As if he owns the place

Norway | Anno 2018

 

Wednesday, July 25 | Freemansundet – Kapp Waldburg

Thursday, July 26 | Gnålodden – Burgerbukta – Brepollen

Friday, July 27 | Ahlstrandhalvøya – Recherchefjorden

Saturday, July 28 | Longyearbyen – Ostend

 

 

Wednesday, July 25 | Freemansundet – Kapp Waldburg

The Sea Spirit continues sailing steadily southward almost all night. After all, there’s more than a hundred kilometres to cover before we reach the Freemansundet, the picturesque strait between Barentsøya and Edgeøya – the fourth and third largest islands of Svalbard, respectively.

Many ships in the past have been dashed to pieces by the currents against icebergs blocked in the narrow channel

Freemansundet

In theory, we could also return to the west via the Heleysundet, north of Barentsøya. But that’s a risky endeavour. In that narrow passage, tidal currents can cause significant havoc. Speeds of 10 knots or 18 km/h are not uncommon there. Many ships in the past have been dashed to pieces by the currents against icebergs blocked in the narrow channel. It’s not for nothing that one of those passages has been named Ormholet – Wormhole.

 

Common eider

Geologically, Barentsøya and Edgeøya differ little from each other, as Ryan explained to us last night. Over two hundred million years ago, the current landscape began to take shape. Layers of sandstone, siltstone, and claystone were deposited in a shallow sea. Today, these layers still remain, lying neatly horizontal and almost undistorted, but now above water. However, there are also places where magma managed to penetrate these sediments and solidify into dolerite.

 

Barentsøya

On both sides of the Freemansundet, we will mostly be looking at beautiful sediment layers of flat-topped mountains. Some of these layers are rich in fossils. Also noteworthy is the layer of very thin shale, which often forms steep, black cliffs. Where small rivers carve their way through this shale, small canyons are formed.

 

 

Polar bears know their way around here too. For them, Freemansundet is a popular migration route, so there’s a good chance we’ll be able to observe a few today. Reindeer might also make an appearance, as they are fond of the soggy moss at the base of the slopes.

Eventually, we will anchor at the very western end of the Freemansundet, near Kapp Lee. This is an excellent spot for walrus watching, as they often come ashore there to rest.

 

Reindeer are fond of the soggy moss at the base of the slopes

In the past, walrus hunters also took note of this, as evidenced by the many bleached bones and skulls – without tusks, of course – lying on the beach. Massive slaughters must have taken place there in earlier times.

There are also more civilized traces of human presence. For example, the Swedish-Russian expedition of 1899 had a fixed base at Kapp Lee for a few years to measure the meridian.

In 1969, a Dutch expedition wintered there. Their goal was to map the distribution and ecology of the polar bear. The world was preparing to give the polar bear the protection it urgently needed from 1973 onwards, so accurate data on the bear’s behaviour was essential.

Even traces of the Pomors can be found at Kapp Lee, Ryan concluded last night. So, will we finally learn more about this mysterious people?

And yes, this morning we hit the jackpot immediately. Polar bears on starboard at Barentsøya, comes the announcement via the intercom as we wake up. The crew on the bridge already have the animals in sight – through a telescope, of course. We’ll be there in seven minutes, Bettina adds meaningfully. So, we don’t have much time to put on our pants.

The concept of the pixel bear makes its debut – a distant polar bear that appears as nothing more than a single pixel in a photo

Skarpryttaren

Pixel polar bear on Skarpryttaren

Skilfully, Captain Oleg positions the Sea Spirit directly in front of the steep slope of the Skarpryttaren where all the action is happening. But even then, spotting the polar bears is a tricky task. With the naked eye, they are barely distinguishable from the rocks on the bare, brown-green mountainside. And the dirty patches on their white fur don’t make it any easier for us. Binoculars and telephoto lenses really are necessary to spot the animals.

Polar bear males and cubs are a dangerous combination – at least for the cubs

Polar bear (male) on Skarpryttaren

Polar bear (female) with cubs on Skarpryttaren

The concept of the pixel bear makes its debut – a distant polar bear that appears as nothing more than a single pixel in a photo. A bit exaggerated perhaps, but the idea is clear.

First, we search for the male. He’s grazing alone on the barren mountainside. Fortunately, he’s moving, which makes it easier to spot him, especially when he’s in profile. Apparently, he’s feeding on the sparse plants that manage to survive in the erosion gullies.

Next, we look for the female with her two cubs. This is even more challenging, as the mother bear is lying almost motionless among the stones, with her head resting on her forepaws, as we eventually discover. One of her cubs is doing the same. Thankfully, the second cub is moving about, sniffing at the plants. Its movements lead us to the trio.

The female then gets up, followed promptly by the first cub. Slowly, the three of them shuffle eastward along the slope, nibbling at plants here and there. This isn’t the wisest move, as they’re heading straight towards the male. Hopefully, the female will realize in time how dangerous this is. Polar bear males and cubs are a dangerous combination – at least for the cubs. The males do not hesitate to kill cubs, often to protect their own genes, and sometimes simply because they’re hungry.

In the distance, we can just make out the Freemanbreen. We must have sailed past it this morning without paying it any attention. The glacier doesn’t make much of an impression now. It was different once. In 1956, the Freemanbreen had a significant surge, and its front advanced kilometres forward, almost completely closing off the six-kilometre-wide Freemansundet.

It’s already quarter to nine when we head down to the restaurant on deck two. All this time, the cooks and waiters have been patiently waiting with breakfast. That’s how it goes on an expedition cruise.

It won’t be long now before the first reindeer make their appearance – pixel reindeer, to be exact. With our binoculars, we can just observe them grazing on the tundra. For them, it’s crucial to build up as much fat as possible for the winter. Luckily, moss and grass are abundant on that flat coastal strip, thanks to the water running down from the slopes.

But the polar bears aren’t done with us yet. This time there are two of them, on the flanks of the Rindeaksla, a barren mountain ridge on Barentsøya. One is dozing far inland. Even our binoculars struggle to reveal more than a shapeless white blob.

The other male, however, is fairly easy to observe. He’s calmly walking along the slope, striding among the sparse tufts of grass, much like bear number three earlier – we are numbering the polar bears now, starting from the two we saw last Saturday. Once again, the Sea Spirit positions itself directly in front of the steep slope so we can watch number eight at our leisure. And although nothing exciting happens, it remains a fascinating experience. This is probably our last polar bear.

