Month: September 2016

Our Eskimobogt (Eskimo Bay) Excursion

One of my favorite Zodiac excursions was our stop at Eskimo Bay, a long-abandoned Inupiak settlement up a fjord in Greenland.  Carol, our archaeologist afloat, brought history and prehistory to life with wonderful stories.

There were clearly at least four pit houses in the settlement, one of which a stream is quickly eroding. The main room of each pit house was only a few meters in diameter, small enough that it was warmed in deepest winter by a single seal-fat lamp and the body heat of the ten or so people who called it home.

They had few possessions and did most of the work of survival outside the dwelling. There were no provisions for cooking in the home because they ate a lot of their fish and meat raw — fresh, bloody game actually provides many more nutrients, including vitamin C, than cooked flesh.

Sea Ice is Polar Bear Habitat

We were disappointed not to see polar bears during the couple of days we explored Svalbard. Our next stop was Greenland, and I didn’t expect to see much fauna there. Wildlife is heavily hunted, so animals run away from the sound of engines.

But a sharp-eyed guide spotted motion amidst the sea ice as we approached the northeast coast of Greenland, and it turned out to be a lone polar bear. For about fifteen minutes his curiosity won out over his fear. He swam from one ice floe to another close to the bow of the Polar Pioneer, peering and sniffing and cocking his ears at us as we trained our lenses on him.

In the afternoon we had a more fleeting encounter with a polar bear family. The mother was obviously frightened by our appearance and kept her two cubs moving quickly away from us, so we did not try to prolong the visit.

These were our only encounters with polar bears during our 13 days afloat.

 

Icebergs Evoke Reverence

Cruising amidst icebergs in a Zodiac never got old during our Polar Pioneer trip.

The water was always calm, and our mood at the outset was generally reverent: a combination of awe at how these beauties come into the world, appreciation of their beauty, and gratitude that we were some of the privileged few in the world to lay eyes on them.

Bundled up in numerous layers of clothing, eight passengers sat lined up on the black rubber pontoons of the small boat, cameras in hand. The guide driving the boat stood at the stern and steered, periodically stopping the boat to kick a chunk of ice out from under the outboard motor’s propeller.

We craned our necks this way and that as we skirted large bergs and circled smaller ones. Cameras whirred and people ducked out of the way of each others’ photos. For minutes at a time the only words spoken were “Wow!” and “Oops, sorry!” when one of us ducked the wrong way and spoiled another’s shot.

After fifteen or twenty minutes, we got used to our remarkable situation: our butts a couple of feet above almost-frozen water, ice cubes as big as houses floating just boat-lengths away, the nearest other humans hundreds of miles away across an icecap or an ocean. Relaxing into our “new normal,” we started to point out to each other icebergs that were shaped like ducks, or sharks fins, or the Loch Ness Monster, our hushed tones gradually rising in volume.

For the next ninety minutes the guide maneuvered our inflatable boat into the best possible photo angles while simultaneously fielding our questions. When our guide couldn’t answer one of our inquiries — Why are some icebergs blue? Why is that one so pockmarked? Is it true that 90 percent of an iceberg is under the waterline? — he or she would call the other guides on the radio to tap their specialties. As time passed our voices and laughter got louder, and our faces and bodies got proportionally colder.

Around the two hour mark the guide would ask if any of us were cold. After ten or so minutes of denial, someone would finally admit they were starting to feel the chill. A couple of others would agree. The rest of us would confess that we wouldn’t mind access to our bathrooms, or that it must be getting close to lunch time.

With a knowing smile the guide would turn the nose of the Zodiac towards the Polar Pioneer.

And a reverent silence would again descend upon us explorers.

Not All Glaciers Look Alike

During Polar Pioneer’s explorations of the coasts of Svalbard and Greenland on our August 7-20th 2016 cruise, we sailed past dozens, perhaps hundreds, of glaciers. They were so varied in size, form, and even color that we never tired of looking at them…or taking photos!

A glacier forms when snow falls (and does not melt away) year after year after year and compacts into ice under its own weight. Over time this ice moves like a frozen-solid river, pushed along by its own weight. The glacier slides along on meltwater created by the friction of its movement over the rocks. The ice wears away chunks of mountain over time, forming miles-wide fjords and smaller u-shaped valleys.

