Northeast Svalbard—the Ice
We have barely recovered from yesterday’s exhilaration, a bear bonanza which brought us 48 bear sightings. This is not only a record for any previous expedition to Svalbard, but was achieved in a single day (from 0500 to midnight when ice and bears were still visible!) Their congregation is at the only sizeable patch of intact fast ice left on this coast: all the bears for miles (including mothers with cubs) had trekked to this area for the last major banquet of spring. We counted 70 ringed seals hauled out on the ice in a single sweep of the binoculars; in just a few weeks this ice will all be gone and the seals that feed under it will disperse too: their frozen table will be bare.
But we are hooked now: we sprang from our bunks without question this morning as the tannoy announced more bears. Sunlight gleaming off shards of sea ice, jumbled ice floes bright against a smooth pewter sea, with a distant band of wedgewood blue sky above the pack ice. Kittiwakes wheel around the bow, ivory gulls sweep over our heads, all on deck hold their breath as we creep forward, careful not to bang a door or drop a lens cap: we are seasoned hunters now. Our first bear of the day is lying, asleep, on an ice floe. We have crept up close, but he wakes with a sullen stare. We gaze back at him, an old hefty male, well scarred from previous battles and with a snaggle tooth giving him a piratical look. But he is well fed, trying to sleep off a gargantuan meal, and lets us know what he thinks of us with a copious toilet stream like old engine oil. Fair enough! We back off to leave him in peace: nice to see an old-timer who can still make a decent living out here in Snowman’s land. But we have sighted Bear number Two: a young clean 3-year old who smells breakfast from afar and lopes towards us, lured by tantalizing smells from the galley. He keeps coming: these young bears are always hungry: he has never eaten bacon before, but recognizes the smell instantly. Baffled and bemused, after a brief visit he is spooked by his first ship and beats a retreat back into the world of ice.
Our third close encounter is with an experienced mother bear and her 18-month old single cub. She circles warily some distance off but can barely restrain her excited son: he comes straight to the ship to check out this buffet of beautiful aromas. She hangs back, mistrustful. He is reckless and hungry. Finally she has to come right to the ship to give him a telling-off and lead him back out of trouble. By early afternoon we had added another fourteen bears to our record tally but better, our heads and hearts are full of bears… Will they dream of this beautiful ship the way we will dream of the golden bears that came in from the ice, gazing at each other in mutual wonder?
An afternoon sailing north through pack ice brought us to the edge of the Austfonna icecap, 3,380 square miles of solid ice, which makes it the third largest icecap in the world. From its 100-foot face, surging waterfalls pour crystal water into the turquoise depths, while freshwater upwellings attract clouds of feeding fulmars and kittiwakes. This is the southern coast of Nordaustlandet, the most remote island mass in Svalbard. Most Norwegians never even reach Svalbard; those who do would be insanely jealous to know we have seen such beauty in this pristine, protected wilderness.