In 1956, the Freemanbreen had a significant surge, almost completely closing off the six-kilometre-wide Freemansundet

Peaked mountains are hard to find here, with none of the summits reaching more than a few hundred meters. But this doesn’t detract from the impressive landscape. Where the slopes descend steeply to the Freemansundet, colourful sediment layers have been exposed. Patches of pearl-white snow manage to cling to shallow crevices between the smooth mountains.

 

Würzburgerhytta (1959) (visible in the far left distance)

In the distance, a few orange-red cliffs even come into view, likely intrusions of dolerite. To the west of these cliffs, the Würzburgerhytta can just be seen, the hut established in 1959 by Julius Büdel. This German scientist was one of the first to land on his research site by helicopter. At that time, the sysselmann still had to make all his journeys by dog sled.

The weather is unmatched, with sunny, blue skies. But things can change. The further west we progress through the Freemansundet, the foggier it becomes around the mountain peaks. Our expectations are not high when we drop anchor at Kapp Lee around lunchtime.

 

 

The verdict soon follows. It's ten past one when Ryan's businesslike voice echoes through the intercom. The fog is too thick, he says, and the wind conditions aren't favourable either. For safety reasons, landing at Kapp Lee is not advisable. So we’ll meet the walruses and the Pomors another time.

There’s that mad bunch again, the polar bears on the mountain slopes must be thinking

Instead, plan B is brought out. Ryan suggests a landing at Kapp Waldburg, which is all the way at the other end of the Freemansundet, over forty kilometres back to the east. Fog shouldn't be an issue there. The Sea Spirit sets off at full speed, with the speedometer showing 16,1 knots – almost 30 km/h. There’s that mad bunch again, the polar bears on the mountain slopes must be thinking as we speed back through the Freemansundet.

 

Disembarking at Kapp Waldburg

The weather forecasts were spot on. A calm sea welcomes us at Kapp Waldburg. Although the sun hides behind a low, grey cloud cover, visibility is excellent. Ryan's calculated gamble paid off.

 

Büdelfjellet

And we waste no time. Barely half an hour later, we land on the vast coastal plain, immediately overwhelmed by blooming plants and green, marshy moss. Without exaggerating, you could call this lush vegetation – by Arctic standards, at least, as no plant would dare to grow taller than ten centimetres in this harsh climate.

Where there’s vegetation, there are reindeer. They've been spotted at both ends of the coastline. Fixing our gaze on the horizon, we promptly set off in search of them. In doing so, we almost literally stumble over an Arctic fox. The little creature isn’t particularly shy, comfortably nestled on a cushion of moss among the plants, its body curled so that its head rests on its tail. Only when it gets a bit too busy does the Arctic fox decide to move on.

Today, it’s wearing its summer coat – greyish-brown fur, white on the belly and flanks. Come September, it will start shedding again, donning its beautiful white winter coat, essential for surviving the harsh winter. Its subcutaneous fat layer will also help with that. Laboratory experiments have shown that an Arctic fox only begins to shiver after being exposed to – 70 °C (- 94 °F) for an hour—one wonders who comes up with such experiments and who actually conducts them. At one point, an Arctic fox was observed less than sixty kilometres from the geographic North Pole.

 

Lemmings are the Arctic fox’s favourite meal – up to a dozen a day if luck is on its side

Arctic fox

Lemmings are the favourite meal of Arctic foxes – up to a dozen a day if luck is on their side. They don’t shy away from seabirds either, particularly their eggs and chicks. However, finding food becomes much harder in winter. Occasionally, they come across a reindeer carcass, and sometimes they follow the trail of a polar bear, hoping to scavenge some leftover seal meat. In spring, they might even venture into a ringed seal’s snow den to prey on a helpless pup.

Surviving the Arctic winter without hibernation is a perilous endeavour. It’s no surprise that Arctic foxes are prudent enough to create underground caches close to the permafrost. Throughout summer and fall, they drag their kills to these storage sites. The fact that the Arctic fox population has never been endangered, even during periods when humans hunted them for their beautiful white fur, shows that hoarding pays off.

Arctic foxes are usually monogamous for life, an interesting fact considering that a male often lives with several females in an underground den. Yet, it’s only with his lifelong mate that he has offspring. On Svalbard, these pups are usually born in late May, with litters typically consisting of five to six young.

The pups don’t have much time to play, though. By the end of August, they must be able to fend for themselves. By then, they need to have learned the hunting techniques from their parents that will enable them to survive in the harsh Arctic environment.

 

Svalbard reindeer

Not only has our Arctic fox made its escape, but the reindeer have also fled, as Ab, stationed at the western perimeter, informs us. Only one reindeer remains visible in the distance, grazing just outside of our view.

Meanwhile, the marshy tundra has claimed its first victim

Meanwhile, the marshy tundra has claimed its first victim. One of our group has sunk nearly to her hips in the muck. Due to permafrost, she can’t get any deeper, as we recall Sanna’s ironic wisdom from last Monday. But it’s clear that the helpless victim can't get out on her own. Her companions struggle to pull and tug her free from this prickly predicament. It takes quite a bit of effort, but ultimately everyone emerges with just a scare and a layer of mud. The only remnants of the incident are a pair of rubber boots deeply embedded in the tundra's mire.

 

Kapp Waldburg – Colony of black-legged kittiwakes

To the north, the 276-meter-high Büdelfjellet rises above the coastal plain. Deep erosion gullies carve vertical streaks into its barren slope, and white strands of snow thrive in the shadows. It appears as if the mountain is clad in a black-and-white striped suit.

 

This colony of black-legged kittiwakes is one of the easiest to reach in Svalbard

But our focus is not on the mountain. We're interested in the black cliff made of thin shale at the base of the slope. Water has carved a narrow, deep gorge there, creating a safe haven for the black-legged kittiwakes, who find it ideal for evading the ever-hunting Arctic foxes.

This is fortuitous for us, as this colony of black-legged kittiwakes is one of the easiest to reach in Svalbard, according to Ab. It’s a simple walk to their location, allowing us to view the nests not from a frog's perspective, but horizontally, and the birds show little fear of humans.

 

Black-legged kittiwakes

The noise that greets us as we approach the gorge is deafening. There must be thousands of black-legged kittiwakes, chattering away on the ledges. They are true seabirds, spending most of their lives at sea, only coming to places like this to breed.

At the very top of the cliffs, Vadim and Ryan stand guard on either side of the gorge. You never know when a polar bear might come down from the ridge toward the gorge. The view of the surrounding area is spectacular – the bustling gorge below us, the green tundra in the foreground, the Sea Spirit gliding over the glassy waters of Freemansundet, and the barren mountains with patches of snow across the way.

