We’ve left the ice behind. When I lean out of the window of my cabin visibility is extremely limited. All is grey - dark grey ocean and light grey above the surface, washed out by the midnight sun we cannot see.
Yesterday (just hours ago), we explored Franz Josef Land for the third day. In the morning, the helicopters landed on Hall Island. Basalt towers of various heights and sizes looked like a broken-toothed saw on the horizon. I walked to the base of the largest tower and set up an observation station on a rock.
To my right was a small pond. To my left, the tundra sloped to the sea. Behind me in the distance were three smaller towers of basalt. Snow covered the tundra, with the exception of the high ridges. The exposed land was soggy, like a bog.
While some climbed the lower towers or patrolled the beach, others chose to climb the slope of the largest of the towers. About a third of the way up, where the tundra gave way to basalt, they opened their parkas and settled on the tundra to survey the landscape spread before them.
I had learned in Antarctica that if I remained still in one place rather than stroll about I might be rewarded. And I was. A snow bunting bobbed and flitted as it searched for seeds about 50 feet away. I used my long lens like binoculars - taking photos every now and then.
In the afternoon, we sailed from Hall Island to Wliczek Island, arriving around 3 PM. The helicopters were warmed up once again - for our final helicopter operation in Franz Josef Land.
There was a basalt tower above the beach that looked like a castle turret. A steep slope of snow led up to a muddy ridge. If I turned left, I walked along the ridge of a peninsula. If I turned right, I could climb the final few yards to the top of the castle turret. (I could, but I didn’t…the photo is of my colleague Dale, who made it all the way to the top.)
We made our way up the slope in single file. I was reminded of sepia photos of goldseekers climbing the Chilkoot Trail during the Yukon gold rush. Except we were in living color - yellow jackets vibrant against the snow.
One of our company found a pair of skis on the muddy ridge - wooden skis - dried out by the weather. The bindings were rusting. We all stopped to take a photograph of what might have been a remnant of the historic Arctic expedition that had made camp on the island.
From the tip of the peninsula we saw a blue iceberg floating in the bay, small and worn by the action of the sea. In the distance larger icebergs floated - some marked like marble by the silt they contained.
When the last travelers were safely on board, 50 Years of Victory began the southbound journey across the Barents Sea. The ice receded leaving only open water, and melancholy.
There are two days of sailing left full of activities. The Barents Sea is rich in biodiversity. Seabirds will accompany the ship. There may be whales in the water. We’ll have presentations by the knowledgeable Expedition Team, whom we have come to know as individuals.
We are a community now, the Expedition Team, the Hospitality Team, the ship’s officers and crew - and we travelers. A community that knows only too well that shortly we will scatter across the globe.
Many thanks to all who shared 50 Years of Victory’s maiden voyage to the North Pole. We will be tied forever by memories that only we share. Perhaps that is not an end…but a beginning.
Prisca