Never to be seen again

Greenland  |  Anno 2022

 

Thursday 1 September | Ice Edge

Friday 2 September | Hochstetterbugten – Karl Pynt

Saturday 3 September | Gael Hamke Bugt – Dødemandsbugten

Sunday 4 September | Myggbukta – Kap Franklin

 

 

Thursday 1 September | Ice Edge

Air temperature 4 °C (39 °F), water temperature 6 °C (43 °F), assistant expedition leader Marcel informs us over the intercom as we wake up. That's already a bit colder than yesterday; the influence of the East Greenland Current is apparently making itself felt. A look at the map shows us that we are still more than a hundred kilometres away from the Greenland coast. The wind has mostly died down, resulting in a rather dense fog hanging over the water. The sea is described as calm, but we can't help but notice that the ship is rocking quite a bit. The basic rule ‘one hand for the ship’ is more relevant than ever.

 

Doing something Titanic-like is not an option for the captain. Nor is it for us

Once breakfast is finished, we rush to the forecastle full of anticipation. Because around ten o'clock, we will reach the ice edge, the southern boundary of the sea ice. The Hondius is progressing slowly, very slowly, but Captain Tony has two damn good reasons to be cautious – the dense fog and the approaching sea ice. After all, doing something Titanic-like is not an option for him. Nor is it for us.

 

 

At ten past ten, it finally happens. The first ice floe collides against the bow of the ship. It happens with a heavy, dull thud against the metal hull, but the Hondius can handle it. After all, it is ice-strengthened. Gradually, more and more ice floes emerge from the fog. Small and large ice floes, mostly white, sometimes partially light blue. They gently rise and fall on the water, muffling the waves a bit. Large ice floes are decisively pushed aside by the bow. With a slight turn, they drift away from the ship and transfer their rotation to other ice floes, creating a little gear work of rotating white wheels on the water's surface. There is no wind, but it is lightly raining. Or should we call it mist, those tiny water droplets in the air?

 

Gradually, more and more ice floes emerge from the fog. Small and large ice floes, mostly white, sometimes partially light blue

A dozen Arctic terns take flight from an ice floe. Northern fulmars glide majestically above the ice floes. Small auks can be seen here and there between the ice before they dive underwater, searching for food in the cold water. They are slowly starting to get their winter plumage. The grey feathers on their necks are a harbinger of the white head that will carry them through the winter.

 

Northern fulmar

Little auks

But it would be a mistake to think that these birds are the only, or even the most important, signs of life at the edge of the pack ice. Biologist Louis Beyens leaves no doubt about that. Studying the ecosystems of the poles – particularly the unicellular organisms – is his specialty. Not from his comfortable office chair, but as a field researcher on-site. Pulling his sled across the Greenland ice sheet or climbing the highest mountains in Spitsbergen is part of his job. scale-bearing amoebae and other unicellular organisms are best on their guard when Louis passes by.

 

More than two thousand years ago Pytheas sailed to a land he called Ultima Thule

But first, he takes a moment to reflect on the exploits of a certain Pytheas, unfortunately a noble unknown to us. Like us, this Greek merchant, astronomer, and geographer once sailed to the edge of the pack ice. But that was more than two thousand years ago. Around 325 BCE, he sailed through the Pillars of Hercules – the Strait of Gibraltar – thus leaving his familiar Mediterranean environment. Then he went north, sailing through Brittany and the famous tin mines of Cornwall to a land he called Ultima Thule. What exactly he meant by that is uncertain – Iceland, Greenland, or simply Norway?

In any case, Pytheas made a number of remarkable observations along the way. He learned about tides – a phenomenon unknown in the Mediterranean – and he established the connection with the phases of the moon. Furthermore, he noted that the sun was lower in the sky as he travelled further north, but also that the days grew longer. He even spoke of places where the sun never set; can you imagine? And finally, he described his confrontation with an ocean that was frozen – the edge of the pack ice, of course. This earned him considerable ridicule and scorn upon his return to Greece. Because an ocean that freezes, that simply can't be. Everyone knows that.

An ocean that freezes, that simply can't be. Everyone knows that

Indeed, it is not obvious that saltwater freezes. The difference between ice formation in saltwater and freshwater is significant. Take a freshwater pond in winter. Through contact with the cold air, the water at the surface cools down. However, cold water is a bit heavier than warm water. More precisely, cold water has a greater density than warm water. Thus, the cold water sinks to the bottom, while the warm water rises to the top and is cooled in turn. And so it continues, with all the water in the pond cooling down equally.

 

 

But suddenly, at a temperature of 4 °C (39.2 °F), something strange happens. The cold water no longer sinks to the depths but remains floating on the warmer water. That’s because water reaches its greatest density at 4 °C. Water at 2 °C (35.6 °F) is lighter than water at 4 °C. The result is that the surface water continues to cool without mixing with the underlying layers of water. Eventually, it reaches a temperature of 0 °C (32 °F) and freezes. A frozen pond is, therefore, usually a body of water with a temperature of 4 °C, topped with a layer of ice – hopefully thick enough to skate on comfortably.

Salty seawater must be sufficiently cooled to a depth of several tens of meters before ice crystals form on the surface

Saltwater, on the other hand, does not freeze at 0 °C but at –1.8 °C (28.8 °F). Moreover, it does not experience the anomaly at 4 °C. The cycle of water cooling at the surface, sinking down, and being replaced by warmer water rising continues until nearly all the water reaches the freezing temperature of –1.8 °C. In practice, salty seawater must be sufficiently cooled to a depth of several tens of meters before ice crystals form on the surface.

But then it happens quickly. The ice crystals clump together to form ice plates that continue to grow at the bottom. However, this process does not lead to a nice layer of ice suitable for skating. The choppy sea, the ever-present currents, and the harsh winds ensure that. The result is a rugged ice landscape, with ice floes being torn apart and smashed back together, and pack ice filled with channels and ridges – the famous sastrugi.

 

A block of sea ice should not be viewed as a solid object, but rather as a kind of Swiss cheese, with the cavities filled with brine instead of air

In that frozen water, there is really no place for salt. As the ice crystals bond together, they push the salt away. Eventually, the salt accumulates in hollows, cracks, and crevices. So, a block of sea ice should not be viewed as a solid object, emphasizes Louis, but rather as a kind of Swiss cheese, with the cavities filled with brine instead of air.

This results in brine channels within the ice. Due to their high salt content, these channels do not freeze shut. Despite how uninviting that environment may be – too cold and too salty – some algae have managed to make it their home. These single-celled ice algae are called diatoms. They are not large, measuring just 0.05 mm. So, you can't see them with the naked eye. However, with a bit of luck, you can observe them as a slimy, brown layer on the underside of ice floes.

What makes these diatoms special is that they are self-sufficient when it comes to food. They do not eat other organisms but instead extract their nutrients from inorganic substances like nitrogen and phosphates. They use photosynthesis for this purpose. And that immediately rings a bell for us. Indeed, just as edible plants are for humans and animals, these tiny diatoms are vital for the ecosystem of the sea ice.

With a bit of luck, you can observe them as a slimy, brown layer on the underside of ice floes

Ice algae (diatoms)

Little auk

A whole menagerie of creatures living on, in, and beneath the pack ice feeds exclusively on these diatoms – flatworms, rotifers, nematodes, you name it. We could call these the herbivores of the ice world. Next come the carnivores, the creatures that eat the herbivores. These are primarily the copepods, tiny crustaceans that measure about one to three millimetres in size. Don’t underestimate these tiny creatures. In terms of weight, the mass of all the copepods in the world is estimated to be about four hundred times greater than the total mass of the eight billion people on Earth. So, the ice floes we were just looking at are teeming with life.

But it doesn’t stop there. Copepods are eaten by Arctic cod, Arctic cod by black-legged kittiwakes, kittiwakes by seals, and seals by polar bears. In short, diatoms are at the base of the entire Arctic food chain, from small to large. If this ecosystem is struggling, we will notice it first from the fate of the diatoms rather than that of the polar bears. However, it is not the diatoms that have become the symbol of the fight against climate change, Louis notes with a hint of regret; it is the polar bears. That’s because diatoms simply cannot compete with the cuddly appeal of a polar bear, and Louis is aware of that.

