Hornøya, Vardø, East Norway
Our luck holds! We woke to blue skies swept clean by giant feather dusters of high cirrus cloud, as Endeavour nosed into the strong tidal currents alongside Vardø Island. This is as far east that a traveler can go in Europe: from Oslo, in the south, via the Arctic springboard of Tromsö in the north-east, we have passed the most northerly point of the country at Nordkapp and today docked in the most easterly harbour in Europe. This is further east than Alexandria in Egypt, Istanbul in Turkey or Kiev in Russia. Indeed we are so close to the Russian border here you can almost smell the vodka! On the hill above the town of Vardø a huge white dome is perched, like a giant golfball on its tee. This a NATO listening station, facing east, reminding us that strong political currents still swirl round this part of the world. Vardø has a tight V-shaped harbour sheltered from all but the most direct northern storms. A sharp steepled church and a few tightly-clustered houses huddle against the Arctic blasts which assail it in winter. But today it was hot, humid and heavenly.
A first troop went ashore to visit the 18th century star-fort built to protect the northernmost outpost of a nervous Danish king. The rest of us motored out like latter-day Vikings in our black Zodiacs, first to explore the fishing fleet tied up alongside the breakwater, then out into the bay to visit the two offshore islands Reinøya and Hornøya. The seabirds were out fishing already: two long-tailed ducks, several shags, a string of female eiders, then the first paddling puffins on the current. In a small bay on Reinøya we passed two Saami houses, their turf roofs and walls perfect camouflage in the lush green valley. The name Reinøya reminds us that this was a Saami reindeer island where animals could graze the lush summer pasture fertilised by seabirds. Our destination was Hornøya, its smaller, noisy neighbour, and its dramatic “Fuglefjell” or seabird cliff. We nosed into a floating pontoon, drifting in through rafts of guillemots. As we approached they dove in unison, and then to our delight, we could see them swimming below us, silver cartoon shapes flying effortlessly through cut-glass water.
Above us, the cacophony of 25,000 pairs of kittiwakes at the height of their breeding season. Beneath the clamour of the cliff, the island path we followed a crazy paving of grey sandstone slabs among a giant cress-bed of scurvy grass, marsh marigold and common dock. But the best treat awaited us in the quieter suburbs away from Kittiwake City, where groups of puffins sat outside their burrows, or whirred in off the sea with beakfuls of capelin for their underground chicks. The puffin: everyone’s favourite seabird, clown of the cliffs with its oversize orange gumboots and painted parrot beak. Oblivious to Danish kings or NATO surveillance, they concentrate blithely on what they do best: fishing these rich northern seas. This afternoon, as we set course Northeast for Bear Island, the rich fishing was displayed dramatically with spectacular sightings of a fin whale and calf zigzagging across our bows. Later the circus treats continued with a lively bunch of bow-riding white-beaked dolphins and for a grand finale, at 11pm a lone humpback whale allowed us to creep closer until it gave a final farewell tailwave right under the bow and disappeared into the depths with a plume of spiral bubbles.
Our luck holds! We woke to blue skies swept clean by giant feather dusters of high cirrus cloud, as Endeavour nosed into the strong tidal currents alongside Vardø Island. This is as far east that a traveler can go in Europe: from Oslo, in the south, via the Arctic springboard of Tromsö in the north-east, we have passed the most northerly point of the country at Nordkapp and today docked in the most easterly harbour in Europe. This is further east than Alexandria in Egypt, Istanbul in Turkey or Kiev in Russia. Indeed we are so close to the Russian border here you can almost smell the vodka! On the hill above the town of Vardø a huge white dome is perched, like a giant golfball on its tee. This a NATO listening station, facing east, reminding us that strong political currents still swirl round this part of the world. Vardø has a tight V-shaped harbour sheltered from all but the most direct northern storms. A sharp steepled church and a few tightly-clustered houses huddle against the Arctic blasts which assail it in winter. But today it was hot, humid and heavenly.
A first troop went ashore to visit the 18th century star-fort built to protect the northernmost outpost of a nervous Danish king. The rest of us motored out like latter-day Vikings in our black Zodiacs, first to explore the fishing fleet tied up alongside the breakwater, then out into the bay to visit the two offshore islands Reinøya and Hornøya. The seabirds were out fishing already: two long-tailed ducks, several shags, a string of female eiders, then the first paddling puffins on the current. In a small bay on Reinøya we passed two Saami houses, their turf roofs and walls perfect camouflage in the lush green valley. The name Reinøya reminds us that this was a Saami reindeer island where animals could graze the lush summer pasture fertilised by seabirds. Our destination was Hornøya, its smaller, noisy neighbour, and its dramatic “Fuglefjell” or seabird cliff. We nosed into a floating pontoon, drifting in through rafts of guillemots. As we approached they dove in unison, and then to our delight, we could see them swimming below us, silver cartoon shapes flying effortlessly through cut-glass water.
Above us, the cacophony of 25,000 pairs of kittiwakes at the height of their breeding season. Beneath the clamour of the cliff, the island path we followed a crazy paving of grey sandstone slabs among a giant cress-bed of scurvy grass, marsh marigold and common dock. But the best treat awaited us in the quieter suburbs away from Kittiwake City, where groups of puffins sat outside their burrows, or whirred in off the sea with beakfuls of capelin for their underground chicks. The puffin: everyone’s favourite seabird, clown of the cliffs with its oversize orange gumboots and painted parrot beak. Oblivious to Danish kings or NATO surveillance, they concentrate blithely on what they do best: fishing these rich northern seas. This afternoon, as we set course Northeast for Bear Island, the rich fishing was displayed dramatically with spectacular sightings of a fin whale and calf zigzagging across our bows. Later the circus treats continued with a lively bunch of bow-riding white-beaked dolphins and for a grand finale, at 11pm a lone humpback whale allowed us to creep closer until it gave a final farewell tailwave right under the bow and disappeared into the depths with a plume of spiral bubbles.
