Tag Archives: Travel

Day 5 – Not as originally planned

Wednesday 3 September 2025 – Mother Nature played a few games with Kuba’s plans today. The idea had been to do a landing and walk to a glacier. This one, actually,

but keen eyes on the bridge had spotted a polar bear nearby.

Yes, there really is a polar bear in this picture, which gives a good idea of how keen are the eyes of the crew. Here’s a closer view.

This meant that we couldn’t land, mainly for the polar bear’s benefit, since it would have been shot if it had started to make a nuisance of itself.  So we cruised around in Zodiacs instead. On the shores of the fjord, which is called Wijderfjord (I’ll let you guess why) there was an abandoned trapper’s cabin from the days when that sort of thing was permitted.

There was plenty of bird life to be seen – the ubiquitous kittiwakes and other gulls, who found the various islets very convenient scouting posts for any possible picking on other species they could consider.

On the shore line, we saw a gang of purple sandpipers fossicking around and feasting on the region’s delicious seaweed.

There were arctic terns flitting about,

and every so often coming over to check us out.

The geology was fascinating: close-to, layers of different coloured rock made some lovely patterns;

and, far-off, we had some wonderful landscapes.

Specifically, there was a canyon for us to explore.

This river flows from Five Mile Lake; but we could only go a short distance up because there was quite a considerable current flowing out of it into the fjord. You can see what looks like rapids further up the stream in this picture.

Having cruised the canyon, we then made a landing, which I hadn’t expected,

and took a short, but somewhat exhilarating hike

up to a viewpoint,

where we got a different perspective over the canyon

and the wonderful scenery.

Kuba (left) and Gunnar are the guides that drive the Zodiacs and lead the excursions.

They are both armed and dangerous, mainly to any importunate polar bears.

On the hike, we saw some interestingly split rocks,

and some of the local vegetation.

Then we headed back to the ship.

Kuba explained that his original plan had been to do the canyon and associated landing in the afternoon, with a somewhat longer hike to Five Mile Lake.  But it wasn’t that far from where we couldn’t land earlier because of the polar bear; the bear could easily have covered the distance to the second site during the morning, so we couldn’t risk an afternoon hike there, hence the abbreviated morning walk.

Instead, for the afternoon, we moved around the corner into Woodfjorden and did a landing at Jakobsenbukta. Again, the scenery was awesome.

The shore was basically a glacier river delta, with lots of water (and driftwood).

The weather was incredibly mild, possibly as warm as 8°C, so most of us were wearing (relatively) light clothing and carrying very little.  The exception was Doina and Denis, who live and breathe (and make a living from) online content, so they were fully kitted up.

The site was not one that Kuba or Gunnar had ever visited before – they had taken a look at maps and decided that it looked promising for a short hike; having landed, they then discussed which direction we should go.

The direction they chose wasn’t a problem for most of us; we’d followed instructions to wear our rubber boots. Not everyone had, though, so there was a bit of a hold-up whilst people worked out how to cross a water-filled channel – not deeper than wellie boots, but deeper than hiking shoes!

The delta had areas of still, calm water, which made it a fantastic source of my favourite kind of image – reflections!

The view back to the ship was quite impressive, too.

Jane spotted a footprint,

which we assume came from a reindeer, as did a small pile of droppings we passed. We also passed some Campion moss

which has evolved a survival defence against being eaten by reindeer, which is one of the few animals which can digest normal moss. Thus, it being slow-growing, this clump could be quite old. (Campion, The Wonder Moss?) We were enjoined to take care and avoid walking on it and others like it.

Our walk took us towards the near ridge you can see below, with Kuba leading and Gunnar behind (so he was the rear Gunnar at this point).

However, Rolf’s footwear developed a technical problem

and so Kuba and Gunnar had another planning session and decided to split the party. Kuba led a few of the party, including Rolf, obvs, back to the landing site, where (I think he had to spill the beans on a surprise, here) they could help the ship’s crew, who were planning a bonfire.  Gunnar took charge of the rest of us and we walked on to the ridge. It’s important for the man with the gun to go first in order to be able to protect the rest of the group if need be, so Gunnar was now our forward Gunnar.

