Storøya, Nordaustland & Furthest North Ever

There are days when you break engines, days when you break even and days when you break records; and Hallelujah, today it was the latter, an exceptional day in all senses. At 0500 we anchored at Storøya off the NE tip of Nordaustlandet, the second largest island in Svalbard. This whole area is so wild and remote that it is part of a gigantic nature reserve 8,000 square miles in extent: slightly larger than Denmark! Our plans to walk ashore were revised on scanning the beach: something was already stalking the shore, bigger than us and very white. So we took to the Zodiacs and approached the shore cautiously: sprawled on the storm beach, chittering terns dancing over her head like angry wasps, lay a very relaxed young female polar bear. No doubt she had taken young Arctic terns for breakfast, which were nesting in their hundreds along the raised gravel terraces inland. Just along the beach from her were more than 30 walrus, lying "like hogges on heapes"as a 17th century sailor once wrote. Several had bleeding wounds where the bigger males had stabbed them with tusks to gain access to the impromptu beach sauna. They were nonchalant about the bear across the bay, but then a 700lb bear would risk serious injury to tangle with a 1000lb walrus.

Meanwhile our intrepid captain had been looking at the latest satellite ice images and was eager to raise anchor, his sights set on greater prizes: the ice edge has retreated so far this year, not only has it allowed us to reach Kvitoya, but lies now 100m north of us. So we set our faces to the cold NW wind and steamed into the unknown. Soon after dinner we were called to the bow where the flags of all our nationalities fluttered and Anders was dishing out the rum ration from freshly popped champagne bottles. Up on the bridge was a grinning captain, for on the monitor it read 81° 40.08' North: the furthest north this ship has ever been in all its incredible 41-year history. Just as we were about to raise glasses the cry went up "Polar Bear!!" and there ahead in the mist was our most northerly polar bear ever recorded. The photos taken, the champagne quaffed, we turned south only to break another record: "Ross's Gull!" yelled Magnus, for wheeling alongside was the holy grail of Arctic birding, a species never seen before on any of our Svalbard trips, the most elusive but loveliest of all northern seabirds. As if this were not enough, we spotted four more splendid bears among the pack ice as we threaded our way out into open water, and we were still scanning at 0100 the next morning. Is there no end to the welter of wonderment?