We remain in the land of the midnight sun, that world where the sun fails to follow a diurnal rhythm, a pattern of rising and setting with regularity. Although darkness has been temporarily set aside, at times light must be qualified. Its presence is no guarantee of unlimited visibility. Destination intentions cannot always be written in black and white but like our day today, frequently found to be interpreted in shades of gray.
Throughout the hours that might be designated as night, the ship paced, hovering just below the eighty-degree north latitude line, drawing figure eights and circles upon the electronic chart. Ice was all that stood between the great North Pole and us. Floes were patterned platters, stepping-stones from here to the pole and beyond to Russia’s northern shores or the far reaches of Alaska’s slopes. Fluffy flakes of snow drifted to the decks and placed a gauzy veil before our eyes turning the sky white and the sea pale gray except for parallel lines of white crisscrossing mini waves. At times the colors darkened to pewter and charcoal gray. But then the wind returned and blew away our views as it carried the drifting pack ever further south, changing our course from east to west and north to south.
Although our world seemed constricted, embraced by fog and snow we rapidly discovered we were by no means alone. Hints of brown were like arrows drawn upon the scene. As if pulled by a giant magnet the ship crept slowly and silently to investigate. Slumbering walruses could barely be bothered to lift their massive heads to turn their bloodshot eyes and lengthy tusks our way. A sliver of blue radiated from a ridge of frozen water, a sight lovely to behold for its own sake but a closer glance revealed it was the napping niche for a healthy polar bear. Black eyes seemed to focus upon our hull and with a sniff of its nose it decided the time had come to rise and face the day. Casually it meandered along the frozen highway occasionally jumping over potholes on the way. Tiny teams of little auks added true black and white to our world as they dashed by with a frantic flapping flight. Their showy puffin cousins flashed outrageous beaks and feet of brilliant orange, wings whirring just as fast.
Educational interludes added to our day as we learned of the lives of those fabulous polar bears or took a lesson in capturing images to share upon the screen. But it was the ice, that fabulous ice and the wind whipped waves speckled by falling snow that drew us time and time again to a window or even out-of-doors. As the clock ticked toward dinnertime, land once again came into view. Slipping past the islands and channels where whaling vessels once reigned we settled into Smeerenbergfjord on Spitzbergen’s western shore for a quiet moment amongst ghostly snow streaked hillsides that seemed to slumber in the mist.