We got to the top of the ridge, which gave us a chance to take in the fantastic scenery. Kuba had explained that the triangular rock was caused (as can clearly be seen here) by two converging glacier flows.  Geologists call this shape a “horn”

and I guess the most familiar to Europeans is the Matterhorn. The other famous one is Artesonraju in Peru. You may never have heard of it (I hadn’t), but you’d recognise it as the mountain which inspired the Paramount logo. To the left of the horn above is a cirque – a circular ice field with a glacier emerging from it.  The light was great for landscape photography.

After some moments for people to take in the view

we headed back down the way we came.  Agnese, the other Italian lass, found a fossil

which Gunnar told us was strictly not to be taken away from the scene. Apparently there is a chance that baggage will be scanned to check for illicit stone or fossil removal, with fines as a penalty, so no-one took the risk. No, they didn’t. Really, officer.

We could smell the bonfire before we could see it, and then there it was,

brilliantly setup by the ship’s crew, who were doing the environment a favour by consuming some of that driftwood.

Someone had even had the idea of using driftwood to create a bridge over that awkward water-filled channel.

Everything was beautifully set up, with Anni manning the bar

 

so quite quickly we had a relaxed, party vibe going on the beach.

Russell the Viking, together with Chief Officer Morten and AB Rasmus

Gunnar and AB Malte doing competitive seesaw

Proof that two females are the equal of one male?

The evening sun gave us a marvellous backdrop.

Once back on the boat, we had yet another splendid dinner from Roger, our Swedish chef (but no muppet, he), who had cooked fish that had been caught from the boat the previous evening. And timing allowed another fishing session for those who wished to join in.

As backdrop for this, we had a rainbow

and a fabulous sunset

which I think made a fittingly splendid end to another splendid day. It may not have been as originally planned, but Kuba and the skipper between them hatched up a good plan B (and then C) so that everyone had a great day.

Kuba has a plan for the morrow, too, of course – he always has a plan. Let’s see whether circumstances allow it to proceed in its original form, eh?

Day 4 – Wet Out

Tuesday 2 September 2025 – In his evening briefing yesterday, Kuba had told us about Bråsvellbreen, which, at 160km, is the longest glacier cliff edge in northern Europe.  We would cruise from Kvitøya along the length of this cliff edge.

(It shows as rocky in places in the image above, but it’s all glacier, actually.)  To whet our appetites, he pointed us at a photo on the wall of the bar.

As a devoted reader of this blog, you’ll of course remember that Jane and I had seen something similar before, in Antarctica – the enormous tabular glacier A23a. At the time*, at 3,800 sq km – twice the size of Greater London – it would have had edges approximately 200km in  length and up to 40m in height, so even longer than this glacier cliff. That was spectacular, and so we wondered how the two would compare.

At first, the prospects of even seeing it looked a bit on the scant side, as it was very foggy.

You can see the small icebergs that have calved off the cliff. So Jesper had to navigate with care once we got to the cliff.

When I took a brisk walk outside, you could see the huge wall of ice disappearing into the distant fog.

Like A23a, it had ice caves, as the sea melted it from beneath.

I took a hyperlapse of our progress alongside the glacier, which I hope gives some idea of the scene.

Kuba announced that those that wanted could go up the mast to get a look from a higher viewpoint.  To do this, one needed to get harnessed up

A.B. Malte helps Rolf into the harness

and good cold weather gear was recommended.  Initially, I declined the opportunity, but Jane didn’t.

Having made the decision not to go up, immediately after I took these photos of Jane, I looked to starboard and saw this,

at which point I changed my mind about climbing the mast, as it now seemed like a really good idea. To be honest, I was underdressed for the endeavour,

but it was worth the relative faff of getting the harness on and climbing up.  Between us, Jane and I got some great photos.

As we reached towards the end of the glacial cliff, Kuba announced that we all had an opportunity for an experience we would not forget.

A polar plunge.