Fatty acids make copepods the ideal food source for higher organisms

Fatty acids make copepods the ideal food source for higher organisms. If you want to survive as a warm-blooded animal in the Arctic, fatty acids are essential. By burning fat, you maintain your body temperature. In marine mammals, fat even serves as insulation. However, mammals cannot produce fat themselves. Diatoms, on the other hand, no matter how small, can. Copepods thrive on this precious fat, digesting it and storing it in their bodies. Up to seventy percent of their dry weight consists of fat. This makes copepods the ideal food source for higher organisms. Thus, the fatty acids from the diatoms traverse the entire food chain, ultimately reaching the highest levels of it – seals and polar bears.

 

 

But often that beautiful picture no longer holds true. Take, for example, the little auks we saw earlier on the ice. Copepods are at the very top of their menu. A little auk with a body mass of 150 grams normally eats 60,000 copepods per day. However, due to climate change, other copepods are gradually moving up from the south and displacing the Arctic species. So what? you might say; a change of diet can be good. But these southern species contain much less fatty acids. In warmer waters, they don't need them. To obtain the same amount of fatty acids, the little auks now have to catch many more copepods. If they can't do that, the survival chances of the chicks decrease.

Diatoms are at the base of the entire Arctic food chain, from small to large

The same applies to black-legged kittiwakes. Arctic cod is their number one food source, but due to climate change, the low-fat Atlantic cod is advancing north and displacing the Arctic cod. To get the same amount of fatty acids, kittiwakes now have to catch more fish. Scientists have even coined a term for the influx of southern species – the Atlanticification of the Arctic.

 

 

Copepods, on the other hand, face different challenges regarding their food supply. At the beginning of spring, when the time approaches for them to lay their eggs, the annual bloom of the unicellular ice algae – diatoms – comes just in time. The copepods eagerly feast on this energy-rich food full of fatty acids. The more high-quality food they consume, the more eggs they can produce. Later in the year, the larvae hatch from these eggs, coinciding perfectly with another species of algae that undergoes its annual bloom, providing the larvae with an abundance of food. Both cycles are beautifully synchronized.

The larvae of the copepods arrive too late for dinner, and much of the food is already gone

At least, that used to be the case. But nowadays, the ice melts earlier. Thinner ice allows more solar radiation to penetrate, enabling the algae to initiate photosynthesis earlier. The bloom of the algae occurs sooner, sometimes even by several weeks. As a result, the larvae of the copepods arrive too late for dinner, and much of the food is already gone. This disrupts the optimal growth of the larvae. A shortage of copepods sends shockwaves throughout the entire food chain, concludes Louis.

 

 

Outside, ice floes have reappeared in the water. But we now look at them with a different perspective. We know now that this cold, seemingly lifeless world is teeming with life – at least in the spring and summer. At this moment, however, the copepods are preparing for winter. They will spend this season at greater depths, in a state similar to hibernation, using as little energy as possible from the fatty acids stored in their bodies.

A glance at the TV screen showing the real-time ship's route reveals that the Hondius made a turn of about 90° about an hour ago. Previously, we were sailing west-southwest toward Shannon Island, and now we are heading straight south, parallel to the Greenland coast. Does this mean that the landing on Shannon has been cancelled? It certainly appears that way.

The goal of Dixie Dansercoer and Sébastien Audy was to cross the Greenland ice cap on foot, pulling a sled behind them

We are now slowly approaching 75° 04’ 53” N. Stefan tells us what is significant about this latitude. He was the communications officer for many expeditions led by the famous Belgian explorer Dixie Dansercoer to the North and South Poles. However, on 7 June 2021, during an expedition in Greenland, a dramatic end abruptly came. The goal of Dixie Dansercoer and Sébastien Audy was to cross the Greenland ice cap on foot, pulling a sled behind them. Driven by snowkites, their journey was intended to take them from Narsarsuaq in the south to Qaanaaq, formerly known as Thule, in the north – a distance of more than 2,200 km. They had already been travelling for 31 days when things went wrong near Kullorsuaq. A treacherous ice bridge over a deep crevasse proved fatal for the 58-year-old polar explorer.

 

 

Dixie was walking right in front of me. Until he suddenly sank through the ground before my eyes and disappeared into the snow. It happened in a split second. His sled was sucked behind him, Sébastien said afterwards. They had already noticed that they were in a zone with many underground crevasses, covered by treacherous ice bridges, which they recognized by the small level differences in the snow. As soon as they noticed this, they immediately stopped and stowed their kites, intending to return on foot. Until Dixie was swallowed up before my eyes, Sébastien recalls.

Until he suddenly sank through the ground before my eyes and disappeared into the snow. It happened in a split second

It took five hours for the rescue services to arrive – remarkably fast for such a remote area. But it was too late. Twenty-five meters down in the crevasse, the rescuers found Dixie’s sled, but they could descend no further than forty meters into the ninety-meter-deep chasm. It is likely that Dixie’s body will rest forever in an environment he loved.

This all happened at approximately 75° 04’ 53” N, the same latitude where we are now, but on the west side instead of the east side of Greenland. For Stefan, this is reason enough to pause and reflect on Dixie’s inspiring life, particularly the seven long-distance expeditions he undertook.

 

 

The most striking expedition was undoubtedly the South through the Pole expedition. During the summer of 1997–1998, Dixie, along with Alain Hubert, succeeded in crossing Antarctica. They took just 99 days to cover nearly 4,000 kilometres using snowkites, setting both a technological innovation and a new record. Dixie's motto was to focus on the goal, not the obstacles. Just two days after their departure from the former King Baudouin Base, Dixie broke two ribs when his sled overturned on him amidst treacherous sastrugi. Yet this did not stop him from reaching the American McMurdo Station 97 days later. Talk about perseverance...

Just two days after their departure from the former King Baudouin Base, Dixie broke two ribs

Outside, a new spectacle unfolds. What we saw this morning pales in comparison to what is now happening around the Hondius. We've entered an impressive zone of sea ice, which likely explains the turn the Hondius made earlier. The ice is preventing us from continuing westward, so we must find a passage further south.

 

The bow of the ship splits the ice

Hundreds of ice floes are clustered around the ship, often measuring between ten and twenty meters in diameter. Most are white, though some are azure blue, a sign that the ice is submerged below the waterline. They gently bob along on the black sea, continually knocking against the bow. However, the ice-reinforced Hondius remains undeterred, stubbornly continuing on its course. Occasionally, we can even feel the impact, and the Hondius shudders momentarily as an enormous ice floe crashes into the hull, scraping noisily against the metal.

Occasionally, we can even feel the impact, and the Hondius shudders momentarily as an enormous ice floe crashes into the hull, scraping noisily against the metal

The dense fog limits visibility to just a few dozen meters. Despite this, a northern fulmar occasionally appears, gliding above the ice floes. Elsewhere, two Brünnich's guillemots sit on the ice, identifiable by the white stripe on their beaks. A little auk struggles to make its way across the rugged ice floes. Brownish-red stains ‘mar’ the pristine ice – hese are the ice algae Louis mentioned earlier.

Around Île de France, the ice has become even denser over the past few hours, as expedition leader Adam informs us during the evening recap. The ice charts confirm this. But the good news is that tomorrow, we will set foot on land. In the morning, we will land on Bass Rock, a tiny, rocky island located about ten kilometres south of Shannon.

 

 

This is no coincidence, as the area between the two islands is known as a polynya – a large expanse of open water that remains unfrozen throughout the winter. This particular zone is called the Sirius Water Polynya. Year after year, as the ice begins to form, this polynya reappears in the transition zone between the sea ice and the land-fast ice. It is the strong northerly storm winds that cause this phenomenon. As soon as ice crystals start forming on the water's surface in autumn, these winds drive them southward before they can coalesce into ice sheets, making ice formation nearly impossible in these conditions. Archaeological research has shown that this polynya has existed for at least 4,500 years.

The polynya is one of the few biological hotspots on the East Greenlandic shelf

Centuries ago, the first European explorers were already familiar with this spot. The fauna also benefits from the polynya, making it one of the few biological hotspots on the East Greenlandic shelf. Naturally, the Greenlandic Inuit were well aware of this as well, which is why significant concentrations of their spring and summer settlements can be found along these coasts.

In the afternoon, a second landing is planned, this time at Kap Philippe Broke, the southernmost cape of Shannon Island.

Anyhow, one thing we can be sure of. Tomorrow, we will finally set foot on land.

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Friday 2 September | Hochstetterbugten – Karl Pynt

The air temperature is 0 °C (32 °F), and the water temperature is 2.5 °C (36.5 °F), we learn during the 7 am wake-up call. We vaguely remember being briefly awakened around 2 am by a few heavy thuds. Could those have been ice floes that the Hondius collided with?

