This is not a cruise: Why the Great Expedition Company isn’t for everyone
Picture this: you’re standing on the deck of a tall ship, the S/V Linden, her sails taut in the Arctic wind. The midnight sun hovers low but never sets, throwing a soft orange glow across the sea ice. Ahead lies the ragged coast of Svalbard—an archipelago that feels, even now, at the edge of the known world.
The Ethos of Expedition
From the moment you book your trip, you know you’re in for something different. Instead of glossy brochures promising spas and fully-stocked bars, you receive a packet filled with myth and poetry: Hart Crane’s Voyages II, Shakespeare’s The Tempest, Robert Service’s Call of the Wild. The company calls this its “philosophical scaffolding,” a way of setting the tone before you ever set foot on deck. As the preparation guide says, the goal is to “know something about where you are headed.”
It’s a reminder that in a world of overpackaged tourism, these trips lean toward reflection. You are expected to think, to question, to notice.
Who This Voyage Is (and Isn’t) For
That philosophy shapes every detail on board—and not every traveler finds it easy. In candid passenger feedback from a recent circumnavigation of Svalbard, reviews split between rapture and frustration. Some guests found the experience transformative, praising the crew’s warmth and the thrill of exploration. Others bristled at the lack of conventional comforts: Cabins of uneven size and meals that are hearty, but not haute cuisine.
This duality is important. If you want polished service and control over your itinerary, this may not be the trip for you. But if you’re willing to trade certainty for surprise, and luxury for authenticity, you may find yourself—as Robert Service wrote—“strung to silence,” overwhelmed by the grandeur of the wild.
Life Onboard the Linden
The Linden herself is a character in the story. A three-masted wooden schooner, she creaks and hums with history. Cabins are shared; if you’re traveling alone, expect to bunk with a stranger. Some quarters are more spacious than others and the overall makeup of the passengers on your trip will determine where on the ship your bed is located.
Days fall into a rhythm: meals in the saloon, briefings on deck, landings by Zodiac when weather and ice allow. The crew members are not servants, but companions. They haul sails and steer, but they also laugh, tell stories, and join passengers at the table. One guest compared it to “sailing with friends who happen to be professional mariners.”
The leader of it all is Joe, the company’s founder and creative force. He is high-energy, flamboyant, and—depending on who you ask — either electrifying or exhausting. His charisma sets the tone: theatrical, ambitious, always aiming to elevate the trip from sightseeing into something resembling art.
Between Cruise Ship and Research Vessel
In the broader Arctic tourism landscape, The Great Expedition Company occupies a fascinating middle ground. On one side are the large expedition cruise ships, carrying 200 passengers in comfort with gyms, spas, and daily lecture programs. On the other are scientific research vessels, spartan and functional, focused entirely on data collection.
The Great Expedition Company borrows from both but belongs to neither. The scale is intimate, (never more than 12 or 13 guests,) and the approach is immersive. You may sail into little-visited channels like Hinlopen Strait, far from the crowded northwest corner where most ships linger. You’ll rely on ice charts updated daily, adjusting course in response to shifting pack ice rather than a fixed schedule.
And then there’s Greenland. While I joined the Svalbard voyage, most veterans insist Greenland is the company’s true masterpiece. There, they say, the sense of remoteness is profound: fjords without charts, landings without footprints, and a humbling awareness of nature’s scale.
The Rewards—and the Costs
To sail with The Great Expedition Company is to accept a degree of unpredictability. The weather can change in an instant. Ice may block a planned passage or the overall conditions force a change of direction. Cabins may feel cramped, and a strong personality may dominate the group dynamic.
But the rewards are equally intense. A polar bear glimpsed on drifting ice. The eerie quiet of a glacier front. The sudden intimacy of a group of strangers turned friends over midnight sunlit coffee. The knowledge that you’ve not just visited the Arctic but inhabited it — if only for 12 days. As one passenger wrote in a review: “This is not a cruise. This is life, lived boldly, in a place most people will never see.”
Should You Go?
If you measure travel in stars and thread counts, probably not. If you measure it in stories, friendships, and the electricity of standing somewhere that feels like the end of the Earth, then yes.
The Great Expedition Company is not for everyone. But for those who hear what Robert Service called “the Wild—calling you,” it may be exactly the voyage you didn’t know you were waiting
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