Yes, an opportunity to leave a perfectly safe, warm boat and jump into water at a temperature that science describes as “fucking freezing”. Astonishingly, several of the guests were up for this. Less astonishingly, Jane and I were not among them. We watched as the preparations were made: some you would expect, like towels for afterwards

And drinks to warm the lunatics participants;

some less expected, but perfectly sensible given the environment – an armed guard keeping watch.

Lunatics Potential participants gathered to check out the possibilities

And, amazingly, still decided to jump in. One of them, Doina, even did it twice because Denis, her expert videographer boyfriend, didn’t get the footage he wanted first time around!

Magnificent idiocy, rewarded by a shot of Fernet Branca and a re-heat session in the ship’s new sauna. Jane and I (not the only non-participants, I hasten to add) went for a cup of tea to calm down.

There had been a plan for a landing a little further in to the archipelago, but the fog kyboshed that one; it’s not safe to go ashore if you can’t first establish that there are no dangerous creatures around. So we cruised on. Kuba arranged a viewing of a film called “Polar Bears on the Field of Bones”, an extraordinary documentary made single-handedly by Nikita Ovsyanikov, a lunatic researcher who spent several consecutive summers among polar bears on Wrangel Island with only a large stick as a defensive weapon.

Plan B was a Zodiac cruise in Alkefjellet, with the attraction of majestic scenery, some bird life and possibly even arctic foxes, and with dinner brought forward to 6pm so we could go out at 7.30pm into the light arctic evening for the cruise.

The cruise started in a very unusual manner – the skipper grounded the boat. Intentionally, I mean.  We’d been warned, and so thought it might be great to go on to the bow and join the throng who would doubtless be there to record this unusual event.

Actually, a couple of people did eventually join us as, out of the mist, the land loomed

and loomed a bit more.

In due course we grounded, very gently, into the sandy shallows, with quite a spectacular view over the cove – and the mist lifted obligingly.

We went out on the Zodiacs along the coast, past basalt cliffs which are the nesting site, in the right season, for tens of thousands of guillemots, both of the common and Brünnich’s persuasion. The cliffs are perfect in providing nesting sites for the birds.  By this time of year most have left, having hatched and fledged their young, leaving only a cliff face full of guillemot shit.

The red on the snow, by the way, is not what you might think – it’s actually algae which flourish here.

There were still some guillemots here, some solitary,

others in gangs,

and some still with chicks who haven’t yet left the safety of their perch.

Leaving the nesting site is perilous for the chicks, because of kittiwakes and glaucous gulls swarming in the cliffs above in great numbers,

making a great racket and waiting for the chance to pounce on a chick in the water if it appears to be in difficulties.  We actually witnessed one poor chick being taken by a gull, and saw another gull being chased away by an adult guillemot – a surprise to me, since the gulls are big bully bastards compared with the smaller birds.

As well as guillemots on the cliffs, there were several in the water

making a wonderful noise (sorry, not my classiest video, here).

I had a go at taking some shots of the birds in flight

and coming in to land on the water, something they don’t do very elegantly.

They also appear to be able to move across the surface quite rapidly in a manner similar to penguins porpoising.  I think that’s what’s happening here…

Either that, or it couldn’t quite get airborne – they’re not the world’s most natural fliers.

In places the lower reaches of the guillemot cliffs change from sheer rock to gentler grassy slopes,

inhabited by a different sort of wildlife.

There’s an arctic fox in the picture above.  Yes, there is. There, look.

We had been told that this area had good potential for sighting them, but I hadn’t held out much hope; I guess I was influenced by Jakob in Dovrefjell, who said that they were very rare and shy. Not in this area of Spitzbergen, they aren’t – we saw at least half a dozen of them over the next hour or so, and I was delighted; they’re such pretty creatures. They were in a variety of coats as they morphed from their summer grey into their winter white.

They’re elegant and catlike in their movement – lovely to watch.

They too are on the lookout for any scraps, which might include vulnerable chicks falling from the nesting ledges onto the slopes rather than directly into the sea; this one has made a catch.

The general scenery was pretty striking, too.