But it’s in the gorge where the real spectacle unfolds. Here, you can approach the birds relatively closely without disturbing them. They are constantly flying back and forth at a frenzied pace, leaving no ledge unoccupied. With their yellow beaks, black legs, and especially their black wing tips, they are easily recognizable. This is the most numerous gull species in the world.

 

Building nests is an art form for black-legged kittiwakes

 

Building nests is an art form for black-legged kittiwakes. Both father and mother work together, using plants, moss, and seaweed to create a fairly large bowl-shaped nest, which they bond together with their droppings. This creates a secure shelter for one to three chicks. The Brünnich's guillemot at Alkefjellet could take notes on their nesting techniques.

Black-legged kittiwakes typically lay their eggs in the first half of June. A month later, the eggs hatch, and in the cosy nests, we can indeed spot tiny chicks here and there – still with little black beaks for the time being.

 

 

Black-legged kittiwakes forage at sea, primarily targeting small fish like Arctic cod and capelin, as well as amphipods and krill. However, they have their share of predators as well, including the great skua, the glaucous gull, and the Arctic fox, all of which have their sights set on the kittiwakes.

 

Black-legged kittiwake

Reindeer skull

As if to illustrate this point, the Arctic fox we spotted earlier is now nervously pacing at the base of the cliff, clearly on the hunt for something edible – an egg, a chick, or perhaps even an adult gull. So far, its sniffing around has yielded no results.

 

Arctic fox

Then, in a moment of reckless determination, the fox begins to scramble up the steep slope, hoping to snag a meal from one of the lower nests. Unfortunately, it has little chance of success; the black-legged kittiwakes are perched high and dry, well out of his reach.

 

In a moment of reckless determination, the fox begins to scramble up the steep slope, hoping to snag a meal from one of the lower nests

A second Arctic fox lies deeper in the gorge, but it doesn’t move a muscle. Blissfully, it curls up, its head resting on its tail, completely indifferent to the commotion around it.

Then the first Arctic fox reappears on the scene. To our surprise, it has a chick in its mouth. How it managed to catch it remains a mystery to us. Literally devouring it whole, it eagerly chews on the little body between its sharp teeth, while the powerless legs with their three undeveloped toes dangle limply against its jaw and quickly disappear into its mouth. Satisfied, it finally licks its lips clean. A few white feathers on the stones are the only reminder of the incident.

Literally devouring it whole, the Arctic fox eagerly chews on the little body between its sharp teeth

Arctic fox with prey

On the eastern edge, where Andy is standing guard, reindeer have been spotted too, it suddenly occurs to us. It is quite a walk, and it turns out to be in vain. The reindeer have disappeared with the northern sun.

But that’s okay, because even on this short trek through the soggy tundra, we are confronted with an incredibly rich flora.

These turn out to be bulbils, which the plant uses for asexual reproduction

Svalbard poppy

Alpine bistort

The moss campion and the Arctic poppy are already familiar to us. Remarkable is the delicate alpine bistort, little more than a stem with red bulbs and a white flower at the top. These turn out to be bulbils, which the plant uses for asexual reproduction. It relies on the rock ptarmigans to drop the bulbils elsewhere through their droppings.

This cunning plant has more than one trick up its sleeve

Nodding saxifrage

You wouldn’t expect it from the nodding saxifrage, but this fragile plant with white flowers can grow 20 to 30 cm tall. Few plants can achieve that in this harsh climate. It also has red bulbils, though only in the leaf axils. But this cunning plant has more than one trick up its sleeve. Underground, it has stems running in all directions, from which new plants can emerge. This way, it engages in vegetative reproduction.

 

Highland saxifrage

Quite beautiful is the highland saxifrage is, with its white flowers on hairy red stems. It’s not surprising to find it here, as it loves moist, rocky environments where many birds are active.

 

Whiplash saxifrage

Even the relatively rare whiplash saxifrage makes an appearance. With its golden-yellow flowers and its irregular red stems that extend far beyond the plant, it is a remarkable but very beautiful sight.

 

 

It’s nearly six o’clock when we are urged to look for the zodiac. Moments later, we are back on board the Sea Spirit.

 

They are constantly flying back and forth at a frenzied pace, leaving no ledge unoccupied

An eternal recycling of nutrients. With these words, Louis, an emeritus professor from the University of Antwerp, places the colony of the black-legged kittiwakes in a broader perspective. The black-legged kittiwakes establish an essential connection between land and sea, he explains to us in the lounge, as their guano serves as the perfect fertilizer for the plants that grow at the foot of the cliffs. Through erosion, that vegetation partially washes down to the sea, where it becomes food for the phytoplankton. Fish, in turn, are very fond of that phytoplankton. Those fish then fall prey to the black-legged kittiwakes, who feed themselves and their chicks with it. The result is that new guano drips from the cliffs, closing the loop. A process that can continue indefinitely, Louis concludes, at least as long as there is no outside interference – from humans, for example.

 

An eternal recycling of nutrients, as the black-legged kittiwakes establish an essential connection between land and sea

We now have more than three hundred kilometres ahead of us. It will be a long night of sailing. First, we will travel back through the Freemansundet, then around the southernmost point of Spitsbergen, the biggest island of Svalbard, and finally northward to Hornsund, a deep fjord on the west coast of Spitsbergen.

Done with the flat mountains of Nordaustlandet, Barentsøya, and Edgeøya, Ryan adds. Starting tomorrow, they will make way for alpine scenes and granite mountains – the well-known pointed peaks of Svalbard.

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Thursday, July 26 | Gnålodden – Burgerbukta – Brepollen

That we are sailing around Sørkappøya – South Cape Island, the southernmost point of Spitsbergen – won't go unnoticed. Around five o'clock in the morning, we roll back and forth in bed. After all, this is a mini-version of Cape Horn. The warm Gulf Stream from the southwest collides here with the cold sea current from the east.

A few hours later, upon waking, we find ourselves surrounded by the imposing Hornsund. We cannot blame Ryan for his enthusiasm. This fjord looks spectacular, even though the high snow peaks are still shrouded in mist for now. Countless glaciers flow into this fjord. One of them, the Hansbreen, can already be observed on our port side.

With a length of thirty kilometres, the Hornsund penetrates deep into Spitsbergen. So deep, in fact, that the island is almost cut in half by the fjord. Only a narrow strip of land remains, barely six kilometres wide, to separate the head of the fjord from the ocean on the other side. Two glaciers cover this land bridge – the Hornbreen sloping down towards the fjord and the Hambergbreen sloping down towards the ocean.

