by Don’t worry,” says our guide Charlotta, flashing her rifle. “I’m very fast if I need to be.” My 12-year-old daughter looks anxiously around the arctic wilderness. As much as she loved Philip Pullman’s armored bears, one of the reasons she wanted to visit, our proximity to the real thing is beginning to dawn on her.
There are road signs all over town warning us of the danger of a polar bear. There are about 3,000 of them here, compared to 2,500 or so human inhabitants – which is why the Svalbard authorities urge you to walk beyond the main settlement with only an armed guide.
As a result, attacks are extremely rare – around five since the 1970s – with the aim of minimizing human-bear interaction: they are protected by law and it is a crime to hunt them. to feed or disturb.
Charlotta is taking no risks this morning. She loads four bullets into the barrel of the gun, clicks it and puts it across his shoulder. “Okay, let’s go,” she says and we follow her across the frozen tundra as she tells us about the trapper’s life more than 100 years ago, hunting foxes and polar bears, often alone and several days from civilization.
There are road signs around town warning us of the danger of polar bears – there are around 3,000 of them here, compared to 2,500 people living there.
We stand silently marveling at the scale of this unconstructed landscape. A deep sense of isolation and loneliness hangs over us in a land where historically only the hardiest survive: hardy adventurers, hunters and explorers. But it’s this grimness that makes it so attractive and so beautiful too. It is a place of extreme conditions with temperatures that can drop to -20C in winter and in the long polar winter there is no significant difference between night and day. It is also the time when you are most likely to see the northern lights.
We land during the last hours of sunlight and our first sight of Svalbard is a bleak range of spiky black mountains under cloud, a peachy sun hanging below the horizon.
The Norwegian archipelago is about halfway between Norway and the North Pole, and is one of the northernmost inhabited areas in the world. There are three main islands and the largest is Spitsbergen. Longyearbyen, where we are staying, is its main settlement, and the majority are tour guides, tourists, academics and researchers.
A deep sense of isolation and loneliness hangs over us. But it is this gloom that makes it so attractive and beautiful
There is only one road: Main Street, a short snowy avenue that puts my local high street to shame. Its local shop (Coop Svalbard) has an impressive range of fresh produce as well as a drinks aisle stacked with champagne, gin and beer – with its own brewery next door (“the northernmost craft brewery in the world”). We stop for a delicious smoked salmon sandwich at Café Fruene across the road. Opposite is Nordover, its arts cinema (“The northernmost arts center in the world”). There is also a Karlsberger pub, known to the locals as KB, open until 2am most evenings. Spending money here is great: there’s an enticing array of shops selling outdoor gear and Scandi knitwear, and one of Norway’s best restaurants, Huset, is also here, with a focus on Nordic cuisine.
We stay closer to home, eating at the Barentz gastropub (you guessed it, “The northernmost pub in the world”) attached to our hotel, the Radisson Blu Polar. The menu is varied and delicious; between us we enjoy a caramel milkshake, a glass of Riesling and a homemade pizza. The rooms are stylish, cozy and warm, and the Scandi buffet breakfast is a highlight; scrambled eggs and smoked salmon in the morning with views across the mountains that are hard to beat.
Tempting as it is to lounge in the hotel – there is a sauna and outdoor Jacuzzi – Svalbard about all its outdoor activities. The first stop is a glacier cruise aboard a hybrid electric catamaran, a greener way to explore the fjords with propellers that minimize noise and vibration.
“Welcome to the cathedral of nature,” says Sam, our guide, as we leave. Sam, a marine biologist, is passionate about his subject. “This is where we watch climate change in real time.” For Svalbard, real time is accelerating at an alarming rate – perhaps faster than anywhere else in the world. Research suggests that this entire area is warming six times faster than the global average. Some predict that the glacier will lose its glaciers at twice the current rate in the next 70 years. He shows us a series of NASA images that show the enormous rate of ice and glacier decline. The only way forward, he believes, is collective participation through science. “Get involved,” he tells us. “Citizen projects in your local area are a good way to start. We need more eyes, counting birds, doing research, collaborating.”
This is where we monitor climate change in real time. We need more eyes, counting, research, collaboration
Sam, a marine biologist
The mood is gloomy as we approach the front of the Nordenskiöldbreen glacier. They switch off the engines and we stand on deck, soaking in the silence and the extraordinary sight before us: a huge glacier, about 25km long and 11km wide, glowing blue from layers of ice compressed over time. The engines go on as we make our way home and Karl, a historian, tells us terrifying stories about adventurers out at sea. It points to a perfectly preserved cabin – Svenskehuset – courting a snow bank where a group of 17 seal hunters mysteriously died during one long winter in 1872. The last man passed out just as the rescuers arrived – the t -any clue as to what happened a diary kept by one of the men, filled only with mad scribblings. Around 130 years later, the researchers returned determined to solve the mystery when they found their bodies buried still intact in the permafrost. The samples taken showed high levels of lead – also found in the seals of the tin cans they were heating up to eat from. The extreme effects of lead poisoning killed them after first driving them crazy. Svalbard is full of strange stories and facts like this. For example, no one gives birth on Svalbard because there is only one hospital and no maternity services, so pregnant women are flown to the mainland shortly before the due date. No one can be buried here either – evergreens mean bodies cannot rot, leading to fears that viruses and infections may also be preserved. And cats are banned because they can harm the wildlife, especially the bird population.
Back on dry land, our final adventure is dog sledding as we pull eight eager superstitions through the Arctic night. My daughter’s highlight is meeting the puppies afterwards. Then we head to Camp Barentz in the desert and sit in a cabin around a fire, eating, drinking and hearing stories about the Dutch navigator Willem Barentsz, who discovered Svalbard in 1596.
We spend our last night watching a blues band in a local bar. It is packed and has a party atmosphere, dancing, singing and high spirits. It’s part of their annual Dark Season Blues festival that marks the loss of daylight for the rest of the season. The Svalbardians are not afraid of the extreme living conditions here and the challenges of the white winter ahead. Instead they take pleasure and celebrate it – and you can see why.
A five-night break in Svalbard costs from £599 per person, including B&B accommodation at the Radisson Blu. The Wildlife and Glacier cruise is £208 per adult, £112 per child, and husky on wheels £120 per adult, £60 per child. A wild afternoon costs £108 per adult, £57 per child. To book, visit: discover-the-world.com. For more information, go to visitnorway.com
