Svalbard Diary, Day 8: in which your gallant correspondent develops an unexpected yearning...

It was surprisingly warm, which for anyone who had packed as if auditioning for a remake of "Scott of the Antarctic" was likely to be problematic. Me, I was dressed as if for a gentle stroll across the fields to Tesco at Stowmarket. And, of course, apart from the absence of polar bears, the conditions are pretty similar.

Our morning excursion was at Hornsund, at the south-western tip of Spitsbergen proper, in search of the auk colony. This meant hopping into the zodiacs again. I've made this sound pretty uneventful, but perhaps I ought to explain how it works.

A zodiac is a smallish inflatable vessel, which holds up to fifteen passengers and is powered by a 50 hp motor (in our case). Here, they are boarded from a platform at the rear of the vessel. We, the passengers, are required to wear waterproof jackets and trousers, plus a life jacket which should, apparently, automatically inflate if we fall into the water. You don't want to fall into the water - life expectancy is measured in minutes given the temperature of the sea. We also have waterproof boots, which are totally unstylish.

The zodiac is lashed to the marina deck by the Filipino crew, whilst we transfer one by one, holding the zodiac driver using the 'sailor's grasp', where you hold each other by the forearm - this reduces the risk of slipping, they tell me.

And then off we go, re-enacting the Normandy landings (albeit without hostile Germans, mines and underwater obstructions), as the zodiac glides onto the beach. Mostly, we make wet landings, where you exit the vessel into about six to eight inches of water - thus the need for waterproof boots. We then splash ashore for our educational stroll/hike.

As already mentioned, we were in search of auks today, and these nest in the crevices formed by jumbled rock at the bottom of cliffs. They weren't very co-operative, it must be said, but it was a pleasant enough walk nonetheless.

Whilst we were at lunch, the Hebridean Sky repositioned itself to Recherchefjord, where we were off for another stroll. Our prey, the Svalbard reindeer.

The landing point, or as I'd termed it by now, the human haulout, was by an abandoned hut, propped up with bits of wood. Because of the permafrost, you can't easily dig foundations for buildings, and the effect of constant freezing and thawing plays havoc with the integrity of walls.

We walked. The reindeer chewed in a thoughtful way, as if mentally doing sudoku puzzles in their heads. The sun shone. It was all curiously tranquil. And suddenly, I had a yearning for a bag of crisps. I hadn't seen any on the ship, and asked my fellow zodiac passengers, who confirmed the absence of potato-based snacks.

We mused over the possibility of reindeer and lichen, or kittiwake and seaweed flavours, before concluding that, like hedgehog crisps, they'd probably be a bit of a disappointment. I only had to resist the cravings for a day though. We were headed for the big city...