For polar bears, it is a piece of cake to stroll over those glaciers from the ocean and make their way down to the Hornsund

Polar bears are well aware of this. For them, it is a piece of cake to stroll over those glaciers from the ocean and make their way down to the Hornsund. The route is known as a popular migration path for polar bears. A polar bear would never think of taking the long detour around Sørkappøya like we did.

There is even a suspicion that the Hornsund is not a fjord at all but a proper sea passage whose eastern end is permanently covered with ice. However, there is no certainty about this. Even radar images have not provided a definitive answer as to whether the land under those glaciers is just above or just below sea level.

While in the northern part of Spitsbergen, it was mainly the Russians who played a significant role in the past, here in the south, it is the Poles. They refer to their base in Isbjørnhamna on the northern shore of Hornsund as Little Poland. Perhaps a bit of an exaggeration for a scientific station with only nine permanent inhabitants. Nevertheless, the importance of this Polska Stacja Polarna should not be underestimated. During the Cold War, the base offered the Poles a unique opportunity to collaborate with other countries outside the confines of the Eastern Bloc, thanks to the Svalbard Treaty of 1920.

 

Gnålberget

We have already finished breakfast when we anchor around nine o'clock in front of Gnålodden. This is a small, rocky promontory at the foot of Gnålberget, a bird cliff where black-legged kittiwakes and Brünnich's guillemots make their home. They are reportedly there in the thousands. The cliff wall owes its name to this – Gnålberget means grumbling rock. However, it remains an open question whether the fog will obstruct our view too much.

The latter will not stop us from visiting the trappers' hut at the foot of the rocks. The legendary Wanny Woldstad often stayed there when she overwintered in this region several times during the 1930s.

In just a few days she transformed from a taxi driver in Tromsø to a trapper in Hornsund

Indeed, Wanny was a remarkable woman. In just a few days she transformed from a taxi driver in Tromsø to a trapper in Hornsund – to put it in her own words. It was a men's club, the trapping world of that time. As expected, her intention was met with general ridicule. Until she began to set traps, hunt polar bears, and effortlessly endure Arctic winters.

Nowadays, her hut is still in excellent condition. The Poles occasionally use it, and the sysselmann oversees its maintenance.

 

Gnålodden

Three armed scouts immediately set out to explore Gnålodden – Ryan, Ab, and Eduardo. In the meantime, we observe from the Sea Spirit several hundred black-legged kittiwakes on the rocks below. They haven't found a place in the breeding colony on the cliff. Probably they are kittiwakes that, due to a lack of a partner, haven’t bred. Or perhaps they are single birds under three years old that are not yet sexually active. But suddenly, we see the whole group scatter in all directions. Why, we can only guess.

In the meantime, Eduardo had the fright of his life – further along, he spotted a polar bear

Soon we will learn that Eduardo in the meantime had the fright of his life – further along, he spotted a polar bear. It was a large male, not something to mess with. Leaving the spot unnoticed was not an option, as the scouts were upwind. But for the moment, the polar bear showed no sign of coming closer. As quickly and cautiously as they could, the three scouts gathered their gear and headed back to the zodiac, back to the ship.

This incident changes everything. Going ashore under these circumstances is completely out of the question, as it would almost certainly lead to a fatal confrontation. At 9:42 a.m., the inevitable decision is made. The zodiac landing is replaced by a zodiac cruise, in the hope of spotting the polar bear from a distance.

 

Gnålodden is notorious for treacherous rocks in the shallow water

Gnålodden – Black-legged kittiwakes

But even that is not without danger. Gnålodden is notorious for treacherous rocks in the shallow water. Normally, as a zodiac driver, you can detect them in time, according to Ab, as long as you keep an eye on the white foam on the water. But with nine zodiacs, there’s foam everywhere on these choppy waters. This will cost us two or three motor blades, is his prediction.

Meanwhile, it's all hands on deck on the Sea Spirit. Instead of three zodiacs running a shuttle service, nine zodiacs need to be launched for a cruise. Instead of a handful of armed guides, we need nine zodiac drivers. Hastily, the additional zodiacs are inspected one by one, prepared, and launched. The three scouts hand in their weapons, and six extra zodiac drivers prepare for the trip.

Around half past ten, we are ready. Our fleet is floating, ready to depart on the water. Clouds still hang low around the mountain peaks. Occasionally, a pale sun breaks through the clouds, casting a diffused light over the Hornsund. Between the rocks on the headland, the celibate black-legged kittiwakes are chattering again as if nothing happened.

 

This will cost us two or three motor blades, is his prediction

 

A little later, we set off. A cold wind blows towards us over the water, and the moisture in the air makes it even chillier. In a wide arc, we race around the treacherous rocks of Gnålodden.

 

Gnålodden – Polar bear (m)

Suddenly, there he is, his pale white back barely visible behind the rocks. The polar bear nervously paces back and forth, moving behind the rocks, down the mountain slope, and then back up again. It’s softly raining, and wisps of mist hang low between the rocks.

 

Our intrusion into his domain doesn’t sit well with him

 

Our zodiacs carefully maintain a distance of at least thirty meters from the shoreline, but that doesn’t seem to help. Even though the polar bear is still a fair distance from the water and a few meters higher up than us, our presence clearly unsettles him. He paces back and forth restlessly, marking his territory.

This headland is his and no one else's, and our intrusion into his domain doesn’t sit well with him. He stands his ground, occasionally casting tense glances in our direction, as if to say, Now get out of here right away.

 

 

To all drivers. Let’s continue increasing the distance, Ryan’s voice comes through the walkie-talkies. The zodiacs retreat further, and this seems to have a calming effect. The bear noticeably relaxes. He even lies down in the grass, head on his forepaws, gazing out at the sea. Eventually, he rolls onto his side, completely ignoring us. The audacity! As if he owns the place!

 

He rolls onto his side, completely ignoring us. The audacity! As if he owns the place!

We take our time to observe and photograph him, though it's no easy task on these rough waves. He looks almost like a giant teddy bear as he lies there peacefully among the rocks and grass, making you want to reach out and pet him. Fortunately, the formidable claws on his paws are a clear reminder to stay vigilant.

The short excursion lasts a little over an hour. Ab is pleased to report that not a single motor blades has been damaged. One of the zodiacs did briefly get stuck on the rocky bottom, but the only option in such a situation is to tilt the motor out of the water and hope the waves push you free. Luckily, it worked.

