Although Svalbard is most readily associated with outstanding natural beauty, its cultural heritage is just as unique. According to information available on the website of UNESCO World Heritage Centre, no other area in the High Arctic can equal Svalbard in terms of the concentration and diversity of non-indigenous heritage sites, as the archipelago was never home to an indigenous population. So who were the makers of Svalbard’s monuments, where did they come from, what exactly did they leave behind and how do we know what we know about them?
Finding answers to these questions was part of 3D Laser Scanning for Svalbard’s Cultural Preservation (RiS ID: 11464). The full name of the project doubles as an oh-so-brief summary of its main assumptions. On a daily basis, however, we use a shorter and far better-sounding alternative
It doesn’t take much to notice that this time it wasn’t marine litter that served as our prime focus. Interestingly enough, however, is was the Sørkapp Marine Litter Cleanup project or, more precisely, the information gaps identified during its execution, that inspired the new initiative.
According to the official definition, Svalbard’s cultural heritage comprises all traces of human activity, including localities associated with historical events, dating from before 1946. As a result, the list of protected heritage items is long and varied, both in type and state of preservation. Until relatively recently, a key role in the protection of Svalbard’s cultural heritage was played by the climate. This, unfortunately, is no longer the case. Due to rising temperatures, increased humidity, violent storms and intensified coastal erosion (driven by climate change), many cultural monuments found in the area are now facing destruction. And because fieldwork within the archipelago is logistically, financially and physically demanding, many sites have not been surveyed for decades. As a result, the existing documentation was incomplete, the sites’ current state uncertain and the risk of irreversible cultural loss increasingly serious. That’s where the forScience Foundation entered the picture.
With the use of advanced, non-invasive documentation techniques, the forScience team created a comprehensive digital record of the visual and spatial characteristics of target objects, as set in their natural environment.
GROUND-BASED DIGITAL PHOTOGRAPHY
LOW-ALTITUDE DIGITAL PHOTOGRAPHY
TERRESTRIAL LASER SCANNING
SUPPORTING NOTES
Piece of cake? Not quite, because our plan was highly ambitious, and the weather – notoriously fickle. Throughout the fieldwork we were plagued by alternating spells of strong winds and fog. The former made navigating the shallow coastal waters of southern Spitsbergen trickly. The latter hindered the execution of project tasks. In other words, it was all quite a handful. But the forScience team had faced worse, so this time too we rose to the occasion.
The New Dimensions project in numbers
We hope that the data we’ve collected will attract the attention of experts and thus serve as baseline material for further research, help to fine-tune existing conservation strategies to changing conditions and contribute to the preservation of objects that can still be preserved. But experts aren’t the only audience of the New Dimensions project. The other, equally important group is made up of anyone curious to discover something new about Svalbard – which, if you’re reading this, probably includes you. It is with you in mind that we’ve turned the raw data into a captivating story about culture, nature and most of all perhaps – about human nature. So don’t be shy, now’s the time. Go ahead and dive in!
The following texts aim to outline the context in which the New Dimensions project was conceived and carried out. Nothing more, nothing less. The forScience team does not claim to be a leading authority on the topic. Drawing on theories proposed by actual experts, we present the more relevant aspects of Svalbard’s history as accurately and impartially as possible. The result, however, is neither a blow-by-blow account nor a comprehensive scholarly treatise. It is a wee collection of popular-science articles for non-specialists interested in the topic and we hope that as such it will give you a bit of intellectual fun while also helping you realise that the true magic of Svalbard’s cultural heritage is not at all what most people expect it to be.
There will come a time in the long years of the world when the ocean sea will loosen the shackles that bind things together and a great part of the earth will be opened up and a new sailor (…) shall discover a new world, and then shall Thule be no longer the last of lands.
According to the officially accepted version of events, the first people to lay eyes on the mountain peaks of what is today known as Svalbard were a crew of Dutch sailors with Willem Barents in the lead. It happened on June 17, 1596, and was a matter of pure chance. Barents did not roam the treacherous Arctic seas looking for new lands. Quite the contrary. The expedition he was part of scoured the northern edges of the known world in search of open water or, to be more specific, a new sea route to the Far East.
The discovery was no doubt aided by decent, by High Arctic standards, ice conditions. Today we know they were (and still are) the effect of the warm West Spitsbergen Current, which flows along the south-western coast of Svalbard, tempering the harshness of polar climate. You can see it quite clearly in the old maps of sea ice extent, where a large dent cuts deep into the ice along the island’s western shore, indicating more or less navigable water stretching all the way to the 81st parallel north and beyond. And although old means at best from a few dozen years ago, it seems fair to assume that in the 16th century the conditions were roughly similar. Today we also know that the discovery of Svalbard was Barents’s last. A few months later his ship got trapped in ice near Novaya Zemlya, where you can no longer count on the benevolence of warm ocean currents. There, in June 1597, the story of the explorer came to a tragic end. For the land he had discovered, however, the story was only just beginning.
Then God blessed them, and God said to them, "Be fruitful and multiply; fill the earth and subdue it; have dominion over the fish of the sea, over the birds of the air, and over every living thing that moves on the earth."
Curiously, the event that flipped the switch on the fate of Svalbard was not its discovery by the Dutch, but a nature-related announcement which sent ripples across Europe a decade later. The announcement was made by Englishmen Henry Hudson and Jonas Poole, who ventured into the Far North independent of each other, urged on in parts by the same quest that had eluded Barents. What did their revelations concern? The liquid gold of the north, or – to put it more simply – whales, which in contemporary Europe were a surefire way to make a quick profit.
The map of Spitsbergen created in 1625 by Thomas Edge reflects the then-common belief that the lands discovered by Barents were actually part of Greenland, while also providing valuable insight into the contemporary hunting practices.
Even though claiming sovereignty over newly discovered land was common and widely accepted practice, the Dutch did not take advantage of the opportunity to make the islands of Svalbard a Dutch province. Moreover, they rejected all territorial claims made by other European countries, based on the principle of Mare Liberum – the Freedom of the Seas. And so, in theory at least, the seas around Svalbard and the riches they held were free for the taking for anyone suffering from the (liquid) gold fever. In practice, however, the stakes proved so high that violent clashes soon erupted over spheres of influence, which were ultimately divided among the most powerful players.
Disputes and squabbles soon erupt as to who was first in these waters, who has the greater right to hunt. Englishmen, Dutchmen, Frenchmen, Danes and Spaniards engage in fierce arguments. Ultimately, the law of the jungle prevails. The stronger you are, the bigger your share of the plunder. (...) Before long, warships appear in the waters of Svalbard, armed with fearsome cannons, to ensure better spoils for whaling ships manned by fellow compatriots. Given that a single large whale yielded some eighteen thousand kilograms of fat, baleen, and occasionally precious ambergris and head oil, this fierce, relentless struggle for profit is hardly a surprise.
