BY WATER TO KINGS BAY
On awaking in relative luxury, by the shore of Klaas Billen Bay, late
in the afternoon of July 21, we were far from pushing eagerly forward
to the labours of the day. It seemed so good to be in a well-stored
camp, with no need to husband fuel or count teaspoonfuls of cocoa and
sugar or fills of tobacco. Moreover, our wet clothes were drying over a
lamp in the men’s tent, drying all too thoroughly indeed, for Svensen
permitted the soles to be burnt off the stockings. A final visit was
made to the glacier-foot to photograph the wonderful cliff. Every
prominent feature noticed a week before had fallen away, including
a huge cavern that penetrated far into the solid mass of the ice.
Returning to camp, Garwood found trilobites in a section of rock by
the shore, and they were good excuse for further lingering. Ultimately
the boat was hauled into the water, camp struck, and baggage loaded.
The men rowed round the spit while we walked across to De Geer’s
camping-ground. At 10.30 P.M. they took us on board and we made sail
for Advent Bay.
It was a feeble attempt at sailing, for no sooner did we really quit
the shore than the last puff of wind died away. A beautiful mist hung
low near the calm water, which presently became utterly smooth like
a mirror of polished steel. There was just a purple line of shore
on either hand dividing the roof of cloud from its reflection. De
Geer’s signals, built on his trigonometrical points along the level
coast, alone broke its uniformity. Far, far away the peaks of the
Dead Man appeared in blue and sunshine on the horizon. Without rowing
no progress was to be made. At 3 A.M. we were opposite the mouth
of Skans Bay. Countless birds were resting all around on the still
water--puffins in pairs, like lovers always near to one another;
little auks, the babies of the feathery tribe; fulmar petrels, the
strong youths; terns, the fair maidens; skuas, the inquisitive old
maids; guillemots, the populace; glaucous gulls, the police. A flock
of fulmars kept us company, flying about and across, then settling on
the water ahead to await our slow advance. When we caught up with them,
flap and run, off they went again. This game pleased their minds and
wings for an hour or more.
Spitsbergen weather makes for itself an undeservedly bad reputation.
For example, the low roof of cloud that hung above us all this night,
however beautiful the colouring cast by it on the landscape, and it
was gorgeous beyond words, certainly produced an effect of gloom. It
was long before we discovered how thin was the layer of mist, thin as
well as low lying, and that above it all the hills were shining in
brilliant sunlight. Through occasional small holes a peak or crest
would appear, so incredibly bright as to seem actually aglow with
internal fire. Behind us the fog lay upon the water, but ahead the
hills across Ice Fjord were clear, and sunshine lured us on. Camp was
to be pitched on one of the Goose Islands--that we had long decided;
the only trouble was that the islands would not approach. We rowed
and rowed, but they were coy. One might have sworn that they were
drifting away. All of a sudden they changed their minds and neared us
so rapidly that, when next we turned round, they were close at hand.
They consist of diabase, with surface cut low and polished by ice into
gentle undulations. Bog has collected in the hollows and there are a
few pools. The sea front all round is a low cliff of dark, shattered
rocks. Entering a narrow sound between the two larger islands, we
came into an admirable land-locked harbour with an old camping-place
close by. Garwood went after eider-ducks for dinner, whilst I saw to
the domestic arrangements. The soft ground proved to be a quagmire,
so we had to camp in the wet, choosing a spot close by a well-built
fireplace, over which big whalebones had been crossed to carry the pot.
The last visitors, a year ago, had kindly left for us a good pile of
cut-up firewood ready at hand. No sooner was the fire burning well than
a smart breeze sprang up, now that it could not serve for sailing, and
blew straight into the fireplace, carrying the smoke directly over to
the tents. The same breeze cleared away the clouds and brought sunshine
indeed, but was the father of many out-compensating discomforts.
