Even though the arctic landscapes are beyond addictive, they can be a little overwhelming at times. This is when you need a good indoors space to retreat to, to [ahem] chill.
The most fun place for that is Café Huskies.
The ever-watchful huskies check all of the comings-and-goings, even if at first it seems as though they are just snoozing in their warm, cozy spaces...
Good dog, husky, good dog...!
Today is a day of industrial Longyearbyen.
While the town has plenty of arctic beauty – and is the doorway to even more – it is also still a very industrial town in parts. So leaving the views of fjords and mountains, welcome to some of the grittier sights that can be found, which also have their own beauty.
Just days ago the Svalbard reindeer were camouflaged beautifully in the snow with their fluffy white coats.
After days of rain they are standing out like beacons against the green background.
While the melt can sometimes give reindeer access to more feed to get through the proper winter, it isn’t always a positive. With the cycle of snow-melt-freeze the water often turns to ice, making access to the food much harder for the reindeer. The change in climate is altering their world rapidly.
Svalbard is classified as an arctic desert, but with the amount of rain that has been falling lately it seems like that may be a title that will be hard to keep. The rain means that a lot of the snow around Nybyen and Longyearbyen has melted and found its way out into the fjord.
And I’m not sure these arctic flowers should be trying to push out new buds in the middle of October…
Seeing the way rock can bend and fold, dip and dive, and form perfect fine lines is absolutely wild. Nature, you are amazing…
One of the things Svalbard is best known for [especially with sci-fi and 'end of the human race' film fans] is the Global Seed Vault – far more dramatically known as The Doomsday Vault...
It is the world's largest secure storage of agricultural seeds, housing them in chambers deep within the mountainside in the permafrost for safekeeping.
The 'doomsday' part comes from the idea that seeds and crops may be lost through events such as drought, natural disasters, failing ecosystems and war.
And possibly the zombie apocalypse...
Aaaaaah Nature, you can be wonderfully fickle.
Tonight there was a massive solar storm with an incredible global display of auroras – both borealis and australis. The aurora app was pinging red.
In Longyearbyen… 100% thick cloud cover and rain… soggy, pelting rain…
I can only wonder how spectacular the aurora must have been to make the blanketing cloud cover so red.
[Not that I am calling the fine people of Longyearbyen mountain goats – or maybe I am…]
Slowly, slowly up the mountain…
I had wanted to trek to the top of Platåfjellet [the mountain looming to the west of Longyearbyen], but this late in the year I thought it may be a little too icy to tackle the steep trail. Not that such a little thing stopped the locals scarpering up one of their favourite walks.
Oh well, I thought, next time…
Then I found out a community charity climb had been organised – how could I possibly resist joining in?
There were a few additions to the climb to add a little more suspense:
•The start time was 6pm, meaning we would be climbing in the dark [head torches required].
•It was super icy and ridiculously steep, from a non-local perspective [boot spikes required].
•There was a howling frozen wind absolutely pelting in… [thankfully blowing in from the edge of the mountain].
After the safety briefing and rousing cheer, off we all went.
Well, I say ‘we’ all went... the hardy locals fairly ran up the mountain while a few of us mere mortals tried our hardest to keep up. A big incentive was to not lose sight of the polar bear guards in the dark.
The view across Longyearbyen from maybe a third of the way up
It was snowing and windy, then really windy, then reeeeeaally steep, then really, really windy.
Up, up, up… always seemingly up, hearing the melodic chat above calling us even higher.
Standing on top of the mountain was thrilling and a little nerve wracking as the wind had picked up – and there in the dark, where exactly was the edge…?
The blurry view from the top – the wind made it impossible to hold the camera still
The way down was equally suspenseful
To my fellow adventurer @yinglish – we made it, my friend…
Gruve 7 leaves its dark mark on the landscape
Coal mining has long been a major industry on Svalbard, and many of the buildings in Longyearbyen have a mining history [the artist residency building was originally used as the miners’ store]. All historical mining structures and artifacts are protected as culturally significant.
With Norway's push for greener credentials [let's not talk oil and deep sea mining] and to cut emissions in a heating arctic, Norwegian coal mining on Svalbard is being phased out. There is now only one operational mine left – Gruve 7 (mine 7).
But it still has a presence.
The road to the mine cuts an obvious path up the hill, coal dust spills out onto the snow leaving a dark smudge on the landscape, and trucks rumble from the mine to the port with great regularity.
The curiously beautiful mining structure of the old coal cable car centre – Taubanesentrale.
Abandoned mine in Adventdalen
Coal deposit in the port of Longyearbyen
I don’t think this could be any more Svalbard – aurora, polar bear sign, snow, mountains, snowmobiles…
It was an absolutely clear – and slightly chilly – night. It was close to 1:00am. Checking the three aurora apps I had, there seemed little that was encouraging to go outside. A 9% chance of auroras in Longyearbyen vs a nice warm bed…
But it was a clear night and I love taking night photos, so on went ALL of the layers and out in to the fresh night I went.
I had been out there for quite a while and decided I would take ‘just one more’. Looking at the back of my camera… was that a tiny smudge of red in the left hand corner…? Maybe it was a brake light…? Another snap showed slightly more of a smudge. Could it be??
To think I was two minutes from heading back inside…
I was out in the arctic night for hours as the northern lights danced and swirled above my head. They were low on the horizon, then right overhead, faint and fading, then blazing and swirling. They were green and red – then there was a flash of yellow. They were stunning. I was completely and utterly overawed by nature and her beauty.
