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Monthly Archives: June 2016 − News & Stories


Around Jan May­en – 22nd June 2016

We can’t igno­re it any­mo­re, today is the day to put Base­camp down and to say good­bye to Jan May­en. At least, we have got good wea­ther, which makes ever­ything much simp­ler and more plea­sant. Wea­ther rules ever­ything here!

And we still have got time to sail around Jan May­en. The migh­ty Bee­ren­berg is gree­ting us several times by showing its white crown through holes in the clouds, then we pass Weyprecht­breen and the other gla­ciers which are reaching the shore on the nort­hern side. Qui­te impres­si­ve, as they come kree­ping down the slo­pes of Bee­ren­berg, wild­ly crev­as­sed, fro­zen rivers of bro­ken blocks of ice.

Gal­le­ry 1 – Around Jan May­en – 22nd June 2016

Click on thumb­nail to open an enlar­ged ver­si­on of the spe­ci­fic pho­to.

At the nort­hern tip, we pass by the youn­gest part of Jan May­en, which came into exi­s­tance during a vol­ca­nic erup­ti­on in 1970. On the east coast, more gla­ciers reach the sea, and steep coas­tal cliffs allow rare views of the insi­de of a vol­ca­no. Then Eggøya is com­ing into view, and over the next cou­p­le of hours, Mid and Sør Jan are pas­sing by, whe­re we could make so many memo­r­able expe­ri­en­ces in recent days, the sta­ti­on, Kapp Wien …

Gal­le­ry 2 – Around Jan May­en – 22nd June 2016

Click on thumb­nail to open an enlar­ged ver­si­on of the spe­ci­fic pho­to.

Then we are back at sea. Three days sai­ling back to Ice­land.

Sou­thwards to Kapp Wien – 21st June 2016

A sta­ti­on visit is almost man­da­to­ry when you are on Jan May­en, but strict­ly by invi­ta­ti­on only. We have got our invi­ta­ti­on for today 1300 Nor­we­gi­an time (1100 Ice­lan­dic time = our time). So bre­ak­fast on time and we head off with disci­pli­ne as sche­du­led. We need two hours to walk along the road, 8 km long, to the sta­ti­on.

On the way, we are pas­sing various important bits and pie­ces of the local infra­st­ruc­tu­re: Jan May­en Inter­na­tio­nal Air­port (just a simp­le run­way), the wea­ther sta­ti­on (1-2 km north of the actu­al sta­ti­on) and, of cour­se, various spe­ci­mens of the local forest of traf­fic signs, which are most­ly reflec­ting the spe­ci­fic sen­se of humour on such a place rather than regu­la­to­ry needs of den­se traf­fic.

On the sta­ti­on, we are allo­wed to enjoy the hos­pi­ta­li­ty with its various, typi­cal aspects for some hours: plea­sant stay in a rather zivi­li­sed venue, curious loo­ks and pho­tos in public are­as as are made acces­si­ble to us and – the high­light – an inten­se shop­ping ses­si­on in the sou­ve­nir shop. Our curious ques­ti­ons are also ans­we­red.

Gal­le­ry 1

Click on thumb­nail to open an enlar­ged ver­si­on of the spe­ci­fic pho­to.

As it is time to take off again, the sun is shi­ning and the day is still long. When, if not now, do I have the chan­ce to explo­re the ter­rain south of the sta­ti­on? This part of Jan May­en does have a lot to offer: star­ting in Borg­da­len, which I came down qui­te recent­ly but without see­ing anything due to the den­se fog, so I saw not­hing of the sharp moun­tain ridge Schiert­zeg­ga.

Green, wide are­as, almost like mea­dows, are stret­ching in lower Blind­da­len, befo­re some hef­ty ascents lead up to Fly­kol­len abo­ve Kapp Wien. The­re, a Ger­man wea­ther recon­nois­sance pla­ne cras­hed into a steep slo­pe in July 1942. All four crew mem­bers died. The wreck is still the­re, as one out of two WWII air­craft wrecks on Jan May­en. The other one, at Dani­el­sen­kra­te­ret near the nort­hern lagoon, is qui­te easi­ly acces­si­ble, in com­pa­ri­son at least.

You can’t say that this one is easy to get to. For a while alrea­dy, I have been clim­bing up a steep slo­pe, asking mys­elf per­ma­nent­ly how far I was actual­ly wil­ling to go. Behind a litt­le ridge, the view is ope­ning into a steep ravi­ne, and the­re it is, the pla­ne wreck, in several parts. A wing here, the main body the­re. The ter­rain is too steep for me, I don’t want to go down here, being on my own and without any rope or other safe­ty. I have seen enough, after a cou­p­le of pho­tos I turn back.