Anyhow, the sea remains rough, but the horizon is visible. To the right in the distance, we see the dark silhouette of Shannon Island, while to the left, the Pendulum Islands come into view, with the smaller Bass Rock in the foreground. There's no mist, but plenty of clouds. A grey cloud cover hangs low over Hochstetterbugten, the bay that leads into Ardencaple Fjord. Most mountain peaks are hidden behind the clouds, with only their lower flanks visible.

This means the clear, pristine polar air allows us to see much farther than we’re used to

However, this isn't the case everywhere. Directly ahead of us, the snow-covered mountain ranges of the mainland are gleaming in the morning sun. We shouldn't underestimate the distance – those mountains are a staggering 90 kilometres away. This means the clear, pristine polar air allows us to see much farther than we’re used to.

As we stroll across the deck, we realize we need to be cautious. The numerous puddles of water could be frozen and therefore slippery. In the deep sea, a solitary iceberg catches our attention, and a few more are drifting closer to the coast.

It's 7:30 am. The breakfast area is crowded as everyone wants to be ready by 8:30 am when the signal will sound for the zodiacs to depart. Meanwhile, two zodiacs with scouts have already set out to prepare for the landing on Bass Rock.

Disembarking from a zodiac while it bobs up and down by a meter and a half in the waves is a life-threatening endeavour

Bass Rock

Ten to eight. The intercom announces that the landing on Bass Rock has been cancelled. The waves are so heavy that the scouts couldn’t even reach the shore. Disembarking from a zodiac while it bobs up and down by a meter and a half in the waves is a life-threatening endeavour.

Quarter to nine. More bad news via the intercom. Given the strong swells hitting the rocky coast, as expected, a landing on Shannon is also out of the question. The same winds that have kept the polynya ice-free for centuries are now preventing us from setting foot on the shores of Hochstetterbugten.

 

Kuhn Ø

Searching for a location that is not only ice-free but also sheltered from the wind seems to be our only option. To find such a spot, we'll need to venture deeper into Hochstetterbugten. Peters Bugt, specifically the area around Karl Pynt, appears to be a promising candidate. This will be Plan C. It will take us about five hours to reach the location, as Captain Toni is proceeding with caution. Not all areas here have been charted, and many sheltered spots are inaccessible because the depth is unknown – the Hondius has a draft of 5.3 meters. This is quite different from the approach of Adrien de Gerlache, who systematically explored every corner of the bay during his expeditions.

Over 70% of the Earth's surface is covered by water. Yet, only 2.5% of all bird species are classified as seabirds

Meanwhile, we gather in the lounge for a lecture on seabirds, a topic that behavioural ecologist Cas is an expert on. Surprisingly, there are only about 400 species of seabirds worldwide, a curious fact given that over 70% of the Earth's surface is covered by water. Yet, only 2.5% of all bird species are classified as seabirds. Being a seabird is no simple feat – imagine soaring above the water day in and day out, sometimes floating on it, and only being allowed to come ashore for a few months each year to breed.

 

Hochstetterbugten

All seabirds forage at sea, yet the variety of techniques they employ is astonishing. Northern fulmars pick their food while floating on the water, gannets dive like torpedoes with incredible speed, terns hover above the water until they spot prey, and cormorants swim underwater in pursuit of their catch. The Arctic skua is the most daring of them all, known for its kleptoparasitic behaviour – terrorizing other birds until they drop their prey.

You might see puffins flying by with ten to fifteen slippery fish in their beaks, without losing a single one, even as they catch more

During the breeding season, both parents are responsible for feeding their chicks. This means constantly flying back and forth between the open sea and the rocky coast, carrying food in their throats or beaks, depending on the distance. Puffins, in particular, are masters of this. You might see them flying by with ten to fifteen slippery fish in their beaks, without losing a single one, even as they catch more. The secret to their success lies in the hooks along the edge of their beaks, which point backward. This allows the puffin to easily secure the fish with its strong tongue, keeping them in place.

 

Skua

It's quite normal that we're seeing few seabirds at this time of year, Cas explains. Most have migrated south in search of warmer climates. During their long journey, they use the Earth's magnetic field to navigate, a sense they can ‘see’. However, the northern fulmars seem to have missed the memo, as they continue to circle around our boat.

The northern fulmars seem to have missed the memo, as they continue to circle around our boat

Black-legged kittiwakes

Nesting in the Arctic is no easy feat, as there are no trees or shrubs. Brünnich's guillemots lay their eggs directly on narrow rock ledges. Evolution has made their eggs to be pear-shaped, preventing them from rolling off the ledge. Little auks, on the other hand, choose broader, flatter spots. Black-legged kittiwakes manage to build nests on ledges, while gannets nest in large colonies on the ground, keeping their nests just beyond the reach of their neighbour's beak. Any predator venturing too close receives a barrage of pecks. Even polar bears can be successfully repelled with a hard peck to their soft, black noses – a tactic that even the toughest bear can't withstand.

Even polar bears can be successfully repelled with a hard peck to their soft, black noses

We know that birds in general are supposedly monogamous, but that in practice there are a substantial number of pregnancies that we can call extramarital – at least 5 to 10%. However, this phenomenon is rare among seabirds. In such a harsh environment, both parents are needed to raise the chicks, leaving no room for dalliances. Seabirds are not only genetically but also socially monogamous, Cas concludes. Simply put, it means that the male seabirds leave the females next door alone, not just in theory but also in practice.

 

Skua

Northern fulmar

Meanwhile, the sun has broken through the clouds in the distance, although we aren’t enjoying it yet as a dense cloud cover remains overhead. But that doesn’t matter, because the Greenland we came for is gradually revealing itself.

Seabirds are not only genetically but also socially monogamous

On the bow, it’s a pure delight to take in the immense scenery. Especially Kuhn Ø, the mountainous island on the port side, steals the show. There are hardly any rubble cones or flat coastal strips; the pale grey slopes usually descend steeply to the sea. A thin layer of snow covers them, as if someone sprinkled powdered sugar over the landscape. Deep erosion gullies create parallel dark lines across the terrain. Occasionally, a deeper V-shaped depression appears where meltwater likely collects.

 

 

Behind us, in the distance, several icebergs drift toward the open sea. They are enormous formations, likely several dozen meters high, with jagged silhouettes resembling pointed pyramids and blunt towers.

 

 

The choppy sea is a thing of the past. We can even see reflections of the coastal mountains in the gently undulating water. The northern fulmars have been left behind; here, it is the black-legged kittiwakes and the skuas that dominate. A few black-legged kittiwakes have claimed an ice floe as their own.

 

Hochstetterbugten

Elsewhere, a black-legged kittiwake floats on the water. But rest is not in store for it. Two skuas make its life difficult, as if they want to put into practice what Cas told us earlier. The kittiwake knows that if it catches prey, the two bullies will snatch it away. So, it takes off, hoping to find more success elsewhere.

It looks as if a giant has smashed a massive ice sheet to pieces

Hochstetterbugten

Then the incredible happens. Of course, it's been coming for a while that the Hondius would leave the cloud cover behind, but the intensity of the brilliant blue sky still takes us by surprise. The almost ripple-free surface of the sea has taken on that colour, it is as if we are sailing over a blue mirror. As far as we can see, the water is covered with ice floes. There must be thousands of these irregularly shaped white tiles. It looks as if a giant has smashed a massive ice sheet to pieces.

 

Hochstetterbugten

The captain skilfully avoids the widest ice strips, but eventually, he has to confront them. Fortunately, this allows us to enjoy the spectacle up close. The Hondius cautiously makes its way through the white carpet. Ice floes bump against the hull and creak as they scrape along the metal wall.

 

Hochstetterbugten

A flock of pink-footed geese takes flight, heading southward. There are several hundred of them. Are they on their way to their traditional wintering spot in Great Britain? They will return here to breed from mid-April to early May next year.

Are the pink-footed geese on their way to their traditional wintering spot in Great Britain?

A flock of pink-footed geese

The flat ice floes appear fragile, but that’s not the case. They can easily support the weight of a polar bear, as this is their prime habitat. Polar bears feel at home here, which is abundantly clear from the tracks we can see on the ice. The paw prints are so sharp that you can even recognize the outlines of the claws.

 

The paw prints of the polar bears are so sharp that you can even recognize the outlines of the claws

Paw prints of polar bear

In the distance, a bearded seal is resting on the ice. With a polar bear nearby, it should be on its guard. Normally, it is the smaller ringed seals, weighing between 50 and 70 kg, that are on the polar bear's menu. Each year, a polar bear needs to catch about forty of them to maintain its weight.