We have already discussed the consequences of the clash between European greed and Arctic nature in the article entitled Nothing more than mountains and pointed peaks, so we will not delve into it again. Suffice it to say that the unchecked exploitation of Svalbard’s biological resources, which began in 1612 with the arrival of the first Europeans, was nothing short of a bloodbath. A grim relay race, in which already by the mid-17th century English and Dutch whalers were forced to pass the baton to the Pomors from around the White Sea, who – in turn – handed it over to Norwegian trappers at the turn of the 18th and 19th centuries. Profits dwindled, but the process which led many local species to the brink of extinction continued. It ended in 1973, when the list of fully or partially protected species, which already included reindeer, ptarmigans, geese, polar foxes, bowhead whales, and walruses, was expanded to include the polar bear as well. Commercial hunting, which went on for over three and a half centuries, finally came to a close
By the mid-1600s, overexploitation of coastal waters had forced whalers out to the open sea. They returned to the islands to restock on fresh water and bury their dead, while the abandoned whale-processing stations were only used for storage purposes.
"Whaling grounds in the Arctic Ocean" Abraham Storck (1654–1708)
The Pomors initially hunted mostly walruses, but their interests soon expanded to include beluga whales, seals, reindeer, foxes and polar bears. And since the best pelts were obtained in winter, year-round Pomor settlements soon began to appear.
"View from Spitzbergen" Auguste Étienne François Mayer (1805–1890)
The first group of hunters comprising mostly Norwegians came to Svalbard in the late 1700s and regular Norwegian overwinterings began half a century later. They continued to overexploit local resources, driving many species to the brink of extinction.
"Norwegian hunters in Spitzberg" François-Auguste Biard (1840)
The foundations of environmental protection in Svalbard were laid by the Spitsbergen Treaty of 1920, but the real turning point came in 1973, when twenty conservation areas covering over 100 000 km2 were established across the archipelago, and the polar bear was added to the list of protected species.
"Arctic fox at Rekvedbukta" Franz Wilhelm Schiertz (1878)
This is the official version of the history of Svalbard in a nutshell. Official, however, does not mean the only one. Even before Norwegian trappers laid down their weapons in the face of new legal regulations, the topic of early human activity within the archipelago had caught the attention of scientists, who soon began to challenge the widely accepted course of events. The alternative scenarios they postulated pushed Svalbard’s discovery back in time by dozens, hundreds or even thousands of years, suggesting ever new candidates for the title of the land’s true discoverer. And while, according to the available historical sources, it is still Willem Barents who bears the palm, in some circles the issue sparked intense debate and emotion, which at times had precious little to do with science.
Text: Barbara Jóźwiak, forScience Foundation
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For much of its history, the territory of Svalbard was commonly regarded as terra nullius – no man’s land. However, as its strategic and economic significance steadily grew, the solution which had worked pretty well for three centuries was no longer deemed optimal. Doubts regarding the archipelago’s formal status were expressed most of all by Norway (which evidently sought to assert sovereignty over the area) and Russia (which was determined to prevent it at all cost). Negotiations on the matter, initiated by the Norwegians in the first decade of the 20th century, continued – interrupted briefly by the war – until 1920. It is hard to be certain which perspective proved more influential: the political over the historical or the historical over the political, but their having an influence on each other seems inescapable.
In the case of Svalbard, I would definitely say that it matters who discovered the islands. The answer to that question has not only historiographical implications, but also economic and political bearing. And, of course, vice versa, possible economic and political interests might impact on how history is understood and related.
According to the first of three alternative scenarios, it was not the Dutch, but the Pomors – Russian hunters from around the White Sea – who were the first to reach Svalbard. They were said to have beaten Barents to it by just a few decades, although there were theories which held that the Pomors made themselves comfortable in Svalbard already in the 15th century. As you might well expected, the authors and the most fervent proponents of the pre-Barentsian penetration of the archipelago by the Pomors were Russians. They claimed that the mysterious Grumant, which the Pomors allegedly visited on a regular basis ever since the 1570s, was in fact none other than Svalbard and boosted the interpretation by giving the name Grumant to one of the mining settlements they have recently established in the archipelago. But although the scenario did presumably have some scientific merit, it was all too clear that there was also patriotic and political motives behind it. After all, being the first in Svalbard was not only a matter of prestige, but – with the ongoing debate over sovereignty – it could also have major legal and economic implications. It is no wonder, therefore, that Russians spared no effort or expense to find evidence necessary to turn their hypothesis into fact. They searched for it on tattered maps, in folk tales, dust-covered archives and also, of course, in Svalbard itself.
The individual who played the most significant role in the process was Vadim F. Starkov, an archaeologist from the Russian Academy of Sciences, whose research relied largely on dendrochronology. In simpler terms, Starkov determined the age of Pomor dwellings scattered along the coast of Svalbard by determining the age of the wood from which they were constructed. And because some of his samples suggested that the trees the wood came from had been cut down in the first half of the 16th century, Starkov found what he was after. His conclusions, however, convinced only the already-convinced. The rest of the scientific community argued that Starkov’s interpretation was based on such questionable assumptions and raised so many major reservations as to the adopted methodology that, in its original shape, it could hardly be taken seriously.
That said, it is worth noting that the rejection of Starkov’s interpretation does not contradict the polar mastery of the Pomors, who coped brilliantly with the challenges of the Arctic. Much better than their West European contemporaries. When the first sailors from the West made it into the Far North in the 16th century, they encountered Pomor traces at almost every turn. This, however, took place east of Svalbard, mainly in the area of the Kara Sea and Novaya Zemlya. And although one might assume that for such tough cookies as the Pomors getting from Novaya Zemlya to Svalbard would not have been much of a challenge, the unsubstantiated theoretical possibility of their reaching the place before Barents is not good enough to compete with established facts.
The absence of irrefutable evidence was a major headache also for the supporters of the second alternative scenario, according to which Svalbard was discovered not by Barents or the Pomors, but by the Vikings, who allegedly reached the islands as early as in the 12th century. Direct inspiration for this hypothesis came from Scandinavian chronicles and sagas, which occasionally refer to enigmatic “cold shores” in the area now associated with Svalbard. As you might have already guessed, the hypothesis was formulated by Norwegians, with the task of promoting it undertaken not just by leading Norwegian scholars, but also by polar celebrities, with Fridtjof Nansen first among them. Were the Vikings capable of reaching Svalbard? Probably. After all, traces of their visits can be found even in far-away Canada. Did they actually reach it? We do not know, as no evidence to confirm the claim has so far been found.