It was late and the rest of Nybyen seemed to be sound asleep – my only company was a beautiful arctic fox who trotted across about 20 metres in front of me. She stopped and looked at me looking at her. I admired her beauty, I think she wondered what on earth was this strange creature doing standing out in the snow, talking to the sky…
Shout out to @fi_sproles the absolute star who sent a text from the other side of the world saying something like ‘if you’re not outside looking up into the sky, get out there - it’s going off!!!’ when it was indeed all going off!!! [yes, I was outside…] I’m sure the original message was much more polite, but I think I have accurately conveyed the sentiment.
The amazing textures of glaciers
There is something incredible to feel the absolute power and emanating cold of a glacier. Even being a couple of hundred metres from the glacier face, you can feel the cold. You also get lost in the texture and lines and changes in the ice – smooth ice turns into huge jagged shards and then somehow folds into mini mountain ranges of solid ice before blocks and shards loom over the rocks and strip of sand at the front of the glacier.
But this strip of sand tells a whole other story of the glacier.
It shows a glacier in retreat. Drawing back from the sea, shortening, retreating up the mountain as its mass reduces. And Svalbard’s glaciers are melting at an alarming rate – nearly all of them have shrunk significantly in recent years. And the record-breaking summer heat in August hasn’t helped at all.
Being so close to these majestic glaciers fills you with awe, the knowledge they are dissappearing so rapidly fills you with a mix of immense sadness and anger.
To discover so much more about glaciers, follow @heidisevestre – she is incredible.
Apparently I slept soundly underneath the northern lights out on the trek…
Given the one thing I really want to see is the dancing lights, I am constantly scanning the forecasts and skies now that night has properly arrived.
Tonight wasn’t to be the night for the northern lights, but what an amazing sky.
And stars.
Of course the stars mostly look all jumbled up here and there are few constellations I recognise, most of them being upside down and all. But the billions of stars in the sky are so brilliantly clear. [As are the arcs of the satellites that constantly trace lines across the sky – another thing I hadn’t expected here…]
If it is still a little while until I see Nordlys, these sort of skies will keep me happy. And outside for hours under the night skies.
How beautiful the landscape looks with soft snow – it is breathtaking. As is the crispy cold that comes with it…
Adventdalen with a crispy coat of snow
I thought it was time to show you a little of the town of Longyearbyen and the ‘suburb’ of Nybyen, wedged as they are in between impressively jagged mountains to the east and west and a glacier and a spectacular fjord to the south and north. I love this place.
The red building on the right hand side with the lights on is the Spitsbergen Kunstnersenter and home for another six or so weeks. Although I suspect I may be wishing that it was much longer…
I'm pretty sure I just mentioned something about the arctic colours changing...🤔
And just like that, there is snow…
Polar bear alert!!
[not an alert for a picture of a bear on this post, but an actual 'bear in the area' alert... but I am getting ahead of myself.]
The third day of the trek started as sunny and still as the first two, although with portentous clouds gathering on the tops of the surrounding peaks. The temperature had dropped noticeably and the light had a false warmth to it.
There was less steep climbing up on the way back out, although what there was was made slightly trickier by the ice that now covered the rocks. Crystals had formed on rocks and mossy ground cover, giving the appearance of frost flowers.
The steep downhill sections that had been lung-busting on the way up were now a delicate balance of rocky path selection and defying the vertigo-inducing view that was included with each step. And if gravity works against you as you try to climb up, it tries to propel you ever faster downhill. In some places it was equal parts exhilarating and terrifying.
The longer we walked, the more ominous the clouds became. As we reached the valley for the home stretch it started to snow. Gently at first, and then the wind increased with some intent – and there is very little cover to stop the wind picking up speed and blowing straight through you.
It was around this point that Emma the guide was pinged with a 'polar bear in the area' alert.
Up until now the slight thrill of 'this is polar bear territory', and the fact Emma had a rifle slung over her shoulder for polar bear protection, had seemed a little academic. But now, here we were in an open valley, and an animal that is waaaay faster than me in any kind of sprint, middle distance or marathon race was close by. I think the sweaty palms were not entirely from the effort of the hike. I was in her back yard and very happy not to intrude further upon her space.
We didn't see her, and hopefully she didn't see us. Humans are having enough impact on her world without her having to see another one.
Don’t know… how easy would it be to spot an isbjørn here…?
*Update: When polar bears get a little too close to Longyearbyen the governor sends up a helicopter to ‘encourage’ them to move on and away from town. This bear was close enough for people on top of the Uni to film her chasing reindeer. The helicopter pushed her further up Adventdalen, away from town… but also closer to the valley we were walking out… thanks Nastassja for this very comforting piece of information…
I hadn't expected that parts of a glacier would just push up like sharp little mountain ranges, exposing so many layers and colours, revealing part of the history of her life. For some reason I was also surprised at how many rivulets and tiny [or not so tiny] valleys scarred the surface. There were so many perfect crack lines running crossways over the ice, evidence of the pressure she was under. On a rare sunny and completely still arctic day the sounds of the glacier shifting, readjusting and seemingly breathing, were easily heard – sometimes loud cracks and rumbles, sometimes sighs. The beauty and delicacy, the strength and the fragility of the glacier were incredible.
Not so incredible, the sound of glacier melt water dripping and catching in small trickles, then becoming louder, growing in volume to constant streams of running water. This is late September, this should not be happening.
The ridges and valleys in the glacier are metres high