Ins­tead, I rather enjoy the grand coas­tal sce­ne­ry at Brand­er­pyn­ten for a while. Jag­ged coas­tal rock stacks and caves, bird cliffs and the asso­cia­ted den­se, colour­ful vege­ta­ti­on. All this makes this part of Jan May­en a par­ti­cu­lar­ly beau­ti­ful one. I would have to spend more time here …

Gal­le­ry 2

Click on thumb­nail to open an enlar­ged ver­si­on of the spe­ci­fic pho­to.

As so often, the tour finis­hes with some long, tough kilo­me­tres on the road back to Kval­ross­buk­ta, amoun­ting to a total of 30 kilo­me­tres in the end for today. As I come back to the base­camp, I find the others gathe­red around a cosy camp fire. Spi­rits are excel­lent, ever­y­bo­dy has sto­ries about the day to tell.

Gal­le­ry 3

Click on thumb­nail to open an enlar­ged ver­si­on of the spe­ci­fic pho­to.

Hau­gen­stran­da – 20th June 2016

The return to base­camp last night was gre­at, ever­y­bo­dy had sto­ries to tell around a big cas­se­ro­le of Ice­lan­dic lamb stew. Anne­li and Mar­tin have reached the peak of Bee­ren­berg tog­e­ther with moun­tain gui­de Magnus. Well done, congra­tu­la­ti­ons!

Bey­ond this, ever­y­bo­dy has explo­red the north exten­si­ve­ly with most of the sites of inte­rest over the­re. And as I came now stumb­ling back into the mess tent as the last mohi­can, ever­y­bo­dy wan­ted to know what I had seen and expe­ri­en­ced in the south.

After the many kilo­me­tres of the last days, my lower half deman­ded a cal­mer day. Initi­al­ly I took the luxu­ry of just being lazy for a cou­p­le of hours, befo­re I put a litt­le day­pack tog­e­ther for a good beach walk. Wal­king along Hau­gen­stran­da to its end had been on my wish­list for a long time. It is stret­ching for 3 kilo­me­tres nor­the­ast from Kval­ros­sen, initi­al­ly being very wide, get­ting nar­rower fur­ther north. It is cove­r­ed with immense amounts of drift­wood, some­thing that is always inte­res­ting.

Slow­ly I walk bet­ween the various bits and pie­ces, won­de­ring whe­re they may have come from. As in Spits­ber­gen, most of the logs are cut, only a few have roots. Also the Jan May­en drift­wood has most­ly made the long drift from Sibe­ria across the Arc­tic Oce­an. Only in a few cases, lar­ger holes of bore­worms indi­ca­te an ori­gin in more tem­pe­ra­te waters.

Unfor­tu­n­a­te­ly, the unavo­ida­ble plastic trash is to be found also here in volu­mes. Lar­ge­ly items from the fishing indus­try, but a lot of weird stuff as well, from hygie­ne arti­cles over shoes to objects that I can not iden­ti­fy. A shame that tou­rists are not allo­wed any­mo­re to make lan­dings in pla­ces like this. They like to clean a beach, as ever­y­bo­dy knows who has been fol­lowing this blog for a while. As it is, the plastics just remain here on the arc­tic beaches. Well done, Oslo.

At the end of the beach, the­re is a lone­so­me gra­ve on a litt­le ele­va­ti­on. The metal pla­te on the woo­den cross says Sive­rt Eide 1909. Sive­rt was mem­ber of the second group of Nor­we­gi­an trap­pers who had come to Jan May­en to over­win­ter and hunt polar foxes. They had main­ly used the Aus­tri­an sta­ti­on in Maria Musch­buk­ta, but addi­tio­nal­ly built a hut here at Hau­gen­stran­da. Sive­rt died here at Hau­gen­stran­da of scur­vy in Febru­a­ry 1909. The storms have not left anything of the hut, just some rus­ty remains of the sto­ve and some woo­den planks tell the care­ful obser­ver whe­re a wall once may have been.

Gal­le­ry 1 – Hau­gen­stran­da – 20th June 2016

Click on thumb­nail to open an enlar­ged ver­si­on of the spe­ci­fic pho­to.

The way back leads me over a ridge of low hills cal­led Låg­heia, which is sepa­ra­ting the coasts to eit­her side of Mid Jan. Just a few metres of ele­va­ti­on chan­ge the per­spec­ti­ve great­ly and allow sce­nic views over Hau­gen­stran­da, while saxif­ra­ges and moss cam­pi­on delight the eye with colour patches on the ground. Aggres­si­ve glau­cous gulls attack the wan­de­rer fier­ce­ly. More than the birds, a light rain­sho­wer makes him set cour­se back to Kval­ross­buk­ta. Neu­may­er­kra­ter, a vol­ca­nic cra­ter that might have been a nice extra walk in this area, is shrou­ded in deep, grey clouds this time.