On top of one of the towers was a rock formation that looked like a polar bear, watching us.

Right at the end of the Zodiac cruise was a very dramatic glacier.

The scene reveals some interesting geology, too (for those that notice this stuff). On the right-hand side, there’s a very marked demarcation line between basalt (the upper layer) and marble (the lower layer). Basalt is an igneous rock, typically volcanic in origin; marble is sedimentary (my dear Watson). How the one came to lay on top of the other is a mystery to me.

So, this was a pretty varied day, and included some pretty creatures. I was really delighted to see the foxes – an unexpected pleasure. We were very lucky to see them in such numbers, apparently.

The morrow holds in store some opportunities to see some more great scenery, but who knows what the weather will bring? Stay tuned to find out.

 

 

* The BBC has a post describing A23a roughly as we saw it. It once weighed a trillion tons. But its situation is now very different. Because it is now free floating, it is breaking up, according to The News. It’s now half the size it was, at 1,770 sq. km.

Day 3 – White Out

Monday 1 September 2025 – We mere mortals had no internet whilst we were in the pack ice, but the boat did have a limited connectivity for the crew’s use. Kuba used it to check that our destination had no forecast problems with wind or swell.  We had a long way to go, to get to the easternmost island in the archipelago, Kvitøya – the White Island.

In order to save bandwidth, though, he didn’t check the several hundred nautical miles of sea between our amazingly calm patch and our destination. This, it turned out, was not calm sailing.  In Kuba’s defence, there wasn’t anything he could have done about it – we had to cross it, whatever – but I think he felt a bit bad that he hadn’t checked it out so he could at least warn us.

So, it was a noisy night in our cabin.  In calm conditions, we get engine noise and the sound of the sea outside our porthole.  If there is swell, the cabin creaks really quite loudly as, I suppose, it flexes with the boat. I found the noise interrupted my sleep somewhat, but the motion of the boat, which was mainly pitching, didn’t seem too bad as I lay in my bed. On trying to get up for the morning’s ablutions, though, it was clear that it was a heavy swell.  Taking a shower involved clutching on to the handrails thoughtfully provided for the purpose, and was best done quickly, rather than thoroughly. But we both managed to get ourselves cleaned up and headed up to breakfast.

Which was eerily quiet.  Quite a lot of the guests, and even some of the crew, had been taken quite badly seasick. One of the Italian lasses, bless her, was really, really ill, so the night must have been wretched for her.

It was going to take all morning to reach Kvitøya, so people settled down to deal with the swell as best they could. I spent the morning reliving and writing up our fantastic, fantastic polar bear encounter of the day before, only now and then having to be careful not to be pitched out of my chair in the bar as the boat rolled.

The activity planned for the day was a Zodiac cruise off the east coast of the island, and thus it was at 2pm that we set out, into the much calmer waters that Kuba had expected.  It was a bit chilly and windy – maybe a couple of degrees above freezing – but otherwise a civilised environment for an outing.

Kvitøya is a very flat island, almost entirely covered in a single glacier.

Technically, the island is a desert – there is no vegetation.  The bits that are not glacier are rock. Nonetheless, it is home to some polar bears, who have learned to fast during the summer before going out on to the winter ice to stock up on seals in preparation for the following summer fast (as opposed to the one we saw yesterday, who had clearly been able to find enough food to sustain him through the summer’s wandering over the pack ice).

There was, therefore, a possibility that we might see a bear.  It was more likely that we would see walruses, though, and see them we did, on the rocky shores of the island.

Some of them were just sleeping.

Others were doing the jockeying for position thing that we saw in Smeerenburg.

Some were in the water, as well.

As we were watching, as if acting on a signal, those on one of the rocky outcrops suddenly dashed into the water.

At first we wondered whether they had panicked at something, but then it became clear that they were curious about us in our Zodiacs, as they were heading our way. Kuba said that, because very few, if any, other boats will have visited so far east, it was possible that we were the first humans they’d seen for a while, so they were curious.

One of them had lost a tusk, somehow, as Jane’s photo shows.