Scientists theorised that the Vikings did indeed make it to Svalbard, but left no lasting traces, as the barren, treeless land had nothing to offer to the timber-hungry sailors. Others suggested that material evidence of Viking presence along the islands’ coasts might have been destroyed by the sea due to isostatic changes triggered by Svalbard’s cooling after the Medieval Climate Optimum. In simpler terms, the cold temperatures that followed a centuries-long warm period led to an increase in glacier mass and a gradual lowering of the coastline, submerging the area – and the evidence – which might have been crucial for the case. Whatever the actual reason, the researchers who set out to confirm the hypothesis on the Viking discovery of Svalbard returned empty-handed. As a result, the Scandinavian scenario, much like the Pomor one, remains no more than a educated yet unproven guess.
So much for science. But science isn’t everything. Once again, we must take into account broadly-understood national interests. Even if the Scandinavian scenario was not their direct reflection, it matched them perfectly, as being first in Svalbard and the resulting relative continuity of tradition provided a rational justification for the Norwegian claim to Svalbard. They also significantly boosted the sense of national identity and pride.
A lot of academic and amateur energy was put into proving that Norse seafarers had discovered the land long before Barentsz. The obvious bias of Norwegian history writing of that period seems almost embarrassing from today’s perspective and is clearly linked with political and economic interests as well as undisguised nationalism.
It is hard to say if the unsubstantiated Scandinavian hypothesis and the propaganda it inspired influenced the content of the treaty under which in 1925 the Kingdom of Norway did indeed take sovereignty over the land which at that point still bore the name Spitsbergen, given to it by Barents. There is no doubt, however, that it influenced the decision made soon afterwards by the Norwegian authorities to change the name to Svalbard. Svalbardi is the Viking word for cold shores, which set the argument in motion. And so the present name of the archipelago, taken from Norse legends, sanctions the theory which – as you already know – science has failed to confirm.
The final alternative scenario moves Svalbard’s discovery all the way back to the Stone Age, or – more specifically – to the third millennium BCE. The inspiration for this hypothesis came from seemingly ordinary flaked stones, in which researchers recognized flint tools associated with prehistoric reindeer herders. This time too, however, the accumulated evidence proved insufficient. The flint fragments which some saw as obvious artefacts, were dismissed by others as nothing more than a curious manifestation of Nature’s unpredictable ways. And because no further proof to support the scenario was ever found, it soon shared the fate of the other two. That said, it is once again worth pointing out that the absence of evidence is not evidence of absence. While the presence of Mesolithic herders in Svalbard has not been confirmed, it does not necessarily mean that they were not there.
It has for a long time been clear to archaeologists that there should be possibilities for finds from the Stone Age on the Spitsbergen Islands. In North-East Greenland people have lived for long periods under much harder conditions; if man has not followed the reindeer to Franz Josef Land and Svalbard it would be the only place in the world this has not happened.
Although the journey to the islands across the frozen sea was long and perilous, we know for a fact that it was not impossible. The evidence to support the claim can be found in the genetic code of local reindeer, which – as it turns out – are not so distant (from the evolution’s perspective) cousins of the caribou of Canada. There has also been at least one reindeer that made it all the way to Svalbard from Northern Siberia and although the animal’s bold trip into the unknown did not have a happy ending (because it soon fell victim to a hunter’s bullet), it showed that Svalbard was reachable on foot from the East too. If the reindeer succeeded, humans, who – unlike the reindeer – could pack provisions for the journey and resupply on the way, would have probably succeeded too. Reaching Svalbard and actually settling there, however, required more than a few daredevils and a sack of food. In order to achieve a long-term reproductive success in a new place, the group would have to be a few hundred people strong and that’s no longer a hike, but a regular migration – an endeavour which many would have been reluctant to undertake. The fact that Svalbard, with its relatively mild climate and plenty of crucial resources, offered favourable – luxurious even! – living conditions was no comfort, because the Stone Age folk had no way of knowing it.
Even though each of the three alternative versions of Svalbard’s early history is more or less plausible, all attempts to confirm them ultimately came to nothing and researchers slowly turned their attention to other topics. Because, while the question of who was first in Svalbard enjoyed a special place in many hearts, there were, as the saying goes, plenty more fish in the sea. Instead on dwelling on their failures, historians and archaeologists soon zoomed in on the activity of west-European whalers and Pomor hunters from around the White Sea. Once again, however, the task they took upon themselves was far from easy, as new questions presented a whole set of new challenges.
Text: Barbara Jóźwiak, forScience Foundation
When all attempts to confirm hypotheses about the pre-Barentsian penetration of Svalbard by the Pomors, the Vikings and the Mesolithic reindeer herders came to nothing, and the dispute over who was first to have reached the islands ground to a halt due to insufficient evidence, scholars turned their attention to other research questions. They no longer concerned themselves with Svalbard’s discovery itself, but rather with the subsequent exploitation of its resources, focusing for the most part on two main topics. The first was the West-European whaling, which developed in Svalbard in the 17th century and whose development was as abrupt as it was short-lived. Whaling stations stopped operating already in the 1650s, when the overexploitation of coastal waters forced whalers to venture further into the sea to hunt. The other topic was the activity of the Pomors, who thrived in the islands during the 18th century. In the mid-1900s, however, they were no longer there, which might have had something to do with the political turmoil within the Russian Empire. But even though both groups operated in Svalbard in the relatively recent past, answering questions about them proved anything but easy. Why? Read on to find out.
Svalbard was never an end in itself. People journeyed there in pursuit of profit. And because, until 1925, the archipelago – as no man’s land – lay beyond the jurisdiction of any state and therefore outside all control, those who could took from it as much as they could for as long as they could. Until there was little left to take. Early human activity in Svalbard was driven primarily, if not exclusively, by the contemporary market demand. Ecological considerations were not taken into account, the concept of sustainable resource management did not yet exist, and the careful exploration of this remote, frozen land was hardly on anyone’s to-do list. Had the local fauna been less abundant or consisted of less desirable species, no one would have probably bothered to go there and Svalbard’s history might have unfolded very differently. Fate had it, however, that the archipelago was an absolute treasure trove of valuable resources and the prospect of a handsome profit drove people to its hostile shores despite considerable hardships and hazards. The craving for financial gain was the common thread running through most human activity in Svalbard, regardless of the who and the when. The Arctic spoils, however, could only be converted into cash back on the continent, which gave the early activity in the archipelago one more defining characteristic: temporality.
