, arriving on December 14, 1911. British explorer Robert Falcon Scott reached it several weeks later, only to discover that Amundsen had beaten him. Scott and his companions all died during their return journey.

The Mystery of the North Pole

The North Pole presented an entirely different challenge.

Unlike the South Pole, it does not sit on solid land. It lies in the middle of the Arctic Ocean, beneath constantly drifting sea ice. Wooden ships attempting to penetrate the Arctic were regularly trapped or crushed by the ice. Explorers could spend months—or even years—enduring darkness, starvation and unimaginable cold.

Even identifying the pole was difficult because the ice beneath an expedition was always moving.

American explorer Robert Peary claimed to have reached the North Pole in 1909. His claim was accepted for many years, but doubts about his navigation records and reported speeds have never been completely resolved.

In 1926, Roald Amundsen, who previously was the first to reach the South Pole, Umberto Nobile and their crew flew over the North Pole aboard the airship Norge. This is widely regarded as the first verified journey to the North Pole.

The first confirmed surface expedition arrived in 1968, when American Ralph Plaisted and his team reached the pole by snowmobile. The following year, British explorer Wally Herbert completed the first undisputed journey to the North Pole on foot, assisted by dogsleds.

My Chance to Reach the Pole

For generations, the North Pole has captured the imagination of explorers. Many suffered terribly—and died—trying to reach it.

Now I had the chance to make the same journey aboard a Russian nuclear-powered icebreaker. The ship eliminated many of the historic dangers: becoming trapped in the ice, having the hull crushed, starving for months or being eaten by polar bears. Also, instead of months or years, my journey would only take 12 days round trip from Murmansk, Russia.

Visiting the North Pole had always seemed about as realistic to me as traveling to the Moon. The extreme cost and complicated logistics made it feel nearly impossible. When an unexpected opportunity appeared, I knew I could not turn it down.

And reaching the North Pole would be only one part of what made this journey so memorable.

Choosing a Route to the North Pole

Aside from organizing your own expedition with the spare couple of million dollars you have tucked beneath your mattress—and accepting the dangers that claimed so many earlier explorers—there are two established ways for travelers to reach the North Pole in relative safety and comfort.

Neither option is cheap, but both are considerably less expensive than mounting your own polar expedition.

Two Routes to the Top of the World

The first route begins in Svalbard, the remote Norwegian archipelago deep inside the Arctic Circle. From there, travelers sail north aboard the French expedition ship Le Commandant Charcot, one of the world’s most powerful polar vessels. Unlike the Russian ship, it is not nuclear-powered; it uses a hybrid system powered by liquefied natural gas and electricity.

The second route begins in Murmansk, on Russia’s Arctic Kola Peninsula. From there, travelers board 50 Years of Victory, one of the largest and most powerful nuclear icebreakers ever built. The journey crosses the Arctic Ocean to the North Pole and includes a visit to Franz Josef Land, the world’s northernmost archipelago.

For me, the choice was simple. My friends traveling with me agreed: we would take the Russian route.

Why I Chose Russia

I had already visited Svalbard, and after traveling to every country in the world, Russia remained one of my favorites.

This route would give me another opportunity to experience the country, beginning with Saint Petersburg—Russia’s grand answer to the great cities of Europe—and continuing to Murmansk, the largest city north of the Arctic Circle.

More than anything, however, I wanted to visit Franz Josef Land. I had seen this isolated archipelago on maps for years but never imagined I would actually set foot there. Its glacier-covered islands, abandoned polar stations and location at the edge of the permanent Arctic ice made it one of the most mysterious places left on Earth.

Aboard a Working Nuclear Icebreaker

I also wanted to make the journey aboard a Russian nuclear icebreaker. Russia pioneered nuclear-powered icebreaking and became famous for building enormous ships capable of crushing through Arctic ice that would stop almost any other vessel.

What made 50 Years of Victory especially appealing was knowing that this was not simply a cruise ship built for tourists. It was a working icebreaker, operated by a crew whose primary job was navigating the Russian Arctic.

For most of the year, the ship and its crew escorted cargo vessels and merchant ships through ice-covered Arctic shipping routes. Only during a short window in summer was the icebreaker used for tourist expeditions to the North Pole. These voyages made use of the ship during the Arctic summer and generated revenue to help offset some of the enormous cost of operating a nuclear-powered vessel.

The crew did not spend the year serving cruise passengers. They spent it breaking paths through Arctic ice and guiding commercial ships through waters that would otherwise be nearly impossible to navigate. We would be passengers aboard their working ship, briefly entering a world in which they operated for most of the year.

Our ship was originally laid down in 1989, during the final years of the Soviet Union. It was later renamed 50 Years of Victory to commemorate the 50th anniversary of the Soviet victory over Nazi Germany in World War II.

Even the ship itself was part of the adventure. Traveling aboard one of the most powerful icebreakers ever constructed—through Franz Josef Land and onward to the North Pole—felt like the only way I wanted to make this journey.

Traveling Through a Country at War

Beyond all these reasons, Russia was engaged in the bloodiest war Europe had experienced since World War II. I wanted to see firsthand how the war with Ukraine was affecting everyday life inside Russia and, if possible, hear directly from Russians about what they were experiencing.

This added another complicated dimension to an expedition that was already unlike anything I had done before.

My route from home to the North Pole

Visiting Russia During a Time of War

Traveling to the North Pole through Russia presented challenges that went far beyond ice and weather.

Relations between Russia and the United States were especially strained because of the war in Ukraine and American support for the Ukrainian government. Sanctions imposed by the United States and other countries made it difficult to send money to Russia or access money once there. American credit cards and ATM cards did not work, so nearly every expense had to be planned and paid for in advance or covered with cash.

The sanctions also complicated our travel arrangements. Flights to and from Russia—as well as domestic flights within the country—could not be purchased normally from the United States using American credit cards. Our Russian flights had to be purchased from inside Russia, adding another logistical hurdle to a trip that was already difficult to organize.

Communication presented another challenge. Services I normally relied upon while traveling—including Facebook and other Western platforms—were blocked or unreliable. WhatsApp access was uncertain, and my regular American phone service worked poorly, when it worked at all.

Traveling Beyond Politics

Visiting a country at odds with the United States government was nothing new for me. I had traveled to Afghanistan as one of the first American tourists to visit after the Taliban returned to power. I had also visited Iran, Libya under Muammar Qaddafi, North Korea and several other countries with strained or openly hostile relations with the United States.

Those experiences had taught me the importance of careful research, respecting local laws and remaining aware of the political environment around me. They had also reinforced something I had witnessed throughout my travels: most people are capable of separating individual civilians from the actions of their governments.

I hoped Russians would make that same distinction with us. We were not arriving as representatives of the United States government or its policies. We were travelers who wanted to experience their country, meet its people and journey through the Russian Arctic.

The Russian Visa

I knew Americans were still permitted to visit Russia, but obtaining a visa was no longer a simple or predictable process.

Before the war, a Russian visa could sometimes be processed relatively quickly. Now I expected it to take more than a month, with no guarantee that it would be approved. In the end, obtaining my visa through the Russian Consulate in Houston took nearly two months.

Receiving the visa was a major relief, but it did not eliminate my biggest concern: what would happen when I reached Russian immigration?

Preparing for Immigration

The experiences reported by American travelers varied dramatically. Some entered Russia without any difficulty. Others described being detained and questioned for hours, having their phones searched for messages or material related to Ukraine, or having their phones temporarily seized. A few travelers reported being denied entry and deported.

In the back of my mind was also the possibility—however remote—of being detained and used as leverage during a period of intense political hostility, as other Americans had been.

My goal was to follow every rule and ensure that neither my friends nor I gave the authorities any reason to question us. We did not have Ukrainian contacts or sensitive material on our phones, but I still carefully reviewed everything I planned to bring into the country.