When the enormous tongue of ice reaches water, it starts to float. The floating leading edge of the glacier moves faster than the ice still resting on the ground. Giant cracks and chasms are created as the waterborne part pulls away from the main body. Periodically huge blocks at the leading edge break off altogether as icebergs.

This “calving” of icebergs sounds like thunder, so loud that the thrum of a Zodiac’s 55hp motor is no match for it. We heard the sound again and again as we cruised along glacier faces, but we only saw a few calvings.

This was partly because the direction of the sound is deceptive as it bounces off water, mountains, the glacier front, and the icebergs all around our boat, some of which were the size of city blocks. And partly because the glacier fronts are miles wide, so it’s impossible to watch more than one small section.

The action is over in an instant, and unless you’re very close to the new iceberg, you can’t even make out its bobbing and rolling as it finds its new equilibrium.

A Bounce Through Longyearbyen, Svalbard

The second stop of my Arctic trip was about three scant hours in drizzly Longyearbyen, a town on the archipelago of Svalsbard, about halfway between Norway and the North Pole. Although it only has about 2000 residents, Longyearbyen is an important outpost for researchers working in the Arctic, and as such boasts a university and an international airport.

We flew into said international airport and were greeted by a stuffed polar bear in the baggage claim area. (The little stuffed dog on the carousel is my friend Trish’s other travel companion, Rufus, who features in many of her travel photos.)

Longyearbyen polar bear

Longyearbyen polar bear

A bus whisked us through the drizzle on a quick tour of the town, which was founded in the early 1900s on coal mines. At least one of these is still in production, and our guide pointed out the long line of supports used to hold up a system of cables that historically moved bins of coal from mine to shipyard. A couple of small herds of reindeer grazed near the side of the gravel road, so common that the guide didn’t even mention them until someone asked what they were! I didn’t bother trying to take photos from the bus, assuming that we would see other reindeer during our first few days of the voyage.

We eventually arrived at a dog yard where sled dogs, still an important part of the transportation equation in the Arctic, are housed. I had been warned since childhood that sled dogs were vicious and unpredictable and should never be approached. So I was amazed when the guide invited us to walk among the dogs, each of which was attached by a short chain to its own little house, and pet them! (The guide did warn us that they would probably jump on us and get our clothes dirty.)

Longyearbyen trapper's outpost

Longyearbyen trapper’s outpost

The pooches were eager for the attention and contact. As visitors petted and dogs wagged — just two days into my trek I already missed my beloved Boomer! — the guide explained how important sled dogs still are in the Arctic, where snowmobiles and other machines break down all too often. He explained that although they aren’t treated as pets, sled dogs are very well cared for and prized. In recent years many dog team handlers have abandoned the older, harsher ways with their dogs for a more positive-training approach.

The small buildings at the dog yard were replicas of huts that would be found in a trapper’s or hunter’s outpost, complete with reindeer racks and curing furs on the walls and several seal carcasses hanging out front. For the last couple of centuries, hunters and trappers in the Arctic have gotten from one hunting ground or trap to another via sled dogs during the snowy months, a practice that continues today. This outfit was situated high on a hill and had a magnificent view of a wide river valley.

Longyearbyen Museum

Longyearbyen Museum

Our second stop was at the Longyearbyen Museum. Located on the university campus, it’s a gem of a museum. Small in square footage but rich in artifacts, the history of the area — which is largely the story of the extraction of natural resources — unfolds in exhibits all around the perimeter of one open-plan exhibit hall. The interior space of the hall houses natural history exhibits. Visitors traipse across raised walkways to view stuffed Arctic animals resting on or under cleverly fabricated plastic ice floes. One of the highlights was a fabulous sculpture elucidating the Arctic food web. We only had about half an hour to visit; I would have been happier with half a day!

our first glimpse of Polar Pioneer

our first glimpse of Polar Pioneer

Our final stop was at the wharf to board Polar Pioneer, the little ice-strengthened former marine research vessel that was to be our home for the next two weeks.

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