Tuesday, August 08, 2017

Svalbard Diary, Day 11: The cruel sea...

Bjornøya, or Bear Island, is the only (small) piece of land between Norway proper and Svalbard, and it's not a hospitable place, home to a small group of researchers and nobody else. There is no harbour, no easy landing point. However, in fair weather, you can moor in a cove on the southern tip, and that what we were aiming for.

The sea was choppier than we had become used to, and Ros opted for a morning on the ship. I decided that it was time to find out just how successful my adjustment to life afloat had been.

It should be borne in mind that until this point, I had made a deal. If the sharks stayed in the water, I would stay on land, and it was an arrangement which, up until now, seemed to be mutually agreeable. Indeed, I've never seen a shark on land, unless of course you include Sid the Shark, the Sussex County Cricket mascot. And he's made of foam rubber, so he doesn't actually count.

The sea was a deep green colour as we made our way along the shore to study the admittedly impressive bird cliffs. It was cold, and the sky was a sullen grey. The swell was disconcerting, which had lead to a rather lower than usual turnout for breakfast. Frankly, I should have known better...

As we made our way past the assorted kittiwakes and guillemots, I was developing a rather uncomfortable awareness of my digestive system. It wasn't happy. Nor was I.

We continued our wobbly way along the cliff face, as feathered creatures zipped across the water and through the sky around us, and I was rather uncharitably beginning to conclude that, once you've seen ten thousand guillemots, you've seen them all. I wanted to be back on something more solid than a vulcanised rubber boat.

There was time for some quality zodiac driving though, as erosion has created a tunnel through the cliff face wide enough for a confident zodiac wrangler. Ours were all that good, and we emerged past some slightly nervous kittiwakes (and believe me, you don't want to be under nervous kittiwakes) into a small inlet.

We sped back to the Hebridean Sky, and I stepped aboard with alacrity. It was time for medication and a nap, as we waved Svalbard goodbye...

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