SVALBARD
spanning an astonishing 112 miles. We’re hovering off the section called Bråsvellbreen — a towering wall of pure white, waterfalls foaming from its face and plunging into the sea. A herd of male walruses hauled out in a flatulent heap, bickering and prodding one another with their tusks, while eider ducks skim the glassy water in perfect V formations. While we’re close to land, there are daily hikes and Zodiac
cruises and I head out with naturalist Marilia Olio, who studies whales. We haven’t spotted any, but Marilia drops a hydrophone into the water. Incredibly, a whole new world springs into life, with the haunting echo of a high-pitched song. “That’s a blue whale,” she says, excitedly. “It could be anywhere within six miles.” Suddenly, an unearthly, trilling whistle blasts out. We all jump. “A bearded seal,” says Marilia, laughing. This landscape of sound is almost more exotic than the transfixing icy world that surrounds me above the water.
Into the ice We’re pressing further north and east, and I wake to the alien sound of echoing booms. Captain Patrick Marchesseau, a veteran of polar expeditions, rouses us over the PA. “Are you ready for some ice?” he asks, jubilantly. I rush out on deck and gasp at the sight. Navy blue sky, glittering black water and an infinity of ice stretches away to the horizon. The booming sound is the ship, nudging vast chunks out of the way. Cracks rip through each plaque as they shatter from the force. This may seem destructive, but unlike nearer the coast, where the fast ice that’s attached to the land is protected, out at sea, breaking through it is allowed. The ship leaves a black, sparkling wake behind it, but the ice quickly knits back together again, our trace vanished. We’ve left the mass of Nordaustlandet behind now, surrounded
only by a sea of ice stretching as far as the eye can see. It’s almost entirely solid; huge circles welded together, and the ship judders as it makes contact, flipping over chunks to reveal sapphire blue undersides. Suddenly, a hatch opens on the foredeck and a sleek, blue-and-yellow helicopter emerges on a podium, like a car in a glossy showroom. This isn’t for joy rides, but for flying ahead of the ship to recce the conditions. We’re about to cross the line of 81 degrees north. “We could well be further north than anybody in the world right now,” reveals expedition leader Yann Rashid. Up on the bridge, there’s a hushed air as the officers study the
ice radar, while the expedition leaders have their binoculars trained for polar bears. Suddenly, the shout goes out. Everybody rushes excitedly on deck: a bear has been spotted with a fresh kill. The excitement mounts as a second animal comes into view. The younger of the two males has, the guides explain, probably killed the seal, while the older has arrived and pulled rank. Both bears’ faces are scarlet with blood. The alpha bear lies on the ice with its back legs splayed like a frog, burying its face into the carcass. The younger bear is curious; it prowls from one ice floe to
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NATIONALGEOGRAPHIC.COM/TRAVEL
Clockwise from top: the jagged black mountains of northern Svalbard from the deck of Le Commandant Charcot; an arctic fox spotted in Svalbard; a lounge area onboard the Seabourn Venture
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