After a long sleep, breakfast was eaten at 6 P.M. (July 22) in a
grey-toned, blustery evening. An hour was devoted to wandering over
the islands. They are the home of many birds, especially eiders, which
breed there in multitudes, making their nests upon the ground. We
filled a large bag with down. Many of the nests were just abandoned
and there were lots of young birds about--terns, geese, and skuas come
on a visit, as well as the common enemy and scavenger, the glaucous,
whom the ducks saluted with angry quacking. On shelves of a little
diabase cliff I found a bevy of snow-buntings, most charming of arctic
dicky-birds. Brilliant yellow lichens made the rocks gaudy with
flaming colour. The bogs were the greenest I ever saw, whilst in drier
places the flower carpet was as bright as Alice’s in Wonderland. On a
clear, calm day this would be a lovely spot for dawdling, the islands
being grandly placed for views straight up Klaas Billen and Sassen
bays and down Ice Fjord. But the chilly evening was not favourable
for contemplation. I only remember noticing with pleasure the fine,
gable-fronted crest of some precipitous limestone peaks which look down
on Klaas Billen Bay and prolong into it the characteristic structure of
Temple Mountain and its neighbours.
We sailed away about 7.30 P.M., with a moderate breeze coming out of
Sassen Bay. How so little wind could put such a topple on to the sea
I could not understand, but so it always is in the inner parts of Ice
Fjord. Sitting still in the boat, we were soon miserably chilled down.
Conversation flagged. Svensen expressed the general gloom by singing
a slow and solemn Norwegian hymn in a deep bass voice. It seemed to
cheer him, for he followed it up with a more mundane melody, sung in
an uncertain falsetto. Thereupon the Cambridge contingent gave tongue
with “The River Cam,” which drifted into a topical song, endlessly
prolonged, whereof the chorus lingers in my memory yet:
Sailing away over Sassen Bay,
Where the waters are always rough,
If pleasure you take as you shiver and shake,
You’ll jolly soon have enough.
In three hours Ice Fjord was crossed and the beginning of the line of
cliffs approached, west of Hyperite Hat. Here the wind failed, just
where it always used to fail last year. A long row transferred the
heavy boat to the low point outside the mouth of Advent Bay, down which
a stiff breeze was hurrying. We sailed across to the farther shore,
where I landed to walk to the tourist-hut, leaving Garwood, who is an
enthusiastic sailor--which I am not--to beat round Advent Point to the
landing-place.
The inn contained a merry party, just returned in the _Kvik_ from a
visit to Lomme Bay, Wahlenburg’s Bay, and Wijde Bay. They were full of
pleasant talk and recent reminiscences of walrus, seal, and reindeer
hunting. With their help our camp was soon pitched and our goods
landed. More than three hours could not be spared to slumber, for,
at 7.30 A.M. on the 23rd, the tourist steamer _Lofoten_ came in from
Norway, bringing mails. With her came perfect sunshine and delightful
warmth. Not, indeed, that there was any time for mere pleasure. I had
a solar observation to take, the baggage to overhaul, and a mail to
despatch, whilst all was to be prepared for sailing next day in the
_Kvik_ for Kings Bay. There was no hitch.
In due course Advent Bay was again left behind, and we were on our way
down Ice Fjord, once more with a few companions. Among them were the
Swedish botanist, Herr Ekstam, and Mr. Baldwin, who was in Greenland
with Lieut. Peary. Ekstam was to be left at Coles Bay, which I was
thus enabled to visit. It is a dreary place, with a great extent of
bogflat at its head, stretching far inland up a wide, desolate valley.
At the end appears to be a pass to Low Sound. There are several similar
valleys extending westward, one more uninviting than another. I suppose
the bog near the bay is “Coles Park, a good place for venison, well
known to Thomas Ayers,” as Pelham says, writing in 1631. Coal having
in recent years been found in the bay, the name has been confused from
Coles to Coal.
