Bellsund, Von Keulenf - Spitsbergen
We were greeted by blazing sunshine and blue sky. The Natural Geographic Endeavour steamed slowly into Bellsund, a wide, long fjord separated by a range of mountains from Longyearbyen. The mountains and ice fields lining Bellsund were radiant in the unbroken Arctic light. Winds were calm and the air was unusually swaddling. After two days exploring the archipelago's icy eastern reaches for polar bears on fast and pack ice we were back over on Spitsbergen's western side with the hope of stepping ashore.
For the intrepid a long walk across a relatively flat stretch of pebbly shore, which gave way to tundra on Bellsund's southern flank was offered. Mountainous and mostly covered in ice Svalbard boasts little negotiable even terrain. Areas that are suitable for human habitation have a long but intermittent history of settlement and exploitation. Upon landing the most striking feature was the abundance of logs strewn about the beach shoulder. Most of these arrived from Siberia, carried by Arctic currents to Svalbard. These have in historic times (and in the present) provided trappers and hunters with a ready-to-collect resource to erect tall drying tracks for their quarry (Arctic fox and seals). Garbage, primarily plastic and polystyrene, was also conspicuous - most likely the byproduct of unethical fishing enterprises in the area. Lindblad Expeditions has a long and laudable history of conducting environmentally-responsible tourism and aiding conservation efforts wherever it operates. To this end, and in league with the government of Svalbard, we all contributed in diligently gathering the as much refuse as possible to be disposed of properly at a port facility.
The walk provided a microcosm of Svalbard's natural and human history. Red (grey) phalaropes spun in tight circles feeding near shore. Male and female common eider ducks dotted the rocks along the coast. A couple of snow buntings, the only songbirds of Svalbard, striking in black and white plumage, flitted about the coastline. Purple sandpipers squealed loudly as they flew from one spot on the shore to another in search of tidbits of food. And all around glaucous gulls and arctic terns brayed and squawked at one another and at the intrusive parka-clad bipeds. Though the entire area we were in (virtually all of Bellsund and its perimeter land) was once the realm of maverick hunters, it is now known as the Svalbard Southeast National Park (established in the 1970s). On shore overturned wood boats let any visitor know that humans of yesteryear had once had an enterprise here. Derelict but well preserved by the region's cooler temperatures these were once used by whalers in the 1930s to heard beluga whales into shallow waters where they could be easily slaughtered.
As we moved around a small cove we came to a couple of huts. The oldest had been erected by Russian trappers. However, the details surrounding its construction have been lost in the mists of time. Though well preserved it holds few clues as to when and to why it was built. The more recent of the two is the governor's cabin. It is still used as a base for on-the-spot inspections of expedition cruise vessels by government officials. In the heart of this national park it also doubles as an outpost for scientists to conduct natural history surveys of the region.
As we continued our trek the rocky shore gave way to soft mosses and low-lying foliage; we had ventured onto a slope of gently-rising tundra. Purple saxifrage, moss campion (locally referred to as the compass plant because it almost universally blooms on its southern side first, thus denoting compass direction), arctic grasses and sedges, and a generous distribution of mosses and lichens spread before us. Reindeer scat was abundant as were barnacle and pink-footed goose droppings. This low blanket of vegetation was the Arctic equivalent of the Serengeti - providing sustenance for this region's herbivores. Sporadically located along the rise were what appeared to be, upon first inspection, squares of fallen fence. They are actually arctic fox traps. Trappers are not allowed to shoot foxes with bow or firearm, nor can they snare them in the folding metal traps commonly employed in North America. These wooden-slat squares are piled with heavy rocks and then propped up with a simple yet effective food-loaded trigger mechanism, which when disturbed drops the weighted structure on the fox, killing it instantly.
As we left the tundra and dropped back down to the beach the final stretch of our sojourn brought us by an impressively-sized, intact vertebral column - all that remained of a large whale washed ashore last season. It had provided sustenance for many polar bears, and though still ripe when down wind of it, it had been picked almost clean. Just over the hummock near our landing site laid the piled skeletal remains of hundreds of beluga whales - all that was left of historical exploitive efforts by whalers in the 1930s. The ribs, vertebrae, and skulls were gathered in large, jumbled mounds right on the shore, gathered in the very spot where the mid-size cetaceans were herded in by boats with nets, then shot and flensed on the spot for the oil in their blubber and bones. It was a solemn reminder that Svalbard was once host to a different breed of adventurer, where living with and off the land was the creed, and profit was king.
In the afternoon we steamed under a gathering of clouds into the deepest reaches of Bellsund. Approximately four miles from the glacier face at the fjord's end we encountered thin, slowly-melting pack ice. Captain Kruess took our ship into the ice which our ship ploughed through with only minor difficulty. However, about a mile into the ice it became too thick and concentrated to continue farther up the fjord. From here we scanned the ice and surrounding terrain for polar bears. Though quite distant we were rewarded with four bears (all near the glacier face) - a lone young male moving quickly across the ice and then a mother and two cubs. They were far off, but we considered viewing them a special sight indeed.