Various soil and vege­ta­ti­on struc­tures tell a clear sto­ry about the fero­cious winds Jan May­en is so renow­ned for. Today, the­re is just a light, steady bree­ze blowing over the vol­ca­nic hills.

Gal­le­ry 2 – Hau­gen­stran­da – 20th June 2016

Click on thumb­nail to open an enlar­ged ver­si­on of the spe­ci­fic pho­to.

The wind, light and con­stant as it was up on the ridge, is fal­ling down in strong gusts into Kval­ross­buk­ta, quick­ly cal­ming down again just to take a rest to gather strength for the next attack. During the night, we all have to get out of our slee­ping bags to secu­re the mess tent with more stones and drift­wood befo­re it starts to take of for a flight over Jan May­en.

The tour to Sør Jan – 17th-19th June 2016

The sun is shi­ning and the wind is blowing some­whe­re else today. So we do not was­te much time but get rea­dy for some lon­ger hikes. Most of us aim for the north, to Bee­ren­berg and its sur­roun­dings, the nort­hern lagoon, Maria Musch­buk­ta, Eggøya and so on.
I opt for a dif­fe­rent way and take the rou­te to the south. I know Nord Jan qui­te well, have seen a lot the­re alrea­dy, while in the south, my men­tal map still has a lot of white gaps and my pho­to archi­ve needs some serious com­ple­ting. So some­thing has to be done over the­re, for sure! The oppor­tu­ni­ty is good.

So while the majo­ri­ty is hea­ding nor­thwards – three of them will make an effi­ci­ent, suc­cess­ful dash to the top of Bee­ren­berg – I am going to the south. The view over the back­bone of Mid Jan to Bee­ren­berg, which is more and more get­ting out of the clouds, showing its ama­zing sple­ndor in full sun, could not be more over­whel­ming. To the south, Sør Jan is stret­ching out with its con­fu­sing arran­ge­ment of hills and cra­ters.

Gal­le­ry 1 – The tour to Sør Jan – 17th-19th June 2016

Click on thumb­nail to open an enlar­ged ver­si­on of the spe­ci­fic pho­to.

The deep, soft mos­ses, which are gro­wing on lar­ge are­as here, the unpre­cise map, the vol­ca­nic ter­rain which is often lacking geo­mor­pho­lo­gi­cal logic, all this con­tri­bu­tes to the deman­ding expe­di­ti­on cha­rak­ter that any lon­ger hiking on Jan May­en will quick­ly have. Ano­t­her fac­tor con­tri­bu­ting to this is the almost con­stant, latent lack of water: soon after the snow melt, the few litt­le streams are fal­ling dry. The­re are only a few litt­le lakes. So you have to rely lar­ge­ly on snow fiel­ds, which means: no water without a sto­ve to melt snow. During the day, the­re is usual­ly no more drink than what you car­ry with you. On this trip, as on pre­vious, simi­lar ones, I quick­ly greet thirst as hunger’s big, evil bro­ther. While stumb­ling over dry lava fiel­ds for kilo­me­tres, I was thin­king of novels that I could wri­te about thirst. Thirst soon domi­na­tes not only my mouth, but also my brain. The idea of a lively spring is para­di­se, a beer worth its own weight in gold.

All this cer­tain­ly far from any real dan­ger, but the­re is this omni­pre­sent, at times rather uncom­for­ta­ble lack of liquid. At any time I have the next snow field in view, my plan­ning is accord­ing to kilo­me­tres in the ter­rain and litres of water in my ruck­sack.

Yet ano­t­her fac­tor making life more dif­fi­cult than necessa­ry are the legal regu­la­ti­ons in for­ce sin­ce 2010. Making life dif­fi­cult for tho­se few still pas­sio­na­ted (and stubborn) enough to tra­vel here is the pur­po­se of the­se rules, I guess. Cam­ping in the field is for­bid­den as is any lan­ding (or pick­up) out­side of Kval­ross­buk­ta or the sta­ti­on area. Des­pi­te sea con­di­ti­ons being as calm as they might ever get, a quick lift or pick­up by boat, tech­ni­cal­ly very easy, logisti­cal­ly con­ve­ni­ent and very safe, is not an opti­on. Ins­tead, the­re are all the­se kilo­me­tres on the long and boring road to the north or south from Kval­ross­buk­ta, to the pla­ces we are lon­ging for. Well, a lot has been said about the sen­se (or, rather, non­sen­se) of this legis­la­ti­on. Enough for now.

