Hornsundet, Spitsbergen Island
The archipelago of Svalbard is dominated by its largest component, so much so that many people use the name of Spitsbergen to indicate the whole. Far from anywhere the islands sit at the edge of the Arctic ice. The land is rugged with sharp mountain peaks and ridges carved by glacial ice. U-shaped valleys still embrace flowing rivers of ice that scour the rocky sides, slowly moving the mountains to the sea. In places the ocean waters do not wait. They flow inland, drowning the valleys and eat at the glacial face. Thundering roars announce the slow decay as bergs fracture from the ancient ice. These deep fjords finger into the land changing the western shore, multiplying its length many fold. Hornsund is the most southerly of these and it is here that we spent our afternoon under warm and sunny skies. By ship, Zodiac and foot we explored the edges where shore and land compete.
In all the grandeur, amidst the lush green mosses and tiny colorful belly plants, life and death were found. New life peered from a rocky ledge. Backlit, their downy coats glowing like a halo glaucous gull chicks tentatively examined the intruders into their world. Their parents called from nearby perches warning us away. We paused and then continued on. Our meandering walk became purposeful. Strides lengthened as we crossed a snowy bank. Just above in a rocky drainage a drama was unfolding. Predator and prey were locked in combat of a sort. A tiny Arctic fox, its summer plumage variegated gray, seemed determined to feast upon a massive pink-footed goose. The goose however was not yet prepared to become this day’s meal. They circled face to face, the goose flaring its lengthy wings, the fox baring its teeth. And then they would rest, go back to their corners before beginning the conflict once again. For an hour we watched. Perhaps the battle continues even now. We will never know just how it ends but little doubt rests in many minds that in spite of its size the petite predator and its persistent patient nature will prove to be victorious.
Around the corner in Burgerbukta (Burger Bay), blue bergs floated on the turquoise sea. Here too the scene seemed serene. Until we saw the bear. The kill had been completed. A seal lay dead on the ice, its carcass partly striped. Ivory gulls competed with glaucous gulls for scraps. Fulmars coasted by. Even while showing its predatory nature the ice bear was beautiful. Its creamy pelage seemed almost golden. Tiny rounded ears rotated to monitor the world around. Vigilant coal black eyes peered into ours and then it slipped into the sea and swam effortlessly swam away, dinner in tow.
The archipelago of Svalbard is dominated by its largest component, so much so that many people use the name of Spitsbergen to indicate the whole. Far from anywhere the islands sit at the edge of the Arctic ice. The land is rugged with sharp mountain peaks and ridges carved by glacial ice. U-shaped valleys still embrace flowing rivers of ice that scour the rocky sides, slowly moving the mountains to the sea. In places the ocean waters do not wait. They flow inland, drowning the valleys and eat at the glacial face. Thundering roars announce the slow decay as bergs fracture from the ancient ice. These deep fjords finger into the land changing the western shore, multiplying its length many fold. Hornsund is the most southerly of these and it is here that we spent our afternoon under warm and sunny skies. By ship, Zodiac and foot we explored the edges where shore and land compete.
In all the grandeur, amidst the lush green mosses and tiny colorful belly plants, life and death were found. New life peered from a rocky ledge. Backlit, their downy coats glowing like a halo glaucous gull chicks tentatively examined the intruders into their world. Their parents called from nearby perches warning us away. We paused and then continued on. Our meandering walk became purposeful. Strides lengthened as we crossed a snowy bank. Just above in a rocky drainage a drama was unfolding. Predator and prey were locked in combat of a sort. A tiny Arctic fox, its summer plumage variegated gray, seemed determined to feast upon a massive pink-footed goose. The goose however was not yet prepared to become this day’s meal. They circled face to face, the goose flaring its lengthy wings, the fox baring its teeth. And then they would rest, go back to their corners before beginning the conflict once again. For an hour we watched. Perhaps the battle continues even now. We will never know just how it ends but little doubt rests in many minds that in spite of its size the petite predator and its persistent patient nature will prove to be victorious.
Around the corner in Burgerbukta (Burger Bay), blue bergs floated on the turquoise sea. Here too the scene seemed serene. Until we saw the bear. The kill had been completed. A seal lay dead on the ice, its carcass partly striped. Ivory gulls competed with glaucous gulls for scraps. Fulmars coasted by. Even while showing its predatory nature the ice bear was beautiful. Its creamy pelage seemed almost golden. Tiny rounded ears rotated to monitor the world around. Vigilant coal black eyes peered into ours and then it slipped into the sea and swam effortlessly swam away, dinner in tow.
