The Arctic is noisy. On the icecap, at 10,000′, the wind scrapes past in furtive bustles of spindrift. On the coast, the throb of exploding glaciers sound like cannons in a war zone. Inside our yacht, we were alarmed at the clang and rasp of her steel hull crashing through ice. But in our kayaks, we had become a part of the environment, treated to a symphony of sounds as jagged chunks of multi-hued ice tinkled musically along our hulls. In concert was the rattle of brash ice as our paddles crunched through frozen rafts to carve a pathway for our bows. A long, low swell drifted in from the North Atlantic to force a cacophony of deep whooshes to echo from the waterline caves of nearby icebergs. Occasionally a frightening sharp crack signalled the collapse of several tons of iceberg into the sea.