There are regulations about the minimum distance that one must keep away from wildlife, so we retreated somewhat.  This was partly due to the regulations, and also partly because walruses are much faster and more agile in the water than on land, and might even be aggressive; Kuba has heard of instances of Zodiacs being punctured in walrus encounters.

We cruised around a headland, and a fogbow – a double fogbow, egad! – developed.

We went to check out an iceberg that was nearby,

and I got the chance to try out some more artistic angles for photography.

There being no visible polar bear, but rather increasing fog, after about 90 minutes we headed back to Kinfish, back past the walruses.  I was pleased to get one shot of them which included a calf

which you can see is a dark colour and, of course, has yet to grow the tusks that would appear as it matured.

During the late afternoon and evening, the skipper took Kinfish to the north coast; there was talk of seeking out a monument to Salomon August Andrée, the Swedish balloon pilot who perished in an attempt to fly over the north pole. It was an untested, virtually unsteerable, somewhat leaky hydrogen balloon, but Andrée persisted anyway, taking off from Svalbard in July 1897. Imagine his surprise! when the balloon crashed, after only two days. It landed on pack ice, and he and the two accompanying him, Knut Frænkel and Nils Strindberg, although unhurt, faced a horrendous journey on foot to safety. They didn’t make it, but ended up, exhausted, on Kvitøya, the most remote and least hospitable island in the Svalbard archipelago, where they established a camp (which wasn’t discovered until 1930). They eventually died there. At the time, this exploit was fêted in Sweden as a matter of patriotic pride, but through the lens of time he is now regarded less favourably. He was an idiot, even more than Shackleton, who was bad enough, God knows; but at least Shackleton rescued his men.

We never reached the monument, apart from anything else because we had a couple of wildlife encounters.  Firstly, Jesper saw a walrus on an ice floe.  As we gently crept towards it, we could make it out more clearly.

It was actually a mother nursing her calf, something that Kuba said he’d never witnessed before.  As we drifted past, the mother and calf eyed us incuriously

but then went back to the more serious business.

The other encounter was courtesy of the eagle-eyed Gunnar, who saw something on the shore that he said was a bear and others thought was maybe a rock.

I was on the bridge at the time, and so used the Big Lens, which showed that

Gunnar was right.

Again, Jesper steered us cautiously towards the bear. We were – literally – in uncharted waters, and he used the boat’s systems to contribute to the world’s understanding of the bay.

You can see the course he plotted to get us as close to the bear as was allowed by Norwegian regulations – 300 metres. This enabled me to get this photo of the bear sleeping peacefully on a nest of seaweed.

I suppose I should be pleased, but the shot above is an illusion, really.  I have heavily cropped into the image further above, which was the real scene, as taken at the furthest reach of my 560mm lens. With the naked eye, one could make out the bear, but little else – binoculars were needed to understand any detail.

[Photographic nerd rant alert]

I can understand the desire to keep wildlife, and particularly a species with a declining population like polar bears, well away from interaction with toxic humanity, but I have to say that, from the point of view of a photographer, the Norwegian regulations – minimum distance 300m – remove much of the joy from such an encounter. The Big Lens has a 560mm focal length, making it the equivalent of about a 12 or 13X magnification telescope, and the photo I got could not be printed bigger than 6″ x 4″ – not even a postcard home, really. That’s what £3,000 of photo kit can manage. To get significantly better would cost an extra couple of grand. OK, I appreciate that I was privileged even to see the bear, but I am one of the sad band of people for whom if something can’t be photographed, it might as well never have happened.

[End of rant]

How come we could get so close to the polar bear yesterday?  As I explained then, it is because we were in international waters, where these Norwegian restrictions don’t apply, and it’s down to individual captains and guides as to what is safe both for wildlife and humans. I’m still fizzing with joy about the great encounter we had yesterday.  If my interactions with polar bears had been limited to today’s distances, I would have been bitterly disappointed. It makes me doubly grateful to the captain, crew and guides, as well as to the gods of chance, to have had yesterday’s opportunity.

Tomorrow, we head south west, past the longest glacier cliff edge in northern Europe. Should be exciting!