So the­se are the frame con­di­ti­ons which you have to be pre­pa­red for when hiking on Jan May­en. Qui­te exact­ly as the trip to the top of Bee­ren­berg, my tour amounts to a good 60 km over land and qui­te a lot of alti­tu­de, alt­hough the ver­ti­cal metres are not con­cen­tra­ted on one pro­mi­nent peak, but hap­pen on many smal­ler hills and slo­pes. The­re are dozens of them.

The short cros­sing of the island from upper Troll­da­len takes me to Sju­hol­lendar­buk­ta. This was the site of the famous win­te­ring of the seven Dut­ch wha­lers in 1633-34, not Kval­ross­buk­ta, at least accord­ing to the Aus­tri­an expe­di­ti­on from 1882-83 (First Inter­na­tio­nal Polar Year). The name of the bay, which trans­la­tes as Seven Dut­ch­men Bay, is ano­t­her refe­rence to the win­te­rers who made it through the dark time just to die from scur­vy weeks befo­re the reli­ef ships came.

We will pro­bab­ly never now for sure whe­re exact­ly this tra­gic adven­ture took place. Today, Sju­hol­lendar­buk­ta is a lovely, beau­ti­ful bay with a wide beach of black vol­ca­nic sand, framed in by the odd-shaped rocks of wide-stret­ching, moss cove­r­ed lava fiel­ds.

Some­thing simi­lar can be said about Titeltbuk­ta, which was ano­t­her important place for the Dut­ch wha­lers. Again, not­hing is left of their „10 houses“ (ten tents = ti telt). All that reminds of lon­ger-las­ting human pre­sence is a small, but charm­ful trap­pers’ hut which has withs­tood the wind now for more than a cen­tu­ry.

Oys­ter­plant, rare in Spits­ber­gen, is colou­ring the black sand in many pla­ces, and the rich colours of the mos­ses and lichens in the lava fiel­ds are ama­zing.

And yes, the lava fiel­ds. If Jan May­en does not have her own legends and myths about elves and trolls, then it is just becau­se the island has not been inha­bi­ted for more than a 1000 years such as neigh­bou­ring Ice­land. Of cour­se, the­re are gob­lins and dwar­ves living here, and count­less other crea­tures that pre­fer the darkness abo­ve the sun! Just as the well-known giants with the strong sun all­er­gy, which react to direct sun­light by immedia­te­ly and com­ple­te­ly tur­ning to stone. One of the­se trolls just wan­ted to show me the way, as it hit him.

Unbe­liev­a­ble what else was around here: turt­les, war­ri­ors, cast­les and towers, giant worms and knights … ever­ything you could think of and more than that. Today, the­re are all silent sta­tu­es of sharp-edged lava rock, secret­ly watching the lonely wan­de­rer who might occa­sio­nal­ly cross their realm.

Gal­le­ry 2 – The tour to Sør Jan – 17th-19th June 2016

Click on thumb­nail to open an enlar­ged ver­si­on of the spe­ci­fic pho­to.

But even so, I am not on my own. Myriads of Litt­le auks are bree­ding in the lava fiel­ds. Num­bers and den­si­ties over lar­ge are­as that can cer­tain­ly com­pe­te with the bet­ter-known, big colo­nies in Spits­ber­gen. Con­stant screa­ming and cra­zy laugh­ter, ever­las­ting hec­tic acti­vi­ty in the air while big swarms are hea­ding to and fro. In more flat ter­rain, skuas and arc­tic skuas defend their ter­ri­to­ries with aggres­si­ve pas­si­on against any intru­der. In Gui­nea­buk­ta, Com­mon eiders are cal­ling from a coas­tal lagoon. They have their nests hid­den in the lava fiel­ds.

At Jan Mayen’s sou­thwes­tern end, the­re is some low­land cal­led Kra­ter­flya. The name is descrip­ti­ve: several nice cra­ters and cin­der cones are spread over the low­land, inclu­ding Rich­ter­kra­ter, which is bet­ter known than many of his rela­ti­ves, for rea­sons that are not obvious. Not that he would look any dif­fe­rent than many other smal­ler kra­ters on Jan May­en. Neit­her can it have to do with the ice wed­ges that deco­ra­te the steep, moss-cove­r­ed slo­pes with geo­metri­cal pat­terns. Even though they are less com­mon than, say, in Spits­ber­gen, this is not the only place on Jan May­en whe­re you can find them. May­be it is just becau­se it is so nice­ly loca­ted clo­se to the shore, making tho­se who pass by on a ship think: what a nice cra­ter, I just have to visit you one day! Well, at least I have thought this more than once, and now the door has ope­ned a bit, time and wea­ther are on my side.

