Only a few hundred metres separate us from the sea ice in Borebukta Bay. Completely flat and covered only by a little snow, it lies like a thin film on the water. Very slowly, our ship pushes towards the edge of the ice until it comes to a halt with a bang. We hadn't expected that, the ice looked so thin. However, the relaxed and slightly amused look on our captain Phil's face tells us that he is not at all surprised. We're probably not the first people he's given a little fright with his unorthodox manoeuvre.
Marcel later confirms that we were not entirely wrong in our assumption that we were facing a fragile layer of ice. He is a guide on this northern expedition and knows his way around. Sea ice is salty, he explains. For it to solidify properly, the temperature has to fall well below zero degrees. "At temperatures around freezing point, it is less stable than, for example, broken-off glacier ice floating in the water. But it usually freezes together to form huge ice floes," we learn.
Jumping from ice floe to ice floe
At the beginning of May, the sea ice gradually begins to melt. We have to be careful and decide to climb down carefully onto the frozen surface in pairs and survival suits to test its load-bearing capacity. In fact, the surface feels rather soft and yielding, like frozen grass on a meadow, and not at all as hard as on a skating rink.
In our thick suits, we move forward step by step, first cautiously and carefully, then more and more relaxed along the edge of the ice. We even have fun jumping from one ice floe to the next. If we get stuck, Phil simply pushes us to the next floe with the boat.
After the vanguard, the rest of the group ventures onto the ice without survival suits. We can see from the small cracks that it is about 30 centimetres thick - so no danger! Danger lurks elsewhere: huge paw prints in the snow reveal that a polar bear has recently walked along here. Marcel spots the animal after a short time. About 400 metres away, the bear is lying in a snow hollow directly on the glacier, watching us. Although it doesn't look as if it is hungry, we prefer to return to the boat.
Spitsbergen: a sailing boat is better than a cruise ship
The idea for this trip came about two years ago. We are a family consisting of two amateur photographers, an amateur radio operator and three sailors. We all share a fascination for the Arctic. Our sailors convinced us to explore this sensitive landscape on a small sailing boat instead of a cruise ship. At the end of May this year, we fulfilled our shared dream and flew to Longyearbyen. Once there, we boarded the "Qilak".
When we arrive, the temperatures are around freezing point and the entire region is still covered in snow. We realise how different the world is here when we see locals out and about on skis. Their equipment includes not only skis, poles and helmets, but also a rifle and a blank-firing pistol. Anyone leaving the town must have both with them. Longyearbyen itself is considered relatively safe due to the hustle and bustle. Pick-ups and construction machinery, snowmobiles and lorries driving on muddy tracks make enough noise to scare off polar bears. The place doesn't look very inviting to us either. At this time of year, when it is beginning to thaw, the weather is cold and wet, the remaining snow along the paths a dirty brown colour. It is only at second glance that you realise how much effort the locals have put into making the place cosy. Every house and every hut is lovingly furnished and the inhabitants, a mixture of different nationalities, are happy to tell us their stories.
The inhabitants of Spitsbergen and every visitor to the archipelago must be on their guard against bears. Nobody is allowed into the wilderness here without a rifle"
We learn that Longyearbyen was originally founded because of the local coal deposits. As it lies in the foothills of the Gulf Stream, the fjord remains mostly ice-free all year round. The operators of the "Qilak" also benefit from this. The ship is moored at Longyearbyen's only large floating jetty. Between large supply ships, tankers and rusty steel vessels, the 66-foot aluminium yacht looks rather small. When we check in, we are greeted by Phil and his crew: the mate Carlos and the cook Thomas. The "Qilak" makes an extremely robust impression. Thanks to the deckhouse and inside steering position, it is easy to stay on board even in bad weather. Below deck there are four cabins for up to eight guests as well as a large mess room and a kitchen. However, the highlight of the ship is definitely the small sauna, from which you can enjoy the Arctic Ocean while sweating. Later in the day, with the sun still shining brightly, we motor out of the Isfjord, set sail and head north in a light south-easterly wind with the genoa unfurled.
Pushing and shoving, moaning and scuffling- with the walruses
After a while, a lake mist typical of this time of year appears over the water. In the distance, a few mountain peaks break through the billowing white. We savour the magic of this moment and the calm with which the boat glides through the almost non-existent waves. We sit warmly wrapped up on deck for hours and are delighted when the fog lifts to reveal a view of the passing landscape.
Using binoculars, Marcel discovers a colony of around 30 walruses on a sandbank that is still partly covered in metres of ice. We land with the Zodiac and approach the animals under the protection of the ice. Of course, the attentive colossi have long since noticed us. Some come swimming towards us and watch us with interest from the water. Vapour rises into the cold air from the walruses lying on land. The animals only ever lie quietly on their bellies or backs for a short time, pointing their huge tusks to the sky. Individual animals are constantly trying to get a better spot among the others, so that the whole colony is constantly on the move. It's pushing and shoving, moaning and scuffling. No wonder, who wants to have their 500-kilogramme neighbour lying half on top of them!
No wind and bright sunshine
In addition to us and the crew, Rick and his wife Annika complete our team. Both have sailed all their lives, and Rick is also a fantastic regatta and nature photographer. He tells us how close we can get to the walruses and how best to get them in front of the lens. In the evening, we sit together in the saloon of the "Qilak" in front of a large screen and discuss our shots from the day. This is to become a fixed ritual on this trip.
Our captain Phil also takes part in the rounds. He always gives us an update on the itinerary and the weather forecast. Based on this, we jointly determine the route for the next day. As there is hardly any wind, but bright sunshine is forecast, we decide to motor to the bird cliffs of Alkhornet the following day.
