My name is Jo-Ann Schies. I celebrated my 26th birthday in the heart of the Norwegian fjords, between steely skies and churning seas. A marine biologist and professional diver, I work for Andromède Océanologie, a French research firm specializing in the protection and restoration of Mediterranean ecosystems. Accustomed to living in a community on scientific vessels, diving in temperate waters, and supporting my fellow sailors during delicate maneuvers, I have never, not once, held the helm of a sailboat.
This adventure, led by Andreas B. Heide, was a baptism. It gave me my first taste of sailing, my first fears of the relentless force of the wind, but also a new joy: that of feeling a boat come alive beneath my hands, of guiding its wake through wild landscapes filled with legends and stories.
While the Orca Odyssey’s primary mission is to observe the wildlife in Norwegian waters and approach the orcas off the Skjervøy peninsula, it proved to be much more than just a scientific expedition. This voyage offered me a journey into the heart of my own limits, a rediscovery of my abilities, and a new perspective on myself.
Preparations
I arrived at Andreas’s house on October 11, the same day as Amélie Conty, our photographer and on-board columnist. Amélie is a determined woman, one of those who have had to surpass themselves to prove themselves, to earn their place, to assert their voice and expertise in often demanding environments dominated by men. A sailor since childhood, she has found her adopted home in Brittany, where the wind and the tides forge strong characters.
A few days later, our crew expanded with the arrival of Mikko Koskinen, a colorful character straight from Finland. Mikko is an unlikely and fascinating blend of disarming kindness, biting humor, and Olympian calm.
The co-founder and director of a major Finnish whisky brand, he could be content with this accomplishment. But Mikko is one of those individuals who seems made to live a thousand lives. Ice freediver, stand-up comedian in his spare time, editor of a business newspaper, and seasoned sailor, he seems to have the art of juggling passions that, at first glance, have nothing in common. Yet, everything makes sense when you see him aboard the Barba, his eyes sharp and his joke always ready.
If we, the three oddballs, found ourselves in the same wardroom, it’s thanks to our captain: Andreas B. Heide. Andreas may not be the archetypal Norwegian Viking, but he embodies everything one could hope for in an excellent captain and an unforgettable traveling companion. This journey allowed me to discover this man who is both methodical and inspiring, whose passion for the sea is matched only by his desire to share it.
A marine biologist, accomplished sailor, and intrepid diver, Andreas embodies confidence mixed with adventure. But beyond his technical skills, it’s his teaching skills and passion that make him truly unique. From the very beginning, I was struck by his thoughtful calm, even in emergency situations, and by his ability to make calm, meticulously considered decisions, without ever giving in to panic or fatigue.
The Barba is just like him: every corner is optimized, every tool in its place, every detail thought out with practical intelligence. Everything exudes order and preparation, without ever losing that touch of humanity that reflects her captain.
First navigations
On October 15, I saw the sails unfurl for the first time. And, I readily admitted that it was an emotional moment. The first hours of sailing were like the first days: total immersion, a thirst for knowledge, and a desire to record every piece of information I was given.
The first wind immediately confronted me with what became both a fascination and a worry. This breath that pushed us and challenged us at every moment, a capricious element with which we had to negotiate to move forward. From that moment on, it was no longer just a matter of sailing, but of taming an invisible, changing force that dictated the pace of our journey. We were now at the mercy of this wind, with only the 1,000 miles separating us from Tromsø as our horizon.
On board, we gradually got to know each other. While the beginnings were sometimes a little chaotic due to our accents and unique speech patterns, we communicated differently, beyond words. We started out as caring roommates, and soon we became a small family. The lines between crew and camaraderie gradually faded, giving way to invisible but strong bonds.
On the morning of my birthday, a splendid sunrise illuminated the fjords, bathed in yellow and orange colors, blending with a vibrant pink sky. The hues were constantly changing, like a living canvas. Amélie and Andreas captured this magical moment, while I felt a deep elation. It was a revelation: I was where I belonged. As I blew out my candle on this surprise cake carefully prepared by Andreas, I reflected that this year is less that of a young woman than that of a Viking, forged by the sea and adventure.
On October 17, after a morning sailing in a mild breeze, we moored the Barba at Alden, a small mountainous island, for a hike. Although the sky was darkening, luck smiled on us: upon reaching the summit, the weather cleared, offering us a 360-degree view of the fjords. The landscape, dominated by islands of land left by the ice, resembled a veritable Neverland. Our first land-based escapade amidst these majestic landscapes, which left no clue as to the incident that occurred a few hours later.
We took turns at the helm until the wind became much stronger. Gusts of over 40 knots rushed through the sails, and for the first time, I felt the pull of the earth differently. Legs outstretched, leaning on the hold, the Barba leaned forward, as if trying to touch the sea with its mast.