The colonisation of Svalbard ended in failure. No one wanted to voluntarily settle there. The terrible, as was then believed, Northern land became a penal colony for criminals who chose exile over execution. But when they disembarked from the ship onto the cold shores, they all fell to their knees, begging to be taken back to England and put to death rather than be left to perish in awful torment during the polar winter.
Despite relatively mild climatic conditions, Svalbard never supported permanent colonization. Until modern times, human presence in the archipelago was a seasonal or short-term phenomenon. None of the groups active there were truly self-sufficient. None could survive for extended periods of time without support from the continent. Even today, the residents of Svalbard rely heavily on goods imported from outside. In the 17th and 18th centuries, when the advancements that would eventually make colonisation possible were still a distant dream, humans journeyed to Svalbard to mercilessly exploit local resources and, once they were done, they went home, which the frozen land never was. As a result, only some of the practices used commonly in various homelands were transplanted to Svalbard and even those had to be adjusted to fit local conditions. In order to achieve their goals, whalers, hunters and trappers had to build basic infrastructure, such as shelters, processing facilities and rudimentary ports, but these were to serve their function for a few weeks, months, maybe years. It is hardly surprising, therefore, that they were not built to last.
Another thing worth noting is that the triumphant return after the completed season was far from guaranteed, especially since the organisers of Arctic expeditions rarely gave much thought to Occupational Health and Safety. To make it back with precious booty – to make it back at all – the daredevils who ventured to Svalbard had to be cast from a proper mould. They had to be brave, resilient, often ruthless. An inquisitive mind and a flair for writing (typical of competent chroniclers) or even basis literacy (taken for granted today) were not exactly top priorities. Besides, given the harsh conditions in Svalbard, even those equipped with the right skills and mindset were probably too busy surviving to write detailed accounts, comprehensive reports, or even private journals about their polar struggles. This led to an acute shortage of materials which could later on achieve the rank of written historical sources and shed some light on the more controversial aspects of Svalbard’s history.
In the neighbourhood of almost every Russian hut one finds graves to the present day, but it is difficult to distinguish between them and graves of whalers and seamen, of which there are countless multitudes all around the Spitsbergen coast.
The situation changed with the arrival of Norwegian trappers, who left behind a wealth of archival material as well as cabins, some of which are still in pretty good shape, as they were put under protection before it was too late. And what was left in mid-20th century Svalbard after the West-European whalers and the Pomor hunters from around the White Sea? Ruins. Plenty of them, no doubt, but so poorly preserved that historians and ethnographers had little to say on their basis.
The poor condition of the oldest elements of Svalbard’s heritage can largely be attributed to their temporary character, which resulted not only from their creators’ limited needs, but also – if not primarily – from limited possibilities. Whalers, hunters and trappers may have had copious amount of rocks and driftwood at their disposal, but other than that they depended entirely on the supplies and equipment they brought along from home. It makes sense, therefore, that structures which could no longer be used or repaired, became sources of construction material and were gradually stripped of everything that could still be of use. Besides, it sometimes happened that the unprotected infrastructure fell victim to unfair competition. Such fate befell, among others, the earliest English whaling station in Hornsund and many monumental Pomor crosses, which were chopped down by Norwegian trappers, eager to erase any signs of ownership from the hunting and trapping grounds they steadily took over.
Virtually everyone staying on the islands felt free to take and use whatever they found useful on the old sites. From diaries and other sources we know that the Norwegian trappers, who were often sparsely equipped and badly outfitted, took what they found useful from whaling sites and Russian Pomor hunting localities.
The condition of the old infrastructure was party due also to natural processes and the harsh Arctic climate. While permafrost is commonly considered an ally in the task of heritage conservation, its protective effects extend only a little over the ground level. As a result, the bottom parts of old wooden structures remained in fairly good condition well into the 20th century. And the other parts? What other parts? Anything that was not removed by people, was slowly annihilated by constant humidity, bitter cold and violent storms. In many places there were no other parts left to speak of. To uncover the secrets of the ruined buildings, simply looking around wasn’t enough anymore. It became necessary to dig beneath the layers of sediment covering the ruins, study the objects found there, examine dried bones, draw conclusions and piece them together into a coherent story. And that was a task for archaeologists. But although archaeological methods helped overcome some of the challenges posed by the lack of written historical sources, they presented a range of problems of their own.
Text: Barbara Jóźwiak, forScience Foundation
The cultural heritage of Svalbard is not fortresses, castles or palaces, but modest remains of basic infrastructure that enabled centuries of relentless exploitation of local riches. It is a fascinating – if rather grim – collage of customs, norms and practices, whose oldest elements date back to 17th century whalers, while the most recent served people not much older than our grandparents. It is a testament to human greed and lack of scruples, but also to remarkable perseverance and resourcefulness. And finally, it reflects a mishmash of decisions, undertakings, actions and omissions that have shaped Svalbard into exactly what it is today. And while it’s easy enough to enjoy the place without knowing anything about its cultural monuments, it is the monuments that make the Arctic landscapes truly unique.
It is, therefore, no surprise that the elements of cultural heritage – no matter how humble or decayed – are protected under Svalbard’s law. The key document is the Svalbard Environmental Protection Act, which spells out the matters of cultural heritage and its protection clearly and concisely. It states that what counts as cultural heritage are all traces of human activity dating from before 1946. Additionally, automatic legal protection is given to the remains of human graves, including crosses and more or less improvised grave markers, as well as human bones and bone fragments, regardless of their age. The same goes for animal remains, but only where they died in large numbers at the hands of humans. This means mostly walrus “graveyards” at former slaughter sites and whale bones scattered around old whaling stations.
So what is okay to do at protected sites? Take a good look, snap a few photos, and maybe reflect a bit on the past. What is not okay? The same things that would get you fined at Westminster or the Taj Mahal. According to the existing regulations, cultural monuments must not be damaged, a rule which is hardly a surprise. This means a ban on digging things up, moving or removing them, or otherwise messing with their shape of character, as well as taking any action that might cause such effects. It should also be noted that the above rules apply not just to the monuments themselves, but also to the 100-metre-wide safety zones surrounding each of them.
The fundamental rule of heritage protection in Svalbard is quite simple – LEAVE IT BE
The thing is, even though the rules are basically just common sense and good manners, identifying cultural monuments in Svalbard can actually be really tricky. Legal protection seldom goes hand in hand with active conservation, so over the years many heritage elements have deteriorated to the point where you might literally trip over one without realising what it is. And that’s a problem, because you can’t protect something effectively if you don’t even know it’s there in the first place.