So now I am here.

Someo­ne has cal­led the low­land bet­ween Gui­nea­buk­ta and Rich­ter­kra­ter Hel­hei­men, home of hell. It is not qui­te that bad, but not without rea­son, as yet ano­t­her espe­cial­ly mean lava field is loca­ted here, giving hiking shoes and wal­king mus­cles a hard time. Be care­ful! No fal­se step is allo­wed, a bro­ken leg would be so much worse here than most other pla­ces in the world.

Then I am stan­ding on the rim of Rich­ter­kra­ter, enjoy­ing the views over bizar­re lava flows and several cra­ters in the sur­roun­dings and the fact that I have now come to ano­t­her place that had been on my wish­list for a long time. My feet remind me that this plea­su­re comes at a pri­ce, but befo­re I start retur­ning to the north, I walk up to the steep cliffs at the sou­thern point of Jan May­en. Ver­ti­cal, rug­ged cliffs, whe­re count­less Glau­cous gulls and Ful­mars are screa­ming, while kee­ping a watch­ful eye on me. Sharp rocks stick like kni­ves out of the cliffs and the coast, for­mer vol­ca­nic intru­si­ons. Fog is rol­ling in from the east, as if to tell me: this is whe­re you wan­ted to come, this is whe­re I allo­wed you to come, but no fur­ther. This is it.

I agree and turn back. The way to Kval­ross­buk­ta is still more than long enough.

Gal­le­ry 3 – The tour to Sør Jan – 17th-19th June 2016

Click on thumb­nail to open an enlar­ged ver­si­on of the spe­ci­fic pho­to.

Cros­sing to Jan May­en – 14th-16th June 2016

The cros­sing is ama­zin­gly calm and life is rela­xed, even for con­fir­med land rats on a small sai­ling boat like this. I can even do my litt­le pre­sen­ta­ti­on of Jan May­en out­side, whe­re the­re is less noi­se from the engi­ne. Other than that, the cros­sing is only inter­rup­ted by the sigh­t­ing of a rare Blue wha­le and some occa­sio­nal Bea­ked wha­les.

Gal­le­ry Cros­sing to Jan May­en – 14th-16th June 2016

Click on thumb­nail to open an enlar­ged ver­si­on of the spe­ci­fic pho­to.

Jan May­en is com­ing up on the hori­zon on the third day of our cros­sing. We fol­low the sou­thern north coast for some hours until we reach Kval­ross­buk­ta. The anchor goes down after 440 nau­ti­cal miles, and soon, we have estab­lis­hed our base camp on shore.

Island – 13th June 2016

Let’s not talk too much about yes­ter­day. A has­ty good­bye to Anti­gua and her good peop­le, re-orga­niz­a­ti­on of lug­ga­ge and equip­ment late at night, then a day spent being tired in air­ports and on flights. Lon­gye­ar­by­en, Oslo, Kefla­vik, Reykja­vik. Who wants that? I don’t, but the­re is no way around it. The­re is no train and no bus to Jan May­en.

24 hours after lea­ving Anti­gua in Lon­gye­ar­by­en I am alrea­dy in a simp­le guest house in Reykja­vik, slow­ly reco­vering from the voya­ge.

I con­ti­nue ear­ly next morning with a small, but power­ful pro­pel­ler-dri­ven air­craft to Ísaf­jörður, the metro­po­lis of Iceland’s remo­te nor­thwest fjords.

Don’t expect too much from this metro­po­lis. You have seen most of it after an hour or two. But Ísaf­jörður is not only our gate­way to Jan May­en, it is also extre­me­ly friend­ly today: the sun is bur­ning from a cloud­less sky. The­re is still time for a litt­le excur­si­on. A ren­tal bike is quick­ly found, and after a litt­le ride I start ascen­ding the moun­tain Kub­bi. Just a bike and hiking boots. Not­hing that flies or burns fuel. Won­der­ful! That is fun, that is how it should be. Get­ting a bit out of breath, fresh, unfil­te­red air in the lungs, sit­ting on arc­tic hea­ther tun­dra a few metres high with bare feet, enjoy­ing stun­ning views on moun­tains, water­falls and fjords – a lot of my ide­as of good life are in this. More, plea­se! Well, the­re may be a lot of it in a few days’ time on Jan May­en.

