Crossing the Barents Sea in 5-metre Nordkapp boats

The two friends were used to the sea. They worked in the mines on Svalbard and spent their free time fishing and hunting around the island. When their Nordkapps arrived the previous autumn, they wasted no time preparing for the crossing. They took the boats out on long trips, tested them in rough conditions, and pushed them until they understood exactly how each hull would behave.

They wanted the crossing to feel natural, not reckless.

On paper, the plan was clear: run south to Bjørnøya, refuel, then continue towards Tromsø.

In reality, little felt simple. Forecasts were unreliable. The open sea between Svalbard and the mainland left no place to hide. And the gear available in 1970 was limited.

The Coastal steamer Harald Jarl brought nine barrels of fuel north. Four were unloaded on Bjørnøya, an island roughly midway on the route, and the rest were delivered to Svalbard.

One boat had a 115 hp engine, the other a 130 hp. Both carried magnetic compasses, charts, and electric wipers. Only one had a radio receiver.

Including an extra barrel lashed on deck, each carried 270 litres of fuel. It was just enough.

After a 220-nautical-mile test run, they felt as ready as anyone could be.

They set off the following day, on Thursday evening. The first stop was Svalbard's final outpost to deliver mail to a local trapper.

Not long after departure, ice drifted across their path, and they worked through it slowly. Then the fog arrived, erasing all sense of distance and direction.

They waited it out at a radio station, but the next morning brought no change. They pushed on anyway. Upon reaching the final outpost, Salamonsen clipped the bottom and damaged a propeller, forcing a repair on the water.

With the mail delivered, they left the relative safety in the fjords of Svalbard for their first long stretch in open sea. They would find no shelter between them and Bjørnøya.

Visibility had improved as they continued south. But one hour later, the fog returned, thicker than before. The wind rose, stirring the sea into a turmoil. Running the engines at 2800 RPM gave them no more than 8-10 knots.

Two hours into the open sea, Pedersen struck a log. Two blades bent. They pulled the prop off, straightened it as best they could, and carried on.

Ten hours later, the singing wind continued to worsen the sea, still wrapped in grey with the compass as their only guide, they spotted a trawler ahead. The Russian crew suspected the two men were smugglers and brought them aboard.

All Salamonsen and Pedersen wanted was to check their course, which was essential for the mission's success. After a long exchange in four languages, the Russians gave them a heading.

It was wrong.

Back in their boats and a few hours later, the fog suddenly lifted. But there was a problem. Bjørnøya stood beside them rather than in front of them.

Salamonsen later said they would have missed it entirely if the weather hadn't suddenly cleared.

Reaching Bjørnøya on Saturday morning after a slow grind shaped by weather, repairs, and long hours without a clear horizon. It was an essential stop to refuel both men and boats.

But the rest did not last long. Heavy swells rolled in, and one of the boats tore free and washed ashore. The other Nordkapp pulled it back into the water. The damaged propeller was replaced, and the hull was checked as best as possible.

When the weather report looked acceptable, they left.

The sea had other ideas. Wind pushed in from the open Arctic, the waves steepened, and the two men were forced to turn back.

The next morning, the Coastal steamer Harald Jarl arrived at Bjørnøya to collect a passenger. Salamonsen and Pedersen jumped out of their bunks, into their boats and set off behind it.

For sixteen hours, they tried to keep up with the ship, following in its wake. At times, the waves got so big that they lost sight of the ship entirely.

Imagine being a mere dot in the open sea, eight hours from the mainland, watching your only lifeline fade across the horizon while you fight an endless wall of waves.

Luckily, the ship's captain was determined to keep them close. When they lost contact, he waited. When the men had to refuel on open water, he brought the ship to a complete stop.

For the passengers aboard the coastal steamer, it became an unforeseen spectacle as they found themselves part of a grand adventure.

The hours passed, and slowly the mainland took shape. When the sea finally settled, the two men eased out of the ship's wake, thanked the crew with a raised hand, and continued towards Tromsø.

Arrival in Tromsø

After thirty-eight hours at sea and 569 nautical miles, the two Nordkapps reached Tromsø on Monday morning. They had burned more than one thousand litres of fuel between them.

They stepped onto the pier in quiet relief. Asked later about the danger, they gave a simple answer.

"These boats are so seaworthy that there is no danger, as long as the engine keeps running."

The legacy that remains

Not much is known about what became of Harry Pedersen. But Bernt Salamonsen spent his days on the water. He made a living by transporting people and goods by sea, became a recognised figure in Norwegian kayaking circles and passed his love of the water to his children.

He even named one of his sons after the man who sold him the Nordkapp used for the crossing.

Today, his son Thomas keeps the tradition alive at the helm of a vintage Nordkapp Sport 16.

The 1970 crossing shows the seaworthiness of our Nordkapp boats, which we have continued to refine for six decades. It also reminds us how far skill and quiet resolve can take us.