In contrast, an adult bearded seal, weighing between 250 and 350 kg, is five to six times heavier than a ringed seal. So, it is not an easy prey for a polar bear. Only a mature male with considerable experience poses a threat to a bearded seal. Nevertheless, a bearded seal will always stay close to the edge of the pack ice or on an ice floe, allowing it to quickly disappear into the water in case of an emergency.

An adult bearded seal is not an easy prey for a polar bear

Bearded seal

Shortly after lunch, we reach our destination. The Hondius anchors in Peters Bugt, a few kilometres south of Karl Pynt. In the distance, the pebble beach of Hochstetter Forland, the peninsula north of the bay, beckons. While the davit lowers several zodiacs into the water on the aft deck, we head to our cabin to prepare for our first outing in our full gear. A rain pant and parka over our regular clothes, a second pair of socks, waterproof high boots, a neck warmer, a hat, waterproof gloves, a life vest, and sunglasses on our nose, with the parka hood pulled over our head. It’s blood hot, so we quickly head outside.

 

Disembarkation at Karl Pynt

Boarding takes place on deck 3. A Milpro Heavy Duty rubber boat with a 60 hp Yamaha outboard motor bobs on the water, securely tied to the Hondius. Crew members and the zodiac master are ready to grab our wrists with a sailor's grip and guide us safely aboard.

Without standing up straight, we slide to the front of the zodiac and settle into the voluminous black hull, which is compartmentalized into separate air chambers. So we don't have to fear a fatal leak anytime soon. The aluminum bottom provides sturdy support when standing, but we aren’t allowed to do so during the ride.

 

Peters Bugt

Peters Bugt, Hochstetter Forland

The zodiac master, however, is allowed to stand – in fact, he must. Standing at the helm, he steers his vessel, with ten passengers onboard, in a wide arc away from the ship. Should the unthinkable happen – the zodiac master goes overboard – the dead man’s cord will immediately shut off the engine.

 

Peters Bugt, Hochstetter Forland

Ten minutes later, we stand on the pebble beach and remove our heavy life vests. A little further up, there’s a fairly large hut. They call this wooden building Kulhus, which means Coal House. The reason for this is found on the ground. Here and there, rough coal lies exposed on the surface. In the 1920s and 1930s, trappers used the hut. Due to the sea ice, this was the northernmost point that the trappers could reach, a story that sounds familiar. Nowadays, the hut is used by the renowned Sirius Sledge Patrols, among others.

Whether the bears are still nearby, we do not know. But we do know they can be dangerous

Expedition guide Koen will take us under his wing for our first hike in Greenland. His instructions sound familiar to us – always stay with the group, stay close together, and never venture out alone. Just earlier, the scouts spotted tracks of a female bear and her cub. Whether they are still nearby, we do not know. But we do know they can be dangerous. Therefore, three armed guides will accompany us – Koen at the front, Cas at the back, and Ben in the middle of the group.

 

Hochstetter Forland

We climb up through the bed of a stream. As we progress, the view becomes increasingly expansive. The sky-blue, sun-drenched Peters Bugt and Hochstetterbugten lie at our feet, while across the way, the bare mountains of Ostenfeld Land rise almost a thousand meters high, with the Hondius bobbing like a toy boat in this immense setting.

However, there are indeed plants – surprisingly many, in fact. All we have to do is look down

In this pure atmosphere, visibility stretches breathtakingly far. There are no trees or shrubs to obstruct our line of sight. However, there are indeed plants – surprisingly many, in fact. All we have to do is look down. In this harsh climate, plants don't aim for height; instead, they stay close to the ground, sheltered by one another, exposed as little as possible to the elements. They often develop in the protection of stones, which help shield them from the cold wind. In winter, they prefer to be covered by snow, creating an insulating layer that protects them from the frigid air. Currently, most of the plants have finished blooming, making them often harder to identify.

 

Muskox – Hoofprints

Muskox – Jawbone

Recent hoofprints in the soft earth indicate that muskoxen have passed this way. Elsewhere, a jawbone and some bleached bones of a muskox lie scattered.

 

Arctic willow

Arctic willow

A striking presence here is the Arctic willow. It seems like a peculiar name for a plant that never grows taller than ten centimeters, yet it belongs to the willow family. Once you start paying attention, you see this woody plant everywhere, with its branches just a few millimeters thick, twisting irregularly across the ground amidst an abundance of green oval leaves.

The orange spots on some rocks are lichens, a symbiosis of an alga and a fungus

Scheuchzer's cottongrass

Alpine bistort

Also notable are the orange spots on some rocks. In fact, these are lichens, a symbiosis of an alga and a fungus. Both organisms benefit from this partnership; in fact, they cannot survive without each other. The fungus wraps itself around the alga, protecting it from environmental factors and retaining moisture. This moisture is essential for the alga’s photosynthesis. Among other things, it produces sugar alcohols that nourish the fungus in turn. In short, it’s a win-win situation for both. This bond is so strong that even temperatures of –15 to –20 °C (5 to –4 °F) or years of snow cover cannot break it apart.

Trentepohlia is known as a typical pioneer plant. It will be one of the first to colonize new, bare terrain

Trentepohlia

The fact that this lichen occurs exactly here is no coincidence. After all, the boulders form an excellent vantage point; from here, you can overlook the entire plain and the bay. Birds of prey often land here and occasionally drop excrement. That provides nitrogen, an important nutrient source for the alga. And yes, once again, the fungus comes to the rescue by secreting acids that help the alga absorb the nitrogen.

This alga, called trentepohlia, is known as a typical pioneer plant. It will be one of the first to colonize new, bare terrain. Since trentepohlia is a slow grower, it stands no chance where seed plants dominate. But where seed plants have not yet taken hold, trentepohlia thrives excellently.

 

Old fox trap

Outcrop coal seam

Near the Kulhus, we come across a few large stones with planks underneath. These are the remnants of an old fox trap, a contraption that trappers in the 1920s and 1930s used to catch Arctic foxes. The mechanism was dead simple – Arctic fox grabs the bait, a stick falls, the trap snaps shut, and the fox is dead. But behind that simple principle, there was much more ingenuity than you might initially think.

First and foremost, it was essential to kill the fox without damaging its beautiful white fur, as that was the primary goal of the trappers. But the fox had to be stone dead when the trap closed because otherwise, it might escape. The stones had to be heavy enough, not only to ensure the fox’s death but also to prevent a polar bear from making off with the carcass. A piece of ptarmigan meat was used as bait. However, the trapper could not touch it, as the fox would smell his scent. Therefore, he used a glove smeared with ptarmigan fat. Usually, a small cairn was built next to the fox trap to help locate it in the snow.

 

In all the huts, the provisions are arranged in the same way so that even a snow-blind visitor can easily find their way around

Kulhus

We take a quick look inside the Kulhus. The basic amenities are present – a bunk bed, a stove, a kerosene lamp, matches, a table, chairs, and toilet paper. Everything is neat and orderly. This is intentional. In all the huts, the provisions are arranged in the same way so that even a snow-blind visitor can easily find their way around. The matches are partially sticking out of the box, making them easier to handle even with partially frozen fingers.

The new plan is even a bit daring. But the weather charts suggest that this might be possible

Hochstetterbugten

Fog bank

Tomorrow, we will leave Hochstetterbugten behind and return to the open sea. But Adam has pulled a new plan out of his sleeve, a somewhat daring one, as it turns out during the daily recap. We’re not giving up; once past Shannon, we won't continue our journey south along the Greenland coast. Instead, we'll turn the bow northward in a new attempt to approach the ice edge. The weather charts suggest that this might be possible. So, it will be a full day in the ice, and who knows, we might even spot polar bears. Hopefully, the sun will also be on our side.

 

Rough sea

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Saturday 3 September | Gael Hamke Bugt – Dødemandsbugten

Tossing and turning in bed, we wake up. Apparently, the open sea is quite rough. Curious, we sit up, turn on the TV screen, and check our vessel's position. It turns out that we did indeed travel a long way north during the night, but at some point, we suddenly turned around. We've been heading south for several hours now, and we’re even farther south than Shannon. What happened?

We've been heading south for several hours now. What happened?

Icebergs in Gael Hamke Bugt

Marcel soon provides more clarity via the intercom. Just before three o'clock last night, the Hondius reached the ice edge. However, the stormy weather was unbearable, with winds exceeding 9 on the Beaufort scale and speeds up to 50 knots or 90 km per hour. Ice floes continuously pounded the ship's hull like a deck of cards being endlessly shuffled. Sailing calmly among ice floes and gently pushing them aside is one thing; being relentlessly bombarded by ice floes weighing several tons is a completely different matter, even for an ice-reinforced ship like the Hondius.