Soon some final shop­ping is done, the last pre­pa­ra­ti­on befo­re depar­tu­re invol­ves a big pla­te of local fried cod. Then, a litt­le group of 11 gathers around the table on Sigurdur’s Auro­ra. Next to the skip­per hims­elf, mate Vidar and moun­tain gui­de Magnus, all from Ice­land, and me, the­re are Anne­li from Esto­nia, who is attrac­ted by remo­te pla­ces that are dif­fi­cult to get to („you can’t get the­re? Gre­at, let’s go the­re!“), Domi­ni­que from Eng­land, a friend of remo­te islands, Erling from Nor­way, who had felt a desi­re to go to Jan May­en alrea­dy in child­hood days, Fred from Ame­ri­ca, who has recent­ly made an impres­si­ve expe­di­ti­on to Heard Island, Karl, who had been with Sig­gi to Green­land, Mar­cus, who is fasci­na­ted by polar histo­ry, and Mar­tin, who has a strong pas­si­on for the vol­ca­noes of the world.

Gal­le­ry Island – 13th June 2016

Click on thumb­nail to open an enlar­ged ver­si­on of the spe­ci­fic pho­to.

Next to Auro­ra, Sigurdur’s new ship is along­side, the old Bør, now bea­ring her new name Ark­ti­ka. That would be a good ship for Green­land … well, now we are on Auro­ra, hea­ding for Jan May­en. The adven­ture begins.

We have a lovely start in the nicest evening light. Some­ti­mes the fjord lies calm and clear around us, some­ti­mes a bree­ze from the table moun­tains fur­ther north pushes small waves up. The ship is stom­ping into a strong wind as we sur­round the last capes, but it should not last too long, the fore­cast is fine and we should have a rea­son­ab­ly calm cros­sing.

Isfjord – 11th June 2016

As unplea­sant as the wea­ther had been yes­ter­day after­noon near Mag­da­le­n­efjord, the­re was only one thing to do: put the foot down and lea­ve the area, stea­ming south and towards new pla­ces, far away from the dark, low clouds. Nice sce­ne­ry under a blue sky, that would be good now, for the last day of this voya­ge. A pre­sen­ta­ti­on, a film and Captain’s din­ner make the after­noon go past quick­ly.

So we awo­ke today deep in Isjord. It had worked well, the impres­si­ve moun­tains around Bill­efjor­den are enligh­te­ned by bright sunshi­ne. We take a walk under the fort­ress-like cliffs of mount Skan­sen, having a look at the remains of an old gypsym mine and at the remains of lagoons from the days when Spits­ber­gen was still part of a lar­ge land­mass near the equa­tor. A litt­le group of rein­de­er is roa­ming the tun­dra clo­se to us. We enjoy the impres­si­ons and the sur­roun­dings in arc­tic silence.

Gal­le­ry Isfjord – 11th June 2016

Click on thumb­nail to open an enlar­ged ver­si­on of the spe­ci­fic pho­to.

Pyra­mi­den is also lar­ge­ly a silent place, but other­wi­se so com­ple­te­ly dif­fe­rent from the other pla­ces we had seen so far. A strong visu­al con­trast to ever­ything the arc­tic had given us so far, a last place that rounds our Spits­ber­gen expe­ri­ence off to make it as com­ple­te as can be.

Nor­thwest Spits­ber­gen – 10th June 2016

The wes­ter­ly bree­ze had been qui­te lively, so we had deci­ded to spend yet ano­t­her day in Woodfjord befo­re retur­ning to the west coast. But this morning we awo­ke near the icy beau­ty of Svit­jod­breen in the magni­ficent Fuglefjord. Ple­nty of gla­cier ice drif­ting in the water, while we are enjoy­ing bre­ak­fast and loo­king out for wild­life.

Gal­le­ry Nor­thwest Spits­ber­gen – 10th June 2016

Click on thumb­nail to open an enlar­ged ver­si­on of the spe­ci­fic pho­to.

Five lazy wal­rus­ses are hau­led out in Smee­ren­burg near the old blub­ber ovns, at which we then have a look, one after the other. How cru­el must life have been here 4 cen­tu­ries ago! The wha­lers were wea­ring woo­len swea­ters which did not give much pro­tec­tion from the ever-pre­sent wind, and thin lea­ther shoes. Even for us, in wea­ther-pro­of out­door gear and rub­ber boots, it is cold today! And it was cer­tain­ly not war­mer back then, in the 17th cen­tu­ry.

Woodfjord – 08th June 2016

Mus­ham­na is inde­ed still lar­ge­ly fro­zen – not real­ly a sur­pri­se in ear­ly June, but remar­kab­le con­si­de­ring this year’s ice con­di­ti­ons else­whe­re. Just enough space for us to anchor safe­ly for the night. In the evening, we can hear the mating calls of the seals insi­de the ship as it is very silent.

