Palanderbutka, Nordaustlandet, Svalbard
Fog warns of its impending arrival. Fine wisps of white might slowly gather around a mountain top, each strand snagging another and then another until the land is no longer there. Or a downy blanket might be snuggled within a valley, its stuffing seeping out. Like drifting smoke it slowly softens the edges of all around, and then steals the world away. But when it leaves, it is as if by magic. One minute it is there and the next instant all around is revealed.
The morning started with a fog bow, a brilliant white arch against a palette of white. Then the sun whipped the white handkerchief away. The land rose steeply from the water’s edge to its flat topped plateau. Its snowy apron was pleated or so it seemed. Like fingers tracing patterns, snowballs tossed from the crumbling cornice had decorated the undulating sides. Not long before a bear had added its signature. Individual footprints were like typed letters on a page but it finished with a flourish in its final sliding descent down to the shore.
Glaciers tumbled down u-shaped valleys, their faces cracked and crevassed. Their journey terminated in a sea carpeted with moth-eaten ice. Here and there fragments still clung fast to the land while others drifted with the winds and tides. With no effort the ship sliced through the disintegrating pack as if the ice were no denser than soft sorbet and yet ringed seals and larger lumpy bearded seals lounged upon the surface between enlarging, darkening pools. Drawn to dinner or at least to hunt, a polar bear patiently waited.
There is a knack to seeing what you are looking at. It was there, that creamy dot that many claimed was a polar bear. But it took searching and practice to truly believe in its presence. The ship crept closer. The fog rolled in. And all that was left were the tracks showing where it had been. Fortunately life often offers a second chance. There was the blue sky. There was the ice. And there was the polar bear.
Palanderbutka butts against Wallenbergfjorden at a place called Zeipelodden and it was here we scattered to the four winds. Vigorous hikers climbed straight up to the dolerite capped plateau, looking like ants to Zodiac cruises far below. The ship spawned slivers of gold paddled by strong armed kayakers. Arctic terns and black guillemots hitched rides on growlers reflected in the mirror like sea and a fat walrus snored upon a tiny floe.
According to the clock, night draws nigh but the constant light of day attracts many to the bridge and decks for there is so much more to see.
