It's a long way from
Svalbard to. . .anywhere.
You should go.
Sunday, June 17, 2018
One Last Great Glacier
Our last "event" was stopping at a huge glacier for the group photo on the bow. One job, which I won't get to today, will be to see if I can pull one down from the official Inspirato photo website and post it here.
We did see a rather large seal in front of the glacier.
Happy shipmates.
Our last seal sighting. Actually, our last
wildlife sighting, not counting the
multitude of seabirds.
Mark, Melanie, and Carol. . .happy Inspirato-ites!
Goodbye to the land of ice and snow.
PUFFINS! PUFFINS! PUFFINS!
I finally can report an honest-to-God puffin sighting! We zodiac'd over past numerous seabirds to the cliffs. As we were almost there, I saw a puffin flying -- I may have shrieked like a teeny-bopper at a Beatles concert. They dipped and dove, flying out in search of fish, and then heading back to the cliffs.
We moved very close to the cliff, and you could dozens of them nesting. With the waves bouncing the zodiac, it was hard to steady the camera to shoot the puffins clearly. I have multiple pictures of cliffs with no birds if you want to see pointless photos. Eventually I stopped taking pictures and just enjoyed the view.
This might be a Northern Fulmar. Or not.
If you know what this is, and other birds I've
tentatively ID'd are, don't hesitate to let me know.
Not sure what kind of gulls these are.
Maybe kittiwakes, but seems like
the wings are too black.
OMG -- I discovered a new bird mutation --
extra wings growing out of a head! I am
going to be renowned throughout the
world of science AND birders!
Oh. Sigh. Never mind.
There are at least five puffins in this picture.
Click on the pic to enlarge, and see if you
can spot all five. A sort of Where's Puffo
These two are easier to find.
Brunnich's Guillemot. The bird is also known
as a Thick-billed Murre because, why not!
I've seen puffins in the Arctic. It's a pretty good life.
Bastille Day
Our first stop on the zodiac was up close and personal with the 14th of July Glacier. Obviously, you can't get too close, because if a big piece slices off, you are dead.
The blues and the cracks in the glacier are amazing, and we zipped fast and slow around various bergy bits and growlers. Glaciers really are awe-inspiring.
This is about as excitable as Bud
gets. This was a perfect day to
be with him, as he is an expert on birds.
Few things are prettier than blue ice.
A Good Walk Spoiled
Okay, once again my titles exaggerate the situation. Anyhow, I will get to that part eventually. And, it had a happy ending anyhow!
It was our last full day in the Arctic, with the next day being an uneventful disembarkation in Longyearben, and flight back to Oslo. We landed in the Northwest of Spitsbergen, within a fjord named Krossfjorden. On one end of the beach, there is the 14th of July Glacier, and at the other end, there are cliffs that include many Brunnich's Guillemot, and, wait for it. . .Puffins! Yes, I said PUFFINS. Puffins are the penguins of the Arctic (not literally, but symbolically -- at least for Carol and I).
Carol and Torie had been close to puffins in May in the Inner Scottish Hebrides. While they were close to Staffa, they didn't go. Then, we had hoped to see them in Iceland, but we did not go in that direction for various reasons. We had given up on the hopes of seeing puffins, not realizing that they are populous in the cliffs of Krossfjorden.
Anyhow, we landed wet in the middle of the beach. Stefano took us towards the cliffs. Along the way, we saw a large herd of reindeer grazing above us on the lower side of the cliff. At one point I saw movement, but it was only a large bird. We were not destined to luck into seeing an Arctic Fox on this trip, although a bit later on, we did spot recent footprints in perfect shape in the sand.
There were also sorts of colorful lichen, some flowers, and birds all around. When we got to the end of the rocky beach, some people spotted a puffin in the cliff side. Carol saw it, while I did not. I strained and strained, and never did see it. At points I thought I saw orange flashes, which might have been the puffin moving quickly, but that might have been wishful thinking on my part.
I was pretty unhappy with my puffin fail. Now, while I knew I would have one more chance when we took the zodiacs over to the cliffs, I figured I might not seem them there either.
We looped back on higher ground toward the glacier, a good mile or more away.
Hiking in the Arctic is not like hiking in most places. There are no trails, and with the rocks and or snow, there is nothing smooth about it. So, even when you are going on what appears to be a flat surface, it's not an easy path. That's not a complaint, just an observation.
At one point, we came up a rise with a view of a pond that had a million kittiwakes zooming around it. ("Million" might be an exaggeration, but you get the idea).
The closer we got to the glacier the closer to shore we went, finally reaching the beach. There were little growlers and bergy bits dotting the shoreline. We were reminded of Diamond Beach in Iceland, although this was not quite as jaw-dropping. Still, the scene was far more raw nature.
