We were a long way from anywhere. A long way from the modern world – no phone, no internet, no electricity. The absence of electric light wasn’t an issue, of course: this far North, the sun never sets, but draws haloes in the sky.
The bus dropped us at the very end of the road. From Oslo we had flown the length of Norway’s outstretched arm, then followed one of the fingers that pointed out into the cold Arctic Ocean. A flick of the finger and we’d have been thrown off the mainland.
Icy water tumbled past us, and we set off upstream, away from the fjord and towards the glacier. Some of the rocks were wet beneath our feet as the stream continued its gymnastics down towards the sea. We had heavy rucksacks on our backs and our arms were laden with supplies – mainly food and fieldwork equipment. For the next three weeks, base camp would be our home.
‘And here we are!’ said our expedition leader happily. ‘Base camp.’
He pointed to the other side of the valley. Rocks lay as if scattered by a giant’s tantrum while the mountain behind turned its back in apathy. We crossed the river and sought out a square of grass for our tent, far enough away from the ‘toilets’ (a trench in the ground hidden behind a cluster of rocks).
Night never came and the days rolled into one, punctuated by the time we spent rolled in our sleeping bags. During our waking hours we did fieldwork: traced lines in rocks, sketched flowers and took a boat out into the fjord to gather marine samples.
The flame from our stove licked the pan greedily as we boiled water for dinner. We ate simply (mostly dried food) and fed ourselves with conversation as the sun gently teased the horizon.
I lifted my head to gaze up at the mountain keeping guard above us. Its head was hidden behind its shoulders and I wanted to know what he was looking at.
Richard jokingly agreed to climb to the top: ‘Well, do you want to? Now? Really?’ But there was a seed of seriousness there, and by the light of day-and-night it grew into a genuine challenge.
‘OK, let’s go.’
The others didn’t know whether to laugh or express concern for our sanity. In the end they consulted their sleeping bags and, for true objectivity, the inside of their eyelids.
‘Are you sure about this?’ Richard asked as we picked our way over the remains of the giant’s tantrum. ‘We can still turn around.’
And hours later, as our legs began to burn and the peak was still out of sight: ‘You don’t have to carry on if you don’t want to.’
We reached the top after midnight, while the sun was bathing in the Arctic Ocean beneath us. Base camp was out of sight and the glacier stretched out wide and white at the head of the valley. We drank from a patch of snow and drank in the view, listening to the silence.
When we had quenched our thirst, we began the treacherous descent. Slipping, sliding down loose scree: ahead was a gateway of stone, and beyond that –
If we fell –
It didn’t bear thinking about.
Back at base camp, we splashed glacial melt-water onto our faces and crawled into our respective tents (boys and girls strictly divided). I slid into sleep…
… and fell awake as the girls in my tent were getting dressed. Had I even slept at all? Yes, the sun had begun its slow arc up away from the fjord – and we, too, were leaving the fjord further behind today. We were going upstream to the icy tongue of the glacier: this was the promised highlight of the expedition.
Still, when I closed my eyes that night (now thoroughly exhausted), it wasn’t the coldly indifferent ice that I saw, but the splendour of our midnight sun.
*
Author’s note: With travel restrictions in place in the spring of 2020, I decided to travel back in time. I hadn’t started my blog when I went to the Arctic Circle in 2013. I covered the pages of my notebook with pencil markings while I was there, and wrote a report afterwards, but I never did anything more with those raw words and drawings. Isolated at home, I decided to translate my memories into a blog-sized piece of writing. I hope you enjoyed reading it!
