So how do such voyages differ from standard cruises? First, they use smaller ships. This allows the captain, working with the tour leader, to manoeuvre for closer sightings, even ensuring the best light for photography. Second, there are far fewer passengers; on some cruises, fewer than 30. At sea, this makes it easier to share sightings. On land, it makes for smaller, more manageable groups, enabling you to spend more time with the wildlife without disturbing it and often at closer proximity.
Most importantly, the emphasis of the cruise is on wildlife above all else. Photograph a ruin or sample some local cuisine by all means, but don’t forget that your shipmates will be firmly focused on fins and feathers. On-board experts – botanists, marine biologists, ornithologists – will always be on hand, and your daily itinerary will be dictated by the movements and whereabouts of wildlife. During downtime, you may not find much in the way of spa treatments or sushi bars, and days often end with a post-dinner recap of sightings as well as updating the all-important “trip list”.
The concept of “downtime” can also become fluid. In polar latitudes during summer, the sun barely sets, and wildlife may appear at any time. Thus “sea days” do not mean hitting the bar or lounging by the pool, but mounting a deck vigil for whale spouts and albatrosses. For special sightings, the ship may well stop, slow or change course. Overnight anchorages often mean hopping into the Zodiacs early, to make the most of the day or exploit a favourable weather window. When it comes to wildlife, if you snooze, you lose.
But while such cruises may call themselves “expeditions”, they are not endurance tests. While you shouldn’t expect frills – unless booking with one of the more upmarket operators – you’ll likely have a cosy cabin and, with a high ratio of crew to guests, be well looked after. Meals are unfailingly excellent and the bar well-stocked. The relatively small number of guests encourages a personal feel, with most people getting to know one another by the time the cruise is over.
Evenings on board, after a windswept day gawping at nature, can have a special magic. I remember sitting at anchor one evening in Mexico’s Sea of Cortez. The morning had brought us fluking blue whales and breaching humpbacks; the afternoon had produced displaying blue-footed boobies and a tramp around a desert islet bristling with weird and wonderful cacti. As the sun set on the day’s adventures, the crew whipped up a groaning barbecue on the stern. Margarita in hand, I peered over the rail to see a huge green turtle peering back, suspended in the limpid blue.