We were greeted by blazing sunshine and blue sky. The Natural Geographic Endeavour steamed slowly into Bellsund, a wide, long fjord separated by a range of mountains from Longyearbyen. The mountains and ice fields lining Bellsund were radiant in the unbroken Arctic light. Winds were calm and the air was unusually swaddling. After two days exploring the archipelago's icy eastern reaches for polar bears on fast and pack ice we were back over on Spitsbergen's western side with the hope of stepping ashore.
For the intrepid a long walk across a relatively flat stretch of pebbly shore, which gave way to tundra on Bellsund's southern flank was offered. Mountainous and mostly covered in ice Svalbard boasts little negotiable even terrain. Areas that are suitable for human habitation have a long but intermittent history of settlement and exploitation. Upon landing the most striking feature was the abundance of logs strewn about the beach shoulder. Most of these arrived from Siberia, carried by Arctic currents to Svalbard. These have in historic times (and in the present) provided trappers and hunters with a ready-to-collect resource to erect tall drying tracks for their quarry (Arctic fox and seals). Garbage, primarily plastic and polystyrene, was also conspicuous - most likely the byproduct of unethical fishing enterprises in the area. Lindblad Expeditions has a long and laudable history of conducting environmentally-responsible tourism and aiding conservation efforts wherever it operates. To this end, and in league with the government of Svalbard, we all contributed in diligently gathering the as much refuse as possible to be disposed of properly at a port facility.
The walk provided a microcosm of Svalbard's natural and human history. Red (grey) phalaropes spun in tight circles feeding near shore. Male and female common eider ducks dotted the rocks along the coast. A couple of snow buntings, the only songbirds of Svalbard, striking in black and white plumage, flitted about the coastline. Purple sandpipers squealed loudly as they flew from one spot on the shore to another in search of tidbits of food. And all around glaucous gulls and arctic terns brayed and squawked at one another and at the intrusive parka-clad bipeds. Though the entire area we were in (virtually all of Bellsund and its perimeter land) was once the realm of maverick hunters, it is now known as the Svalbard Southeast National Park (established in the 1970s). On shore overturned wood boats let any visitor know that humans of yesteryear had once had an enterprise here. Derelict but well preserved by the region's cooler temperatures these were once used by whalers in the 1930s to heard beluga whales into shallow waters where they could be easily slaughtered.
As we moved around a small cove we came to a couple of huts. The oldest had been erected by Russian trappers. However, the details surrounding its construction have been lost in the mists of time. Though well preserved it holds few clues as to when and to why it was built. The more recent of the two is the governor's cabin. It is still used as a base for on-the-spot inspections of expedition cruise vessels by government officials. In the heart of this national park it also doubles as an outpost for scientists to conduct natural history surveys of the region.
As we continued our trek the rocky shore gave way to soft mosses and low-lying foliage; we had ventured onto a slope of gently-rising tundra. Purple saxifrage, moss campion (locally referred to as the compass plant because it almost universally blooms on its southern side first, thus denoting compass direction), arctic grasses and sedges, and a generous distribution of mosses and lichens spread before us. Reindeer scat was abundant as were barnacle and pink-footed goose droppings. This low blanket of vegetation was the Arctic equivalent of the Serengeti - providing sustenance for this region's herbivores. Sporadically located along the rise were what appeared to be, upon first inspection, squares of fallen fence. They are actually arctic fox traps. Trappers are not allowed to shoot foxes with bow or firearm, nor can they snare them in the folding metal traps commonly employed in North America. These wooden-slat squares are piled with heavy rocks and then propped up with a simple yet effective food-loaded trigger mechanism, which when disturbed drops the weighted structure on the fox, killing it instantly.
As we left the tundra and dropped back down to the beach the final stretch of our sojourn brought us by an impressively-sized, intact vertebral column - all that remained of a large whale washed ashore last season. It had provided sustenance for many polar bears, and though still ripe when down wind of it, it had been picked almost clean. Just over the hummock near our landing site laid the piled skeletal remains of hundreds of beluga whales - all that was left of historical exploitive efforts by whalers in the 1930s. The ribs, vertebrae, and skulls were gathered in large, jumbled mounds right on the shore, gathered in the very spot where the mid-size cetaceans were herded in by boats with nets, then shot and flensed on the spot for the oil in their blubber and bones. It was a solemn reminder that Svalbard was once host to a different breed of adventurer, where living with and off the land was the creed, and profit was king.
In the afternoon we steamed under a gathering of clouds into the deepest reaches of Bellsund. Approximately four miles from the glacier face at the fjord's end we encountered thin, slowly-melting pack ice. Captain Kruess took our ship into the ice which our ship ploughed through with only minor difficulty. However, about a mile into the ice it became too thick and concentrated to continue farther up the fjord. From here we scanned the ice and surrounding terrain for polar bears. Though quite distant we were rewarded with four bears (all near the glacier face) - a lone young male moving quickly across the ice and then a mother and two cubs. They were far off, but we considered viewing them a special sight indeed.