The above approach to heritage protection is baffling even in the case of objects whose existence is beyond any doubt. Why? Because of how they’re served. Most of us are used to encountering cultural heritage in historic districts or museums. Information boards, tickets, protective barriers and security cameras put us instantly in the cautious mode, which allows for further exploration, while minimising the risk of accidental damage. The mode, however, is not activated just like that. So, for example, a piece of wood on a beach is just a piece of wood on a beach, because what else could it be? After all, cultural monuments do not lie around in random places. But while the logic works fine in most places, in Svalbard it does not work at all, because – to use the same example – mixed in with the driftwood on local shores are numerous structural elements of old cabins and vessels. What sets them apart? Unusual shapes, irregular hand-cut notches and joints, carefully carved letters, rusted fittings and forged nails, often of considerable size. How can we be sure they’re cultural heritage? Well, we can’t, but chances are high, because construction methods in Europe have changed many decades ago. So if you’re in Svalbard and scouting for firewood, switch into that cautious mode and watch what you throw into the fire, because the lack of information boards and protective barriers does not mean that the object in front of you has no story to tell.
Still, the source of the greatest confusion around cultural heritage protection in Svalbard isn’t the scattered wooden elements, but the scattered wooden… trappers’ cabins. Although all of them have endured many Arctic winters, only some qualify as cultural monuments, and only some of these are actively protected. As a result, a cabin from the early 1900s may well be in a better shape than one built half a century later. But don’t let appearances fool you. Just because a building looks solid doesn’t mean you can do with it whatever you please. Unless you’re dealing with an emergency, elements of cultural heritage may only be used with the permission of the Governor of Svalbard. And even if you get it, you must still follow the rules, which – as you already know – apply to the monuments themselves and to the safety zones around them. But that’s not the end of potential pitfalls. Since the status of cultural heritage holds regardless of the object’s condition, collapsed historic buildings retain legal protection. So if during your travels in Svalbard you come across an ex-cabin in the form of a messy pile of timber and rusty gear, do not treat it as a convenient firewood stash, a source of free souvenirs, or a pile of junk to clear away. A collapsed monument is still a monument and interfering with it in any way is a punishable offence.
Curious to learn more about trappers’ cabins in the Hornsund area and about the cabin savoir-vivre?
Here’s just a thing for you.
As you can see, protecting cultural heritage in Svalbard poses some practical difficulties, as recognising monuments within monuments takes a bit of effort and practice. Luckily, in southern Spitsbergen, where the New Dimensions project was carried out, unexpected assistance in the matter is provided by another, perhaps even overriding set of rules. This is because the area is a national park, where – as in most national parks – the basic principles of responsible behaviour can be summed up in three words: LEAVE NO TRACE. The undesirable traces include rubbish, fresh footpaths, damage to vegetation, stone cairns, inscriptions of the “I was here” sort, but also any rearrangement of the surroundings, and even empty spaces left by object that have somehow made their way into your pockets. So, if recognising cultural monuments is not among your strengths, and you’d rather avoid any accidental wrongdoing, just remember that in the South Spitsbergen National Park no trace of your presence should be left. Do that and the issue of cultural heritage protection will take care of itself.
Before you head to Svalbard for an adventure of a lifetime, take a virtual tour of the region where – from the standpoint of local history – it all began. For the sailors, whalers and hunters arriving from the continent, the southern edge of Spitsbergen was the first they saw of the island, before they continued northwards along its ice-free western shore. The first historically documented landing within the archipelago took place in what is now Hornsund, so we too began our adventure with the New Dimensions project there. Now – it’s your turn.
Text: Barbara Jóźwiak, forScience Foundation
Target area of the New Dimensions project
Map: Jakub Wawrzak
All good things come to an end – just like your virtual adventure with Svalbard’s cultural heritage. Unless, that is, you’re ready to don a researcher’s hat and dive into the New Dimensions project data. Think of it as an alternative version of the story you’re just finishing, narrated by spreadsheets, shapefiles, point clouds and the like.
All the data collected under the New Dimensions project has been carefully sorted, assessed, processed and curated into a comprehensive dataset collection now available through the Polish Polar DataBase POLAR-PL.
If you’re wondering how to access the datasets, what they contain, how to navigate them or use their contents without landing on the forScience “naughty list”, just check out the New Dimensions User Guide to Project Data. It’s your map, compass and manual all in one.
The following is a list of Polish and English publications we drew on while working on the New Dimensions project. You’ll find all sorts here – from lively accounts of long-gone expeditions, through in-depth scientific studies, to compelling reportage. Some of these works appear in our materials as direct quotations, others remain in the background. All of them, however, helped us get a firmer grip on the topic, navigate the maze of historical facts, scientific theories, and economic and political contexts, and ultimately serve everything up in a fresh format – appetising on the outside, rich in flavour, and intellectually nourishing. And if we’ve whetted your appetite for more, read on. Bon appétit.
Albrethsen, S. E. (1989) Archaeological investigations of 17th century whaling on Svalbard. Acta Borealia: A Nordic Journal of Circumpolar Societies, 6(1), 43–51. DOI: 10.1080/08003838908580365
Albrethsen, S. E., Arlov, T. B. (1988) The discovery of Svalbard – a problem reconsidered. Fennoscandia archaeologica, 5, 105–110.
Arlov, T. B. (2005) The discovery and early exploitation of Svalbard. Some historiographical notes. Acta Borealia: A Nordic Journal of Circumpolar Societies, 22(1), 3–19. DOI: 10.1080/08003830510020343
Baranowski, S. (1977) Polskie wyprawy naukowe na Spitsbergen w latach 1970-1974. Sympozjum polarne – 1977, Wrocław 1977, 33–66.
Barr, B. W. (2017) “An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure”: adopting landscape-level precautionary approaches to preserve Arctic coastal heritage resources. Resources, 6(2), 18. DOI: 10.3390/resources6020018
Birkenmajer, K. (1961) Pod znakiem białego niedźwiedzia. Nasza Księgarnia, Warszawa 1961.
Bjerck, H. B. (2000) Stone Age settlement on Svalbard? A re-evaluation of previous finds and the results of a recent field survey. Polar Record, 36(197), 97–112. DOI: 10.1017/S003224740001620X
Centkiewicz, A., Centkiewicz, C. (1956) Na podbój Arktyki. Czytelnik, Warszawa 1956.
Chochorowski, J. (1987) Badania archeologiczne w północno-zachodniej części Sørkapplandu (Zachodni Spitsbergen). XIV Sympozjum Polarne, Lublin 1987, 229–235.