I was ordered to check the engine and its cooling system, so I was ready to activate an emergency exit if sailing became too dangerous. Shortly after, a strange smell was noticed. We searched for its source, without success. Mikko took the helm, and Andreas went to open the engine compartment, releasing thick gray smoke. From there, everything became both fast and slow. For several minutes, the crew transformed, and we managed this incipient fire to the best of our knowledge and skills.
Finally, help arrived, and the Barba was towed to Florø, our home port for the next three days, while Amélie and Mikko went to the hospital for checkups. Then we cleaned and repaired the Barba with unwavering determination.
Together, we retraced every second of this event, seeking to understand what had happened and identify what we could have done differently. This exercise was not about criticism, but about experience learning: analyze, adjust, and be better prepared to react quickly to the unexpected. This was another lesson of this adventure: the sea does not forgive negligence, and it demands constant vigilance.
During the repairs, a new comrade joined us: Eliott Tunsdall. This young English sailor is a valuable addition to our crew, a reinforcement we eagerly await. He brought skills that fill some of our gaps, particularly in technical vocabulary, and made the navigation easier for the rest of our journey.
First meetings
The five of us set off again, determined, invigorated, and more motivated than ever to take on a new challenge: passing Stadt, the legendary rocky outcrop that, according to Andreas, terrifies even the boldest Vikings. Andreas, with his talent for bringing history to life, called this passage the “Norwegian Cape Horn.” He told us that in the past, the Vikings devised an ingenious system to slide their ships onto dry land, preferring this perilous detour to facing the turbulent waters of Stadt.
The Stadt promontory is particularly feared for its direct exposure to the Atlantic Ocean, with no natural barriers to calm the winds or cushion the waves. This location is renowned for its extreme maritime conditions: changeable winds, waves that can reach impressive heights, and an often unpredictable sea. This reputation endures, and many contemporary sailors consider Stadt to be one of the most formidable passages on the Norwegian coast. The maritime history of this region is punctuated by tales of shipwrecks and legends that forge its mythical reputation. Even modern sailors, equipped with the most advanced technology, consider this passage a test.
Early in the morning, we crossed Stadt, and this new stage definitely allowed us to recover from our fire incident. A day spent in the sun, navigating constantly changing landscapes, gradually became colder as we progressed north.
The freedom we experienced aboard Barba was unique. It gave us the opportunity to stop in places we would have never visited without it.
When looking for marine creatures, the temptation to scan every wave can sometimes play tricks on our eyes. At the helm, binoculars in hand, I spotted a black mass quickly disappearing between two waves. A few minutes later, my heart raced at this new surprise: I was at the helm of the Barba, sailing between the fjords, and we were surrounded by a hundred pilot whales.
This moment was one of those magical moments, the ones where you rediscover your inner child, with stars in your eyes, a bright smile, and a heart beating fast in your chest. Amélie was everywhere, her two cameras constantly taking turns to capture every moment. Mikko, Andreas, Eliott, and I took turns calling out enthusiastically: “Portside, 100 meters,” “Starboard, 30 meters,” “Four o’clock, 10 meters!”
Pilot whales surrounded us, swimming around us to the sound of their breathing and our sighs of admiration, creating a symphony of joy and wonder that lasted for over an hour. We live on the water for these moments of magic and discovery, and they remind us each time of our commitment and the opportunity we have to showcase the beauty of these animals through our odyssey.
I had imagined my first dive into these icy waters many times. Every morning, my gaze falled on my wetsuit, hanging in front of my bed, and on my mask, carefully placed on my shelf, between my two sweaters. I dreamed of it: the moment when my eyes would open underwater and I would discover this country in my favorite way.
That day, Mikko and I put on our wetsuits with palpable excitement. He was armed with his spear gun, ready to fish, and I was impatiently waiting for him, camera in hand.
When I dove, the cold, sharp and penetrating, bit my cheeks, but the euphoria of this long-awaited moment kept me warm. My first apneas were short; the shock of the cold took my breath away. Then, little by little, my body adapted. My descents became longer, deeper. Every moment underwater was a discovery.
I undulated above an endless field of black brittle stars, those serpentine starfish in constant motion. I approached to admire enormous icy sea stars and sea urchins, and I held my breath as a pollack slices through the water beside me. Here, kelp forests rose like plant cathedrals, sheltering tiny, vibrant fauna. Every corner teemed with life. The opposite of what one might imagine of these cold waters, famously austere; instead they overflew with a rich and abundant ecosystem.
In the afternoon, Andreas decided to dive along the fjords, both to fill our stomachs and, no doubt, to enjoy some alone time. I felt immense pleasure hoisting the alpha flag on the Barba, following the bubbles, and watching over our captain. This dive offered us a veritable feast. When Andreas returned on board with freshly harvested scallops, my vegetarianism took a temporary vacation. Eating scallops lit by a headlamp, alone at the helm, under a starry sky, during my night watch, remains an unforgettable memory.
