Bölsheøya & Barentsøya, Svalbard
Capturing wildlife on film, traditional or digital, requires some knowledge of your subject and your equipment, a lot of patience, and a bit of luck. Really, you just have to put yourself out there in a situation where it might, emphasis on “might,” happen. But if you are really fortunate, you can find yourself on a photographic expedition to Svalbard and close enough to its native reindeer that you need to switch to your short lenses. Such can be life here on board the Endeavour as we explore this Arctic archipelago.
The reindeer here in Svalbard are a subspecies of the mainland Eurasian caribou/reindeer, probably having migrated over from the east via ice bridges between Siberia, Novaya Zemlya, and Franz Josef Land. The timing of such a migration can only be “guess-timated,” but they were present before the islands’ discovery in 1194. Though still genetically similar enough to interbreed with the mainland caribou, the Svalbard animals have some distinctive differences.
First, the reindeer here have no southern migration, and therefore have to contend with the full fury of the northern winter. As a result, their body has become more stocky and plump in an effort to reduce surface area. Their legs and necks are considerably shorter than their mainland counterparts thereby reducing the amount of heat that can be lost from those extremities. Secondly, the caribou in North America and Eurasia congregate in great herds, but the reindeer here are more spread out—rarely seen in groups larger than 30 animals. Presumably, this helps to counter the scarcity of suitable vegetation on the islands. Finally, and more fortunately for the Svalbard reindeer, they don’t have to contend with the pestilence suffered by their mainland brethren. There are no wolves to hound their every move, nor are there great swarms of mosquitoes, warble flies, and nose bots that plague those animals living in the more southerly latitudes to almost biblical proportions.
As a result, these primitive ancestors to more modern deer can spend the short summer roaming this remote, though undeniably inspiring landscape relatively stress free, much like us. We, too, are able to experience the benefits of being separated from the mainland, having left the scourge of deadlines, bills, and traffic behind us. Our only worries are which lenses to use and how much film we have left as we try to take home to friends and family images that are already emblazoned in our memories.
Capturing wildlife on film, traditional or digital, requires some knowledge of your subject and your equipment, a lot of patience, and a bit of luck. Really, you just have to put yourself out there in a situation where it might, emphasis on “might,” happen. But if you are really fortunate, you can find yourself on a photographic expedition to Svalbard and close enough to its native reindeer that you need to switch to your short lenses. Such can be life here on board the Endeavour as we explore this Arctic archipelago.
The reindeer here in Svalbard are a subspecies of the mainland Eurasian caribou/reindeer, probably having migrated over from the east via ice bridges between Siberia, Novaya Zemlya, and Franz Josef Land. The timing of such a migration can only be “guess-timated,” but they were present before the islands’ discovery in 1194. Though still genetically similar enough to interbreed with the mainland caribou, the Svalbard animals have some distinctive differences.
First, the reindeer here have no southern migration, and therefore have to contend with the full fury of the northern winter. As a result, their body has become more stocky and plump in an effort to reduce surface area. Their legs and necks are considerably shorter than their mainland counterparts thereby reducing the amount of heat that can be lost from those extremities. Secondly, the caribou in North America and Eurasia congregate in great herds, but the reindeer here are more spread out—rarely seen in groups larger than 30 animals. Presumably, this helps to counter the scarcity of suitable vegetation on the islands. Finally, and more fortunately for the Svalbard reindeer, they don’t have to contend with the pestilence suffered by their mainland brethren. There are no wolves to hound their every move, nor are there great swarms of mosquitoes, warble flies, and nose bots that plague those animals living in the more southerly latitudes to almost biblical proportions.
As a result, these primitive ancestors to more modern deer can spend the short summer roaming this remote, though undeniably inspiring landscape relatively stress free, much like us. We, too, are able to experience the benefits of being separated from the mainland, having left the scourge of deadlines, bills, and traffic behind us. Our only worries are which lenses to use and how much film we have left as we try to take home to friends and family images that are already emblazoned in our memories.
