I had picked up a rumour from a fisherman about dolphins gathering in large numbers outside Kvaløya (Norwegian for “Whale Island”) west of Tromsø in Northern Norway. They were said to number in the hundreds. It was far offshore, in March, and was an unmistakably high-risk, high-reward situation for the sailing vessel Barba that I had at my disposal up north.

We waited for five days while an unforgiving sea kept us from heading out. On the sixth day, a narrow weather window gave us hope. We sailed westward early in the morning. Before long, we had spotted the recognisable blows of fin whales and humpbacks and shortly after that, it was dolphins. First in their hundreds but then – in all of a sudden and in breathtaking splendour – somewhere in their thousands.

As captain of the small, yet persistent, 37-foot sailing vessel Barba, I have spent the past 15 years defying the odds aboard a fibreglass boat designed to sail in the Mediterranean. My first expedition was to Greenland in 2010. Multiple expeditions to the pack ice of Svalbard followed thereafter, and over many of those it was the orca season in Northern Norway, that became a consummate highlight. In the early years – some ten years ago – we were just a handful of boats, always largely alone in the field. By 2021, however, the crowds had surpassed all reasoning. It was then that I stopped journeying there.

But in the winter of 2024/25, I had a reason to return. So, equipped with thermal binoculars, the eminent ROV operator, Antoine Drancey, and his Boxfish ROV with which he can send his Sony A7SIII to depths of 500 metres for ten hours of operating time, and with plenty of cheese, I finally did.

We spent eight weeks in the Kvænangen region where the scenery did not disappoint. We felt the wild, ravaging winds, and the familiar fear and excitement of sailing in the winter. And yet, something was off.

We Norwegians have a phrase, “guds frie natur” or “nature as God created it”. It means a nature that is free and untouched. Here in Kvænangen, where the tourist boats dominate the waters in their hundreds and the RIBs chase from one pod of orcas to another, it’s clear that things are anything but.

In previous years, before all the boats and weighty regulations, there was a magic to this place. That magic was missing from Kvænangen now. So, disheartened, I prepared Barba for sailing back down to the south of Norway, to my hometown of Stavanger.

This was when we caught wind of the rumour that the dolphins were out in their hundreds. It was far out at sea, exposed in the Norwegian winter. Not ideal for finding whales, with characteristically feisty winter winds and rough seas. But it had the one key ingredient, an ingredient that has filled the sails of many a vessel before mine: the promise of adventure. So the decision was made, we would set aside a week to look for dolphins. For this kind of adventure, I knew I needed a reliable crew.

The first to join was the Italian marine biologist, Giulia Ercoletti. Having moved to Northern Norway many winters ago, Giulia has acquired the skills critical for life in the north. She is an expert dog musher, an adept sailor, and she can elevate even the most basic cod and potatoes dish with her characteristic Italian flair. The team was made complete by the Swedish sailor and trained nurse, Ylva Carlsson and the Norwegian native, Tord Karlsen, a nature photographer and teacher. Between the four of us, we had logged thousands of hours searching for and documenting whales of all kinds – from blue whales to belugas – and a shared understanding that any successful strategy to track down whales begins with only a few key principles; chief among them is understanding their biology.