In the smallest hours of the morning of the 25th the _Kvik_ entered
Foreland Sound. I have traversed this waterway from end to end on four
separate occasions without experiencing clear weather. This time there
was the usual cloud-roof, but it was high, so that we became in some
degree acquainted with the remarkably fine scenery of the passage. The
mountain tops were covered, but the glaciers were disclosed, and it is
the glaciers that give to the sound its distinctive character. At first
they are only on the east coast, a series draining the mountains north
of the Dead Man. When these come to an end there follows a dull front
of bare slopes as far as the opening of St. John’s Bay, the Osborne’s
Inlet of the early charts. The southern quarter of the Foreland, if the
Saddle Mountain at its south cape be excepted, consists of a plain,
almost absolutely flat, and raised but a few feet above sea-level. It
may be called Flatland. I have been told that Russian trappers used
to frequent it; but there does not appear to be any published account
whatever of a landing on it. No more featureless or uniform expanse can
be conceived. It covers an area of fifty square miles, according to
the chart, which, however, is most inaccurate hereabouts. This plain
is indicated by nature as _the_ place for laying out a base whenever
Spitsbergen shall be used for the measurement of a meridian arc. North
of Flatland comes a well-defined mountain group containing fine peaks.
It is bounded by a deep depression running from Peter Winter’s Bay in
a south-west direction, right across the Foreland to the ocean. Peter
Winter’s Bay is well to the north of St. John’s Bay, though marked
south of it on the chart. It is indicated correctly enough by Giles and
Reps on the remarkable Dutch chart published after 1707 by Gerard van
Keulen. There it is named Zeehonde Bay, whilst a secluded anchorage
in its north coast, just within the entrance, bears the designation
Pieter Winter’s Baaytje. North of Peter Winter’s and St. John’s bays
the glaciers follow one another in quick succession on both shores.
On the east there are eight of them between St. John’s and English
bays, whereof the two biggest, at the north and south ends, reach
the sea. The opposite coast of the Foreland is an almost continuous
glacier-front backed by a wall of snowy peaks.[6] The shallow place
which stopped Barents and renders the channel impassable, except by
small vessels, is off this glacier-front. The _Expres_ used to run
over it and bump if she felt inclined. The _Kvik_ was navigated more
gingerly, so that the passage over the Bar occupied a couple of hours,
soundings being diligently taken all the time.
At the head of English Bay is a great glacier, flowing from the
south-east and receiving many tributaries, noted later on. North of it
come prominent hills with a wide lowland stretched before them, ending
in a flat point named Quade Hook--that is, “the Evil Cape.” Rounding
this cape, we slipped into Kings Bay and steered for its head, across
the whole breadth of which was the great front of the Kings Glacier
awaiting its first explorers. Clouds hung low down, and there was no
distant view inland, not so much indeed as we had seen the previous
year. We afterward came to know it well, so for clearness’ sake I may
take the liberty of brushing the clouds away and describing the general
arrangement of the hills and glaciers, with which the reader is invited
to make closer acquaintance in the following pages.
[Illustration: KINGS BAY GLACIER.]
Let him, then, return with me to the mouth of the bay, and, standing
there, face to the east, with Quade Hook on his right hand. He will be
looking straight up the bay. On his left hand will be Mitra Hook, so
named from the pointed mitre peak which Scoresby climbed. This exit to
the sea between Mitra and Quade hooks is common to both Kings and Cross
bays, which are divided from one another by a rectangular mountain
mass. Cross Bay is unknown to me. It is said to be one of the finest
bays in Spitsbergen. The mountains on either side of it are steep, and
magnificent glaciers fall into its head, one of them ending in the
finest ice-cliff in this part of the world. Cross Bay runs in to the
north, Kings Bay to the east. Kings Bay is broad at first, with low,
flat coasts, beyond which mountains rise to a moderate height. Farther
in, the sides approach somewhat, where there is a low cape to the south
with Coal Haven and some islands just round the corner, whilst on the
north is the protruding hilly mass of Blomstrand’s Mound, five or six
hundred feet high, with a cove at each end of it (Blomstrand’s Harbour
to the west, Deer Bay to the east), and in each cove a glacier ending
in the sea. It is not till this narrower place has been traversed
that the splendour of Kings Bay is fully beheld. Within, the bay is
a circle about six miles in diameter, ringed around with an almost
continuous series of glaciers, whereof only those on the south are cut
off from the sea by a belt of low-lying ground. Scattered about the
inner bay are Lovén’s Islands, some of which we shall presently visit.
