Spitsbergen’s West Coast & Krossfjorden
Some days are like jigsaw puzzles. Events occur that may or may not be linked directly together but when looking back can be related or tied together to form a perfect memory. Today was more like a canvas with paint applied layer by layer. Little-by-little we created an image of Svalbard. In the future some might look upon our masterpiece in disbelief for although we are well above the Arctic Circle the temperatures were comparable to a pleasant spring day back home.
The day began early or maybe one could say it never ended for there is no sunrise or sunset, only perpetual light. But whether it was day or still night, when the portholes were opened or the blinds drawn at 0500 everything around was white. Our canvas was completely bare. A watercolor wash of blue painted in the sky leaving only wisps of clouds scattered far and wide. To the east the peaks of Spitsbergen were a miniature landscape sitting upon the eastern horizon. Our minds filled in the words “white snow-covered mountains” but they really were a bluish gray. Like crumpled cobalt colored foil the sea held distorted reflections of fulmars as they dashed back and forth in front of the bow seemingly playing a strange game of “dare” with our moving vessel. Flashing red feet on a black guillemot added a splash of vibrant color to the scene. Gradually the sea intensified to indigo, smooth and rich as satin. Add dorsal fins of whales, finback and minke, falcate shapes dotted here and there.
North of Prins Karls Forland, we turned to the east and entered Krossfjorden. Details now could be added to our artwork with this closer view. The mountains now had texture, brownish bedding planes tilted and contorted, butted up against steel gray sharply sculpted peaks. Snow-filled drainages drew patterns on their steeply angled sides. The Fourteenth of July glacier cascaded to the edge of the sea, its surface cracked and crevassed and its face an icy blue. Lateral moraines, jumbles of unsorted rocky debris stood higher than its surface and lined the valley sides. From ledges on vertical cliff faces kittiwakes conversed, their onomatopoeic calls rhythmic background music for our walk. Rivers of greenery flowed from beneath their rookeries, thriving on recycled nutrients carried from the sea by the inhabitants above. Miniscule blossoms of polar scurvy grass (Cochlearia groenlandica) gradually gave way to mossy rivulets dotted with pinks and yellows. On the more barren sites in the morainal debris purple saxifrage (Saxifraga oppositifolia) formed lovely colorful mats.
A portrait of a beautiful sunny day ought to include children at play. Ours did and along with the young were the young-at-heart, all willing to plunge into the icy waters of the north.
Our canvas was pretty much covered prior to dinnertime. And yet the heart of the fjord beckoned and the ship followed the siren’s call. When can one call our picture complete? One moment always leads to another. One detail more can always be found. Whether it be day or night, beauty surrounds us and the image in our mind is constantly being build upon.