Once ashore, the going gets tough. The walk to the bird cliff is strenuous and exhausting. Not because it is steeply uphill, but because we have to make our way through deep snow. Again and again we sink in up to our hips. The wind and sun have only cleared the snow from the tundra below the prominent rock. Now we trudge over mosses and grasses - and sink into the wet ground for a change, fortunately only a few centimetres deep.
Eye to eye with little reindeer
At the end of May, the rock is hardly visited by breeding birds. Ptarmigans are the only birds that live on Svalbard all year round. The brown-feathered female is barely noticeable in the tundra, while the cock looks more like a white patch of snow. Two small reindeer graze below the rock. They are now without antlers, but still clad in fluffy fur. Our guide explains: "The reindeer on Svalbard are smaller than those on the mainland, which is probably due to the scarcity of food." While we remain quietly on the rock, the curious animals come within a few metres of us and then lie down and relax.
The Arctic always welcomes us with incredible peace and tranquillity. In addition to the Zodiac, there are also two kayaks on the "Qilak". These allow us to silently explore the Arctic Ocean around us. Almost without a sound, we glide between small icebergs right up to the edge of a glacier.
Then we trudge across wet tundra meadows and lots of rubble to another bird cliff. In May, puffins settle on the top floor of the rock. It's not just the photographers in our group who can't get away from the rock. The birds are just too cute and beautiful to look at. The idyll is spoilt by two skuas, black-browed skuas, attacking a storm petrel. They chase her, cut her off and peck her in the stomach. An acrobatic aerial battle unfolds before our eyes. The reason: the Mew Gull is supposed to regurgitate the fish it has just caught. The eider ducks on the lowest level of the rock are more peaceful. The whistling call of the drakes can be heard from afar. On Svalbard, there are also great eider ducks, whose drakes stand out due to their special headdress.
Climate change cannot be overlooked
Our route northwards takes us as far as the Kongsfjord. Then it's over, the north coast of Spitsbergen is still surrounded by thick ice. We therefore set course for Ny-Ålesund, another former mining settlement. Today it is a centre for scientists from all over the world researching the Arctic and climate change. Numerous glaciers flow into the Kongsfjord, many of which are melting away - the consequences of climate change are unfortunately impressive. At one point, we can recognise how far the glacier has already retreated by looking at the abrasion marks on the mountain walls.
A Zodiac tour takes us close to the glacier. It gets noticeably colder and an icy wind blows down from above. Up close, we realise that the ice is by no means clear and white throughout, but varies in colour from marbled brown to bright turquoise blue. Again and again we hear a loud cracking sound as tensions in the moving glacier are released. Later, when we are back on the "Qilak", there is such a loud crack that everyone flinches. A piece as big as a detached house breaks off the edge, plunges into the water, submerges briefly and then rolls back and forth several times. The glacier has calved and an iceberg is born. We are several hundred metres away on the boat, and yet we can clearly feel the wave that has been created.
But there's also danger from the other side: a freshening wind has pushed together the sea ice floes that were floating harmlessly in the fjord on the outward journey. Our captain decides not to anchor. Instead, he lets the boat drift with the ice to avoid collisions. We spend the night in the middle of this inhospitable world of ice.
Swimming in the Arctic
The next morning, the "Qilak" slaloms its way to our next destination. On the way, we are surprised when an inconspicuous iceberg suddenly and almost silently begins to turn right next to us. The floating hill the size of a small car suddenly becomes a monster the size of a house. Phil skilfully manoeuvres the "Qilak" to the side; only a few splashes of water reach our ship. We then watch in awe as the colossus, glistening in the sun, slowly breaks apart. Before it sinks, we pull up close and secure a few ice cubes for our next drink. They float crystal clear in the glass - whisky on the rocks that couldn't be better!
Around 57 per cent of Svalbard is covered by a solid layer of ice. Still. But the glaciers are melting here too - a consequence of climate change"
But where is the harsh, cold Arctic that we had expected? Thick down jackets and ski goggles were supposed to protect us. Instead, we mostly enjoy bright sunshine and pleasant temperatures. Oilskin trousers and a woollen jumper are actually quite enough. Sometimes even less: "Who's coming swimming?" asks the Spaniard Carlos, our first mate. Dressed in swimming trunks and a woolly hat, he climbs out of the companionway. We look incredulously from Carlos to the water, which is littered with lumps of ice, and are quite astonished when he climbs down the ladder into the water and does a few laps between the ice. We no longer want to just watch and do the same. After all, who wouldn't want to be able to claim to have swum in the Arctic!
"There's a polar bear outside!"
We turn round and sail back south into the large Isfjord, which almost divides Spitsbergen in half. Once again, calm winds and 24 hours of sunshine a day await us there. "Such a period of fine weather is very unusual for May," says Marcel and then adds: "There's a polar bear outside!" We forget the breakfast we've just started and rush out on deck. Sure enough, we spot a bear on the ice just a few hundred metres away. Phil puts the bow of the "Qilak" on the ice too, then we wait spellbound.
It must be the smell of fried bacon coming from the galley that arouses the polar bear's curiosity. Stretching his nose, he approaches. Phil starts the engine and lets the boat slide backwards off the ice. Better keep your distance, because the bear would obviously love to climb on board. He wanders restlessly along the edge of the ice, breaks in a few times, climbs back onto the ice, shakes himself like a wet dog and stands up on his hind legs. This close-up view is as frightening as it is fascinating.
What touched us most on this trip? The inimitable silence. The vastness of the landscape. The magnificent wildlife. It makes you realise once again how small we humans are in the midst of this nature. And how carefully we should treat it.
Family Klein
- Information about the boat and cruise at qilak.com
