Sorgfjorden, North Spitsbergen
Early morning Arctic sunshine streamed into our cabins, full of promise for an exceptionally fine day for our ultimate landing. Fog banks hovered in the distance, but came no closer, as we prepared to land at Eolusneset on the west bank of the entrance to Sorgfjorden. A couple of curious walruses kept a watchful eye on us as we came ashore, but most of the herd remained comfortably hauled out further along the shore, soaking up the untypical warmth. Beside them, eiders and purple sandpipers dabbled along the water’s edge. On the shingle beach were some massive logs, carried in by ice and currents from far afield, while beneath our feet were some of the most ancient rocks of Svalbard, Hecla Hoek basement rocks of the pre-Cambrian period, formed more than 1,000 million years ago.
A vast expanse of low-lying tundra lay before us to explore, with lagoons on one side and familiar dolorite ridges behind. Moss campion snuggled amongst the rocks, and distant reindeer were sighted at the fringes of the plain. A tiny trapper’s cabin, along with remains of some ingeniously simple wooden fox-traps, reminded us of the resilient men (and occasionally women) who came here seeking a life of freedom and isolation in the Arctic winter.
But something less familiar lay on the headland. Thirty graves, once marked by wooden crosses, had been carefully constructed in sight of the northern ocean. These were the mortal remains of men from the Netherlands and perhaps other European maritime nations who had died of injury or disease while hunting whales in this region. Nearby, a tall wooden cross still stood on its cairn of stones. This had been erected in 1855 by a passing ship’s captain, temporarily ice-bound in the bay, to commemorate not only these men, but also those who had died in a battle fought in the bay back in 1693. War in Europe had touched Svalbard, and four French frigates were sent to burn or capture any Dutch, English, Hamburg or Spanish ships they could find and to confiscate their catches. Two of the frigates had caught up with 40 Dutch whaling vessels here and, after five hours of heavy fighting, some of the whalers escaped while others were captured and two were sunk. On a day of perfect tranquillity like today, it is hard to imagine that this remote corner of the earth, now so serene, was once the scene of such a conflict.