We went over and touched the glacier at some points, and then Lucho brought two zodiacs over -- we would not have had time to hike back to the middle of the beach and stay on the timeline.
It was our last full day in the Arctic, with the next day being an uneventful disembarkation in Longyearben, and flight back to Oslo. We landed in the Northwest of Spitsbergen, within a fjord named Krossfjorden. On one end of the beach, there is the 14th of July Glacier, and at the other end, there are cliffs that include many Brunnich's Guillemot, and, wait for it. . .Puffins! Yes, I said PUFFINS. Puffins are the penguins of the Arctic (not literally, but symbolically -- at least for Carol and I).
Carol and Torie had been close to puffins in May in the Inner Scottish Hebrides. While they were close to Staffa, they didn't go. Then, we had hoped to see them in Iceland, but we did not go in that direction for various reasons. We had given up on the hopes of seeing puffins, not realizing that they are populous in the cliffs of Krossfjorden.
Anyhow, we landed wet in the middle of the beach. Stefano took us towards the cliffs. Along the way, we saw a large herd of reindeer grazing above us on the lower side of the cliff. At one point I saw movement, but it was only a large bird. We were not destined to luck into seeing an Arctic Fox on this trip, although a bit later on, we did spot recent footprints in perfect shape in the sand.
There were also sorts of colorful lichen, some flowers, and birds all around. When we got to the end of the rocky beach, some people spotted a puffin in the cliff side. Carol saw it, while I did not. I strained and strained, and never did see it. At points I thought I saw orange flashes, which might have been the puffin moving quickly, but that might have been wishful thinking on my part.
I was pretty unhappy with my puffin fail. Now, while I knew I would have one more chance when we took the zodiacs over to the cliffs, I figured I might not seem them there either.
We looped back on higher ground toward the glacier, a good mile or more away.
Hiking in the Arctic is not like hiking in most places. There are no trails, and with the rocks and or snow, there is nothing smooth about it. So, even when you are going on what appears to be a flat surface, it's not an easy path. That's not a complaint, just an observation.
At one point, we came up a rise with a view of a pond that had a million kittiwakes zooming around it. ("Million" might be an exaggeration, but you get the idea).
The closer we got to the glacier the closer to shore we went, finally reaching the beach. There were little growlers and bergy bits dotting the shoreline. We were reminded of Diamond Beach in Iceland, although this was not quite as jaw-dropping. Still, the scene was far more raw nature.
We went over and touched the glacier at some points, and then Lucho brought two zodiacs over -- we would not have had time to hike back to the middle of the beach and stay on the timeline.
Landing on Krossfjorden Beach
Ho-hum. Another day, another zodiac
landing on an amazing beach, this time
with a glacier framing the background.
Glen, another picture of lichen on a rock?
But there so many I did NOT take a picture of!
Not a Flock of Seagulls.
A pair of Glaucous Gulls.
All mountains are pretty in their own way.
But snow-covered mountains that rise from
the sea are high on the awe-inspiring rankings.
Nature finds a way.
The 14th of July Glacier. This 16 km long
glacier was named by Prince Albert I of
Monaco in honor of Bastille Day. I do not
know if they have Prince Albert in a can, or
if they will let him out if they do.
The glacier is on the left,
the ship is on the right.
Glad to help.
Have you herd the one about multiple reindeer?
Don't mess with these barnacle geese. From
their expressions, they will wreck you.
Zodiac boat framed by shore boulders.
Bird, pond, glacier, Krossfjorden.
Carol and I never saw the elusive Arctic fox,
so we'll have to be content with these clear
sand footprints.
Kittiwakes rule this roost.
The interplay of sun and snow
makes this a must shoot.
The zodiac boat gives an idea of
scale of the 14th of July glacier
Like Kayak Tacos For Bears
Our kayaking expedition almost got canned thanks to bears 12 & 13. They were distant bears, but even a distant bear can sneak up on a kayak, attack it, and eat like a human-stuffed taco.
(By the way, a Jaws-like Hollywood blockbuster featuring a lone polar bear slowly killing off passengers on an expedition ship would be pretty cool. Pierre, Lynne, if you can get this idea in front of some studio execs, I will make sure you get a cut!)
So, when those last two bears were spotted a long ways off, the kayakers who were out were recalled and it was put on hold. (Because of the 100 people or so who wanted to kayak, we were sent in waves).
Meanwhile, I was up above the bridge, watching the polar bears. We lost one for a while. Meanwhile, what some of us thought was a seal kept popping its head up.