The fact that all Inuit from Alaska to Greenland speak the same language today, albeit in different dialects, is a lasting result of this migration

For Captain Toni, there was only one option – to turn around and get away from this dangerous place. This means we are now heading towards the sheltered waters of Gael Hamke Bugt, which we’ll reach in about three hours. Given the harsh weather conditions, with a strong headwind of 8 on the Beaufort scale and waves three to four meters high, the bow is closed for safety reasons. The air temperature is 1 °C (33.8 °F), Marcel concludes laconically, and the water temperature is 2°C (35.6 °F).

We won't encounter any people on the northeast coast of Greenland. The climate here is simply too harsh for permanent habitation. But this hasn't always been the case, as archaeologist and former museum director Claus explains. Between 1400 and 1850, people did manage to survive here. They originally came from the Bering Sea region, the area between Alaska and Siberia. Around 1000, they began migrating eastward along the north coast of Canada. Just two generations later, they appeared in North Greenland. From there, they gradually spread southward along the eastern coast. We now refer to this culture as the Thule.

Due to a lack of wood, the Thule have completely lost the art of pottery-making

Why the Thule left their traditional hunting grounds is not precisely known. It happened during a period when the climate was warmer than before. Since there was less sea ice at the time, it is possible that whales ventured further east, and the hunters simply followed their prey. In any case, these Thule are the direct ancestors of the modern Inuit. The fact that all Inuit from Alaska to Greenland speak the same language today, albeit in different dialects, is a lasting result of this migration.

 

Gael Hamke Bugt

The Thule always built their winter houses right by the sea, giving them easy access to their hunting grounds on land, ice, and sea. They used stones, peat blocks, skins, and whale bones as building materials. During the summer, they lived in tents made of animal skins. They didn’t have ceramic pottery; instead, they used bowls made of soapstone. At first glance, this seems strange, as their ancestors in the Bering Sea region were skilled in pottery-making. But to make ceramics, you need fire, which requires wood. On the coasts of Alaska, this is possible because there’s enough driftwood. But here in Northeast Greenland, wood is a very scarce resource. As a result, the Thule completely lost the art of pottery-making.

To his surprise, twelve Inuit appeared – men, women, and children

Meanwhile, we’ve reached Wollaston Forland with the Hondius. What made the coasts of this peninsula so attractive to the Inuit was the fact that, just like at Shannon, a large polynya formed here each year. This was a huge advantage for the Thule, as it provided access to a unique combination of land animals and marine mammals. Ringed seals remained the mainstay of their diet, but narwhals and caribou were also on the menu. In the spring, they added walrus meat and blubber. Just off the coast, on the small island of Hvalros Ø, so many temporary storage places for walrus meat have been discovered that it gave the island its name – Hvalros Ø means Walrus Island.

As the Hondius turns toward Gael Hamke Bugt, Clavering Ø island appears to starboard. About twenty Inuit winter houses have been discovered here, but that’s not what the island is famous for. In late August 1823, Scottish captain Douglas Clavering set foot on the island that would later bear his name. To his surprise, twelve Inuit – men, women, and children – appeared. He noted in his journal that they had tanned, copper-coloured skin, round faces, long black hair, fleshy, often swollen hands and feet, and wore clothing made of sealskin. They carried weapons such as harpoons and spears with points made of bone and meteoric iron, as well as stone tools. When the crew demonstrated the use of a musket, it must have greatly startled the Inuit because that very night, they quietly slipped away, never to be seen again. Thus, the first and last, and therefore the only, encounter between Europeans and the Thule of Northeast Greenland came to an abrupt end.

Thus, the first and last, and therefore the only, encounter between Europeans and the Thule of Northeast Greenland came to an abrupt end

Gael Hamke Bugt

This culture was already on borrowed time by then. It is generally believed that the Thule had completely disappeared from the region by around 1850. The exact reason is not known, but once again, the climate seems to be the culprit. From the 16th to the 19th century, Greenland was also in the grip of the Little Ice Age, a phenomenon we know from the paintings of Pieter Brueghel the Younger.

Stubbornly, the Vikings stuck to farming and livestock breeding, even though the climate in Greenland was not well-suited for it

On the west coast of Greenland, the Thule fared much better, as we learn from Greenland enthusiast Renno in his lecture. But first, he focuses on the Vikings. They were the ones who, under the leadership of Erik the Red, discovered and colonized Greenland – at least, if you view things purely from a European perspective. In 985, they founded the Eastern Settlement at the southernmost tip of the island, and 600 kilometres further north, they established the Western Settlement, from which the current capital, Nuuk, would eventually emerge.

The Vikings did indeed have contact with the Thule, but they did not adopt their way of life, hunting practices, diet, or clothing. Stubbornly, they stuck to farming and livestock breeding as they had done in Norway for centuries, even though the climate in Greenland was not well-suited for it. They refused to dress in animal skins, no matter how warm, and they didn’t adopt efficient hunting techniques for ringed seals and other marine mammals. When they hunted walruses and narwhals, it was primarily for ivory.

In 1722, priest Hans Egede travelled to Greenland to convert his countrymen once again. But nowhere there was a Viking to be seen

It is not surprising, then, that the increasingly colder climate eventually proved fatal for them. By the end of the 15th century, there were no more Vikings left in Greenland. But this was not known in Scandinavia, where people began to worry about the well-being of their distant countrymen in Greenland. The Vikings there were thought to be still Catholic and to have completely missed out on the benefits of the Danish Reformation.

 

Clavering Ø

So, in 1722, priest Hans Egede travelled to Greenland to convert his countrymen once again. However, this proved quite challenging. There was no Viking to be seen anywhere. Instead, he began to convert the local Inuit, with great success. Thanks to Egede, the Inuit learned to read and write. He founded the town of Godthåb, which means Good Hope, but it has since become Nuuk, the capital of the island, with just over 18,000 residents.

In Egede's wake, other Danes came and established trading posts that eventually grew into today's settlements. There are now exactly 78 of them. However, the rugged eastern coast remained uninhabited, or nearly so. In 1884, Gustav Holm discovered 431 Inuit there almost by accident. No one knew of their existence. Holm’s intervention saved them just in time from certain starvation.

The weather stations in Greenland were crucial for warfare in Europe

Then came World War II. The Americans quickly took over the island – or at least the locations they needed for their airfields, radio stations, and weather stations. The Danish government in exile did not grant them permission, but the Danish governor of Greenland did. The weather stations were crucial for warfare, as the low-pressure systems that determine the weather in Europe originate above Greenland. After the war, the United States even made a takeover bid of 100 million dollars. Just as they had purchased Alaska from the Russians, they thought they could buy Greenland from Denmark. With a grin Renno adds that Trump’s real estate offer in 2019 didn’t come out of nowhere.

After the war, the United States even made a takeover bid of 100 million dollars

But the Danes stood firm. Moreover, they developed a master plan for the island’s development. Until about 1950, the local population still lived in huts made of stone, turf, and sod, while the Danes lived in wooden houses. To expedite housing construction, a sort of IKEA-style house package was assembled – we can only imagine what the instructions for such a package must have looked like. Additionally, smaller villages were closed down. This was not difficult; they simply shut down the only store or cut off the electricity.

 

Clavering Ø

Meanwhile, the pursuit of autonomy steadily increased. In 1979, Greenland obtained partial self-governance. More than thirty years before Brexit, they initiated a Grexit in 1985 – Greenland left the European Union following a referendum in 1982. From then on, they could manage their own fishing grounds again.

To expedite housing construction, a sort of IKEA-style house package was assembled

The year 2009 brought complete self-governance for Greenland. Only defense, justice, immigration, monetary policy, and – strangely – food safety remained in Danish hands. Furthermore, Denmark would continue to be responsible for the inhospitable Northeast Greenland. The Danes still pump 500 million euros into Greenland every year. However, there are new players in the game. China is actively investing in mines, airports, and similar projects, which is viewed with growing suspicion.

With an area of over 2,166,000 km² spread across five time zones, Greenland is more than three times the size of France. This is an enormous territory, but it also presents significant challenges.

 

Clavering Ø

Since the 1950s, the population has significantly increased. With just over 56,000 residents today, this growth is thanks to the welfare state. A low birth rate combined with a low death rate leads to an aging population. The trend of young people moving to Denmark for their education and not returning also does not help the situation.

