Hinlopen Strait, Svalbard, Norway
Three landmarks were achieved even before breakfast: we reached our farthest North, we entered the pack ice, and we saw the elusive and mythical narwhal—the unicorns of the sea! All of these are related. Pack ice refers to frozen sea water. During the Arctic winter the sea surface is frozen to a depth of about 2 meters (7 feet), extending all the way south to Bear Island. During the summer this pack ice breaks up, melts, and retreats to the north, moving at the mercy of the wind. We found the ice at the north end of Hinlopen Strait, the narrow body of water that separates the islands of Spitsbergen and Nordaustlandet. The ice barring further progress to the north, we declared victory at 80°11’ N. The ship’s officers carefully maneuvered Endeavour into the openings (called leads) between the flat pans of ice. Many an exploration ship came to grief when a change of wind closed the lead through which they penetrated the ice, trapping and crushing ship with indescribable pressure. The naturalists carefully scanned the ice for signs of life. They found very little on the ice, but there, in an opening between the flows, was a close-set series of puffs of vapor and a disturbance in the water. We had found narwhals. These small whales spend their entire lives in the northern ice. Very few people can claim an encounter. They are extremely skittish so a close approach was impossible, but some were even able to see the single, twisted tusk (actually a much-elongated upper incisor tooth).
The ship turned and we began our passage back to the south. We stopped to gaze in amazement at the bird cliffs of Cape Fanshawe, where thick-billed murres (Brünich’s guillemots) sit side-by-side on narrow ledges from sea level to the top of the cliff several hundred feet over our heads, each pair trying to raise a single young in the short Arctic summer. Soon they will abandon the cliffs for the season, returning to their pelagic lives on the cold northern ocean. We continued to Valhallfonna for an activity of a different sort: a walk on one of Spitsbergen’s glaciers. This glacier is retreating, like so many of the world’s glaciers. Its face provided easy access and a gentle ice slope upwards for a superb view, although a few were more inclined to search for (and find!) plants colonizing the moraine below the glacier.
For the final event of this very full day, our Expedition Leader had promised (well, no, we never promise; he had held out the hope of …) a final landing with another of Svalbard’s unique wildlife. As dense fog surrounded the ship it appeared that this would not happen, but just as we finished dinner we broke through the fog to a clear sky at Torellnesset, on the west coast of Nordaustlandet, and off we went to pay our respects to a group of walrus. Here, on a gravel beach, male walrus haul out to rest and molt. (The females are elsewhere caring for the young.) We carefully approached from the landward side, and the walrus, around 100 of them in a big heap, were undisturbed by our presence. Periods of walrus tranquility were interrupted by brief squabbles punctuated by jabs from their ivory tusks, as each walrus sought a position in the warm center of the heap.
Three landmarks were achieved even before breakfast: we reached our farthest North, we entered the pack ice, and we saw the elusive and mythical narwhal—the unicorns of the sea! All of these are related. Pack ice refers to frozen sea water. During the Arctic winter the sea surface is frozen to a depth of about 2 meters (7 feet), extending all the way south to Bear Island. During the summer this pack ice breaks up, melts, and retreats to the north, moving at the mercy of the wind. We found the ice at the north end of Hinlopen Strait, the narrow body of water that separates the islands of Spitsbergen and Nordaustlandet. The ice barring further progress to the north, we declared victory at 80°11’ N. The ship’s officers carefully maneuvered Endeavour into the openings (called leads) between the flat pans of ice. Many an exploration ship came to grief when a change of wind closed the lead through which they penetrated the ice, trapping and crushing ship with indescribable pressure. The naturalists carefully scanned the ice for signs of life. They found very little on the ice, but there, in an opening between the flows, was a close-set series of puffs of vapor and a disturbance in the water. We had found narwhals. These small whales spend their entire lives in the northern ice. Very few people can claim an encounter. They are extremely skittish so a close approach was impossible, but some were even able to see the single, twisted tusk (actually a much-elongated upper incisor tooth).
The ship turned and we began our passage back to the south. We stopped to gaze in amazement at the bird cliffs of Cape Fanshawe, where thick-billed murres (Brünich’s guillemots) sit side-by-side on narrow ledges from sea level to the top of the cliff several hundred feet over our heads, each pair trying to raise a single young in the short Arctic summer. Soon they will abandon the cliffs for the season, returning to their pelagic lives on the cold northern ocean. We continued to Valhallfonna for an activity of a different sort: a walk on one of Spitsbergen’s glaciers. This glacier is retreating, like so many of the world’s glaciers. Its face provided easy access and a gentle ice slope upwards for a superb view, although a few were more inclined to search for (and find!) plants colonizing the moraine below the glacier.
For the final event of this very full day, our Expedition Leader had promised (well, no, we never promise; he had held out the hope of …) a final landing with another of Svalbard’s unique wildlife. As dense fog surrounded the ship it appeared that this would not happen, but just as we finished dinner we broke through the fog to a clear sky at Torellnesset, on the west coast of Nordaustlandet, and off we went to pay our respects to a group of walrus. Here, on a gravel beach, male walrus haul out to rest and molt. (The females are elsewhere caring for the young.) We carefully approached from the landward side, and the walrus, around 100 of them in a big heap, were undisturbed by our presence. Periods of walrus tranquility were interrupted by brief squabbles punctuated by jabs from their ivory tusks, as each walrus sought a position in the warm center of the heap.
