Hinlopen Strait, Svalbard
The sea was smoked glass capturing the sky within its depth. Only platters of ice differentiated one from the other. A chevron of clouds radiated from the cliff edges of Alkefjellet as if the wake of an object through water drawing our attention to the apex. Sounds too seemed to funnel our thoughts to the vertical cliffs so different from surrounding talus slopes or glissades of ice flowing from on high. Louder and louder grew the underlying murmur punctuated by the staccato calls of kittiwakes. Perhaps the North American name for the tens of thousands of Brünnich’s guillemots residing here is more appropriate. Saying the word “murre” slowly, drawing out the middle letters, produces a close approximation of what reached our ears. Clouds of birds swirled from the edges of the mountainside like swarms of gnats, the species differentiated easily by the rapidity of wing beats. Guillemots frantically flapped as they dropped from ledges or ran across the sea gaining velocity. Kittiwakes and glaucous gulls banked and swirled on their broader wings. Barnacle geese simply stood on rocky prominences and looked far off. Down in the watery world flashes of white could be seen moments before football shaped alcids erupted onto the reflective surface. Every possible toehold on the doleritic sill of Alkefjellet (Auk cliff) was occupied. Guillemots stood shoulder-to-shoulder, most apparently cradling their precious egg upon their feet. Kittiwakes glued their mossy cup-shaped nests to tiny, almost imperceptible irregularities. Now is the time of patience, of waiting for the next generation to hatch.
Twice more in the course of the morning a chevron-like wake was our indicator for spotting exciting wildlife. Two polar bears, separated in time and space from one another, both crossed the glassy sea, their route etched perfectly for us to see. One prowled the ice in search of seals and then moved on from floe to floe. The other apparently had breakfast on its mind as it left the ice and took to shore. Oblivious to menacing stoops and screeching calls of skuas, he searched the rounded rocky contours of Krylen for the makings of an omelet.
Filmy fingers of fog clasped the edges of this northern world alternately hiding the mesa-like mountaintops or sliding down glaciers to wrap us in a damp and frigid blanket. Zodiacs drifted along the edges of fast ice, a vast featureless plain in one direction and a mosaic of fractures in another. The sun at times was more like a full moon in the sky and at others the gauzy curtain swirled away to allow the light to dance on ice illuminating each crystal like a diamond. A tiny fox galloped across the rapidly diminishing frozen highway, the only sign of life beyond the ever present birds searching for sustenance along the edges.
Fine food could be found this evening in several different venues. The bistro, dining room and chart room all were full. Outside, not far away, just as the dinner call was sounded, a polar bear grasped a seal and we found ourselves dining side-by-side with the King of the Arctic.