Turns out it was a male polar bear with an unusually dark head who was chasing the female polar bear. . .whether to eat or for love, we do not know. We're not even sure why the dark head -- was it from being in the water so much, or had it been rooting around in some dirt for some reason? One of the mysteries of nature, I suppose. (I did NOT say it was an IMPORTANT mystery.)
Eventually the expedition team decided they were too far away and not at all interested in us, so the kayaking continued.
We got out on the water, and had some struggles staying anything close to straight until I noticed that Carol did not have her hands properly distributed on the paddle. Like a great hitting coach, I had her make that minor adjustment, and then we rocked.
It was, without question, the further north we've ever kayaked!
(By the way, a Jaws-like Hollywood blockbuster featuring a lone polar bear slowly killing off passengers on an expedition ship would be pretty cool. Pierre, Lynne, if you can get this idea in front of some studio execs, I will make sure you get a cut!)
So, when those last two bears were spotted a long ways off, the kayakers who were out were recalled and it was put on hold. (Because of the 100 people or so who wanted to kayak, we were sent in waves).
Meanwhile, I was up above the bridge, watching the polar bears. We lost one for a while. Meanwhile, what some of us thought was a seal kept popping its head up.
Turns out it was a male polar bear with an unusually dark head who was chasing the female polar bear. . .whether to eat or for love, we do not know. We're not even sure why the dark head -- was it from being in the water so much, or had it been rooting around in some dirt for some reason? One of the mysteries of nature, I suppose. (I did NOT say it was an IMPORTANT mystery.)
Eventually the expedition team decided they were too far away and not at all interested in us, so the kayaking continued.
We got out on the water, and had some struggles staying anything close to straight until I noticed that Carol did not have her hands properly distributed on the paddle. Like a great hitting coach, I had her make that minor adjustment, and then we rocked.
It was, without question, the further north we've ever kayaked!
True North
The captain and crew were trying to set a record – furthest journey north ever by an polar expedition passenger ship. While it’s not quite the race for the North Pole, it would still be quite an accomplishment. If we actually accomplished it.
We were way up North. The record was 83 degrees and change. We were gunning for it, but the ice that stretches from a certain point to the North Pole and back down all around had other ideas.
We made it all the way to 81 degrees, 47 minutes North (of course, if it were South, we would have been a bit lost). That means we were just about 492 nautical miles from 90 degrees – the true top of the world. That’s the point where the full ice that covers the North Pole started at this point in the year.
The National Geographic Explorer (or Nat Geo Explorer as us polar insiders call it! Okay, us polar wannabe insiders call it that) can cut through ice, but isn’t a true ice breaker. Going further wasn’t going to happen. Too risky, too dangerous, and why break all that ice to be a footnote to a footnote in polar history.
Still, it was pretty remarkable to be that far north. One impact is that we were out of internet satellite range (which is spotty around Svalbard, but non-existent above it). Okay, so that’s not healthy to focus on! Anyhow, the further south we got in Antarctica was 66 degrees and some-odd minutes, so this was approximately 935 nautical miles further North than we got South.
“You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you get what you need.” Quote from some really old guy.
We were way up North. The record was 83 degrees and change. We were gunning for it, but the ice that stretches from a certain point to the North Pole and back down all around had other ideas.
We made it all the way to 81 degrees, 47 minutes North (of course, if it were South, we would have been a bit lost). That means we were just about 492 nautical miles from 90 degrees – the true top of the world. That’s the point where the full ice that covers the North Pole started at this point in the year.
The National Geographic Explorer (or Nat Geo Explorer as us polar insiders call it! Okay, us polar wannabe insiders call it that) can cut through ice, but isn’t a true ice breaker. Going further wasn’t going to happen. Too risky, too dangerous, and why break all that ice to be a footnote to a footnote in polar history.
Still, it was pretty remarkable to be that far north. One impact is that we were out of internet satellite range (which is spotty around Svalbard, but non-existent above it). Okay, so that’s not healthy to focus on! Anyhow, the further south we got in Antarctica was 66 degrees and some-odd minutes, so this was approximately 935 nautical miles further North than we got South.
“You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you get what you need.” Quote from some really old guy.
Swimming, Briefly, At The Top Of The World
Okay, so we didn’t set a record for further north, but it occurred to me whilst writing this that we may have set the record for the furthest North Polar Plunge. We were back to Svalbard, but we were still pretty far north.
(You gotta admit, “whilst” is an under-used word. My brother Rod and I are the only two people I know who regularly use it, and, well, that might be why “whilst” is under-used. Use it today, it will put a spring in your step!)