We explo­re Mus­ham­na with or without snow shoes, accord­ing to tas­te. Without snow shoes, we stay near the shore, whe­re the land is snow-free. Litt­le men­tal excur­si­ons take us back into the Devo­ni­an, tur­ning the beach into a geo­lo­gi­cal open air muse­um. Then, a lonely wal­rus, qui­te obvious­ly a male, attracts our atten­ti­on as he is lying on a san­dy spit, slee­ping, scratching hims­elf.

In the after­noon, the wes­tern coast of Woodfjord is the best place for us, due to the litt­le wes­ter­ly bree­ze. The area whe­re Chris­tia­ne Rit­ter („A woman in the polar night“) and her hus­band Her­mann wan­ted to visit their nea­rest neigh­bour, Stock­holm-Sven, a long time ago.

Stock­holm-Sven was not in his hut on Reins­dyr­flya. Neit­her was the­re an axe. Without an axe and the pos­si­bi­li­ty to make fire­wood, the hut might have been a dead­ly trap for Chris­tia­ne and Her­mann, had he not insis­ted on retur­ning quick­ly befo­re upco­m­ing bad wea­ther would make the return trip over the ice impos­si­ble.

Life is so much easier the­se days, some wet feet during a snow shoe hike over the swamps of mel­ting snow are not­hing com­pa­red to that. Wet snow is part of ever­y­day life in the arc­tic bet­ween win­ter and sum­mer.

But the late after­noon clean up Sval­bard ses­si­on is almost a tough exer­cise. Crew and vol­un­te­ers do not only clean the usu­al, smal­ler bits and pie­ces of fishing nets and other plastics from the beach, but then ven­ture to remo­ve a huge net­work of plastic ropes, that once may have been part of a very big fen­der. The plastic mons­ter requi­res all our for­ces for some hours, and 110 HP from the zodiacs in addi­ti­on to get it off the beach. Get­ting it on board is yet ano­t­her task. Final­ly, the beast is on deck, and the last plastic war­ri­ors get their high­ly deser­ved din­ner after mid­ni­ght. Thanks to Sascha, Jana, Alex­an­dra and Mai­ke for their Dut­ch bread din­ner 🙂

Gal­le­ry Woodfjord – 08th June 2016

Click on thumb­nail to open an enlar­ged ver­si­on of the spe­ci­fic pho­to.

This rope net­work is qui­te cer­tain­ly the lar­gest pie­ce of plastic gar­ba­ge that we Anti­gu­ans have ever remo­ved from a Spits­ber­gen beach and hau­led on deck. It will pro­bab­ly remain the big­gest one, it was on the edge of our capa­bi­li­ties. But now a lar­ge volu­me and weight of plastic ropes is gone, dan­ge­rous stuff for wild­life, and Spits­ber­gen is a good bit clea­ner.

Lief­defjord – 07th June 2016

„Ice is nice“ is a bit of an under­state­ment for the stun­ning beau­ty of Mona­co­breen today. Alt­hough it starts with „ice would be nice“. Just a few years ago, the fjord ice stret­ched 20 km fur­ther out. Now the­re isn’t the sligh­test trace of sea ice near Mona­co­breen.

But the­re is gla­cier ice. Ple­nty of it, in the most beau­ti­ful colours. All shades from bright white to deep blue.

Two small islands have appeared under the retrea­ting Seli­ger­breen. The­re are cove­r­ed with towers of gla­cier ice, but the rocks are sti­cking out at all sides. It won’t take long until we we can land on them, whe­re ever­ything has been buried under gla­cier ice just recent­ly.

Gal­le­ry Lief­defjord – 07th June 2016

Click on thumb­nail to open an enlar­ged ver­si­on of the spe­ci­fic pho­to.

After a litt­le hike on Ler­nerøya­ne, a land­s­cape that reminds a bit of Green­land, and loo­king for polar bears in outer Lief­defjord, we are now ancho­red in well-shel­te­red Mus­ham­na. A bree­ze is blowing and the snow is drif­ting qui­te den­se­ly, arc­tic win­ter is in the air. See what tomor­row brings.

Raudfjord – 06th June 2016

Hamil­ton­buk­ta is a bit of Spits­ber­gen in a nuts­hell. Jag­ged moun­tains, wild gla­ciers, busy bird cliffs – (almost) ever­ything you could ask for. Lots of fresh polar bear tracks in the snow.
The­re is still fjord ice deep in Ayerfjord. Some seal are bas­king in the sun.

As a novel­ty, we have got snow shoes on Anti­gua now. Wal­king in deep snow can be qui­te tough this ear­ly in the sea­son. But it is gre­at fun with snow shoes.