Chochorowski, J. (1989) Ślady wielorybnictwa z XVII wieku na Høferpynten a problem organizacji stacji wielorybniczej w Hornsundzie. [in:] XVI Sympozjum Polarne: Dorobek i perspektywy polskich badań polarnych, Toruń 1989, 234–238. ISBN 83-231-0204-X
Chochorowski, J. (1989) Some major problems of the archeological exploration of north-western Sørkapp Land (Spitsbergen). Zeszyty naukowe Uniwersytetu Jagiellońskiego: Prace geograficzne, 81, 179–261.
Chochorowski, J. (1989) The Hornsund whaling station – exploration and conservation problems. Acta Borealia: A Nordic Journal of Circumpolar Societies, 6(1), 21–42. DOI: 10.1080/08003838908580364
Chochorowski, J. (1991) Archeology in the investigation of the history of human activity in the region of Spitsbergen. Polish Polar Research, 12(3), 391–406.
Chochorowski, J. (1999) Problemy dendrochronologii rosyjskich stacji łowieckich na Spitsbergenie / Problems of the dendrochronology of Russian hunting stations on Spitsbergen. Oficyna Cracovia, Kraków 1999. ISBN 83-86957-34-4
Chochorowski, J. (2002) Wpływ zmian środowiska przyrodniczego na stan zachowania archeologicznych zespołów zabytkowych Sørkapplandu / The influence of changes of the natural environment on the state of preservation of archaeological monument complexes in Sørkappland. [in:] Ziaja, W., Skiba, S. (eds.) Struktura i funkcjonowanie środowiska przyrodniczego Sørkapplandu (Spitsbergen, Svalbard) / Sørkappland landscape structure and functioning (Spitsbergen, Svalbard). Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Jagiellońskiego, Kraków 2002, 87–106. ISBN 83-233-1592-2
Chochorowski, J. (2008) Odkrywcy i grabieżcy Spitsbergenu. Alma Mater, 99, 245−251.
Chochorowski, J., Jasiński, M. (1989) Badania norwesko-polskiej ekspedycji archeologicznej na Svalbardzie w 1988 roku. [in:] XVI Sympozjum Polarne: Dorobek i perspektywy polskich badań polarnych, Toruń 1989, 241–244. ISBN 83-231-0204-X
Chochorowski, J., Jasinski, M. E. (1988) The structure of the Pomor settlement complex on the Schønningholmane site (Hornsund, West Spitsbergen) archaeological data. Acta Borealia: A Nordic Journal of Circumpolar Societies, 5(1-2), 34–49. DOI: 10.1080/08003838808580355
Chochorowski, J., Jasinski, M. E. (1988) Traces of Pomor nautical penetration on the coasts of northwestern Sørkappland, West Spitsbergen. Acta Borealia: A Nordic Journal of Circumpolar Societies, 5(1/2), 50–69, DOI: 10.1080/08003838808580356
Chochorowski, J., Jasiński, M. E. (1995) Relics of Russian hunting stations on the Dunøyane (West Spitsbergen). Polish Polar Research, 16(3-4), 267–280.
Chochorowski, J., Krąpiec, M. (2017) Dating of Russian hunting stations in South Spitsbergen using dendrochronological and radiocarbon analyses. Radiocarbon, 59(2), 519–530. DOI: 10.1017/RDC.2016.97
Chochorowski, J., Krąpiec, M. (2018) Structure and chronology of Russian hunting stations on the Sørkappland and Hornsund coasts (Spitsbergen). Recherches Archéologique Nouvelle Serie, 9, 137–183. ISSN 0137-3285. DOI: 10.33547/RechACrac.NS9.06
Chochorowski, J., Parczewski, M. (1982) Palffyodden-Sørkappland. Spitsbergen Zachodni. Prow. Svalbard. Informator Archeologiczny: badania, 16, 322–323.
Conway, W. M. (1906) No Man’s Land: A history of Spitsbergen from its discovery in 1596 to the beginning of the scientific exploration of the country. Cambridge University Press.
Conway, W. M. (red.) (1902) Early Dutch and English voyages to Spitsbergen in the seventeenth century. Second series, No. XI. The Hakluyt Society.
Dolnicki, P. (2020) Wybrane pozostałości osadnictwa związane z zasiedlaniem Arktyki na przykładzie Svalbardu. Annales Universitatis Paedagogicae Cracoviensis Studia Geographica, 14, 192–202. DOI: 10.24917/20845456.14.13
Flyen, A. C. (2009) Coastal erosion – a threat to the cultural heritage of Svalbard? Polar Research in Tromso: Research Notes, 13−14.
Fotherby, R., Haven, S. F. (1860) Narrative of a voyage to Spitzbergen in the Year 1613, at the charge of the fellowship of the English merchants for the discovery of new trades, commonly called the Muscovy Company, with a description of the country, and the operations of the whale-fishery. John Wilson and Son, Boston 1860. DOI: 10.5962/bhl.title.158823
Hacquebord, L., Avango, D. (2009) Settlements in an Arctic resource frontier region. Arctic Anthropology, 46(1/2), 25–39. ISSN 0066-6939
Hacquebord, L., Steenhuisen, F., Waterbolk, H. (2003) English and Dutch whaling trade and whaling stations in Spitsbergen (Svalbard) before 1660. International Journal of Maritime History, 15(2), 117–134. DOI: 10.1177/084387140301500207
Hagen, D., Vistad, O. I, Eide, N. E., Flyen, A. C., Fangel, K. (2012) Managing visitor sites in Svalbard: from a precautionary approach towards knowledge-based management. Polar Research, 31. DOI: 10.3402/polar.v31i0.18432
Hollesen, J., Callanan, M., et al. (2018). Climate change and the deteriorating archaeological and environmental archives of the Arctic. Antiquity, 92(363), 573–586. DOI: 10.15184/aqy.2018.8
Hultgreen, T. (2002) When did the Pomors come to Svalbard? Acta Borealia: A Nordic Journal of Circumpolar Societies, 19(2), 125–145. DOI: 10.1080/080038302321117551
Hultgreen, T. (2005) The chronology of the Russian hunting stations on Svalbard: A reconsideration. Acta Borealia: A Nordic Journal of Circumpolar Societies, 22(1), 79–91. DOI: 10.1080/08003830510020398
Jasiński, M. E. (1991) Russian hunters on Svalbard and the polar winter. Arctic, 44(2), 156–162.
Jasiński, M. E. (1993) Aspects of archaeological research on Svalbard. XX Polar Symposium: Man impact on polar environment, Lublin 1993, 31–46. ISBN 83-227-0560-3
Jasiński, M. E., Zagórski, P. (2013) Human activity. [in:] Zagórski, P., Harasimiuk, M., Rodzik, J. (2013) The Geographical Environment of NW Part of Wedel Jarlsberg Land (Spitsbergen, Svalbard). Faculty of Earth Sciences and Spatial Management Maria Curie-Skłodowska, 316–359.