 

Burgerbukta

A bit later, the Sea Spirit anchors in Burgerbukta, a bay on the northern side of Hornsund. This is a textbook example of a fjord, carved out by glaciers over tens of thousands of years. The numerous inlets, each with its own glacier, are a testament to this. Here you have the fjords to choose from. We opt for the eastern part of Burgerbukta where the Mühlbacherbreen flows into the bay.

 

Kayaks are launched

After lunch, about five kayaks are launched, while the rest of us head out on zodiacs in two shifts for exploration. With Sanna at the helm, it promises to be a spirited trip.

 

Luciakammen

To our left, the Luciakammen rises, an impressive limestone massif with sharp peaks reaching up to 932 meters above sea level. Rusty patches on the steep rock walls reveal the presence of iron oxide. Less steep areas are covered with green vegetation. Add the layered, grey rocks and the patches of white snow, and you have a colourful scene. At the base, scree fans out into wide cones.

 

Kvalfangarbreen, Widebreen

Curiously, a bearded seal occasionally pokes its shy nose above water, sometimes here, sometimes there, carefully observing our movements. Eventually, it makes up its mind – this situation is not to be trusted. We don’t see it again.

 

Black-legged kittiwake

Curiously, a bearded seal occasionally pokes its shy nose above water

Bearded seal

Black-legged kittiwake

Northern fulmar

Shy is a word that doesn't exist in the vocabulary of the kittiwakes that have claimed an iceberg. Unapproachable, they sit on top of the ice mass. Our antics don't affect them at all. They’re right; the view from up there must be magnificent.

 

Tilted iceberg with sediment layers

Vertical black stripes in the same iceberg catch our attention. Normally, you would expect such sediment layers to lie horizontally, Sanna notes, but this iceberg has tilted 90° due to melting and calving.

Further on, clinging to the side of the Luciakammen, there’s a typical land glacier with an ice wall about twenty-five meters high. It doesn’t experience calving, Sanna explains, because it doesn’t reach the water. There are no crevasses either; the ice mass rests statically on the bedrock.

 

Hanging glacier

Pink-footed geese

Suddenly, a dozen pink-footed geese appear from under that glacier. Perfectly in line, they tiptoe over the pebbles – perhaps they, too, have received instructions from Ryan.

Pink-footed geese are the largest species of geese found in Svalbard, larger than the Barnacle goose and the light bellied brant goose. They are beautiful birds, with their pink beaks and matching feet, and their grey-brown striped bodies that darken near the head.

In Svalbard, the pink-footed geese feel most at home in the west, probably because there’s still too much snow in the east when they return from the south in spring. They prefer to build their nests on cliffs, far out of reach of Arctic foxes. At the end of May, they lay their eggs, and about a month later, the chicks appear. The parents then guide their chicks on foot to the nearest lake.

 

Kvalfangarbreen

Actually, we don't need to go to Svalbard at all to observe these pink-footed geese. Even though they breed on this archipelago, in September or October they migrate through the Norwegian mainland to Denmark, the Netherlands, and Belgium to spend the winter. In recent years, thirty to forty thousand pink-footed geese have been counted in the polders of the Belgian eastern coast.

If we want to maintain that, we will need to preserve the approximately twelve thousand hectares of available grassland, as their diet is almost entirely vegetarian. In Svalbard, it consists of tundra plants. In Belgium, it includes grasses, rapeseed, sugar beet, and potatoes – even the leftovers after harvest. Needless to say, this evokes mixed feelings among our farmers.

 

Without hesitation, Sanna steers our zodiac through the crumbling carpet of ice floes

Mühlbacherbreen

Gradually, we approach the glacier front of the Mühlbacherbreen. Enchanting icebergs now surround us. Sometimes they are transparent masses of ice that are almost gone, and sometimes they are imposing blue structures towering meters above us.

 

Mühlbacherbreen

The pockmarked front of the glacier defies all imagination – a monumental chunk of natural force, chaotic in its jagged forms, immovable yet unstable, with a crumbling carpet of large ice floes at its base as far as the eye can see. This doesn’t bother Sanna in the least. Without hesitation, she steers our zodiac through it. Up close, we observe the cold wall with its rugged texture in all shades of white, blue, and grey.

 

Widebreen

As we return to the Sea Spirit over the choppy water, the full length of the Kvalfangarbreen glacier comes into view on the east side of Burgerbukta. The low clouds can’t prevent it from basking partly in the sunlight. It gracefully curves around an imposing nunatak as it descends. On the other side of that same nunatak, the Widebreen glacier emerges.

 

Widebreen

There’s certainly no shortage of glaciers here. A perfect setting for a barbecue, according to the expedition staff. And who are we to argue with that? Chef Francis is ready for it. At 6:30 p.m., everyone gathers outdoors on deck five. It’s not cold, the wind is calm, and the chill from the three glaciers in the background is hardly noticeable.

Should a polar bear show up on the beach, it would likely be bewildered. What would it smell? The delightful aromas of spare ribs. What would it hear? The catchy tune of Mambo Number Five. What would it see? The colours of the Belgian flag.

At 8:00 p.m., the Sea Spirit leaves Burgerbukta behind and moves even deeper into Hornsund. For there, Brepollen awaits us, the fabulous bay at the very end of the fjord.

It feels as though we’re sailing into a semicircular theater where glaciers are ready to per-form

Brepollen

 

It feels as though we’re sailing into a semicircular theatre where glaciers are ready to perform. Moving clockwise, they are the Storbreen, the Hornbreen, the Svalisbreen, and the Mendeleevbreen. And that’s just the big ones – we won’t even mention the dozen smaller ones.

 

Northern fulmars

Clouds and mist have cleared the way for the gliding light of the low sun. It creates a play of light and shadow between the jagged glacier crevasses. Over the cold, blue-white ice masses, it casts its warm, reddish glow. In the foreground, ice floes drift by on invisible currents, while the background is dominated by snow-laden alpine peaks.

 

Brepollen

We can’t get enough of it, but Captain Oleg turns the ship around. He has to; it’s already close to eleven o'clock. The Sea Spirit sails stately at a leisurely pace along the mountains. On both sides, fascinating landscapes follow one another, one peak after another glacier.

 

 

But it’s the Hornsundtind on the port side that steals the show. Its 1 429-meter-high ridge of crystalline limestone stands out sharply against the blue sky. Snow sparkles on its steep slopes in the sunlight. Faint wisps of mist give the giant an air of mystery.