I even left my Ambien at home. I often carried it to help me sleep on long flights, but zolpidem was regulated in Russia and could require specific medical documentation. It was not worth introducing an unnecessary complication.

Americans Traveling on Dominica Passports

Another unusual element added to the uncertainty. My friends were American citizens, but they would be entering Russia with passports from Dominica—which, strangely enough, allowed them to visit Russia without visas.

We joked that they might be among the first Dominica passport holders ever to visit Russia. They were almost certainly among very few to travel aboard a Russian nuclear icebreaker—and perhaps the first to carry Dominica passports all the way to the North Pole.

None of us knew exactly how Russian immigration officials would react to three Americans arriving together, one carrying a Russian visa and two traveling visa-free on passports from a tiny Caribbean island.

It was one more uncertainty in a journey filled with them.

The Hardest Part of Leaving

Departing for this trip was not easy. It would be the longest I had been away from my daughter since she was born, and I was not happy about it.

Once aboard the ship, communication with my family would be almost nonexistent. Bringing a personal satellite communicator into Russia involved restrictions and risks I was unwilling to take. There would be no regular phone service or WhatsApp in the middle of the Arctic Ocean.

The ship had a satellite phone in the radio room near the bridge, but calls were extremely expensive and only available during limited hours. Because of the time difference, those hours generally fell in the middle of the night back home in San Diego.

I knew I would struggle with separation anxiety and with being unable to see or speak regularly with my family. Of all the uncertainties surrounding the expedition, being cut off from my wife and daughter concerned me the most.

When it was finally time to leave for the airport, my daughter cried and begged me not to go. Watching her cry made an already difficult departure even harder.

I carried a small money belt she had decorated for me at school. On the front was a painted shark made from the shape of her handprint. It was a simple object, but in the farthest reaches of the Arctic, it would give me something tangible to hold and remind me of her.

The Journey Begins

My journey began with a Lufthansa flight from San Diego to Munich and the flashy AI-created itinerary shown below. I would soon learn just how quickly that carefully planned itinerary could change.

I was supposed to have an almost eight-hour layover in Munich before continuing to Istanbul. Instead, an unexpected diversion consumed nearly all of it. I came dangerously close to missing my connecting flight—and possibly the entire North Pole expedition.

The reason for the diversion was something I had never experienced during more than 1.5 million miles of flying: a passenger died aboard the plane.

A Death on the Airplane Over Canada

By an extraordinary coincidence, I was seated beside a doctor and her husband. Earlier in the flight, we had been talking about medical emergencies aboard airplanes. She told me that she always responded when the crew asked for medical assistance and hoped there would not be an emergency on this flight.

Several hours later, while we were flying through the night over a remote part of northern Canada, an announcement came over the intercom asking whether any medical professionals were aboard.

The doctor beside me immediately got up to help.

For more than an hour, she and a firefighter desperately tried to save a man in first class. They performed CPR, used the plane’s automated external defibrillator and administered emergency medication. Nearby, the man’s wife and two 11-year-old daughters could do nothing but watch.

Eventually, the doctor returned to her seat. She quietly told me that despite everything they had tried, the man had died.

Moments later, the captain announced that a passenger had passed away and that we would divert to Chicago—the nearest suitable major airport—so the man and his family could leave the aircraft.

A Layover Lost—but Put Into Perspective

The diversion consumed almost all of my eight-hour layover in Munich and placed my connection to Istanbul in jeopardy. Missing that flight could have disrupted every carefully arranged stage of my journey to Russia and the North Pole.

Yet neither I nor anyone else had any right to grumble. A family had just experienced an unimaginable tragedy. Whatever inconvenience the diversion caused us was insignificant compared with what they were enduring.

I barely made my connection in Munich and eventually arrived in Istanbul. I checked into the airport hotel, slept for the night and met my friends Richard and Wes the following morning.

Together, we would continue onward to Russia.

The itinerary below is the one I had planned before leaving San Diego, but the realities of travel would make several changes to it.

My planned trip itinerary I created with AI

Flying Into Saint Petersburg, Russia

My friends and I departed Istanbul early the following morning on a Turkish Airlines flight to Saint Petersburg. Since the invasion of Ukraine, most European airlines had stopped serving Russia, and many Western carriers no longer flew through Russian airspace. Turkey remained one of the few practical gateways into the country, along with Serbia and several countries outside Western Europe.

Our route avoided Ukrainian airspace, making the flight longer than it would have been before the war. Ukraine is a vast country located directly between Turkey and western Russia, so flying around it required a considerable detour.

There was also the possibility of a delay or cancellation caused by Ukrainian drone attacks. During the weeks before our trip, Ukraine had launched long-range drones at Russian infrastructure near Saint Petersburg, more than a thousand miles from Ukrainian-controlled territory. When authorities detected a possible attack, Russia sometimes temporarily closed the airspace around the city.

The paranoid worrier in me imagined our plane approaching Saint Petersburg just as a drone appeared in its path, ending our journey in a midair explosion.

Thankfully, the flight was completely uneventful. We landed without delays, encountered no drones and proceeded directly to immigration.

No Issues Entering Russia

After all my worrying about interrogations, phone searches and the possibility of being denied entry, Russian immigration could not have been easier. The officers asked us no unusual questions, and we entered the country without any problems.

All the anxiety I had carried with me vanished within minutes.

We headed directly to the hotel that had been booked for us near the airport. Wes and I dropped off our bags, but it was still early and we had most of the day ahead of us.

At Saint Petersburg’s northern latitude, the summer sun would remain in the sky until late in the evening. Rather than waste those hours inside an airport hotel, we set out to make the most of our limited time in the city’s historic center.

Peter the Great’s Window to Europe

Saint Petersburg was founded by Peter the Great in 1703 during Russia’s war against the Swedish Empire. Peter sought to modernize Russia, build a powerful navy and establish a major port on the Baltic Sea that would connect his country more directly with Europe.

After defeating Sweden and gaining control of territory along the Baltic coast, Peter ordered a new city to be constructed on marshland beside the Neva River. Thousands of laborers endured brutal, disease-ridden conditions to build his new capital from the mud.

The city became known as Russia’s “window to Europe.” Its grand palaces, canals and European-style architecture were intended to represent Peter’s vision of a modern Russia looking westward.

Saint Petersburg eventually replaced Moscow as the capital of the Russian Empire. It became the center of the Romanov monarchy, where Catherine the Great and generations of later emperors ruled from extravagant palaces.

That era ended with the Russian Revolution and the fall of the Romanov dynasty. In 1918, the Bolshevik government moved the capital back to Moscow.

More than three centuries after its founding, the city still bears Peter’s name and remains Russia’s most European-looking city.

Exploring Saint Petersburg

We used a Russian ride-share app to get around and had no problems exploring the city. Once we reached the historic center, we continued mostly on foot, walking streets lined with some of Russia’s most beautiful and historically important buildings.

It quickly became obvious that Saint Petersburg required far more than a single day to explore properly. With limited time, we had to concentrate on only a few places.

We focused on the imperial world of the Romanovs, including the magnificent palaces and collections associated with Catherine the Great. We also sought out sites connected to one of the strangest characters in Russian history: Grigori Rasputin.

The Siberian mystic and self-proclaimed healer became remarkably close to the Romanov family, particularly Empress Alexandra, who believed he could help her seriously ill son. Rasputin was equally famous for his bizarre behavior, religious mysticism, alleged drunken excesses and reputation as an insatiable womanizer. His influence over the imperial family made him one of the most controversial figures in the final years of the Russian Empire.

A City Without Western Tourists

The streets were bustling with Russians, but we saw few, if any, Western tourists.

