In a Sound.

Not a sea day.

Honningsvåg, Norway – My reverie is shattered by the deep baritone of the ferry’s horn.

A motorcycle responds with a rev.

Echoes crash off zebra-striped mountains enveloping the sound, which provides sanctuary for the countless colourful boats anchored here this morning. Tall metal rods stand from their decks like matchsticks. 

The fish must be similarly silent today.

Despite having only 2,200 residents, Honningsvåg is considered the northernmost "city" in mainland Norway. Its painted homes are nestled into the rock, with backyards that cascade into the ones below. Snow fences are stitched onto the hills to protect them from heavy Arctic winters.

Capain Kirk.

It snowed only three days ago, and various pockets of water are still frozen over.

But, signs of spring: a mossy green canvas of lichen stretches out like fingers into the crevasses. At eight degrees, it's somehow still warm enough for short sleeves.

There's not much here, but sloped roads carry us to a white church that – apart from its green steeple – would seem to disappear in winter. 

Sort of like many organized religions in this day and age.

When occupying German forces retreated in 1944, they burnt Honningsvåg to the ground.

The Neo-Gothic church was the only building to survive.