Lågøya & Hinlopen Strait
Hidden in the Arctic is a secret world, a world of plentitude. And yet to the casual observer the land might seem stark and barren and one generally expects little to live in frigid waters.
Generally the sea and sky merge into one but this morning was different. A peach toned line separated the charcoal clouds from glimmering ice riding on a silvery sea. Pale blue bands marked the tops of undulating swells. Although sunrise and sunset still do not exist at this time of year the early morning light now seems to illuminate each avian visitor with a new intensity. Fulmars glided effortlessly around the ship. Male guillemots drifted upon the water encouraging their half-grown progeny to follow. Like icing drizzled upon the mountainsides, snow hid in the shadows of Nordaustlandet.
Lågøya, the flat island, appears to be just that, a gravel covered reef lying barely above the sea. But upon its surface walrus wallowed in muddy ponds, squirming and itching and bellowing. Arctic terns creaked and scolded chasing all from their chosen terrain. Evidence of productivity lay all around. Fragments of red phalarope eggs told of a successful hatching not too long ago. Warm down drifted from an abandoned eider nest while a red-throated diver still sat patiently waiting for her duty to be done. Tiny green rosettes sprouted huge colorful inflorescences crying out to swarms of pollinating midges. Lichens carpeted beach berms that were no longer mobile and a reindeer browsed on grasses hidden in between.
Fog wrapped around us in early afternoon obliterating the fluted sea and instilling a sense of calm mixed with anticipation. What was hidden beyond the gauzy curtain? One could imagine a magician’s hand slowly inscribing a circle above a steaming kettle and with its motion the misty cloud was lifted. Hinlopen Strait seemed to erupt with life, its crystal clear waters a window into a world seldom seen. The white “mitts” on the pectoral flippers of a minke whale flashed as did the right white lower jaw of surfacing fin whales. The massive head of a blue whale pushed a bow wave in front of its rostrum and in its wake the outline of its entire body could be seen. Surfacing and sinking it slowly progressed across our bow, the paddle-like forelimbs gently stroking in a graceful water ballet. A miniscule dorsal fin marked the beginning of a broad tail stock that gradually arched higher and higher until the flukes rose in a casual goodbye, water cascading from the edges.
Kapp Fanshaw from a distance looks like no more than an interesting geological formation, painted white by generations of seabird visitors. Throughout the summer thousands of Brunnich’s guillemots have stood staring into this rock. No nest was built but the pointed egg laid directly upon a narrow ledge. Now the time has come for the young to set out to sea. Only three weeks old at the most and miniatures of their parents they are lured from the cliffs by their fathers’ coaxing voices.
Life abounds in the most surprising places here in the fascinating Arctic.