The staff at our hotel told us that Western visitors had been common before the war. As with many sensitive subjects in Russia, they did not necessarily call it “the war.” Instead, people often spoke of life “before 2022,” using the year itself to mark the dividing line between the Russia that existed before the invasion and the more isolated country that followed.

Despite reports of fuel shortages caused by Ukrainian attacks on Russian refineries, we noticed no obvious signs of a shortage in Saint Petersburg. Traffic moved normally, ride-share cars were readily available and daily life appeared to be continuing without interruption.

Still, we understood that we were seeing Russia only from the surface. Fuel shortages were not distributed equally across such an enormous country, and some regions were affected far more than others. As tourists spending a single day in the city, we had no real understanding of the pressures Russians might experience in their everyday lives.

Even from that brief visit, however, I could tell that I liked Saint Petersburg. It felt very different from Moscow and the other parts of Russia I had visited—more elegant, more European and completely deserving of a much longer stay.

Saint Petersburg, with its canals and unique architecture, felt like Amsterdam and a mix of other European cities

The city is flush with decorated old buildings with grand architecture but there is also evidence of drab communist era architecture throughout the city and Lenin statues

Church of the Savior on Spilled Blood where Tsar Alexandar II was assisinated

The Strange Story of Rasputin

Before the trip, I read as much as I could about the history of my destinations, as I try to do before every trip. One part of the history of Saint Petersburg that fascinated me more than any other was the strange life and death of Grigori Rasputin.

Until then, I knew only that Rasputin was considered a madman who had developed a mysterious relationship with the Romanov family after seemingly helping their seriously ill son. I also knew him from the 1970s disco song, Rasputin, and the lyrics from the song describing Rasputin as “Russia’s greatest love machine.”

The more I read, the stranger his story became.

The Mad Monk

Rasputin was a peasant and religious wanderer from Siberia who traveled through Russia preaching, praying and offering spiritual guidance. Although he became known as the “Mad Monk,” he was never actually an ordained monk or priest.

His piercing stare, charisma and reputation for possessing supernatural powers attracted devoted followers. Stories circulated that he belonged to a secret religious sect whose members believed that debauchery could bring a person closer to God. Tales of drunkenness, orgies and religious rituals followed him everywhere.

Rasputin also developed a reputation for seducing his female followers. Some women sought him out because they believed his touch or prayers could cure illness and infertility. Whether he possessed any genuine healing abilities remains impossible to know, but his reputation eventually carried him into the inner circle of Russia’s imperial family.

Rasputin and the Romanovs

Tsar Nicholas II and Empress Alexandra’s only son, Alexei, suffered from hemophilia, a potentially fatal disorder that prevented his blood from clotting properly. Alexandra became convinced that Rasputin possessed the power to ease the boy’s suffering.

On several occasions, Alexei’s condition appeared to improve after Rasputin intervened. One possible explanation is that Rasputin discouraged the royal doctors from treating the boy with aspirin. At the time, doctors did not yet fully understand that aspirin thinned the blood and could make the symptoms of hemophilia considerably worse.

Whatever the real explanation, Alexandra believed Rasputin had saved her son. Her trust gave him extraordinary access to the imperial family and a level of political influence that alarmed members of the Russian aristocracy.

His growing power, scandalous reputation and bizarre behavior created jealousy and suspicion at a time when the Romanov monarchy was already losing the confidence of the Russian people. There was even a suspicion spreading among the public that Rasputin was sleeping with the princess.

The Murder of Rasputin

In December 1916, a group of aristocrats led by Prince Felix Yusupov lured Rasputin to the Yusupov Palace and murdered him.

According to the famous version of the story, the conspirators served Rasputin cakes and wine laced with cyanide. When the poison apparently failed to affect him, they shot him. Rasputin then supposedly rose from the floor, attacked his killers and attempted to escape before being shot again, beaten and thrown into the freezing Neva River, where he finally drowned.

Legend also holds that Rasputin predicted the Romanov family would not survive for two years if members of the nobility killed him. Whether the prophecy was authentic is disputed, but the timing was chilling. Less than two years after Rasputin’s death, Nicholas II, Alexandra and their children were executed by the Bolsheviks in a basement in Yekaterinburg.

Rasputin was dead, but his legend was only beginning.

Searching for Rasputin’s Pickled Penis

Even one of Rasputin’s most intimate body parts supposedly survived him.

A bizarre relic displayed in Saint Petersburg was claimed to be Rasputin’s preserved penis. According to one version of the story, it had been removed from his body after his murder and preserved as a fertility relic. Other accounts suggested that the object belonged to an animal—possibly a sea creature or a donkey. Regardless of its authenticity, I had to see it for some strange reason.

Given my tendency to seek out the world’s strangest attractions, Wes and I set off to visit places associated with Rasputin. Our plans included the Yusupov Palace, where he was assassinated, and the Museum of Erotica, where his alleged pickled penis had reportedly been displayed.

Our search led us into a shopping mall and then inside a bizarre sex shop filled with sex toys, leather outfits, whips, chains and other objects I will leave to the imagination.

A man working at the entrance spoke some English and offered us a tour of the museum. He enthusiastically explained that the experience was “interactive.”

I looked past him and saw a collection of sex dolls and other exhibits. With no interest in the interactive tour, I asked him the only question that mattered.

“Do you still have Rasputin’s penis?”

He smiled and told us that a Chinese businessman had purchased it. It was gone.

Just like that, our pursuit of Rasputin’s pickled penis came to an end. We declined the interactive tour—and to this day, I still do not know what he meant by “interactive.”

From Rasputin to the Hermitage

With Rasputin’s alleged relic no longer available to admire, we returned to the more respectable side of Russian culture.

We continued to the State Hermitage Museum, founded by Catherine the Great in 1764 and housed partly inside the spectacular Winter Palace. Its enormous collection contains millions of objects, including masterpieces by some of the greatest artists in history.

Rasputin with a gathering of women

Inside the State Hermitage Museum

The Winter Palace would be an extraordinary place even without the artwork. Its elaborate architecture, grand staircases and richly decorated rooms offer a glimpse into the immense wealth of Russia’s imperial rulers.

Today, the palace forms the centerpiece of the State Hermitage Museum, one of the largest and greatest museums in the world.

Heritage Museum Square

Hermitage Museum/Catherine the Greats Summer Palace

Hermitage Museum/Catherine the Greats Summer Palace

Catherine the Great’s Collection

The Hermitage traces its beginnings to 1764, when Catherine the Great began acquiring paintings from across Europe. What began as her private collection eventually expanded to include approximately three million works of art and historical objects.

The scale of the collection is almost impossible to comprehend. A popular claim says that seeing every object for only a minute would still require years. Visitors can walk for miles through room after room and see only a fraction of what the museum possesses.

Its treasures extend far beyond paintings. We passed sculptures, royal possessions and archaeological artifacts from ancient Greece, Egypt, Russia and civilizations throughout the world.

Seeing My First Rembrandt

This was also the first time I had ever stood in front of an original painting by Rembrandt. His masterpieces are among the most valuable paintings in existence, with some considered virtually priceless.

What impressed me most was the humanity of his work. His use of light, shadow and facial expression made his subjects appear alive rather than frozen on a canvas. These were not simply portraits of people; they revealed personality, age and emotion in a way that helped transform Western art.

One of the most remarkable paintings in the gallery was Rembrandt’s Danaë. Its survival was almost as extraordinary as the painting itself.

In 1985, a visitor threw sulfuric acid across the canvas and slashed it twice with a knife. The acid severely damaged the central figure, particularly her face, hair, arm and legs.

Museum conservators began trying to save the painting that same day. The painstaking restoration took 12 years to complete, and Danaë finally returned to public display in 1997.

It now hangs behind protective glass. Looking at it, it was difficult to believe that one of Rembrandt’s greatest works had come so close to being destroyed forever.