Jørgensen, R. (2005) Archaeology on Svalbard: Past, present and future. Acta Borealia: A Nordic Journal of Circumpolar Societies, 22(1), 49–61. DOI: 10.1080/08003830510020370
Jørgensen, R., Bertelsen, R. (1989) Archaeological research on Svalbard and the preservation of historical monuments, a resource crisis? Acta Borealia: A Nordic Journal of Circumpolar Societies, 6(1), 5–9. DOI: 10.1080/08003838908580362
Krauz-Mozer, B. (2008) O co nam chodzi gdy pytamy o prawdę w historii? Państwo i Społeczeństwo, 2, 93–103.
Krawczyk, A. (1985) Remains of seasonal settlement in Sørkappland (Spitsbergen). Zeszyty naukowe Uniwersytetu Jagiellońskiego: Prace naukowe, 63, 115–120.
Krawczyk, A. (1989) Remains of seasonal settlement in Wedel Jarlsberg Land, Spitsbergen. Part I: Northern Hornsund. Zeszyty naukowe Uniwersytetu Jagiellońskiego: Prace geograficzne, 81, 145–164.
Krawczyk, A. (1995) Data for the history of the Dunøyane. Polish Polar Research, 16(3-4), 281–288.
Kubiak, K. (2012) Epizody wojny o pogodę. Niemieckie załogowe stacje meteorologiczne w Arktyce 1941–1945. Wydawnictwo inforteditions, Zabrze – Tarnowskie Góry 2012. ISBN 978-83-89943-96-5
Nicu, I. C., Fatorić, S. (2023) Climate change impacts on immovable cultural heritage in polar regions: A systematic bibliometric review. WIREs Climate Change, 14(3). DOI: 10.1002/wcc.822
Nicu, I. C., Rubensdotter, L., Stalsberg, K., Nau, E. (2021) Coastal erosion of Arctic cultural heritage in danger: A case study from Svalbard, Norway. Water, 13(6), 784. DOI: 10.3390/w13060784
Piasecki, K. (2014) Pomorcy wczoraj i dziś. Słowiański etnos na wybrzeżach Północy. Roczniki Socjologii Morskiej, 23, 78–101. ISSN 0860-6552
Reymert, P. K. (1979) Cultural monuments on Svalbard. Polar Record, 19(121), 337–342. DOI: 10.1017/S0032247400002096
Reymert, P. K., Moen, O. (2015). Fangsthytter på Svalbard 1794–2015. Svalbard museum, Longyearbyen 2015. ISBN 978-82-994451-4-6
Shumilov, O. I., Kasatkina, E. A., Krąpiec, M., Chochorowski, J., Szychowska-Krąpiec, E. (2020) Tree-ring dating of Russian Pomor settlements in Svalbard. Dendrochronologia, 62. DOI: 10.1016/j.dendro.2020.125721
Starkov, V. F. (1988) Russian sites on Spitsbergen and the problem of chronology. Fennoscandia archaeologica, 5, 111–116.
Starkov, V. F. (1989) Soviet archeological expedition studies on the archipelago of Svalbard results and prospects. Acta Borealia: A Nordic Journal of Circumpolar Societies, 6(2), 42–46. DOI: 10.1080/08003838908580374
Starkov, V. F. (1993) Russian sites on Spitsbergen. XX Polar Symposium: Man impact on polar environment, Lublin 1993, 103–109. ISBN 83-227-0560-3
Thuestad, A. E., Tømmervik, H., Solbø, S. A. (2015) Assessing the impact of human activity on cultural heritage in Svalbard: a remote sensing study of London. The Polar Journal, 5(2), 428–445. DOI: 10.1080/2154896X.2015.1068536
Wiśniewska, I. (2014) Białe. Zimna wyspa Spitsbergen. Wydawnictwo Czarne, Wołowiec 2014. ISBN 978-83-7536-829-1
Zavyalov, V. I. (1989) Excavation methods employed to study old Russian settlements and their specific features in studying Pomor complexes on Svalbard. Acta Borealia: A Nordic Journal of Circumpolar Societies, 6(2), 47–51. DOI: 10.1080/08003838908580375
Ziaja, W. (1993) Discovery of remains of settlement in Bettybukta, SE Sørkappland, Spitsbergen. XX Polar Symposium: Man impact on polar environment, Lublin 1993, 121–123. ISBN 83-227-0560-3
Ziaja, W. (1995) Environmental changes and remains of human activity in the south-eastern Spitsbergen. Il Polo, 4, 38–43.
Ziaja, W. (2002) Zmiany w strukturze środowiska przyrodniczego Sørkapplandu / Changes in the landscape structure of Sørkappland. [in:] Ziaja, W., Skiba, S. (eds.) Struktura i funkcjonowanie środowiska przyrodniczego Sørkapplandu (Spitsbergen, Svalbard) / Sørkappland landscape structure and functioning (Spitsbergen, Svalbard). Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Jagiellońskiego, Kraków 2002, 18–50. ISBN 83-233-1592-2
Ziaja, W. (2006) Archeological heritage sites in Bettybukta (Sørkappland). Archeological researches in Spitsbergen and the International Polar Year: Abstracts of the scientific conference Barentsburg (Spitsbergen), TAUS, Moscow 2006, 77–79.
Ziaja, W. (2009) Sørkappland jako obszar badań wypraw naukowych Uniwersytetu Jagiellońskiego na Spitsbergen. [in:] Górka, Z., Zborowski, A. (eds.) Człowiek i rolnictwo: profesorowi Czesławowi Guzikowi w 70. rocznicę urodzin. Instutut Geografii i Gospodarki Przestrzennej Uniwersytetu Jagiellońskiego, Kraków 2009, 371–379. ISBN 978-83-88424-43-4
The project was funded by Svalbard Environmental Protection Fund.
Dunøyane is a group of three small, low-lying islands – Store Dunøya, Nordre Dunøya and Fjørholmen – located to the north-west of the mouth of Hornsund Fjord. For this reason, they were originally known as the Hornsund Islands. The current name, the Down Islands, has been in use since the 1860s and refers to the many birds nesting in the area, most notably eider ducks, whose ultralight down is considered one of the finest natural insulating materials in the world. If that was not enough, the nearby shallows and skerries offered a perfect habitat for walruses. It is no wonder, therefore, that the end of the 18th century saw the arrival of hunters in the area. In 1819, however, the hunters became the hunted, as ten of them were attacked, robbed and killed, giving rise to a grim legend, still shrouded in mystery. All that is known for certain is that in 1920 a common grave containing the remains of ten people was discovered on one of the islands, along with two smaller graves nearby. Today, there is no more killing here. Dunøyane islands lie within the South Spitsbergen National Park and, on top of that, form a bird reserve, meaning the area is under strict protection between 15 May and 15 August – throughout the nesting season.