On the south the mountains are of bold and pointed form. They are the
watershed between Kings and English bays. On the north, however, is a
far more noble group, culminating in two peaks that resemble the Dom
and Täschhorn of Zermatt. These peaks are small, of course, but they
look no whit less fine than their Alpine fellows, and no one acquainted
with the Alps would guess them to be smaller than peaks of the great
range. From and about these mountains flow magnificent glaciers, whose
upper ramifications were too complicated to be sketched on the map
from so distant an inspection. The remainder of the view, the whole
eastward end of the bay, is occupied by the face of a single mighty
glacier, splendid beyond exaggeration. It is no smooth expanse of ice,
but a splintered and broken torrent, which submerges islands of rock
and flows over or about them with tortuous and tormented sweep. A few
miles in, this glacier divides, just as Cross and Kings bays divide,
the wider constituent being the Crowns Glacier, coming from the north,
the other the King’s Highway, up which you go to the south-east.
Between them is the mountain mass, whereof the famous Three Crowns are
the most remarkable, though not the highest peaks. Of course there
are plenty of minor tributary glaciers, as the reader will learn soon
enough; one only need be mentioned. It runs into the midst of the
Crowns group and divides it in half, separating the Three Crowns on
the north from the Pretender and the Two Queens on the south. Up this
glacier lies the shortest route across the land from Kings to Ekman
bay. If the reader has comprehended so dull a geographical description,
he can understand our general line of route in exploring this most
beautiful and interesting region, which seems to be intended by Nature
for the arctic “Playground of Europe.”
Advancing up the bay in the _Kvik_, we could see little of the
wonderful panorama. Clouds hid the Crowns and all but the bases of the
nearer hills. As our intention was to make our way inland, we required
to be put ashore at the best point for climbing on to the glacier. We
headed, therefore, for the middle of the face, where an island of rock
rises partly out of the sea, partly through the ice. It soon became
apparent that this would not do, for the glacier all round it was
broken into such a chaos of seracs as to be absolutely untraversable
in any direction. One could only land at the north or south angle of
the bay. The north angle might have suited, but the slopes behind it
seemed steep to drag sledges up; we therefore chose the south. I am not
sure that we chose right. The inner part of the bay was dotted over
with floating masses of ice fallen from the glacier. They became more
numerous the farther we advanced. At last the skipper said he could not
venture on, so our boat was lowered and the baggage stowed into it.
After bidding adieu to our friends and arranging with the captain to
call for us at midnight, August 11-12, we rowed away.
It was high tide, so there were no falls taking place from the long
glacier-front, which was fortunate, seeing that we had to pass pretty
close under it. The cliff was even finer than that of the Nordenskiöld
Glacier, because it was more splintered. At 5 P.M. we came ashore on
the end of a fan of stone and mud _débris_, laid down by a stream
just in front of the left foot of Kings Glacier. The glacier ends on
this fan with a curving moraine-covered slope, by which access could
be attained to a relatively smooth surface leading inwards in the
direction we desired to take. The boat was hauled up, the baggage
dragged and carried about a hundred yards inland to the nearest
suitable camping-ground. Necessary arrangements occupied the remainder
of the day. The sun bursting through the cloud-roof illuminated the
glacier-front with fine splashes of light, manifesting its blue caverns
and silver spires. Thundering falls of ice presently set in and
followed one another in rapid succession, now near at hand, now far
away. A big iceberg was stranded on the shore just off our point, and
a number of fulmars settled down upon it and went to sleep. Amidst such
surroundings there was always plenty of entertainment, besides that
delightful expectation of the unknown and unforeseen which is said to
have bedevilled Ulysses.