 

Hornsundtind

Then, the exit of Hornsund beckons. Now we head further north, searching for Bellsund, about a hundred and twenty kilometres away. It can’t be more beautiful than Hornsund. Or can it?

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Friday, July 27 | Ahlstrandhalvøya – Recherchefjorden

I see skies of blue, and clouds of white, echoes the raspy voice of Louis Armstrong through the intercom as we wake up. As we carefully draw back the curtains, wary of the bright light of the polar day, we can only agree with his conclusion – And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.

We have entered the calm waters of Bellsund. Last night, however, was a different story. Around midnight, we reached the open sea. The choppy waves made us roll back and forth in our beds.

 

Ingebrigtsenbukta

In fact, Bellsund is nothing more than a magnificent gateway to three fjords: the Van Mijenfjorden, the Van Keulenfjorden, and the much smaller Recherchefjorden. Our destination is the Ahlstrandhalvøya peninsula in Van Keulenfjorden. Fortunately, it lies on the sunny south side of the fjord, which is basking under a blue sky and abundant sunlight. Meanwhile, the north side is shrouded under a grim, grey sky and a thick cloud cover. We drop anchor at half past eight.

When you look at it on a sufficiently large scale, you can see that Van Keulenfjorden resembles a large, long fish trap with an entrance less than four kilometres wide. This narrow passage is almost halved by the 1,5-kilometer-long island of Eholmen.

One end of the drag net was anchored onshore, and with the other end, they would row in a wide arc around a school of belugas

Back in the 1930s, Ingvald Svendsen came up with the idea that this was an ideal place to trap belugas. During the summer season, these large, white whales like to gather in groups in the shallower waters of a fjord to hunt for prey. The hunters would then deploy rowboats with drag nets. One end of the drag net was anchored onshore, and with the other end, they would row in a wide arc around a school of belugas. It must have been quite a challenge to haul a drag net full of struggling belugas to shore – an adult male can weigh one and a half tons or more. The rowboats used were also quite heavy, manned by six rowers – two more than those used in whaling on the open sea.

 

Bamsebu

Shortly after nine, we disembark on the pebble beach of the wide Ingebrigtsenbukta. The first thing that catches the eye is the trapper’s hut, still in very good condition, but not accessible. In the past, this was the only station on Svalbard where belugas were processed. Nowhere else was such a high degree of temporary specialization achieved.

Today, it is the only privately owned hut on Svalbard. Bamsebu is written in large red letters on the wooden wall. It’s said that you can spend the night there – for a modest fee, of course.

 

There must have been many hundreds of belugas slaughtered here in a short period of time

Kvitfiskneset, beluga bones

But it is the enormous number of bleached bones and skulls on the beach that leaves the deepest impression. There must have been many hundreds of belugas slaughtered here in a short period of time. This cape is therefore also called Kvitfiskneset, the Cape of the White Fish. Further on lies the partially splintered wreck of a rowboat.

It’s a grim feeling when you project the image of those beautiful, intelligent creatures onto this macabre outdoor cemetery. Like orcas and narwhals, belugas belong to the toothed whales. This means they use echolocation. They generate a series of clicks at a rapid pace, directing them as a beam in front of them. If an obstacle is hit by the beam, it will inevitably reflect the signal, revealing its position. Moreover, based on the reflected signals, the beluga can determine the speed of its prey, its shape and size, and even its internal structure. So, it knows quite precisely what it’s dealing with.

 

Van Keulenfjorden

With their sonar, they can also find openings in sea ice to breathe – after all, they are still mammals. If that doesn’t work, they have the ability to make their own openings. With the thickening in the middle of their back, they can break through sea ice up to eight centimetres thick. Perhaps this is why they have no dorsal fin, as it would only get damaged.

What is little known, and what makes belugas unique among whales, is the fact that they moult. This may also be a reason why they like to frequent river mouths – they can rub against stones and sand to shed their old skin more quickly.

 

Ahlstrandhalvøya

We now have a walk of about four kilometres ahead of us, straight across the Ahlstrandhalvøya peninsula from one bay to the other – from Ingebrigtsenbukta to Malbukta. Six armed guides will keep an eye on things.

 

Ahlstrandhalvøya

An icy wind howls across the tundra, but the sun is shining in a blue, cloudless sky, and the views over Van Keulenfjorden, with the steep rock walls on the other side, are phenomenal. This will turn out to be one of the most beautiful hikes of the trip.

 

Aldegondaberget

In a long line, we make our way up through the soggy tundra. By Arctic standards, the vegetation here is lush. There are mushrooms in abundance, and flowers are thriving.

 

By Arctic standards, the vegetation here is lush

Marsh saxifrage

Tufted alpine saxifrage

 

Like the beautiful marsh saxifrage with its relatively large yellow flowers and its brownish-red, lightly hairy stem. Strangely enough, this plant was even observed in the Netherlands until 1859. It thrived in cold, low-lying peat layers. It’s known as a relict plant from the Ice Ages.

Or the delightful tufted alpine saxifrage with its red sepals covered in short, white hairs. It’s still developing; the five white petals are not yet present. It’s a very diverse plant, as there are around eight different varieties with varying characteristics found on Svalbard alone.

 

Aldegondaberget

With such lush plant growth, reindeer are, of course, never far away. Higher up, a female with a calf is grazing. For a moment, she sizes us up with her strange, bulging eyes. Shy as she is, she doesn’t trust the situation. Together, they take off running.

 

Svalbard reindeer

Gradually, the enormous Recherchebreen glacier looms in the distance, the tidal glacier that dominates the head of Recherchefjorden. A little further on, the Renardbreen glacier also makes an appearance. It’s somewhat smaller in size and doesn’t even reach the sea.

 

 

 

On the ridge to our left, a few reindeer appear in the distance again. The same scenario as before – they briefly size us up, hesitate for a moment, and then take off.

Gradually, the Fleur de Lyshamna emerges from behind the hill, a bay as picturesque as its name suggests. It owes its name to an expedition by Henri de Bourbon, who came to map the area at the end of the 19th century.

 

Gradually, the Fleur de Lyshamna emerges from behind the hill, a bay as picturesque as its name suggests

 

Not the slightest mist disturbs the view now. Behind us, the barren slopes of Aldegondaberget rise nearly six hundred meters above the tundra. Further to the west, the white ice mass of the Recherchebreen glacier basks in the sun. In the foreground, the tundra is bursting with colourful moss, ranging from green to dark brown.

