The Arctic Is My Happy Place

A nesting pair of Grelage Geese with the mountains of Norway in the background.

Eurasian Oystercatcher in flight.

A small wading bird looks for a meal.

A pair of Greylag Geese near The Arctic Hideaway on Fleinvaer. These common European geese are the a

Greylag Goose

Greylag geese coming in for a water landing.

Greylag geese in flight

A male common Eider Duck, one of the most numerous of the seabirds around Fleinvaer and among the mo

It’s hard to overstate just how much I love the Arctic. Or how happy I get the farther north I travel. Sitting now in a small cabin on an island off the coast of Norway about 75 miles above the Arctic Circle I feel truly at home.

And it’s certainly not the first time.

By my reckoning — always subject to questioning — this is my seventh time in the Arctic and fifth above the Arctic Circle. In 2023 I made it all the way to 80.32-degrees north, just 500 miles south of the North Pole. Each time it feels like where I truly belong among the icebergs, glaciers, fjords, mountains and unique people and wildlife.

This time I’m at 67.28-degrees north, spending three weeks on the island of Fleinvaer at The Arctic Hideaway. It’s the second time I’ve been here and honest to god, stepping off the ferry and on to the dock yesterday felt like coming home.

It was a feeling magnified by smiles and hugs from some of the local residents who remembered me from my last visit, including Hideaway host Havard Lund.

The Hideaway itself is a collection of a dozen box-like buildings that tumble down the low island cliff toward the relatively calm waters within the archipelago. Not far to the west within easy view are the open waters of the Norwegian Sea with giant waves crashing against the outer islands.

There are no cars, no shops and no restaurants on Fleinvaer. What is here are myriads of wild Arctic sea and land birds, otters, whales, walking paths and all the fresh air you can possibly pull into your lungs.

Depending on the time of year the northern lights dance overhead at night. Actually, they dance all year, but right now are not visible given it is light 24-hours a day at this latitude.

The weather is changeable here, to say the least. From flat, calm sea and gentle breezes to wild winds with driving rain in a matter of minutes. On my last visit I watched as a violent hail storm moved in and experienced a night in a force 9 gale.

I’m in one of two single-person sleeping cabins that measure an unusual 16-feet-by-16-feet-by-4-feet. A set of wooden ladder rungs attached to the wall leads to the sleeping loft above. Down below is a table built into the wall, a square wooden box covered with a sheep skin for a chair and some tiny shelves. 

Sure, it’s a bit sparse but the view out the window can’t be beat and it’s more comfortable than some hotels at which I’ve stayed.

Studio space, toilets, shower, dining and kitchen areas are all in different buildings along with the wood-fired sauna and waterside platform for those looking to take an Arctic polar plunge.

The idea behind the architecture was to create a space in which each “room” is a separate building. It’s quirky, looks not a little like a collection of children’s blocks tossed on the ground and is completely charming.

It’s a space to reconnect and reset, to create, to think and just slow down to do all of that. It’s a place where time is abstract and almost meaningless.

It’s thousands of miles away from Maine and it feels so very much like home.

Up next: Why travel around the world to sleep in a box?