More than thirty years before Brexit, they initiated a Grexit in 1985 – Greenland left the European Union following a referendum in 1982

And that is far from the only problem facing the population. Poverty, unemployment, a housing crisis, low education levels, brain drain, tuberculosis, STDs, genetic obesity, violence, alcoholism, and suicide – all of these issues create a distressingly long list. Recently, climate change has compounded these challenges.

Renno concludes his story by highlighting the legendary resilience and adaptability of the Greenlanders. Without these qualities, they would never have been able to survive in this ruthless environment. If they want to save their society, they will need those qualities more than ever.

In the meantime we are still sailing westward through Gael Hamke Bugt. The weather conditions are promising. There is light cloud cover, but the sun dominates the sky, painting the air and water a brilliant blue. In the distance, a tabular iceberg floats toward the open sea. It is an enormous structure, and given the great distance, it is difficult to estimate its dimensions. However, we have no doubt that its plateau could accommodate dozens of football fields. It is worth noting that only one-fifth to one-seventh of this iceberg is visible above the water. Ice floats on water because its density is only nine-tenths that of water. Yet, within that ice is also an unknown amount of trapped air, making it difficult to estimate what fraction of the iceberg is above water.

Dødemandsbugten on Clavering Ø is the site of the historic encounter, and it is also where we are headed now

Scouts on their way to Dødemandsbugten

For almost an hour, we have been following the south coast of Clavering Ø. It is a vast island. The fact that Captain Clavering encountered the Inuit here seems to be an extraordinary coincidence. However, the role of chance was less significant than one might think. Clavering Ø is a mountainous island, with its highest point rising 1,650 meters above sea level. The mountain slopes descend steeply to the water, and there are hardly any flat coastal areas. Only where a river has carved a bed through the mountains is the terrain flat enough to attract people, such as in Dødemandsbugten. That is the site of the historic encounter, and it is also where we are headed now.

 

Landing in Dødemandsbugten

As soon as we drop anchor in Dødemandsbugten, the scouts set out on an expedition with two Zodiacs. Nine hundred-meter-high mountains dominate the coastal area, interrupted only by a wide, U-shaped valley. This likely indicates that a glacier was once at work here. Just off the coast, an iceberg has run aground. It must have come from elsewhere, as there is no sign of snow or ice in the glacial valley. However, a small river, the Furka, flows through the area, though it appears to be mostly dry.

 

Landing in Dødemandsbugten

Gael Hamke Bugt

A little later, we also set foot on the pebble beach. A short distance away, the clear waters of the Furka cascade into the sea. What initially seemed like an insignificant little river turns out to be wide and deep enough to obstruct our passage.

 

Exploring Clavering Ø

We climb higher into the valley over the thick stones of the ancient moraine, not without some effort. Perhaps we will find a shallow crossing to get over the Furka and return via the left bank. That is the plan, at least. As we progress, a captivating view of the bay unfolds behind us. Sunbeams sparkle silver-white on the gently rolling water. Clouds have settled like a layer of down over the mountains on the opposite side. Icebergs larger than the Hondius float motionless in the distance on the water.

 

Clavering Ø

Here too, a wealth of plants has blossomed, not only on the sediment around the river but even here and there among the stones of the moraine. Experts recognize reindeer lichen, Arctic mouse-ear, alpine bistort, blueberries, mountain sorrel, Arctic bell-heather, Scheuchzer's cottongrass, Arctic willow, and more.

Some of these, such as mountain sorrel, are quite easy to identify. For the Inuit, it was an important plant because its leaves are rich in vitamin C, making it an excellent remedy for preventing or curing scurvy. Explorers were also aware of this.

Very peculiar is the Alpine bistort, also known as viviparum. This has to do with a form of asexual reproduction

Mountain sorrel

Alpine bistort

Very peculiar is the Alpine bistort, also known as viviparum. This has to do with the bulbils that we can observe in the axils of the leaf scales. Each of these bulbils can grow into a completely new plant. This is a form of asexual reproduction, as sexual reproduction is not always successful in the tundra. Alpine ptarmigans are fond of these bulbils, inadvertently aiding in their distribution.

 

Arctic bell-heather (cassiope tetragona)

Arctic willow

But soon our attention is exclusively drawn to the Arctic bell-heather. Or rather, to the cassiope tetragona, as marine biologist Ben likes to call the plant. This was his research subject for his PhD. For years, he couldn't get enough of it, and even now he can't stop talking about it.

One of his experiments involved placing hexagonal greenhouses over the plants so that the temperature inside would rise by 1 to 1.5 °C. This allowed him to simulate the expected climate of 2050. Surprisingly, another plant that happened to be under the greenhouse began to produce berries.

The most spectacular discovery was that one of the studied plants turned out to be two hundred and fifty years old

Arctic mouse-ear

Arctic willow

But the most spectacular discovery was that one of the studied plants turned out to be two hundred and fifty years old. Not the plant as a whole, but one of its branches. This is because cassiope tetragona grows, among other things, through underground branching. What annual rings are to trees, these branches are to cassiope tetragona – they indicate the plant’s age. Furthermore, the length of a branch is directly proportional to the temperature at that time – the warmer it was during a particular summer, the longer the corresponding branch. Thanks to this elderly plant, they were able to read the annual summer temperatures over a period of 250 years, Ben beams.

Thanks to this elderly plant, they were able to read the annual summer temperatures over a period of 250 years

Pinkgill

Arctic willow

In this rugged climate, these delicate plants with their bell-shaped white flowers hanging from slender stems are indeed striking. Normally, they bloom in July and August. The fact that we can still observe them now is a rare treat for us – or perhaps just a consequence of climate change.

Reindeer have long been extinct in this region, so the antler must be centuries old

Reindeer lichen

Reindeer antler

Further along, we come across a bleached, snow-white reindeer antler. Judging by its size, it must have belonged to a male. Males shed their antlers after summer, whereas females keep theirs until after winter, allowing them to protect their young from unruly males. Such an antler weighs around 4 to 5 kg and is rich in nutrients. As it decomposes, these nutrients are released into the soil, which is why you often find abundant plant growth around a shed antler.

 

Tundra vegetation

Yet, despite its presence, this antler doesn’t actually belong here. Reindeer have long been extinct in this region, so the antler must be centuries old. It’s surprising that it still lies exposed on the ground after all this time, but there’s a logical explanation for this. In this harsh environment, neither wind nor water brings loose soil or sediments to cover it, and the sparse vegetation is unable to overgrow the antler. Additionally, the permafrost prevents the antler from sinking into the ground, preserving it in its current state.

 

Wildlife trail

Rock ptarmigan

A half dozen rock ptarmigans scuttle among the vegetation, seemingly unafraid of us, though clearly cautious. For now, they're still in their summer plumage. As winter approaches, they'll trade this for a beautiful, snow-white coat, perfectly suited for blending into the winter landscape. These hardy birds are here to stay; migrating south for the winter isn’t in their nature.

 

Rock ptarmigans

As we climb further up the valley, the small furrow carved by the Furka into the rocks becomes deeper. Eventually, we find ourselves looking down into a genuine gorge where the churning river water foams and forces its way through before cascading into a pool.

 

Furka

Crossing the river is no longer an option, so we descend along the rocky riverbank toward the coast. As far as the eye can see, the landscape is bathed in warm sunlight. Boulders of various shapes and colours are scattered across the terrain, but they have no sharp edges. The grinding glacial ice has taken care of that. They've become beautiful stones with smooth shapes and rounded corners. Their adventurous journey is evident from the multicoloured, folded layers that appear on their surfaces.

 

They have no sharp edges, these boulders. The grinding glacial ice has taken care of that

 

Not only do the Inuit and polar tourists appreciate this environment, but animals also seem to find what they need here. They aren't visible today, but sometimes it can be quite busy here. This has been the case for centuries, as evidenced by the many different bleached bones scattered along the path. But also quite recently, as evidenced by the many droppings, including those of musk oxen. These resemble goat pellets, which you wouldn't immediately expect from such imposing animals.

 

 

In the sky-blue water off the coast, an irregularly shaped iceberg is photogenically fading away. The melting ice glistens blue-white in the light of the low sun. The ice mass has run aground in the shallow coastal waters and will gradually lose its solidity. However, its death struggle will last for some time. It will certainly survive this winter.

Just before six, everyone is back on board the Hondius. The daily recap is the moment when we reflect on the day, but also make plans for the next day – risky as that may be. For tomorrow, Marcel has scheduled Myggbukta and Tvaerdal.