I had done the plunge in Antarctica, and the conditions seemed similar – 30 degree water. So I wasn’t sure I would do it – I had a cold, my ribs still hurt from cracking or spraining them over two weeks ago, yada, yada, yada, excuse. Carol was definitely not plunging because of her more recent injury.
But then I thought about you, my faithful readers. If I didn’t plunge, I couldn’t well write about it, and then you would miss out. (Editor’s Note: Glen, not very many, if any readers, are saying to themselves – “I really want to picture my favorite blogger with his shirt off.”)
On the Orion, we jumped off the low back deck. The Explorer did not have one, so instead we had to go through the mud room, down to a makeshift platform held in place by two zodiac boats. There was warmth in the mudroom, and our Assistant Expedition Leader, the famed mistress of the mudroom (as she bills herself), Alexandra got the line moving. Around 45 people plunged.
The most, uh, colorful, was Keith, who removed his swim trunks before jumping in. No one else could top that (or wanted to, for that matter).
Unlike last time, I was toward the back of the line, and you couldn’t see what was happening until it was your turn. I felt as disoriented as Ralphie visiting Santa Claus in “A Christmas Story.” I go outside, and there is a lot of frantic gesturing. Just when I figure out where to go – jumping off the front side of the zodiac, Lucho gives me a 1-2-3 count. I noted that I wasn’t even to one yet, then got up on the zodiac wall and plunged.
It’s weird. The water did not seem as cold as two years ago (it was). Maybe it wasn’t as bad because I knew what to expect. I beat a hasty retreat to the climb-out platform, where two crew helped haul me out. Then, before you know it, I was back in the warmth of my bathrobe in the mudroom.
I never felt the toe and finger tingling of blood rushing out to protect my vital organs. Did my blood no longer care about me? I would think the science would be the same. My only theory is that, in Antarctica, we hung out on the back deck after, watching others plunge and talking excitedly. Maybe the immediate retreat to the warmth of the mudroom protected me. Either way, the shower felt good.
(You gotta admit, “whilst” is an under-used word. My brother Rod and I are the only two people I know who regularly use it, and, well, that might be why “whilst” is under-used. Use it today, it will put a spring in your step!)
I had done the plunge in Antarctica, and the conditions seemed similar – 30 degree water. So I wasn’t sure I would do it – I had a cold, my ribs still hurt from cracking or spraining them over two weeks ago, yada, yada, yada, excuse. Carol was definitely not plunging because of her more recent injury.
But then I thought about you, my faithful readers. If I didn’t plunge, I couldn’t well write about it, and then you would miss out. (Editor’s Note: Glen, not very many, if any readers, are saying to themselves – “I really want to picture my favorite blogger with his shirt off.”)
On the Orion, we jumped off the low back deck. The Explorer did not have one, so instead we had to go through the mud room, down to a makeshift platform held in place by two zodiac boats. There was warmth in the mudroom, and our Assistant Expedition Leader, the famed mistress of the mudroom (as she bills herself), Alexandra got the line moving. Around 45 people plunged.
The most, uh, colorful, was Keith, who removed his swim trunks before jumping in. No one else could top that (or wanted to, for that matter).
Unlike last time, I was toward the back of the line, and you couldn’t see what was happening until it was your turn. I felt as disoriented as Ralphie visiting Santa Claus in “A Christmas Story.” I go outside, and there is a lot of frantic gesturing. Just when I figure out where to go – jumping off the front side of the zodiac, Lucho gives me a 1-2-3 count. I noted that I wasn’t even to one yet, then got up on the zodiac wall and plunged.
It’s weird. The water did not seem as cold as two years ago (it was). Maybe it wasn’t as bad because I knew what to expect. I beat a hasty retreat to the climb-out platform, where two crew helped haul me out. Then, before you know it, I was back in the warmth of my bathrobe in the mudroom.
I never felt the toe and finger tingling of blood rushing out to protect my vital organs. Did my blood no longer care about me? I would think the science would be the same. My only theory is that, in Antarctica, we hung out on the back deck after, watching others plunge and talking excitedly. Maybe the immediate retreat to the warmth of the mudroom protected me. Either way, the shower felt good.
Polar Plunge! And the True North.
Holly!
This picture is a pretty strong argument
for me dyeing my hair.
I'm surprised it only took
two people to pull me out!
I believe these are Dovekies, also known as
Little Auk. If they are actually Brunnich's
Guillemot, that would be a little awk.
81 degrees, 47 minutes north.
Ice as far as the eye can see.
Kittiwakes
A Black Guillemot (top left) and what I think
is a Common Guillemot sharing the same waters.
(If it's not a Common one, than it is a Brunnich's
Guillemot)
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