A Gift From Napoleon’s Former Wife

One small object stood out to me among all the enormous paintings and lavish rooms: the Gonzaga Cameo, an ancient carved gemstone believed to date from the third century BC.

The cameo had once belonged to Joséphine de Beauharnais, Napoleon’s former wife. After Napoleon’s defeat, Tsar Alexander I visited Joséphine at her home outside Paris and offered her his protection and assistance. In gratitude, she presented him with the cameo.

I found the gesture fascinating. Here was Napoleon’s former wife giving one of her greatest treasures to the Russian tsar whose armies had helped defeat him. Perhaps it was an act of diplomacy, gratitude or self-preservation—or some combination of all three.

More than two centuries later, the gift remained in Russia, displayed inside the former palace of its emperors.

Our Final Night in Saint Petersburg

We spent several hours exploring the Hermitage, but even that allowed us to see only a tiny portion of its collection.

After leaving the museum, we found a local restaurant serving regional Russian food. We ate dinner, tried some local beer and reflected on a day that had taken us from Rasputin’s alleged pickled penis to one of the greatest collections of art in the world.

We then returned to our hotel for the night. The following morning, we would fly north to Murmansk and move one step closer to the Arctic Ocean—and the North Pole.

Extravagant architecture inside the palace

Extravagant architecture inside the palace

Ornate Library

Egyptian bathtub made of gold and decorated with obsidian snakes

Gold buggy used by royal family

Rembrandt Danaë Painting

Flying North to Murmansk

The following morning, we flew from Saint Petersburg to Murmansk on an Aeroflot flight operated by one of its affiliated airlines. Our aircraft was a Russian-built Sukhoi Superjet 100.

Because of our Russian travel agent’s status with the airline, we were assigned seats at the front of the aircraft in business class. The experience was not dramatically different from economy. We sat in ordinary seats with a curtain separating us from the cabin behind, although we received an extra snack, bottled water and more attention from the flight attendant.

The flight lasted almost two hours. Through the window, we watched the landscape below gradually change from countless lakes and dense boreal forest to the increasingly treeless tundra of Russia’s far north.

We eventually landed above the Arctic Circle in Murmansk, the largest city in the world located north of that imaginary line.

An Arctic Heat Wave

I expected Murmansk to be cold, even in July. As we prepared to leave the plane, the pilot announced that the temperature outside was 29 degrees.

We instinctively assumed he meant Fahrenheit.

Through the window, we could see Russian ground workers wearing T-shirts and short sleeves. Our first thought was that these were simply tough Russians accustomed to working outside in the Arctic cold.

The moment we stepped off the plane, however, we were hit by a blast of warm, humid air unlike anything I had ever experienced in the Arctic.

The captain had meant 29 degrees Celsius—about 84 degrees Fahrenheit. Murmansk was experiencing an unusual heat wave, with temperatures approaching 90 degrees.

We would later see locals flocking to lakes and coastal waters to swim and escape the heat. Because sustained heat is so unusual this far north, many buildings had no air-conditioning. At our hotel, we could do little more than open the windows and try to adjust to the strangely tropical-feeling Arctic weather.

Unexpected Questions at the Airport

Before reaching our hotel, we had to meet the driver we had arranged for the approximately 40-minute journey into Murmansk.

As soon as we passed through the baggage-claim area, however, several Russian security officials spotted us and waved us over. They already knew our names and appeared to have been waiting for us.

They asked a few questions about why we had come to Murmansk. I answered simply: we were going to the North Pole.

I showed them our itinerary, and they asked to make a copy. The officials remained professional throughout the encounter and explained that Americans did not arrive in Murmansk every day, so they needed to complete a security check.

They told us that before 2022, Western visitors had commonly traveled to Murmansk. Now they were a rarity.

As elsewhere in Russia, “before 2022” was the phrase people often used. They did not have to mention the war. Everyone understood what the year represented.

After a short conversation, the officials allowed us to continue without any problems.

First Impressions of Murmansk

We met our driver outside and began the journey into the city.

My first impression of Murmansk was of a place caught between different eras. Some areas contained attractive European-style buildings, while others were dominated by drab Soviet apartment blocks. Near the port, we passed weathered industrial structures and abandoned-looking buildings that reflected the city’s long history as a remote Arctic shipping center.

Once we reached the hotel, Wes and I checked into our rooms, dropped off our bags and set out to explore.

Changing Money on the Street

Our first task was exchanging money. Because American ATM and credit cards did not work in Russia, we had brought cash with us.

We found local money changers standing outside what had once been a McDonald’s. They were easy to recognize by the white waist packs they wore in front, filled with the cash needed to conduct their business.

McDonald’s had withdrawn from Russia after the invasion of Ukraine and sold its Russian operations. The restaurants reopened under a Russian name with new branding, although from the outside, the experience appeared almost identical to McDonald’s.

It was another small example of how Russia had adapted to Western companies and brands leaving the country. The familiar business remained, but the Western name had disappeared.

With rubles in our pockets, we continued exploring Murmansk.

Soviet era bloc apartment buildings

Two Nights in Murmansk

We spent two nights in Murmansk, having deliberately arrived a day early as a buffer in case our flight was delayed. Missing the departure of our icebreaker would have meant missing the entire expedition.

That precaution was especially important during the war. Ukrainian drone attacks were regularly forcing Russian airports to close their airspace, sometimes creating delays lasting many hours.

Our flight arrived on schedule, but some expedition passengers flying from Moscow were delayed for eight hours after heavy drone activity temporarily disrupted operations there. Our extra night in Murmansk suddenly seemed like a very wise decision.

Our Hotel in the City Center

We stayed at the Cosmos Murmansk Hotel, one of the city’s nicer hotels. Its central location placed us near the train station and within walking distance of many of Murmansk’s main sights.

It was also conveniently close to an Irish pub, where we ended up spending a fair amount of time.

I had hoped to leave the city and explore some of the surrounding Arctic countryside. I was particularly interested in meeting Russia’s Indigenous Sámi reindeer herders. I had encountered Sámi communities in Norway and wanted to learn how their lives and traditions differed on the Russian side of the border.

Unfortunately, our American bank cards did not work, and we could not simply withdraw more money. We had to conserve the dollars we had brought and remain focused on the North Pole expedition, which was the main purpose of the trip.

Instead of traveling into the countryside, we explored Murmansk on foot.

Murmansk’s Monument to the Soviet Arctic

One of the city’s most impressive landmarks stood on a hill overlooking Murmansk.

Officially called the Memorial to the Defenders of the Soviet Arctic during the Great Patriotic War, the monument is commonly known as “Alyosha.” Dedicated in 1974, its massive stone soldier rises more than 100 feet above the hilltop.

The memorial honors the Soviet soldiers, sailors and airmen who defended the Arctic against Nazi Germany during World War II. From its elevated position, the soldier looks out over Murmansk, the surrounding hills and the waters of Kola Bay.

Russia contains countless enormous memorials to what it calls the Great Patriotic War, but this was one of the most impressive World War II monuments I had seen anywhere in the country.

Meeting Another American

At the hotel, we met Bill, the only other American traveling aboard our icebreaker.

Together, we headed down to the waterfront one morning to see the nuclear icebreaker Lenin. Launched in 1957, Lenin was the world’s first nuclear-powered surface ship and the first civilian vessel propelled by nuclear power.

It was the predecessor of the enormous nuclear icebreaker that would soon carry us toward the North Pole.

Inside the Nuclear Icebreaker Lenin

Later that day, we joined a Russian-language tour of the ship’s interior. We could understand almost nothing the guide said, but it did not matter.

Simply walking through the vessel was fascinating. Much of the interior appeared frozen in the Soviet era, with vintage furnishings, polished wood, old instruments and Soviet emblems displayed throughout the ship.

