Xyxyx special Frigid bridge: The forbidding view from the 10-storey high bridge on the Kapitan Khlebnikov
Icy tangle with remote Wrangel Rod Eime enjoys the journey just as much as the destination in the frozen Arctic. THE mighty Russian icebreaker Kapitan Khlebnikov slices through slabs of sea ice with relative ease, occasionally catapulting great chunks out across the pack with the sound of cannon fire. Even with a fearsome ice knife in the bow and 25,000 horsepower available to drive it home, she is occasionally forestalled by a particularly stubborn sheet. One, perhaps a metre thick and about the size of a city block, brings us to a noisy, shuddering halt. However, The Kapitan, unfazed, backs up and body-slams the floating mass, creating a fissure that gradually opens to admit its 15,000 tonnes of diesel-electric anger. The waters through the notorious Bering Strait were relatively open for most of the voyage, but a shield of dense ice isolates Wrangel Island from the mainland and from lesser-equipped vessels. Wrangel Island is an enigmatic and mysterious land mass trapped in the fringes of the permanent Arctic ice pack some 400 nautical miles north of Siberia. Born out of legend and maintained by tales of hardship, endurance and tragedy, its apparently austere appearance hides a World Heritage-listed, self-contained island ecosystem. Wrangel was also very likely the last place on Earth to maintain a woolly mammoth population and their bones and tusks still jut out randomly from the permafrost. The Arctic island is named for Baron Ferdinand Petrovich von Wrangel who, from his sled in 1821, saw giant snow-capped mountains thousands of feet high rising magnificently into the crisp polar air. Shimmering lakes bordered by lush forests carpeted the land. Yet despite this enticing vista, all before him was frozen solid, an impenetrable layer of sea ice. Thwarted from setting foot on
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Polar extremes: A mother bear and cub keep an eye on the ship-bound interlopers this mysterious nirvana by the permanent ice that so effectively isolates it, the Baron actually witnessed the fata morgana: a complex mirage created by light passing through the cold arctic air. Wrangel spent years chasing his island but died many years before it was finally sighted by British seaman William Kellet in 1849. It was later and appropriately named by American whaler and de facto explorer, Thomas Long, after the valiant Russian. The ice floes around UNESCO site 1023 are also the domain of hungry mother polar bears occasionally seen leading their first season offspring urgently across the pack seeking seals. The more dense the ice, the more the bears like it. Bears can’t catch seals in the thinning floes because their prey can easily escape into the water, hence the pressure on the species in the warming global atmosphere. During our lectures aboard the Khlebnikov, author Jennifer Niven passionately recounted the tale of Ada Blackjack, the sole survivor of Canadian Vilhjalmur Stefansson’s crazy attempt at colonising the island in 1921.
It is a full five days north from the port of Anadyr in Chukotka Province, through the blizzardly Bering Strait, before our first glimpse of Wrangel Island. It looks dull and foreboding through thick, wet arctic mist. Anything but welcoming, this island was one of the jewels described by the over-imaginative Stefansson as a paradise teaming with game and resources. Wrangel Island has the largest population of denning polar bears, a few reintroduced reindeer and musk oxen, arctic foxes, walrus and seals. Birds are abundant, too, especially lesser snow geese (Anser caerulescens) which, our Russian hosts assure us, flock in large numbers in the west of the island. Regrettably, we are not permitted to visit them. Immediately after World War II, and perhaps as late as the 1960s, Wrangel also had the dubious distinction of housing one of the most fearsome gulags, reserved for German SS PoWs and the most dangerous of political prisoners. There are no known survivors from the many thousands transported there, and rumours of radiation experiments on live sub-
8 December 14, 2008 escape THE SUNDAY TELEGRAPH www.sundaytelegraph.com.au
jects persist. These details were omitted from our onboard lectures and briefing notes. As an obvious extension of the many Antarctic itineraries, a corresponding Arctic voyage completes one’s knowledge of the world’s polar extremes. Swap penguins and leopard seals for polar bears and walrus and you’ve gone the full circle. As with any adventure, it’s the journey, not necessarily the destination, that delivers the reward. The Khlebnikov makes numerous stops at Inuit villages and Russian outposts for cultural exchanges and practical natural history lessons around Siberia’s Chukotka Peninsula. Our expeditioners includes avid bird watchers, history buffs and those just looking for the next exciting destination. We tour in sturdy zodiacs as well as the robust MI-2 jet helicopters, of which the Khlebnikov carries two. The pilots, no doubt military trained, take us for heartstopping joyrides over and around the icebreaker as she pounds through the dense pack. The clear, crisp arctic air is ideal for photography.
Getting there: Fly to Anchorage in Alaska and join the Adventure Associates (1800 222 141, www.adventureassociates. com) tour group. Fly by private charter to Anadyr in Siberia, and then by helicopter to the icebreaker Kapitan Khlebnikov. I’m beginning to think the Baron would have been a bit disappointed with his discovery, had he actually made it through the torturous miles of pack ice. Stefansson may also have privately moderated his enthusiasm if he had actually seen the land for himself. The journey is one of the most difficult and unpredictable, and the sense of satisfaction is palpable among the passengers and crew. With the smooth, flat landscape of Wrangel Island slowly disappearing amid a lingering polar sunset, we leave behind this renowned nature reserve, repository of legend and lore and kingdom of sadness and despair. Clearly, despite earlier valiant and ill-conceived efforts, Wrangel Island will never again be inhabited, left instead to the occasional scientific observer and the capricious devices of nature. A good thing, too.