Gal­le­ry Raudfjord – 06th June 2016

Click on thumb­nail to open an enlar­ged ver­si­on of the spe­ci­fic pho­to.

Engels­buk­ta, Ny Åle­sund – 05th June 2016

As men­tio­ned befo­re, we are star­ting on a high level. The good wea­ther stays with us, so we can make our first tun­dra expe­ri­ence in Engelskbuk­ta in bright sunshi­ne. The rein­de­ers have very small, young cal­ves, they are of cour­se shy. Snow bun­tings are sin­ging, pur­p­le sand­pi­pers are piping, ptar­mi­gans are making their noi­ses, the sun is war­ming us and life is good. A wha­ler is guar­ding the silence in his gra­ve.

Gal­le­ry Engels­buk­ta, Ny Åle­sund – 05th June 2016

Click on thumb­nail to open an enlar­ged ver­si­on of the spe­ci­fic pho­to.

The nort­her­ly wind is cal­ming down during the after­noon, which makes going along­side in Ny Åle­sund easier than expec­ted. As usu­al, we take a litt­le walk through the nort­hern­most sett­le­ment of the glo­be, having a look at its past and pre­sent. Of cour­se we do the litt­le pil­grimage to the famous air­s­hip mast. A rein­de­er almost joins the group while I am tel­ling the sto­ries of the north pole expe­di­ti­ons of the past, and a very friend­ly polar fox comes to say good­bye as we are lea­ving Ny Åle­sund for this time.

Isfjord – 04th June 2016

Two days in Lon­gye­ar­by­en are never enough time, and it is actual­ly even less time, but a to-do-list long enough for a week. But it is final­ly done, with a litt­le help from kind peop­le. The evening BBQ with crew and friends on the Isfjord coast, with a gre­at pan­ora­ma view, is more than ade­qua­te com­pen­sa­ti­on.

The next trip will take us to Spitsbergen’s nor­thwes­tern cor­ner. It is a start on a high level. The evening crui­se through Isfjord, in finest wea­ther, would have been a plea­su­re also without this Blue wha­le 🙂

Gal­le­ry Isfjord – 04th June 2016

Click on thumb­nail to open an enlar­ged ver­si­on of the spe­ci­fic pho­to.

Tem­pel­fjord – 02nd June 2016

Alrea­dy the last day of this trip. Unbe­liev­a­ble how quick­ly more than 1000 miles go by. The fine tun­dra on Dia­ba­sod­den – just weeks ago the sce­ne of a memo­r­able polar bear encoun­ter – is home to rather curious rein­de­er who approach us repeated­ly. That is how it should be, not the other way around Bar­na­cle geese and Brünich’s guil­lemots are sit­ting on the steep basalt cliffs, a ptar­mi­gan is on loo­kout on a rock, some­whe­re a fox is loo­king for prey.

Gal­le­ry Tem­pel­fjord – 02nd June 2016

Click on thumb­nail to open an enlar­ged ver­si­on of the spe­ci­fic pho­to.

Beau­ti­ful Tem­pel­fjord is the sce­ne for a final sce­nic crui­se (admit­ted­ly, we are also still loo­king for a polar bear, but whe­re­ver they cur­r­ent­ly are, we don’t know …) befo­re a last litt­le lan­ding, with sce­ne­ry, some natu­ral histo­ry and arc­tic silence, rounds the trip off.

Bar­ents­burg & Ymer­buk­ta – 01st June 2016

So that was May, and now it is alrea­dy June. But it loo­ks like ear­ly July. The­re is not too much snow left, wide tun­dra are­as are alrea­dy free of snow, espe­cial­ly on the west coast. The ice chart loo­ks like late sum­mer.

And out­side it loo­ks like Irkut­sk or some­thing that way. That is, of cour­se, Bar­ents­burg. What else!

Bar­ents­burg is an impres­si­ve expe­ri­ence, as always. You just have to have seen it. And what real­ly blew me away was the hot cho­co­la­te. Serious­ly! By far the best hot cho­co­la­te in Spits­ber­gen. It even lea­ves Café Frue­ne in Lon­gye­ar­by­en far behind 🙂

Gal­le­ry Bar­ents­burg & Ymer­buk­ta – 01st June 2016

Click on thumb­nail to open an enlar­ged ver­si­on of the spe­ci­fic pho­to.

We spend the ear­ly after­noon crui­sing several bays, loo­king for sce­ne­ry (gre­at land­s­cape ever­y­whe­re) and polar bears (none), befo­re we cele­bra­te the trip duly. It has been – and still is – gre­at, even without a polar bear sigh­t­ing.

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