We saw the bridge, crew areas and exhibits explaining the nuclear machinery that had allowed Lenin to break through Arctic ice without constantly needing to refuel.

The ship felt like a combination of museum, Cold War time capsule and monument to Soviet engineering. Seeing it also gave us our first close look at the technology that had transformed Arctic navigation.

A Festival Beside the Ship

A festival was taking place along the waterfront in front of Lenin. Families gathered beside the harbor while musicians performed live onstage.

Vendors sold fresh seafood, enormous Arctic crabs, fish, reindeer-meat burgers and other local foods. The waterfront was crowded and festive, with little outward indication that the country was fighting a major war.

Murmansk turned out to be a great city, and the people we encountered were friendly. A few locals heard us speaking English and asked where we were from.

When we answered, “the United States,” their response was simple and unexpected:

“USA is good.”

Those brief encounters reinforced what I had learned during years of traveling: governments can be enemies while ordinary people remain curious, welcoming and capable of separating visitors from politics.

Our time in Murmansk was nearly over. Soon we would leave the Irish pub, the Soviet monuments and the crowded waterfront behind to board one of the most powerful ships ever built.

Overlooking the Arctic city of Murmansk, Russia, stands the towering World War II soldier monument known as the Memorial to the Defenders of the Soviet Arctic during the Great Patriotic War. Dedicated in 1974, the monument rises more than 100 feet above the hilltop, honoring the Soviet soldiers, sailors, and airmen who defended the Arctic against Nazi Germany during World War II.

Memorial to the Defenders of the Soviet Arctic during the Great Patriotic War

First Nuclear Ice Breaker-Lenin

Friendly Russian: A friendly elderly man with medals, who allowed me to take photos, jubilantly handed me a few communist newspapers. He only spoke Russian, so I have no idea what he said

Bridge of the Lenin

Lenin portraits in no short supply on the Lenin Boat

Dining area for officers

Officers leisure room

Medical room

Common workers dining room

Nuclear control room

Boarding 50 Years of Victory

On the day of embarkation, approximately 100 passengers gathered at our Murmansk hotel for an orientation with the expedition leader.

We quickly discovered that my friends, Bill and I were the only Americans aboard—a total of four. Aside from one Hungarian traveler and three passengers from China, nearly all the remaining passengers and expedition staff were Russian.

During the country roll call, the expedition leader asked whether any Americans were present. When the four of us raised our hands, almost everyone in the room turned toward us with a collective expression of surprise.

The expedition leader smiled and said, “Americans are welcome.”

The Only Americans Aboard

Throughout the expedition, we gradually met the other passengers. Many spoke at least some English, and despite the strained relationship between our governments, everyone treated us with kindness and hospitality.

Nearly everyone admitted that they were shocked to find Americans traveling in Russia under the current circumstances. Once the initial surprise passed, however, our nationality became more of a conversation starter than a barrier.

Because we were such a small minority, nearly everything aboard the ship was presented in Russian, including lectures, announcements and daily briefings. An English translator was assigned to our group, and we listened to the translations through headsets.

Entering the Secure Atomflot Facility

That afternoon, we traveled to the secured Atomflot facility to board the nuclear icebreaker 50 Years of Victory.

Before the trip, we had been required to submit documents for security clearance—not only to board the ship, but also to visit the restricted Franz Josef Land archipelago.

Security at Atomflot was serious. We were warned that the facility was protected, that armed personnel were present and that photography was strictly prohibited in certain directions. Our luggage was thoroughly inspected, and we passed through an extensive personal security screening before being allowed aboard.

Once everyone had cleared security, we walked onto the ship together. We would not set foot on continental land again for nearly two weeks.

Our Cabin Aboard the Icebreaker

I shared a cabin with Wes. It was comfortable and practical, with two beds, a private bathroom and enough room for everything we had brought.

The best feature was the window, which opened completely to the outside. The interior of the ship was often surprisingly warm, so being able to let in the cold Arctic air made the cabin much more comfortable.

Because the sun never set during the Arctic summer, we had to close the heavy curtains whenever we wanted to sleep. Without them, bright daylight would have continued pouring through the window throughout the night.

After dropping off our bags, we set out to explore the ship and meet some of the Russian crew near the bow.

Inside Russia’s Nuclear Fleet

Several other nuclear-powered icebreakers were docked near us, including one of Russia’s newer and more powerful vessels. Seeing so many of these enormous ships together reinforced just how central Murmansk was to Russia’s Arctic operations.

Across the harbor was the Admiral Kuznetsov, Russia’s only aircraft carrier, undergoing a long and troubled repair process at the shipyard.

We had been firmly warned not to photograph sensitive areas around the facility. I could not resist taking a discreet photograph of the aircraft carrier from the partial cover of our cabin window, but I otherwise kept my camera pointed safely away from the restricted buildings.

Armed guards carrying automatic rifles watched from an elevated position on the roof of a tall blue building covered with antennas and communications equipment. I could only speculate about its purpose, but in wartime Russia, it was easy to imagine equipment designed to disrupt GPS signals, detect drones or protect the nuclear fleet from attack.

Pulling Away From Murmansk

Soon, it was time to depart.

Tugboats maneuvered into position and helped pull our massive icebreaker away from the dock. As we began moving, patriotic Soviet-era military music played from loudspeakers at the Atomflot facility.

I climbed to one of the ship’s highest outdoor decks and watched Murmansk slowly recede behind us. The music carried across the water while we sailed through Kola Bay.

Our icebreaker sounded its enormous horn as a farewell to the facility. It sounded again when the tugboats completed their work and broke away from us.

A Sound From My Childhood

The exchange of ship horns immediately transported me back to my childhood in Minnesota.

I had witnessed the same maritime ritual countless times at the Duluth Ship Canal. Enormous ore carriers arriving from Lake Superior—or departing for the open lake—passed beneath the Aerial Lift Bridge. The ships sounded their horns, and the bridge answered.

The deep, thunderous bass of those horns had always given me goosebumps.

Now I was hearing that same powerful sound from the deck of a Russian nuclear icebreaker beginning its journey to the North Pole. The circumstances could not have been more different, but the feeling was exactly the same.

In that moment, I understood how fortunate I was to be aboard, even as I struggled with the homesickness I already felt for my wife and daughter.

Into the Barents Sea

For the next several hours, we sailed through Kola Bay, passing forested hills, naval installations and remote settlements along the shoreline.

Eventually, the signal disappeared from our phones. The last connection to home vanished as the bay widened and we entered the Barents Sea, part of the Arctic Ocean.

Ahead of us were several days of open water before we would see land again in Franz Josef Land.

The expedition had finally begun.

Meeting the Russian Crew and Boarding our ship to military hymn music from the Soviet Union

Admiral Kuznetsov, Russia’s only aircraft carrier

Kola Bay

Two Days Across the Barents Sea

It took us almost two days to cross the Barents Sea and reach the islands of Franz Josef Land.

With no landings during the crossing, we had plenty of downtime to explore the ship and settle into our new routine.

50 Years of Victory was enormous. On our first day, we were warned that it was easy to become lost among the ship’s six main levels, long passageways and nearly identical staircases.

It was far larger than the expedition ships I had previously traveled aboard in Antarctica and Greenland. This was not a traditional cruise ship. It was a working nuclear icebreaker that had been adapted to carry passengers for a few weeks each summer.

Life Aboard the Icebreaker

Our days at sea included lectures about the Arctic’s history, early polar exploration, wildlife, sea ice and weather.

We were also served three large meals every day in the dining hall. The food was excellent, and the Russian servers were always friendly and attentive.

I ate far more food than I needed—and far too much ice cream, which I definitely did not need.

Eating became an easy way to pass the time, especially when there were no landings or wildlife sightings to interrupt the daily routine.