The name Myggbukta immediately raises some suspicion because it translates to Mosquito Bay. It gives an idea of how the first explorers experienced the place. Fortunately, we don't need to fear the notorious mosquitoes, biologist Louis reassures us, as their prime season has passed. They've laid their eggs just above the waterline on the moist land. Only next spring will the larvae emerge.

The fact that mosquitoes can even survive in this region is a small miracle in itself

The fact that mosquitoes can even survive in this region is a small miracle in itself. Males feed on plant juices and nectar, but females need blood to develop their eggs. They find it on the musk oxen – especially around the eyes – and on nesting birds. And on tourists, if they venture into their territory. However, there are Arctic mosquito species where the females no longer need blood. They manage solely on plant juices.

 

The ice mass has run aground in the shallow coastal waters and will gradually lose its solidity

 

In the distance, mist lies like a thick carpet on the water, a phenomenon that we will see more frequently in the future. It arises from the temperature difference between the seawater and the air. Since the seawater is slightly warmer than the air, it evaporates at the surface. However, the cold air is already saturated. Simply put, no more water vapour can be added. Thus, the water vapour condenses into tiny droplets. If you give the sun enough time, it will warm the air above the mist layer sufficiently to allow evaporation to occur again, and the mist will gradually disappear.

Only in that misty layer of a few dozen meters thick on the water you can't see a hand in front of your face

Gael Hamke Bugt

Yet it remains a remarkable phenomenon. Because everywhere else the air is clear. We can see the entire surroundings, the horizon in the distance, the mountain peaks, the waves on the water. Only in that misty layer of a few dozen meters thick on the water you can't see a hand in front of your face. Not nice if you end up in that soup with your ship.

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Sunday 4 September | Myggbukta – Kap Franklin

Air temperature 3 °C (37.4 °F), water temperature 6 °C (42.8 °F). The daily mantra echoes through the intercom, this time articulated by assistant expedition leader Hans. For the rest, he has bad news. We have arrived near our destination, but a thick fog hangs over Mackenzie Bugt, the bay that provides access to Myggbukta. We need only look out the window to see that announcement confirmed. Going ashore is not an option in this context. We will have to change our plans once again and move deeper into the interior without accomplishing anything.

But that is not what expedition leader Adam has in mind. He is betting that we are in a fog bank, like the one we saw in the distance last night, and that the fog will slowly lift. After breakfast, he announces that we will stay anchored here until eleven o'clock, hoping that we will be able to go ashore then. Fortunately. In a few hours, it will become clear that this was the right decision.

 

Scouts on their way to Myggbukta

Because skipping Myggbukta would be a great shame. The place is rich in history. In 1922, the Norwegian Johan Olsen established a radio and weather station there, which also served as a base for Norwegian trappers hunting arctic foxes, seals, and walruses. Olsen was also the one who came up with the ominous name Myggbukta. Completely justified, by the way. It turned out to be one of the worst mosquito-infested areas of East Greenland.

In 1931 the Norwegians hoisted their flag over Myggbukta and declared the place the capital of what they called Eirik Raudes Land

Gradually, the Norwegians expanded their area of operations along the northeast coast of Greenland. The Danes watched this with dismay, as they regarded Greenland as Danish territory. But they let it be. Until 27 June 1931, when it became too much for them. On that day, the Norwegians hoisted their flag over Myggbukta and declared the place the capital of what they called Eirik Raudes Land, the Land of Erik the Red, an area that extended over all of Northeast Greenland. After all, this was terra nullius, land that belonged to no one because no one lived there. Moreover, it was the Norwegian Vikings who were the first to set foot on Greenlandic soil. In short, the claim that Norway made on Northeast Greenland was entirely justified, they believed in Oslo.

 

Disembarkment

 

The dispute was resolved in a civilized manner. Denmark and Norway referred the matter to the then relatively young Permanent Court of International Justice of the League of Nations in The Hague. The court ruled that Norway's arguments held no weight and awarded the area to Denmark. Norway accepted the verdict and withdrew.

During World War II, Germans landed on the east coast of Greenland to set up secret weather stations

However, Denmark had learned its lesson. It was not enough to claim sovereignty over Northeast Greenland; it had to be enforced. Thus, the famous Slædepatruljen Sirius came into being, an elite unit of the Danish Navy. Their mission was to conduct permanent reconnaissance patrols in North and East Greenland. A task that is hardly manageable, as their area of operation is an Arctic wilderness of no less than 160,000 km². That is more than five times the size of Belgium. They normally patrol in pairs using sleds pulled by a dozen dogs. Sometimes they are on the move for four months at a time without any human contact. Normally, we would visit their headquarters in Daneborg around this time, but the weather conditions have made that impossible.

 

On our way to Myggbukta

Soon, the dog sled patrols of Sirius proved their worth. For there were again intruders on the coast. This time, it was the Germans who landed on the east coast of Greenland during World War II to set up secret weather stations. For Germany, meteorological information from Greenland was invaluable, not only for the battles on the European mainland but also for the U-boats that targeted the maritime supply lines of the Allies in the northern Atlantic Ocean.

Holzauge in Hansa Bugt on Sabine Island was the first German weather station to be discovered. The American Air Force promptly sent bombers from Iceland to target it. By the end of 1943, all German weather stations in Greenland had been located and neutralized. One of those weather stations was Myggbukta.

 

Myggbukta is full of history

Myggbukta

Outside, it seems that the fog is beginning to loosen its grip on the Hondius. Occasionally, the pale sun breaks through the mists, and vague patches of blue sky are visible at the zenith. Shortly after ten, the scouts set out with two zodiacs. For us, this is the unofficial signal that we can start getting ready. Barely ten minutes later, the formal announcement comes over the intercom that the first groups will depart in half an hour.

 

Myggbukta
		Skull of musk ox (f)

There is a slight swell, warns zodiac driver Arjen as we head towards the beach. And the coastal water is shallow, which amplifies the waves. His words are barely out when seawater gushes into the front of our zodiac. Nothing to worry about; the puddle of water sloshes back and forth over the aluminium floor. A little later, we safely land on the pebble beach. In the distance, the faint silhouette of the Hondiusis barely recognizable in the mist. Hopefully, we'll be able to find the ship again.

 

Myggbukta

We look out over the vast sediment plain where the Mackenzie River flows into the bay of the same name. It's immediately clear why this place was so popular with both mosquitoes and trappers. For trappers, the relatively flat terrain was very accessible; for mosquitoes, the many small pools were a paradise on earth. That, in turn, attracts birds. Nature documentarian Meike recognizes a few of them – long-tailed ducks, ruddy turnstones, purple sandpipers.

Further on, we see the bleached skull of a musk ox. The horns are still attached. It must have been a female, according to Meike, because the gap between the horn bases on the skull is quite wide. In males, these are fused and larger, as they use them to battle their rivals during the mating season. They charge at each other at 40 kilometres per hour and collide with tremendous force. Their head butts can be heard up to two kilometres away.

 

Myggbukta

But it is the radio station that now captures our interest. Nowadays, it's more of a trapper's hut than a weather station. Until around 1970, hunters used it regularly. You can also occasionally find members of the Sirius Dog Sled Patrols there.

The original hut is no longer there; the house we see now has been rebuilt and renovated several times. It's a fairly large building, much more spacious than the Kulhus at Karl Pynt, and much more comfortable too. Apparently, it is well-maintained. Inside, we find the classic household items and necessities, everything neatly organized and in its place so that you can find it blindly by touch.

 

Myggbukta

At some distance, there are two outbuildings, not because there is insufficient space in the main building, but to provide shelter in case the main building is destroyed by fire.

It's immediately clear why Myggbukta was so popular with both mosquitoes and trappers

Sedimentary plain around Myggbukta

With our focus on the Danes, Norwegians, and Germans, we might almost forget that this was originally the land of the Inuit. But that's not something archaeologist Claus overlooks. He leads us up the slope to show us what he has found there. At first glance, we might call them ordinary pits in the ground with some rocks here and there, but Claus's passionate enthusiasm leaves no doubt – these are the remains of Inuit winter dwellings.

The entrance consisted of a small tunnel. This created a sort of siphon effect that partly kept the cold out

Remains of two Inuit dwellings

Claus's extensive experience with similar sites along the Greenlandic coasts allows him to vividly describe how such dwellings must have looked, enriching our imagination. The walls were built with stones and turf, lined on the inside with sealskin. Driftwood found along the coast was used as roofing material, and sometimes even whale ribs were used for this purpose. Some of these dwellings even had a window made from the membrane of polar bear or seal skin.