The next day, we stopped in Brønnøysund, the geographic heart of the Norwegian coast. There, I had the immense privilege of meeting Sebastian Strand, a name that had resonated since my arrival in Norway, always associated with that of Hvaldimir. Hvaldimir is the beluga whale, who became famous in the media after being spotted in 2019 wearing a harness and carrying a camera, suspected of having been trained by Russia for military purposes. Freed from his harness, Hvaldimir is the first known cetacean to survive in the wild after a long period of captivity. However, he never joins his fellow whales, instead seeking the company of the humans he encounters.
Sebastian, a marine biologist, plays a key role in his new life. For four years, he has watched over Hvaldimir, creating a unique bond and supporting him in his quest for freedom until his death a few months before my arrival, on August 31, 2024. Andreas showed me moving videos of their dives together, testifying to a rare and powerful connection between man and animal. These images, etched in my memory, were disarmingly simple and purely beautiful.
A few days of sailing later, we reached Bodø. This would be our last stop with Mikko, who left us to return to his own adventures. That evening, we toasted to everything we experienced together. Despite the imminence of departure, we were grateful for these moments shared.
Heading north in search of orcas
After Mikko left, we doubled down! After several days, the landscapes changed, the temperature dropped, and during one of my shifts, the first snowflakes appeared. The feeling of arriving north, of touching that point on the map that seemed so high, so far away, was indescribable. One last day separated us from Tromsø, and when the city lights finally shone in the distance, we were all ready to dock. What a joy to hug and high-five on the quayside of the northern capital! We made it. For the very first time, I felt an immense sense of pride. The pride of having arrived, of surpassing myself, of believing in myself. We had a conversation with Andreas later about the subject, and what he said stayed with me: “You can be proud of two things: of having done it, but above all of having agreed to do it and of having embarked.”
The first morning in Tromsø, I was the first to step outside and realize with wonder that Barba was covered in a thick layer of snow. I had this feeling of a magical Christmas, a Viking Christmas! We still had 5 days before my departure and a potential window to go up to Skjervøy to meet the orcas.
The next day, we set sail for Skjervøy! We were about 10 hours away from this final destination, and I was dying to see the large black fins slicing through the water. That evening, Conor McDonnell joined us! Conor is a professional photographer, a friend of Andreas, and he was taking advantage of our visit to meet the orcas.
My last anchorage was there, and it was a tough one! We did it several times, Andreas at the helm, me at the anchor with my frozen cap and the snow constantly whipping our faces! But this night was peaceful with the dream that the next day, I would put on my wetsuit and slip into the water with, I hoped, some orcas. Early in the morning, we were ready and excited! The sun was out despite the cold, and the weather was perfect.
For the first time since the beginning, we were all outside, scanning the sea for a spout, a dorsal fin, a caudal fin, or birds… We scanned the herring on the depth sounder to get an idea of where the cetaceans might be hunting. I spotted a back and a small dorsal fin that I thought was that of a humpback whale, which I would not see again afterward. The landscape was incredible, we were surrounded by snow-capped mountains in a piece of ocean the size of a lake, the wind was calm, the sky was clear, this day had everything to be perfect. After a few hours and several laps, Andreas spotted them through the thermal binoculars. Our first group of orcas. When my eyes fell on this immense black blade, straight, slow, emotion overcame me and tears welled up in my eyes. We tried to understand their behavior. Were they hunting? Did they only go from point A to point B? Andreas signaled to me, and I went to put on my wetsuit, my heart burning with excitement.
In a small inflatable dinghy towed behind the boat, I waited to glimpse the dorsal fins of our sea pandas. Five orcas arrived behind us; the image was incredible. When I got into the water, everything happened very quickly. No time to be impressed or scared at the thought of throwing myself in front of the ultimate predator. I swam towards them, they dove, I came across one that descended slightly sideways beneath me, eight meters separated us and five seconds reunited us. It was magnificent and frustrating to observe animals in their natural environment. To have no control in a world where we have so much of it every day, not to be able to choose to have even 10 more seconds in their company. And at the same time, the satisfaction of leaving that choice, of experiencing those few seconds of contemplation between two free animals.
After this encounter, we would see many more orcas, humpback whales and even a right whale.
My last day on the Barba, my last dive with the orcas.
Andreas and I entered the water under the snow. The mere thought of it made me smile. I was swimming among the Norwegian mountains, with the orcas, under the snow. While we didn’t share long moments of interaction, I saw an orca even closer. She passed beneath us, turned sideways, and looked at us. This eye contact was clear, impressive. The way she studied us, though furtive, was intense. This encounter freezed my smile and made my tears flow. I kept this thought in mind: my journey was complete.
Today I’m back home, and I’ve already been back to sea several times since then. The adventure I’m experiencing aboard the Barba helps me every day. I sometimes approach things differently, I react more quickly and calmly to unpredictable situations, I listen to myself and trust myself more often, I’m less afraid of embarking on new experiences, of not succeeding the first time. I continue to marvel every day, to question the world around me, and I want to continue to act to preserve it.
The Orca Odyssey is a part of me and I’m proud to say I’m a part of her too.
More information about the Barba here . More information about Andromeda Oceanology here.
