Norway and Spitzbergen

 

Collingwood’s last excursion as a bachelor was a Thomas Cook tour to Norway.and Spitzbergen, the latter especially made a great impression on him.

 

 

20 July 1905, Spitzbergen,
When we awakened this morning we were lying in Recherche Bay betwixt two mighty glaciers that thrust their blue-green cliffs into the sea. We were not the only vessel at anchor in this northern haven; indeed there were some half dozen whalers to keep us company and they gave quite a lively air to the frozen desolation that surrounded the land-locked waters. The distant sound of voices fell pleasantly upon the ear, while the steam of the winches and the smoke of the funnels was equally satisfying to the eye. Around each steamer lay four, five, six, or even as many as ten whales – huge carcasses of putrefying matter upon which callous Norwegians worked with total indifference. And all about these there swarmed thousands, literally thousands, of Fulmars, gorging themselves on the blubber and oil. Where the food was thickest, they paddled and hustled for the pieces, a dens mass of birds. Save for a continuous dabbling, splashing sound caused by the birds struggling for their meat, the grazing throng was fairly silent, but now and again one or two birds would emit a squawking cry – otherwise the mob was too occupied with its everlasting gorging.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Recherche Bay with

a whaler in the distance

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Photograph close up

to the whaler

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Later the same day, he saw Little Auks for the first time.

 

……flying round in little hurrying parties, or seated quaintly together, on all sides one sees these diminutive Auks. Some sat passively on their tier of rock looking silently at the intruder, their white waistcoats and dark heads showing brightly against the drab background. These would not take flight until one was walking within a couple of yards of them. Others in the meantime circled round with weird laughing cries, looking in the distance almost like packs of Grouse sweeping round the corners of a Scottish mountain. As they scurried through the air, they made funny little marmot-like noises as though talking to one another, and then, of a sudden, they would break into their strange laughing cry – a weird chuckle that echoed against the grey mists and out over the icy still wastes. This cry suggested the call of some falcon, but from the number of birds uttering it, was so frequent that the sounds came almost continuously. When near their nesting holes, the interested birds flew very close, checking their flight by holding out the webbed feet and taking short wing-strokes. Many had their throats filled with food brought in from the sea to give to their young.