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Battling storms and dodging polar bears: how to explore the Arctic the hard way

Watch where you step: Norway's Svalbard archipelago - Justinreznick
Watch where you step: Norway's Svalbard archipelago - Justinreznick

I took a turn at the helm, following the blinking light of the GPS religiously and battling to keep us in anything even vaguely resembling a straight line.

From out of the heavy grey clouds appeared a brief glimpse of the snowy, jagged cliffs of the mainland, and this was our signal to tack; to move from zigging to zagging, and change our angle dramatically to head back out to sea.

The boys released the lines and the boom clattered across. I spun the wheel for all I was worth.

Rain and spray and ice-cold wind gnawed at the exposed skin on my face, and our little boat turned its nose and looked towards the south-east.

Rarely in life have I been so out of my depth, in every sense, but equally it had been a long time since I had felt so totally, utterly present and alive. If the core of adventure is to be thrust into new environments and to skid along on the seat of our pants trying to enjoy the ride, then this was doing it right. 

Longyearbyen, where polar bears outnumber people - Credit: istock
Longyearbyen, where polar bears outnumber people Credit: istock

It wouldn’t take long to tot up the hours that I’d spent on board sailboats before I set off on this journey. A day or two here and there, primarily in the tranquil waters of the Mediterranean and in the less-sunny but equally beautiful bays around the west coast of Ireland.

To find myself being tossed around like a toy in the high Arctic, then, was something of a surprise. I was following the adventurer and diplomat Lord Dufferin who, in 1856, had left his estate in what is now Northern Ireland, and sailed a schooner from the west coast of Scotland to the Svalbard archipelago. 

Dufferin was an eccentric guide – on his trip to the unpopulated far north, he travelled with an extensive set of silk cravats and installed an extensive library – but he was also brave and hugely curious about the world, and it was that intrigue that I wanted to follow.

Unable to match the time or budget of Dufferin’s journey, I flew to Longyearbyen and sailed from there around the west coast of the Spitsbergen – the main island in the Svalbard archipelago.

Longyearbyen is the most northerly city in the world; a jumble of heavily weathered cabins and minimal infrastructure. It is roughly three times the size of Wales, but the population is well under 3,000, which means significantly fewer humans than there are polar bears. 

Our boat was a 45ft yacht called Aleiga, and the skipper a Norwegian called Arne who rarely cracked a smile but had a wicked sense of humour. The co-skipper, Nils, very much fitted the stereotype of an Arctic sailor with his high-necked pattern sweater and fiery beard.

Before we set sail, Arne gave me a quick tutorial in the event that we came across a bear on land. We had flares to scare them, and Nils had his rifle as a last resort, but mostly we should stick together and not wander off, he told me. “It would be such a problem to be eaten,” he said. I agreed.

Lord Dufferin made the voyage in 1856 - Credit: getty
Lord Dufferin made the voyage in 1856 Credit: getty

With so little sailing experience, it was a relief to glide calmly out of harbour on to smooth and glasslike water, and past abandoned remains of coal-mining facilities that still clung to the hillside like sad gothic castles. Once out in the open, the world became almost silent, save a ripple of the sail and the gentle breaks of the water on Aleiga’s bow. 

At night we dropped anchor in sheltered bays and, as it was summer, we were in the realm of 24-hour sunlight. An unforgettable moment was strolling along a shingle beach with Nils towards a group of walruses. The collective term for them, he told us, is a huddle.

When we got close enough to see them, but distant enough to respect their space, we simply crouched and watched as these huge beasts rolled and stretched, using their great white tusks to manoeuvre bulbous bodies. I told Nils how special it was to see them.

“They’re impressive,” he agreed. “My favourite thing though is when they eat a seal. They wrap themselves around it and just suck the head clean off.” The magic was suddenly gone.

Leon on his Arctic adventure
Leon on his Arctic adventure

We finished at a place called English Bay, where Dufferin had made landfall more than 160 years ago. To walk where he did was a joy, and what struck me was that so little has changed – the shape of the bay, the low cut of the mountains, and the glimpse towards huge, glistening glaciers in the valley beyond. But now the Arctic is the front line of our battle against a changing climate.

In Dufferin’s time, the channel that we sailed through would have been blocked by ice; in 2018 there were only a few small bergs to avoid. To be able to visit and enjoy this place is a privilege, and Svalbard is much more accessible with regular flights and the lure of dogsledding, snowmobiling, skiing and, of course, sailing. But it must be looked after, or the next generation of travellers may not have the chance to enjoy it as we can.

On our journey back to Longyearbyen the weather turned for the worse, and I was fast-tracked towards something resembling a real sailor. For 48 hours we battered through a storm, pausing only occasionally to lurch over the side and try not to throw up the previous night’s dinner. When we finally made it, and I stepped on to the plane headed back to Norway, it was tinged with sadness.

To return home is wonderful, of course, but I do miss those days at sea, with an endless horizon and reindeer wandering along the shoreline. I already know that I’ll be back, and I don’t think it’ll take too long.

This journey was made as a film for BBC Northern Ireland, called Dufferin: Adventures in High Latitudes.