 

Malbukta

Down on the beach, two huts stand out. They have nothing to do with the beluga hunt. However, the three rowboats lying a bit further down the beach, almost idle for nearly a century, certainly do. These were the boats to which Ingvald Svendsen attached his drag nets. They even still seem to be in reasonably good condition.

 

Malbukta, Recherchebreen (middle, in the distance)

Hundreds of bare tree trunks, likely originating from distant Siberia, have been washed ashore onto the coastal plain. Small rocky outcrops give the beach a somewhat Thai feel. The sediment layers are clearly marked in vertical lines in the rocks.

On the other side of Van Keulenfjorden, only the top of the 775-meter-high Bravaisberget is still in the clouds. Even the relatively flat Eholmen – the island that blocks almost half of the passage – can be clearly distinguished in the foreground. Meanwhile, it appears that the Sea Spirit has started its journey around the peninsula. It will soon be ready in Malbukta to pick us up.

 

Bravaisberget, Sterneckøya, Barnacle geese

Closer by, on the barren island of Sterneckøya, there’s nothing to see. At least, that’s how we see it. But some Barnacle geese certainly disagree. They feel relatively safe there from polar foxes, and there is an abundance of grass.

They chop the grass blades at a rate of two hundred snips per minute. Indeed, per minute

Twenty of them are grazing on the island, and they do so with remarkable efficiency. With quick snips of their beaks, they chop the grass blades at a rate of two hundred snips per minute. Indeed, per minute. In some regions of Canada, geese have turned marshlands into vegetation-less deserts. Whether certain areas in Svalbard are at the same risk is a subject of study, including at the University of Antwerp. It is certainly a fact that the population of Barnacle geese in Svalbard is continually growing.

 

Malbukta, Recherchebreen

We make our way down to the beach and return to the Sea Spirit with the zodiacs. We hope to make a landing at Camp Millar. This will be weather and wildlife dependent, we read on the screen in our cabin. Expedition leader Ryan is once again leaving room for uncertainty in his message, which comes as no surprise.

 

Recherchebreen

Camp Millar, as Ryan explained to us during the briefing last night, lies at the foot of Ingeborgfjellet. About 55 000 little auks are said to nest on that rock face. So, there is excitement ahead.

It’s just the harsh climate that has made this wonderfully beautiful land what it is. If you want to enjoy it, you have to accept the climate as it is

But there’s more. In 1906, the Brit Ernest Manfield settled here. He had already claimed the entire Bellsund, including the three adjacent fjords. He envisioned great things, convinced that gold and platinum could be found here. He solidified his claims by erecting a few huts – Camp Bell and Camp Millar. The horizontal prospecting shafts still remain, but the project amounted to nothing.

It's about twenty-five kilometres to Vårsolbukta, the bay where all this takes place. Its name, the Bay of the Spring Sun, is well-deserved. In spring, geese like to stop here on their way north – to Svalbard or Northeast Greenland.

We’ve barely settled down for lunch when Ryan’s voice comes through the intercom. Wind and waves are too severe around Camp Millar, it turns out. A landing with the zodiacs would be reckless. So, once again, plan B is put into action. Vårsolbukta gives way to the nearby Recherchefjorden, where we will stroll towards Renardbreen. It’s just the harsh climate that has made this wonderfully beautiful land what it is. If you want to enjoy it, you have to accept the climate as it is.

Around two o’clock, we enter the Recherchefjorden. The fjord is named after La Recherche, the corvette we already know from the French novelist Léonie d'Aunet we met in Gravneset. Since 1612, the Dutch began to develop one of the largest whaling stations in Svalbard on the east coast. That place is called Lægerneset.

A lush green tundra behind which rises a white glacier wall – a truly remarkable sight, indeed

Renardbreen

Perhaps more striking is the fact that the very first wintering of European whalers on Svalbard took place there in 1630. And that was entirely unintentional. There were eight of them when they were separated from their mother ship during a storm. The Brits were forced to spend nine months at Lægerneset before being rescued by another ship. Scurvy was their greatest concern during that time, as it wouldn’t be until 1923 that the cause of this mysterious disease – and thus the remedy for it – was discovered.

But we set our course for the Renard Glacier on the western coast of the fjord. It’s half past two when our zodiacs make their appearance on the beach.

Even ship’s doctor Gloria is coming ashore, as there will be a so-called Polar Plunge, a dive into the icy seawater – everyone is welcome except for wimps. For safety, she has brought an AED defibrillator kit, although it turns out to be unnecessary. Courageously, the eleven participants take their plunge into the 4 °C water (39,2 °F) —from head to toe, of course, because otherwise, no certificate will be issued.

 

Svalbard reindeer

They are impressive males, with colossal antlers

However, four reindeer immediately draw all our attention. They are calmly grazing at the foot of the green slope to the west. Habitually, they quickly disappear from sight, but here they don’t manage to do so as easily because the slope forces them to run quite a distance along the coast.

They are impressive males, with colossal antlers. Each year, they shed those in October after the mating season. But in summer, they begin to develop them again, so they can make a good impression on the females in August and September – and teach any potential competitors a lesson. For a brief moment, it seems like two of them are about to have a small confrontation, but that fizzles out.

 

 

Females, on the other hand, carry their antlers almost year-round. Only after they give birth to their calf in June do they shed them, only to grow them back a few weeks later. They have a somewhat blocky appearance, with short legs and a small snout. In fact, these Svalbard reindeer are the smallest subspecies of reindeer. This is not unusual for animals that must live in such extremely cold environments.

All summer long, they graze as if their lives depend on it – and you can take that quite literally

All summer long, they graze as if their lives depend on it – and you can take that quite literally. During this short period, they need to process as much food as possible to build up a solid fat reserve. This reserve must help them survive the long, dark winter, when vegetation is scarce and of poor quality.

In this soggy tundra with its abundant and juicy vegetation, it is not difficult for a reindeer to find food. They eat just about anything and are not picky. Just don't serve them Arctic heather.

However, hunger is the leading cause of death among Svalbard reindeer. This may be due to extremely cold winters, which make grazing difficult due to snow and ice. But it can also be related to the significant wear on their teeth, as they often have to pull the sparse vegetation from between rocks and gravel.

 

Jaw of Svalbard reindeer (herbivore)

Jaw of Arctic fox (carnivore)

Searching for grass during the dark polar night is certainly no picnic. However, evolution has given the Svalbard reindeer a boost in some respects. For instance, its eyes change colour with the seasons – gold in the summer, blue in the winter – making them a thousand to ten thousand times more sensitive to light during the polar night. This enables the reindeer to see much better in the dark, although it comes at the cost of sharpness of vision.

