Into the land of the lost night

by fabio ghiotto (United Kingdom (Great Britain))

I didn't expect to find Norway

It is a chilly August morning and I can see by breath raising towards the pallid sun when the guide collects me outside my colourful guesthouse in a rather battered jeep. While I prefer exploring on my own, it is not allowed to venture outside the tiny capital without an armed guide. This is understandable, the archipelago of Svalbard is the land of polar bears and while unprovoked attacks on humans are extremely rare, tourists can be annoyingly reckless, and the inhabitants want to avoid having to save visitors at the expenses of polar bears. My guide has a rather old rifle, but its purpose is mainly as deterrent: it is illegal to kill the endangered bears, unless it is a life/death situation and the compulsory warning shots have not scared the bear away. I am still half asleep, not used to the midnight sun: the locals dislike blackout curtains and in my room there is little difference between midday and midnight. After a rather bumpy road, we arrive at a wooden hut on the edge of the sea, surrounded by piles of canoes and kayaks and the guide hands me a drysuit: the damp smell succeeds where the coffee at breakfast failed. The fog in my brain dissipates and adrenaline rushes through my body as I am about to tick off another item from my shrinking bucket list. Yesterday I crossed a glacier with crampons, had a close encounter with animals like reindeers and huskies, and even managed to see a polar bear in the distance. Today I am going on a kayak trip across the fjord to a glacier ending in the sea. I get into my yellow kayak and gently slide into the water: the sea is flat and shimmers in the sun reflecting the barren snow-covered mountains. There are virtually no trees on Svalbard, the landscape is mainly shades of white/blue and muddy brown, a world apart from the green English countryside I am used to. We paddle across the fjord and soon the water becomes deep blue as the seabed sinks into the depth of the Arctic sea. I am struck by the silence, just the gentle paddling of our kayaks disturbing the peace. I can hear the glacier before I can see it: it groans loudly on its way down the rugged mountains and every so often a huge chunk of ice collapses into the water with an almighty noise. Few minutes after I am left breathless when the glacier’s front appears behind a cape: it is imposing, hundred feet high and a few miles wide, with huge towers of sharp white and blue ice looming over the water and deep crevasses. My mind is completely overwhelmed by the spectacle and I spend the next half hour taking in the scenario and feeling overwhelmed by the majesty and power of Mother Nature. On the way back, in the middle of a fjord, suddenly the water few meters in front of my kayak opens and a white whale comes out to breathe, followed by two more whales. It is a magical, slightly frightening experience, as they could capsize me in a heartbeat in the freezing water. Fortunately, they are just curious, and I stare enthralled by their size, by how delicate and elegant they are around the kayaks. After a few minutes, they disappear back in the ocean depths and I am left trying to absorb the uniqueness of what I have just experienced. The image of my tiny yellow kayak surrounded by white whales is one of the most treasured souvenirs I take home from this trip that has been in my dreams for so many years, since reading epic tails of adventurers on their way to conquer the North Pole or the fantastic tales of Philip Pullman’s masterpiece “His dark materials”. I did not know what to expect when I decided to visit this frontier archipelago, but now I can only think about the day I shall return to Svalbard, hoping to find the same rare harmony between Nature and mankind and pristine beauty preserved for future generations.