A Pool, Saunas and a Gym

The ship had amenities I never expected to find aboard a working nuclear icebreaker.

There was a saltwater swimming pool, saunas and a gym where passengers could exercise. The expedition leader warned us that cameras monitored the sauna area, so there was to be “no crazy business” inside.

The ship also had Ping-Pong tables and an indoor basketball court with padded walls.

Playing basketball aboard a moving ship was especially entertaining. The floor shifted beneath us as the icebreaker gently rolled, sometimes sending players in directions they had not intended to go. The padded walls proved useful.

Later in the expedition, while we were at the North Pole, I crashed into one of those walls and sprained my little finger.

Passing Time at Sea

There were plenty of quieter ways to spend the crossing.

The ship had a bar, as well as a library and coffee room where we could read, talk with other passengers or simply watch the sea through the windows. At other times, I relaxed in our cabin or wandered through the passageways trying to learn the layout of the ship.

One of my favorite places was the bridge. Passengers were often allowed to visit and watch the Russian officers navigate. The bridge offered a commanding view over the bow and the seemingly endless Arctic water ahead.

When the weather was calm, we could also walk onto the bow and stand near the front of the ship.

A Surprisingly Calm Crossing

The Barents Sea remained mostly calm during our summer crossing. The immense weight and size of the nuclear icebreaker made it feel far more stable than the smaller expedition vessels I had traveled aboard elsewhere.

There were moments when it was easy to forget we were aboard a ship at all.

For two days, our world consisted of meals, lectures, basketball, the bridge and the open sea. Then islands began to appear on the horizon.

We were approaching Franz Josef Land.

My room

Saltwater pool at the bottom of the ship that used water from the arctic ocean and heated it.

Basketball court also where ping pong was played

Meeting the Captain

Another highlight of our time aboard 50 Years of Victory was a reception with the Russian captain and the ship’s chief nuclear specialist.

Unlike most of our lectures, the meeting included a generous supply of alcohol. Passengers gathered with drinks while the captain and nuclear specialist answered questions about the vessel, its crew and the enormous power required to break through Arctic sea ice.

During the presentation, the captain showed us a photograph of Russian President Vladimir Putin aboard 50 Years of Victory during an earlier visit. It was another reminder of the ship’s importance to Russia—not only as a working icebreaker, but also as a symbol of the country’s power and ambitions in the Arctic.

The captain was understandably careful about some technical details. When asked about the type and enrichment level of the uranium used aboard the ship, he explained that the information was classified.

Into the Bowels of the Ship

Our tour of the engine room, thankfully, was not accompanied by alcohol.

We descended deep into the bowels of the icebreaker, entering a hot, noisy industrial world far removed from the passenger cabins and lounges above.

We saw the ship’s enormous steam turbines, electrical equipment and massive propeller shafts. These shafts extended toward the stern, where they connected to three giant propellers that drove the ship through the Arctic ice.

We were also shown the nuclear control room, where trained specialists constantly monitored the reactors and the systems surrounding them.

How a Nuclear Icebreaker Works

Behind heavily protected walls were the ship’s two nuclear reactors.

The basic principle was easier to understand than I expected. Fission inside the uranium fuel produced enormous amounts of heat. Control rods regulated the reaction by absorbing neutrons and could be inserted farther into the reactor when less power was required.

Heat from the reactors produced steam through a closed system. That steam drove turbines, which generated electricity for the ship. Powerful electric motors then used that energy to turn the propeller shafts.

In other words, 50 Years of Victory was not merely a ship with engines. It was a floating nuclear power plant capable of producing the immense energy needed to force its way through thick Arctic ice.

More Electricity Than We Could Use

The ship generated far more electricity than its passengers could ever consume.

At one point, our expedition leader told us not to worry about switching off the lights when we left our cabins. Conserving electricity was not a serious concern aboard a nuclear-powered icebreaker.

According to him, the ship’s electricians were more concerned about passengers repeatedly turning the old light switches on and off. The switches were more likely to break from overuse than our cabin lights were to make any meaningful difference in the ship’s power consumption.

It felt completely wrong after a lifetime of being told to turn off the lights—but aboard a floating nuclear power plant, ordinary rules did not always apply.

Meeting the captain

Portrait of Putin when he visited the ship

Engine room tour

Engine room tour

Radiation warning sign near nuclear reactors

Reaching the Arctic Ice

The passengers from the previous week’s expedition had encountered the edge of the Arctic sea ice near the middle of the Franz Josef Land archipelago.

Under more typical conditions, the crew told us, the ship would begin encountering sea ice before reaching the islands. On our voyage, however, we sailed several hours north of Franz Josef Land before finding the main ice edge.

Veteran crew members described this as extraordinary. To them, it was another visible sign of how rapidly the Arctic climate was warming and changing.

The First Collision

We were eating dinner when 50 Years of Victory struck the first substantial ice.

We did not need an announcement to know what had happened. The impact traveled through the entire ship, followed by vibrations that felt like severe turbulence aboard a wide-body jet.

The ship shook and occasionally shuddered as its reinforced bow rode onto the ice and crushed it beneath its immense weight. Each impact produced a deep grinding sound that reverberated through the hull.

After two calm days crossing open water, we had finally entered the environment this ship had been built to conquer.

Breaking Through Ten-Foot Ice

As we continued north, the ice became thicker and more continuous. Some sections and pressure ridges were reportedly as much as ten feet thick.

Even aboard one of the world’s most powerful icebreakers, moving through ice of that thickness was not effortless. The impacts shook our cabins, rattled objects and sent vibrations through the floors and walls.

From that point until we reached the North Pole, sea ice would surround us. The farther north we traveled, the fewer stretches of open water remained.

Finding the Easiest Route North

The crew did not simply point the ship north and smash through everything in its path.

From the bridge, the officers searched for natural openings, fractures and weaker areas between the ice floes. Whenever possible, they guided the ship through these open leads, conserving time and reducing the strain on the vessel.

When no open route existed, 50 Years of Victory did what it had been built to do: it drove its massive spoon-shaped bow onto the ice and crushed a path forward.

The ice that had stopped, trapped and destroyed the ships of earlier explorers was finally beneath us.

Watching the ship break ice

Carving a path to the north pole

Beauty of the Arctic

Ice radars on the bridge

Our wake of broken ice

View of ship from the expedition drone

A Party in the Arctic Ice

On the night before we reached the North Pole, the ship stopped among the Arctic ice floes for a huge outdoor barbecue and dance party on deck.

The crew prepared an enormous dinner, and the alcohol seemed bottomless. Wine and vodka flowed freely as Russian music played across the frozen Arctic Ocean.

Everyone ate, drank and danced beneath the midnight sun.

A Night Without Darkness

During the Arctic summer, the sun never sets. There was no darkness to signal that the party should end and no obvious difference between late evening and the middle of the night.

Surrounded by ice at the top of the world, we continued celebrating far later than most of us had planned.

We had a blast. The festivities lasted deep into the night—and for some passengers, the hangovers lasted even longer.

Dance party on deck

Vodka pours

Me with some of the Russian passengers

Reaching the North Pole

On the fifth day of the expedition, we finally reached the top of the world.

Since departing Murmansk on Monday afternoon, we had sailed through Kola Bay, crossed the Barents Sea, passed through Franz Josef Land and continued north through the frozen ice of the High Arctic.

Now, somewhere ahead of us, was 90 degrees north—the geographic North Pole.

Finding 90 Degrees North

Reaching the exact North Pole was more complicated than simply steering toward a fixed point.

The geographic coordinate of 90° north never moves, but the sea ice covering it is constantly drifting. Wind and ocean currents carry the ice beneath the ship, making it difficult for the crew to hold 50 Years of Victory directly over the exact position.