The entrance consisted of a small tunnel, allowing you to crawl inside under the stones. This created a sort of siphon effect that partly kept the cold out. These dwellings didn’t have a door; instead, the entrance was covered with a sealskin. Inside, musk ox and polar bear pelts covered the seating areas and the bed. Animal oil was burned on a stone, providing not only light in the darkness but also heating a stone above it for cooking meat. A bit higher up, clothes could be hung to dry. In short, three functions in one, Claus concludes.

Imagine sitting here all winter long, in the freezing cold and complete darkness, waiting for spring

Remains of an Inuit dwelling

This house is probably two to four hundred years old, and a family of two adults with two to four children lived here. To us, it seems there's not even enough space for one adult. Imagine sitting here all winter long, in the freezing cold and complete darkness, waiting for spring. On the west coast, the houses were usually larger, Claus tries to counter our mix of astonishment and disbelief.

Inuit would even go so far as to spontaneously offer their wives when a Western man showed up – solely to broaden the gene pool

Svalbard poppy

Musk ox – Skull and part of backbone

Typically, the Inuit tried to live in communities of one hundred to one hundred and fifty people to prevent inbreeding. Peter Freuchen, the Danish anthropologist who was himself married to an Inuit woman and had two children with her, wrote in his 1935 book Arctic Adventure that the Inuit would even go so far as to spontaneously offer their wives when a Western man showed up – solely to broaden the gene pool.

 

Myggbukta

Elsewhere, he writes that kayakers, if they unexpectedly find themselves in a storm, must be able to perform a voluntary roll, with their head and torso hanging in the icy water beneath the kayak. If the kayaker were to remain upright, he risks suffering a broken spine if a wave crashes over him.

 

Myggbukta

The mist has largely cleared when we return to the Hondius around half past twelve. So, finding the ship isn’t that difficult. However, it will still take another hour or two before the Hondius can lift its anchor. In the meantime, the second group has also landed. After all, it’s not allowed to land more than one hundred people at the same time in the same place in the Arctic. The regulations are quite strict about that. The inevitable consequence is that crossing the bay for the planned visit to Tvaerdal is no longer feasible.

The icebergs are deceptively beautiful, but dangerous

Kejser Franz Joseph Fjord

So we turn our bow westward for what is supposed to be the highlight of the trip. For three days, we will traverse the fascinating fjord system that is part of Northeast Greenland National Park. Through the impressive Kejser Franz Joseph Fjord, named after the Habsburg emperor, we will delve deep into this geological gem, returning to open sea next Wednesday via the equally impressive Kong Oscar Fjord.

For three days, we will traverse the fascinating fjord system that is part of Northeast Greenland National Park

Still, the expedition staff has some entertainment planned for us. Just before five, right before we enter the Kejser Franz Joseph Fjord, they announce a zodiac cruise. Fortunately, we have enough time for that. Twelve zodiacs will be launched, and for one hour, we will be able to explore the surroundings more closely near Kap Franklin. We learn that it will be cold, so we should dress warmly. And there is a significant swell, so we need to be careful. But that doesn’t diminish our enthusiasm.

 

Kejser Franz Joseph Fjord

Not with ten passengers, as with the landings, but with twelve, we take our seats in the zodiacs just after six. This is our very first zodiac cruise, and zodiac driver Meike immediately asks for attention for the safety instructions. First, there is the buddy system. The zodiacs always operate in pairs so that in case of emergency, one can quickly assist the other. Buddies should stay close enough to each other.

What to do in the event of a MOB, a man (m/f/x) overboard?

What to do in the event of a MOB, a man (m/f/x) overboard? In the waves, a drowning person can quickly disappear from sight. Therefore, two people should constantly point at the drowning person with outstretched arms while the others crouch down at the bottom of the zodiac so that Meike’s view isn’t obstructed. Once close enough, she will pull the MOB on board. This should be done backwards.

 

 

Should the unthinkable happen – Meike herself going overboard – the dead man's cord will immediately shut off the zodiac's engine. Even then, two people must keep pointing at her, but that’s where our responsibility ends. It will be the driver of the second zodiac who will have to lift her out of the water. Whether we will be able to maintain that level of self-control remains to be seen.

And then there are the icebergs. Deceptively beautiful, but dangerous. As they melt, their centre of gravity shifts, causing them to tilt unexpectedly. Therefore, the zodiac should never approach an iceberg closer than two and a half times its height. Even then, we could be hit by a small tsunami if the iceberg calves and wobbles. In that case, the order is to lean forward in the zodiac and wait for the events to unfold.

Moreover, the Hondius also needs to be vigilant. It’s certainly not a good idea to anchor with icebergs nearby, as the ship must maintain its freedom of movement. So, the captain has no choice but to sail back and forth calmly while we head out with the zodiacs.

It seems as if the steep rocky coast has already donned autumn colours in anticipation of winter

Kap Franklin

 

None of this can dampen our spirits. In the distance, the steep rocky coast of Kap Franklin beckons us. It seems as if it has already donned autumn colours in anticipation of winter. All shades from pale yellow to dark brown are represented on the bare slopes. At the very top, a few remnants of snow still lie. Undoubtedly, they will not disappear before winter sets in. Here and there, narrow crevices cut through the rock, and white frothy water cascades down.

 

Kap Franklin

Then, halfway up the slope, a few dark rocks seem to be moving – these are musk oxen

Musk oxen

Then, halfway up the slope, a few dark rocks seem to be moving. The distance is quite large, but the binoculars leave no doubt – these are musk oxen. There are five of them, running quite quickly and effortlessly up the steep slope. Apparently, these grazers can find food even on these seemingly barren mountain slopes. Their global population is estimated to be between 80,000 and 125,000, with around 5,000 to 15,000 roaming in Northeast Greenland National Park.

 

Kejser Franz Joseph Fjord

Further along, three icebergs float on the water. We cautiously approach them, without getting too close. They are enormous creatures, even taller than the Hondius, whose highest deck is 21.86 meters above the waterline. What stands out is how much these three ice giants differ from one another. But the explanation is obvious. The large flat disc is an iceberg that has broken off from the ice cap. The other two, with their irregular shapes resembling fairy-tale castles with towers, have calved from a glacier.

Whatever their origin, all three are firmly anchored to the seabed

 

Whatever their origin, all three are firmly anchored to the seabed. And that in itself is quite an achievement, as the nautical charts indicate that the fjord is at least two hundred meters deep here. Only when they have sufficiently melted will the icebergs be freed and continue their journey to the sea.

On one of the icebergs, a few seagulls are strutting around, looking around proudly. They belong to one of the largest gull species, the glaucous gulls. One has the light-brown plumage of a juvenile, while the other three are adult birds with pale white feathers. Fish, eggs, and insects are on the menu for these omnivores, as well as berries and carrion. They can be very aggressive and are known to attack and kill other birds, even in mid-flight.

These glaucous gulls are certainly not suffering from the cold. They don’t even have to worry about their feet freezing to the ice

Glaucous gulls

These glaucous gulls are certainly not suffering from the cold. They don’t even have to worry about their feet freezing to the ice. They owe this to the sophisticated way their circulatory system is organized. The warm blood flowing from the heart to the feet transfers some of its heat to the cold blood that is returning to the heart from the feet. Both blood vessels are neatly positioned next to each other in the legs. This way, the energy from the warm blood is not lost, and the cold blood is pre-warmed, preventing the body from cooling down too much. There is always enough warm blood in the feet to prevent freezing.

 

 

It is well past seven o'clock when we climb back aboard the Hondius. The daily recap informs us that our exploration of the Kejser Franz Joseph Fjord has begun. Tomorrow, landings at Cape Ovibos and in Blomsterbugten are on the agenda. Ice formation or heavy swells shouldn’t be a concern this far inland. Finally, we have a plan that won’t have to be changed.

Shortly after eleven, we reach Kap Ovibos and drop anchor. It seems simple, but it is not. A fair bit of math is involved in determining the precise pull direction of the anchor chain. You have to consider the depth of the water, the current, the wind speed, and the presence of ice. If there is a lot of ice nearby, the chain must not be too long, as you need to be able to haul in the anchor quickly in case of emergency.

For tonight, five links will suffice, the crew on the bridge knows. That means the anchor chain will go into the water for a length of five times 27.5 meters, or almost 140 meters. This does not mean the water is that deep here, however. The chain hangs in a long, curved line behind the ship. Moreover, it is not so much the weight of the anchor, but that of the chain that keeps the ship in place. While the anchor weighs 3.3 tons, its primary function is to latch onto the seabed.

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Jaak Palmans
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