Update: phew, the snow has returned, we are almost back to normal... but as my friend Sally says about Svalbard weather 'what is normal now?'
This is also what is called the blue hour, where the light and snow take on a very distinct blue.
Although there is snow [which to be fair should have been snow on top of snow, not snow on top of mooshy sloosh], it is still above zero degrees. It remains to be seen if the snow stays or if it all ends up in the fjord, again.
…@#$%!!…
From my research into Svalbard – this very special and unique place – I know that this is the place on earth most affected by climate change. The rapid warming of both air and ocean temperatures, the melting of glaciers and permafrost, increased rain, avalanches and rock slides.
From the last couple of months here I have learned to expect the unexpected here.
But my brain and heart absolutely hurt seeing both of those things combine with devastating effect in front of my eyes.
It took two days of +4° temperatures and rain to melt most of the snow around Nybyen and Longyearbyen.
The transformation from crisp snowy whites and blues to soggy and sticky browns and greys was pretty stark.
The river, which had been frozen, turned into a roaring torrent as the melt raced downhill to the fjord.
The past days have been 12° above the average daily temperatures – I am absolutely raging at the absolute stupidity of it all.
[The up side is that even though today is still above zero, snow has been falling steadily – fingers crossed it sticks around a bit.]
When you use a variety of icy rocks as a makeshift tripod to take aurora photos, I guess it is not a surprise there could be a couple of malfunctions when gravity gets involved...
The sunlight is coming in at a very low angle now, barely making it above the mountains and the curve of the earth. This is one of the last sunrises we will see here in 2024…
The soft light of sunset is also stunning
Even old mining infrastructure looks beautiful in Longyearbyen’s moody atmosphere.
The days are getting so short now.
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.