Moreover, they can perceive something that we humans cannot – ultraviolet radiation

Moreover, they can perceive something that we humans cannot – ultraviolet radiation. This may seem like an unnecessary gimmick, but it is not. Even during the polar night, snow and ice reflect the scarce light, including UV light. If something is on the snow, the reindeer will see it as a black spot because the UV light is blocked there. The reindeer can even detect urine trails this way.

Interestingly, it has been noted that Svalbard reindeer emit much less methane during digestion than domesticated cattle. Climate scientists are, of course, very interested in this. What microbes are working in their stomachs? Can we learn something from this to reduce global emissions of this greenhouse gas?

Migrations like those we know from the caribou, their North American cousins, are something that the reindeer on Spitsbergen are not interested in. After all, where would they go on these relatively small islands? It seems that they may have ended up here by coincidence – or should we say by accident?

It is not definitively known where they come from. However, research has shown similarities to an extinct species of reindeer from East Greenland. During the last Ice Age, that area was connected to Svalbard by permanent sea ice. It cannot be ruled out that some reindeer accidentally managed to reach this archipelago at that time.

Migrations like those we know from the caribou, their North American cousins, are something that the reindeer on Spitsbergen are not interested in

Western Europe also once had reindeer, as Louis has explained to us before. Specifically, when the ice began to retreat rapidly at the end of the last Ice Age. Western Europe was still a tundra region then, but soon trees began to appear in the landscape. At that moment, the first reindeer hunters also showed up. We now call that culture the Magdalenian. We know it, among other things, from the rock paintings of Altamira and Lascaux.

Traces of reindeer hunters have also been found in Rekem, Belgium. About eleven thousand years ago, they must have had a base camp on the banks of the Maas River. Archaeologists call that period the Federmesser culture.

After that, the fascinating Ahrensburg culture gained prominence among the reindeer hunters in our regions. Fascinating, says Louis, because it was a very egalitarian society, with small communities of twenty to thirty people where everyone was treated equally, both men and women.

As the reindeer followed the retreating ice, prehistoric humans faced a harrowing choice

As the reindeer followed the retreating ice, prehistoric humans faced a harrowing choice – should they follow their traditional source of livelihood to the Far North or should they build a completely new way of life in our temperate regions? This shows how climate change had a significant influence on humans and society even back then.

Meanwhile, our four reindeer have vanished over the horizon, and we can direct our steps toward the Renardbreen. What makes this glacier special, says Sanna, is that it does not reach the sea but ends on land. It has created a small lake with ice floes and icebergs. The view we get from the beach is that of a lush green tundra behind which rises a white glacier wall – a truly remarkable sight, indeed.

 

Renardbreen – Outwash plain

Renardbreen – Man's insignificance before the glacier front

It's quite a trek across the outwash plain because glaciers have the unruly habit of appearing much closer than they actually are.

 

Svalbard reindeer footprints

Small, braided streams trickle down, with meltwater from the lake slowly making its way to the sea. Impressive footprints are visible in the mud. It’s not hard to recognize these hooves of reindeer. With such large feet, they won’t easily sink into the snow or the soggy tundra.

 

 

Renardbreen

Steep hills have formed from the glacier's sediments. From one of these hills, we look down at the rippling lake, which, upon closer inspection, turns out to be quite large. A freezing wind blows towards us from the glacier front. At our feet lie the pure white icebergs that have been blown away by the downwind from the glacier.

 

Renardbreen

At the western end of the plain, Sergey stands watch. Earlier, he saw the four reindeer pass by, but now they have disappeared. This is an extremely bare rocky landscape, although a few plants manage to survive. Once again, the beautiful tufted alpine saxifrage makes its appearance, even though its calyx leaves have not yet developed in this cold spot.

 

Tufted alpine saxifrage

Arctic terns fly back and forth along the beach. They are very busy foraging and are constantly hovering above the water. Flapping their wings vigorously, they float almost motionless above a fixed point. Just below the water’s surface, they have already spotted their prey. They dive into the water at the right moment to catch it.

 

Arctic terns fly back and forth along the beach. They are very busy foraging and are constantly hovering above the water

Arctic tern

Just before four, we return to the Sea Spirit. This was our 23rd and final excursion – five ship cruises, seven zodiac cruises, and eleven zodiac landings. It is high time to symbolically conclude the journey in the lounge. The winners of the photo contest in the categories of fauna, flora, people, and landscapes are celebrated. The kayakers and those who participated in the polar plunge receive their certificates.

Then the Captain’s Farewell Cocktail is served. Fresh sushi is brought in, which is no problem for chef Francis even after ten days at sea. In his unmistakable style, Captain Oleg thanks everyone for the success of the expedition – his entire crew, the expedition staff led by Ryan, and the Asteria staff led by Annick.

 

Arctic tern

 

Then it’s Page’s turn, a professional nature photographer from Virginia, USA, to amaze us. He has prepared a stunning montage of photos and videos for us. Afterwards, there is plenty of material for an extensive evaluation at the bar.

With approximately one hundred fifty kilometres to go, we enter the sunny night

With about one hundred fifty kilometres to go, we enter the sunny night. Arriving in Longyearbyen at ten o’clock tonight, as originally planned, is no longer feasible. We have to chalk that up to the weather conditions at Camp Millar, which forced us to divert to the Recherchefjorden.

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Saturday, July 28 | Longyearbyen – Ostend

It's a quarter to six when unusual movements of the Sea Spirit wake us. Apparently, our journey of 2 376 kilometres around Spitsbergen, the western island of Svalbard, has come to an end. We are docked in Bykaia, the modern harbour of Longyearbyen.

 

 

Grey clouds hang low over the Adventfjorden. The air is humid, but it isn’t raining yet. Logistics are now our main concern – put the luggage outside at seven, get on the bus to Longyearbyen at half past eight, and drive to the airport at one o’clock.

While the Sea Spirit prepares for its next round of Svalbard, we are dropped off just before half past nine in front of the Longyearbyen museum. This is an opportunity to relate our experiences from the past few days to historical and scientific backgrounds – the whalers, the polar explorers, the miners, the geology, the fauna, and the flora.

Shortly after one, the bus takes us to Svalbard Lufthavn Longyearbyen for a flight of just over three thousand kilometres. Wooden structures from the old coal mines are still barely visible on the mountain slopes. But we hardly notice them. The latest news tells us a heatwave is reportedly raging in Flanders.

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Jaak Palmans
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