The officers carefully maneuvered the ship while monitoring its coordinates. When we finally crossed 90° north, the ship’s enormous horn blasted across the frozen Arctic Ocean.

The Russian national anthem played, champagne glasses were raised and passengers celebrated our arrival at the North Pole.

After everything required to reach this place, the moment felt almost unreal.

Calling My Family From the Top of the World

During the celebration, Bill allowed me to use his satellite phone to call Paula and Indie.

I still could not believe he had managed to bring the phone into Russia and then through security aboard a nuclear-powered icebreaker. He was not the only one. Several Russian passengers had satellite phones as well.

Being able to hear the voices of my wife and daughter while standing at the North Pole became one of the most meaningful moments of the entire expedition.

I had traveled to one of the most isolated places on Earth, yet for a few minutes, the satellite phone connected me directly to home.

Finding Safe Ice to Land On

Although the ship had reached 90° north, we could not simply walk outside and stand on the exact coordinate.

There is no land at the North Pole—only drifting sea ice over the Arctic Ocean. The crew needed to locate an ice floe thick and stable enough to support the passengers, expedition equipment and activities planned for the following day.

Because the ice was continually moving, any marker placed at the North Pole would immediately begin drifting away from 90° north. At the pole, the location remains fixed, but the ground beneath your feet does not.

The captain and expedition team therefore planned to position the ship as close to the geographic pole as safely possible.

Preparing for Polar Bears

The following morning, the expedition team would be the first to leave the ship.

Armed guards would establish a security perimeter and watch for polar bears before passengers were allowed onto the ice. According to the crew, polar bears had appeared during two North Pole visits over the previous decade.

During one of those encounters, a drone captured an extraordinary image of a polar bear standing in front of the ship and chewing on the expedition’s North Pole sign.

It was a vivid reminder that despite the champagne, music and celebrations, we were still visitors in the domain of the Arctic’s largest predator.

Once the area was secure, the crew would set up the North Pole marker, a heated sauna tent and a barbecue on the ice.

For the rest of the night, however, we remained aboard the ship and continued celebrating.

We had reached the North Pole.

Moment we reached the north pole

North Pole celebration

Standing on the North Pole

The highlight of the expedition was finally upon us.

For the first time in nearly a week, we were leaving the ship and walking on something that felt like firm ground.

Sort of.

The “ground” was actually a drifting sheet of sea ice, which the crew estimated to be between four and eight feet thick. Beneath it lay almost 14,000 feet of dark, freezing Arctic Ocean.

Walking on a Frozen Ocean

The ice floe was part of the vast Arctic ice pack that spreads across the top of the world, expanding during the dark winter and shrinking beneath the summer sun.

I learned that the loss of Arctic sea ice is not simply the result of warmer summer temperatures. Warmer winters also delay freezing and prevent the ice from growing as thick and strong as it once did. When summer returns, that younger, thinner ice melts more easily.

For hundreds of miles in every direction, we were surrounded by ice interrupted by narrow channels of open water known as leads.

The pack was constantly moving under the influence of wind and ocean currents. Floes collided, separated and slid past one another almost like enormous tectonic plates. Their movement opened dark cracks of seawater that would eventually freeze again.

It was easy to feel secure while standing on what appeared to be solid ground. Then I reminded myself that it was not ground at all.

Beneath my boots were several feet of ice, followed by thousands of feet of mysterious Arctic Ocean inhabited by creatures that remain only partly understood.

Stepping Onto the Ice

That morning, we descended the ship’s gangway and stepped onto the frozen ocean.

After days aboard the icebreaker, it felt wonderful to walk freely again. Even more impressive was turning around and seeing 50 Years of Victory towering above us.

The immense ship appeared to be resting on top of the ice like a jumbo jet that had somehow landed in the middle of the Arctic Ocean. Standing beside its towering steel hull and looking upward gave me a completely new appreciation for its size and power.

Thick fog surrounded the ship, sometimes hiding much of it from view. The reduced visibility also concerned the expedition staff, who needed to watch for polar bears approaching across the ice.

A North Pole That Would Not Stay Still

The crew explained that the ice beneath us had drifted since our arrival.

During the night, the ship and its surrounding floe had moved away from the geographic North Pole and then drifted closer to it again. By morning, we remained near 90° north, but we were no longer directly over the exact coordinate.

That was the strange reality of standing at the North Pole. The location itself was fixed, but everything beneath it moved.

We gathered beside the North Pole sign in front of the ship and took what became the most iconic photographs of the expedition.

Every Direction Was South

Standing there, I realized something incredible: no matter which direction I walked, I would be heading south.

There was no farther north. I could not take another step toward “up.”

Growing up in Minnesota, my family treasured vacations along Lake Superior in northern Minnesota. Like most Minnesotans, we referred to that region simply as “Up North.”

As a child, it seemed like the far north of the world—a cooler, forested and remote place beside Canada.

But northern Minnesota was now thousands of miles south of where I stood.

This was the true Up North.

There was no place more “Up North” than this.

Thinking About Home

I also found some comfort in realizing that I was now geographically closer to my family in San Diego than I would be if I retraced the long route through Russia and Istanbul.

In theory, I only needed to travel directly south across the Arctic and North America.

In reality, that would require walking across an impossible distance of shifting ice and open ocean. Returning through Russia remained the slightly more practical option.

Still, thinking of home made Paula and Indie feel a little closer.

Hiking Across the Ice

We set off on a walk of approximately one mile across the ice.

Armed polar-bear guards accompanied us, carrying rifles over their shoulders and constantly scanning the foggy horizon.

We did not see a polar bear. In fact, we did not see any wildlife—not even a bird.

The absence of life reinforced the extreme isolation of the North Pole. This was true desolation: an environment where almost nothing could survive and where humans remained only temporary visitors.

The Polar Plunge

After the hike, it was time for the polar plunge.

The ship had opened a channel through the ice beside its hull, creating a place where passengers could enter the water. Several of us, including me, changed into swimsuits and prepared to jump into the Arctic Ocean.

The water was approximately 31 degrees Fahrenheit—below the normal freezing point of freshwater, but still liquid because of its salt content.

I plunged in.

The cold was immediate and overwhelming. There was no gradually adjusting to it. My body’s only message was to get out as quickly as possible.

Afterward, we rushed into a heated sauna tent that had been erected on the ice and followed the experience with Russian vodka.

Barbecue at the Top of the World

Later, the crew served a huge barbecue on the ice.

Within the guarded perimeter, we were free to walk around, take photographs and absorb the strangeness of where we were. The icebreaker towered above us while armed guards continued watching the fog for polar bears.

We spent most of the day on the drifting ice before finally returning to the ship.

Soon, 50 Years of Victory would turn south toward Franz Josef Land.

But for one extraordinary day, I had walked, hiked, eaten, taken a sauna and plunged into the ocean at the very top of the world.

I had stood at the North Pole.

Parked at the north pole

View of the ship when I disembarked at the north pole

Me in front of the ship at the north pole

Me in front of the ships anchor

Drone photo at north pole

Ice formations

View of the ship from the hike on the ice

Our First Polar Bear

As we headed south from the North Pole, the sea ice gradually became thinner and less continuous.

Dark channels of open water appeared between the floes, and the enormous unbroken sheets of ice gave way to smaller, pancake-shaped pieces scattered across the ocean.

The crew was surprised that we had not yet seen a polar bear. Passengers aboard the previous week’s expedition had reportedly seen six, while we had traveled all the way to the North Pole without encountering a single one.

Then, during an afternoon lecture, an announcement came over the ship’s speakers:

A polar bear had been spotted on the ice.

A Bear Beside the Ship

The lecture immediately ended, and everyone hurried outside.

The ship slowed and eventually paused as passengers crowded onto the bow. Just off the side of the icebreaker stood a lone polar bear patiently searching the ice for seals.

