Burgerbukta, Hornsund, Svalbard
Yesterday we arrived at Longyearbyen on the west coast of Svalbard. At 78° north this is one of the most remote townships on earth, over 700 miles inside the Arctic Circle and barely 800 from the North Pole. While we slept, the ship set off south, and by the time early risers sought their first coffee, she was already turning into Hornsund, a spectacular fjord on the south-west coast: dark mountain slopes tinted olive green, clean snow fields, black rock screes and our first glacier. Soon the foredeck and bridge were packed with excited watchers, scanning the shoreline for signs of life. But life came not from the shore but from the sea; strings of seabirds streaming in from the ocean: tight squadrons of guillemots in snaking skeins 50' above the water; banking fulmars surfing on the invisible wave of air spilled from our bow and tight swarms of little auks flying a foot above the sea like plump bumble bees. Best of all, we spotted our first puffin just ahead of the ship, which paddled frantically to starboard as we bore down on it, then sprinted along the surface on orange feet, and finally took to the air with whirring wings.
Turning left off Hornsund, we came into the still waters of Burgerbukta, a narrow fjord between jagged mountains. Delighted by this sheltered backwater, we decided to explore by kayak and Zodiac. What a haven of delights we found: glowing blue icebergs, diving dovekies, bathing kittiwakes, and the sheer face of an active glacier. As we neared this cliff of ice, one of the blue towers ahead of us slowly toppled outwards, collapsing in an explosion of spray, and sending a series of mini-tsunamis towards us. But the best was saved till last: the last Zodiac home radioed ahead to report a bear on the shore. It padded towards us, swam briefly under a rock overhang, and now within 100 yards of the bow, clambered out onto the stony beach to continue its hungry journey along the fjord before our spellbound gaze. Our first polar bear!
Yesterday we arrived at Longyearbyen on the west coast of Svalbard. At 78° north this is one of the most remote townships on earth, over 700 miles inside the Arctic Circle and barely 800 from the North Pole. While we slept, the ship set off south, and by the time early risers sought their first coffee, she was already turning into Hornsund, a spectacular fjord on the south-west coast: dark mountain slopes tinted olive green, clean snow fields, black rock screes and our first glacier. Soon the foredeck and bridge were packed with excited watchers, scanning the shoreline for signs of life. But life came not from the shore but from the sea; strings of seabirds streaming in from the ocean: tight squadrons of guillemots in snaking skeins 50' above the water; banking fulmars surfing on the invisible wave of air spilled from our bow and tight swarms of little auks flying a foot above the sea like plump bumble bees. Best of all, we spotted our first puffin just ahead of the ship, which paddled frantically to starboard as we bore down on it, then sprinted along the surface on orange feet, and finally took to the air with whirring wings.
Turning left off Hornsund, we came into the still waters of Burgerbukta, a narrow fjord between jagged mountains. Delighted by this sheltered backwater, we decided to explore by kayak and Zodiac. What a haven of delights we found: glowing blue icebergs, diving dovekies, bathing kittiwakes, and the sheer face of an active glacier. As we neared this cliff of ice, one of the blue towers ahead of us slowly toppled outwards, collapsing in an explosion of spray, and sending a series of mini-tsunamis towards us. But the best was saved till last: the last Zodiac home radioed ahead to report a bear on the shore. It padded towards us, swam briefly under a rock overhang, and now within 100 yards of the bow, clambered out onto the stony beach to continue its hungry journey along the fjord before our spellbound gaze. Our first polar bear!
