Svalbard 2018

We have now crossed the Barents Sea eight times, and many people ask whether sailing between the mainland and Svalbard is not just long and boring. Well, for those of us who enjoy sailing, being at sea is an experience in itself, and when you are travelling by sailboat, the journey itself is often just as important as the destination. We have to take the weather and wind into account, adjust and trim the sails and ship according to the conditions, and since the voyage takes 3-4 days, food, watch arrangements, sleep and rest are other factors that add challenges, adventures and constantly new experiences to the trip.

Sometimes there is little happening, sometimes more, but nature always has something to offer. You can feel like a tiny speck on the vast ocean, but you are rarely completely on your own, as when we encountered the Russian navy. It had been 12-15 hours since we left the mainland, and we had just gotten into the rhythm of the sea, in other words, suitably tired and drowsy, with heavy eyelids. It was foggy and visibility was poor when a naval vessel suddenly appeared on a crossing course, and the radio sprang to life.

"GYDA GYDA GYDA, this is a Russian naval warship 619.... "You must immediately alter your course 100 degrees and stay at least 10 cables away from our stern."

They were conducting some kind of operation, he said. That may well be, but he was already level with us, so if we continued on the same course, he would soon be past us...

We replied: "We are a sailing boat on our way to Svalbard, the change of course 100 degrees will not suit us very well at the moment". As he is about to reply and has pressed the send button on the VHF, we hear a barrage of Russian in the background, and the guy says sheepishly, "Gyda, you may continue on our present heading".

The vessel that hailed us and eventually came quite close to us turned out to be Severomorsk 619, a Russian Udaloy I-class anti-submarine destroyer commissioned by the Northern Fleet in 1987. The ship is 163 metres long, has four engines with a total of 120,000 hp and a top speed of approximately 35 knots. It can carry two Kamov Ka-27 helicopters on board, but we only saw one. As we politely wish them a nice day and a safe journey, we spot a submarine crossing on the other side of us. We turn on the radar and can now see that there are four vessels passing us in formation.

The submarine appears to be of the Oscar II class. If so, it is a sister ship to the Kursk, which sank with all hands in the Arctic Ocean on 12 August 2000 after a torpedo exploded on board during an exercise. We could not see any name or distinguishing marks on the submarine. Oscar II submarines are nuclear-powered with approximately 98,000 hp, are 155 m long and 18 m wide. They can travel at 15 knots on the surface and 32 knots submerged. We never saw the other two vessels except on the radar.

A short while later, another vessel appeared on a crossing course, this time the F/S Eger. It was travelling at the same speed and on the same course as the Russian armada, but from that side there was complete silence...

The F/S Eger is a Norwegian research vessel in the service of the Norwegian Armed Forces, bearing the Norwegian Intelligence Service's coat of arms and naval flag. It also carried three signal figures above each other, where the top and bottom were spheres and the middle one was cube-shaped. This is a signal for vessels that are not under command or have limited manoeuvring ability... I wonder what they were up to...

The ship has been in operation since 1995, initially under the name "Marjata". It was converted for maritime surveillance in 2017 and was then named "Eger". Its unusual shape has given it the nickname "Strykehjernet" (the iron brain).

t's never boring at sea. You just have to keep your eyes and ears open.

The skipper's colleagues occasionally drop by when they are on expeditions in the area where we sail, which can make for some great photos.

On our way home, we passed the rig "Island Innovator", operated by Odfjell Drilling AS on the Wisting oil field. It is certified for exploration drilling in the Barents Sea from March to December, and drills at depths between 70 and 600 metres. It is 104 metres long and 65 metres wide, and can accommodate 120 people, all in single cabins.

The rig claimed a safety zone of 2 nautical miles, and even though we kept a good distance, we were hailed by the Esvagt Carpatia, which was the standby/rescue vessel at the rig when we passed. They wanted confirmation that we were aware of the safety distance.

There are some birds that live out at sea. The fulmar is a pleasant companion that can often hang around the boat for hours. Sometimes they can stop in the air above the cockpit and hang calmly for several seconds just looking at us. These birds are so-called pelagic surface-feeding seabirds that are only on land when they nest. Unfortunately, they are experiencing a large decline in numbers and are now red-listed as near threatened.

Dolphins, like these Springers, are just as fascinating every time they flash by. They radiate incredible energy and power. Sometimes they can jump sky-high, many times in a row. Occasionally, one or two come together, other times a whole pod. As quickly as they arrive, they are gone again.

We take turns keeping watch. Usually, we have a time in the middle of the day when we are both awake together in the cockpit, but otherwise, the off-duty person usually goes down and lies down under the duvet to get the best possible sleep and rest. Here, however, the skipper has taken a nap in the cockpit.

Being out at sea over time is an incredibly wonderful nature experience. Light and colours are constantly changing. Water and wind, working with or against each other, create great contrasts. Sunsets can sometimes be indescribably beautiful. Here, the wind blows crosswise, the boat rushes forward and conditions are moderately demanding. Suddenly, the clouds break and the sun makes the evening magical.

It is not uncommon for fog to prevail, and the world becomes completely different. Even in thick fog, the atmosphere can be an experience. Your senses change, and if there is a slight breeze so you don't have to wake the diesel engine, it is fascinating to notice how sensitive you become to sounds. Sailing in thick fog requires you to be alert and keep a sharp lookout, so the radar and plotter are important aids.

Landfall towards Sørkapp and Hornsund when there is a gale from the south-west can be challenging, so we chose to continue on to Bellsund. As we rounded Kapp Lyell on our way into Van Keulenfjorden, the wind calmed down and we anchored in the always pleasant Fleur de Lys harbour. It is true that there can be some strong gusts of wind coming down from the mountains when the wind is blowing from the southwest, but the seabed is good, so you can sleep safely and soundly here.

Fleur de Lys ended up with Sysselmannshytta in the foreground. To the right is an old trapper's hut, which is now an emergency shelter.

We took a day off in Fleur de Lys harbour because it's always good to find your bunk after a crossing. That is, we hadn't been asleep long before the captain was woken by the sound of a siren...?!? You've been working too long, said the skipper, who barely opened his eyes as the captain got out of his bunk to investigate the noise. It's hard to say who was more surprised, the captain or the crew of the KV Svalbard, who were moored alongside the ship, but it was they who used the noise to attract attention. They probably hadn't expected to see a naked, tired and dishevelled old man. They were orderlies sent from the NK Coast Guard, who had asked them to deliver chocolate cake and other sweets to the female ship's captain aboard the Gyda...yes, because there was a colonel on board, wasn't there...? The skipper is asleep, grunted the captain, and accepted the treats on the assurance that they would be delivered to the Colonel without delay when she woke up. A little later in the day, when we had recovered a little, we learned that the galley on KV Svalbard had made an exquisite chocolate cake.

There are quite a few eider ducks in the area, and we eagerly searched for ducklings among the flock of females, but unfortunately we could only count a dozen or so ducklings. Bamsen had probably vacuumed up most of the eggs earlier in the summer. This is very worrying, as the overall population of eider ducks is declining sharply.

On each trip, we have read up on historical events and then visited the places where they took place. This, in addition to the natural experience of coming to Svalbard, has given the trips an extra dimension. We had been tipped off about an event that took place north of Ny-Ålesund in 1922. The story of the "Tragedy in Kobbebukta" made a strong impression on us, and we decided to sail in the wake of the two men who, after attempting to rescue trapper Georg Nilsen, met their unfortunate end in a snow cave north of Danskøya.