It was the first wildlife we had seen since entering the frozen High Arctic.

The bear appeared surprisingly unconcerned by the enormous red-and-black ship approaching it. 50 Years of Victory towered above the ice like a mechanical beast, yet the polar bear stood its ground.

It lifted its head, sniffed the air and watched us, apparently trying to understand what we were.

For nearly an hour, we observed one another—the passengers staring down from the ship and the polar bear looking back from its frozen world.

Eventually, the icebreaker continued south, leaving the bear alone on the ice to resume its hunt.

Polar bear hunting on the vast Arctic sea ice

Hopping across the open water

Ship drone footage of polar bear on sea ice

Arriving in Franz Josef Land

We reached the islands of Franz Josef Land on Sunday night and would spend the next two nights exploring the archipelago.

After days surrounded by the featureless sea ice of the High Arctic, the appearance of land was dramatic. Dark cliffs and mountains rose above the ocean, while enormous glaciers flowed between them toward the coast.

At first glance, Franz Josef Land appeared almost completely lifeless. Most of the landscape was buried beneath glaciers, snow and exposed rock.

Flying Over the Glaciers

Our first major activity was a sightseeing flight aboard the ship’s Russian Mi-8 helicopter.

From the air, we could appreciate the true scale of the archipelago. Glaciers covered most of the islands, descending from broad ice caps toward the sea. Dark cliffs and rocky peaks appeared wherever the ice released its grip on the land.

Seeing Franz Josef Land from the helicopter was one of the expedition’s highlights. It was a landscape so remote and inaccessible that I had once assumed I would only ever see it on a map.

An Optional Visit to a Polar Station

Some passengers paid an additional $1,300 for a helicopter flight to a working Russian polar station.

We decided not to join them. Because our American bank cards did not work in Russia and we could not withdraw more money, we needed to conserve the limited foreign currency we had brought with us.

Although I would have enjoyed visiting the station, the North Pole expedition itself remained our priority.

An Arctic Ocean Without Ice

What surprised the crew most was the lack of sea ice surrounding the islands.

The ocean around Franz Josef Land was almost completely open, with only a few scattered floes drifting between the islands. According to crew members familiar with the region, seeing so little sea ice at that time of year was highly unusual.

The glaciers still dominated the land, but the surrounding sea looked very different from the frozen Arctic they remembered.

Birds and Walruses

Despite its desolate appearance, Franz Josef Land supported far more life than the North Pole.

We observed several species of seabirds, including large numbers of gulls flying around the cliffs and feeding over the water. Everyone also continued scanning the coast and ice for additional polar bears.

The most exciting wildlife sighting came when we found several small ice floes crowded with walruses.

The enormous animals rested together in tight groups, their brown bodies covering much of the remaining ice. Some lifted their heads to watch the ship, revealing the long tusks that made them unmistakable.

Typical scene in Franz Josef Land of glacier covered land

Walrus drone shot

Walrus floating on a small ice floe

Walrus

Flying Over Franz Josef Land

On our first full day in Franz Josef Land, we divided into groups of five for helicopter flights from the ship.

My group climbed aboard the Russian Mi-8 helicopter and lifted from the deck of 50 Years of Victory.

We flew toward a glacier that rose approximately 1,000 feet above the sea. For about ten minutes, the pilot carried us up and down its immense frozen walls, banking sharply through turns that pressed us into our seats.

The flight was short, but it was exhilarating. Before landing, we circled the icebreaker from above, giving us a rare view of the enormous red-and-black ship surrounded by glaciers and Arctic water.

Helicopter on the rear of the ship

Helicopter flying near the glacier

View of glacier

View from helicoptor

The Optional Polar Station Flight

Later that day, passengers who had paid an additional $1,300 flew by helicopter to a working Russian polar station where a small group of scientists lived in extreme isolation.

My group decided not to go.

We had not realized before arriving that the flight required an additional payment. Because American bank cards did not work in Russia, we could not withdraw more cash. We needed to preserve what remained of our foreign currency for emergencies.

I was disappointed, but traveling this far into the Russian Arctic required making practical choices.

A Soviet Aircraft Wreck

Although I did not visit the station, I could see it in the distance from my cabin window.

Near the buildings lay the damaged remains of a Soviet-era aircraft—another relic from Russia’s long history of Arctic aviation and polar exploration.

I photographed the station and the wreckage from the ship. At the time, I did not notice anything unusual.

It was only later, while looking closely at the photograph, that I discovered a polar bear walking near the wrecked plane.

The animal blended so perfectly into the pale landscape that I had completely missed it while taking the picture.

Living Among Polar Bears

The discovery made me think about the danger faced by the scientists living at the station.

In this part of the Arctic, polar bears could appear near the buildings at any time. Researchers had to remain constantly alert whenever they stepped outside.

We heard a story aboard the ship about a scientist who had been killed after failing to see a bear camouflaged against the snow. The details had changed in the retelling, but the underlying incident was real.

In 2011, meteorologist Mikhail Yeremkin was killed by a polar bear at Krenkel Polar Station in Franz Josef Land. He was walking from the main base toward a nearby building used for weather-balloon work when the bear attacked.

His colleagues rushed outside after hearing a dog barking and attempted to frighten the bear away with flare guns, but they were too late.

For us, spotting a polar bear was an exciting highlight. For the scientists who lived there, the same animal represented a constant and potentially fatal danger.

Looking again at my photograph—the wrecked Soviet aircraft, the isolated station and the nearly invisible bear—I realized that it captured the harsh reality of life in Franz Josef Land better than I had understood when I took it.

Polar station with polar bear wandering in background

The Abandoned Station at Tikhaya Bay

On our final day in Franz Josef Land, we visited Tikhaya Bay on Hooker Island.

The bay was home to an abandoned Soviet polar station founded in 1929. For three decades, it served as one of the Soviet Union’s most important scientific outposts in the High Arctic.

Scientists, radio operators and other workers lived there through brutal winters, months of darkness and almost complete isolation from the outside world. Some brought their wives and children, creating a tiny community at the edge of the habitable world.

Life at a Soviet Polar Station

Living at Tikhaya Bay required a pioneer mentality.

Supplies arrived only during the short summer season, and residents had to survive the rest of the year with whatever had been delivered. They endured violent storms, extreme cold, polar bears and the psychological strain of prolonged darkness and isolation.

Fresh water was another constant challenge. The settlement relied heavily on melting snow and ice, making even something as basic as drinking water difficult to obtain.

Some residents died at the station, and their graves remained as reminders of the dangers faced by the people who lived there.

In 1959, the Soviet Union closed Tikhaya Bay and transferred its scientific operations to the newer Krenkel Observatory on Hayes Island.

Walking Through the Abandoned Buildings

We spent much of the day wandering among the station’s aging buildings and imagining what life must have been like.

Inside and around them were fragments of ordinary existence—rooms where families had slept, laboratories where scientists had worked and structures that had protected generations of residents from the Arctic weather.

The buildings were deteriorating, with peeling paint, broken walls and materials exposed to decades of wind, snow and ice.

Although Russian Arctic National Park workers now maintain a small seasonal presence at Tikhaya Bay, most of the old Soviet settlement remains empty.

Reclaimed by Arctic Wildlife

With the permanent residents gone, wildlife had begun reclaiming the station.

Arctic foxes wandered among the abandoned houses and sometimes used the old structures for shelter. Polar bears also investigated the buildings in search of food or anything carrying an unfamiliar scent.

On one building, I saw a large section of insulation that appeared to have been bitten away by a polar bear.

The people had left, but the Arctic had moved back in.

Exploring Tikhaya Bay felt like walking through a frozen ghost town. It was both a historic monument to Soviet polar exploration and a reminder of how quickly nature reclaims even the most determined human outposts.