Hyttevika, located north of the mouth of Hornsund Fjord, is one of the most scenic parts of Spitsbergen – but the beauty comes at a price. The nearby waters are difficult to navigate, while rock formations dotting the coast increase the risk of an all-too-close encounter with a polar bear.
There is only one heritage site in the area, yet it is no ordinary one. It is the cabin of Claus Andersen from 1907, which long served some of Norway’s most famous trappers. Among them was Henry Rudi, who went down in Svalbard’s history as isbjørnkongen – the King of Polar Bears – though the Bane of Polar Bears would be more fitting, as no fewer than 713 of them met their end at his hands. Because trappers needed plenty of equipment and provisions to make it through the Arctic winter, the cabin was gradually expanded. It also underwent several major renovations, the last of which is said to have taken place in 2016.
Contemporary photograph © Barbara Jóźwiak, Fundacja forScience
Historical photograph © Jan Szupryczyński
Today, Hyttevika – because no one ever uses its original name – is an absolute favourite among enthusiasts of old cabins in Svalbard. It is protected as a heritage site and a permit from the Governor of Svalbard is required to stay there. Still, this remote solitary cabin remains a popular destination among Svalbard’s residents and foreign tourists alike. It is also regularly visited by scientists and members of the annual expeditions to the Polish Polar Station Hornsund, keen to experience, however briefly, the spirit of Svalbard’s trapping past.
Russepynten is a small headland located about 6 km north of Hornsund Fjord, with wide beaches and distinct marine terraces formed as a result of glacier retreat, sea level changes and land uplift. Although there are numerous underwater rocks (called skerries) lurking near the coast and the waves crash into the land with great force, in the 18th century the place was for a time home to Pomors, who came to Svalbard from what was then the Russian Empire. They built a wooden cabin, traces of which can still be seen today. And it is this Russian cabin that gave Russepynten its name.
Fangstmannpynten is a small headland bordered by rocky shallows on one side, and by the coastal plain of Rålstranda on the other. The plain’s name, which translates as the Shrieking Shore, is a nod to numerous colonies of little auks and other birds nesting in the area. The dominant form of early human activity in these parts is reflected by the headland’s name, the Hunter’s Point, chosen in 1987 by Polish geomorphologists, who were then mapping the area.
Even though the ruins can still be easily recognised as a former wooden cabin, the excavations allowed researchers to look deeper and see more that any casual passer-by ever could.
Contemporary photograph © Barbara Jóźwiak, forScience Foundation
Historical photograph © Chochorowski, J., Krąpiec, M. (2018) Worcesterpynten . . . – view after cleaning [image]. [in:] Structure and chronology of Russian hunting stations on the Sørkappland and Hornsund coasts (Spitsbergen), 164.
Ariebukta is a shallow bay near the mouth of Hornsund Fjord. Its eastern edge is marked by a cluster of nameless skerries, and the western – by the ominous, pyramid-shaped Rotjesfiellet, which towers over the area despite being only 419 m high. Into the bay flows the Revelva river, which comes down from picture-perfect Lake Revvatnet, tucked deep within the valley of Revdalen – one of the largest in the Hornsund region. And the word rev, found in many local place names, means fox in Norwegian, a nod to the many foxes which roam these parts.
Rettkvalbogen is also a bay, just as shallow as Ariebukta and located between two headlands – Wilczekodden in the east and Rettkvalneset to the west. It is anything but a convenient landing place or a safe haven for boats, but it does offer an unobstructed view of the mouth of Hornsund Fjord. In the old days, therefore, whalers came here to scan the surrounding waters for whales – a fact reflected in the bay’s name, which translates as the Bay of the Right Whale. The species referred to is most likely the North Atlantic Right Whale – a slow-moving giant with plenty of blubber and long baleen, fond of coastal waters and known to float when killed. All this made the animal a perfect target for whalers. No wonder, then, that it was called the right whale.
Isbjørnhamna, or the Bay of the Polar Bear, is a name that every self-respecting Svalbard enthusiast is bound to have heard more than once. After all, this is where the Polish Polar Station Hornsund is located. Yet the bay owes its name not to the polar bears roaming the area, but to the Norwegian icebeaker SS Isbjørn, bombed and sunk by German aircraft near the mouth of Isfjorden in May 1942. The bay’s outer edges are marked by two headlands – the rounded Baranowskiodden and the more rugged Wilczekodden. At the tip of the latter, members of the 1981-1982 overwintering expedition to the Polish Polar Station Hornsund erected a wooden cross. Why? Simply so it would stand there – a quiet act of defiance of the martial law imposed by communists in Poland, and a lasting symbol of freedom.
Thanks to careful maintenance, the 100-year-old cabin on Wilczekodden is in better shape than many cabins built half a century later. And far better too than it was 40 years ago. A closer look, however, makes it quite clear that another thorough renovation will soon be necessary.
Contemporary photograph © Barbara Jóźwiak, forScience Foundation
Historical photograph © Szymon Barna, Svalbard Museum’s digital archive
The area of Gnålodden is one of the most striking – and most distinctive – corners of Hornsund Fjord. It owes its unique character to the nearly 800-metre-high vertical bird cliff of Gnålberget, surrounded throughout the summer by an unbelievable racket. The noise comes from thousands of kittiwakes and guillemots nesting on the rock face. And it is their incessant cries that gave the place its name – the Norwegian word gnål means a nagging sound.
Bird colonies are a magnet for Arctic foxes and polar bears, which in turn attracted hunters. Among them was Wanny Woldstad, who went down in history as Svalbard’s first female trapper. But the area around Gnålberget had drawn attention long before the arrival of Norwegian trappers and cultural heritage found here spans three different periods in the early history of Svalbard.
When a total ban on polar bear hunting was introduced in Svalbard in 1973, and the area around Gnålberget became part of the newly-established South Spitsbergen National Park, trapping activity drew to a close. The cabin on Gnålodden, however, continued to serve polar explorers and researchers. And today, thanks to its unique aesthetic, environmental and historical value, the area is a popular destination for tourists.
The dates differ somewhat from source to source, but there’s no doubt the cabin on Gnålodden has at least a hundred years under its belt – and quite a few major renovations. Still, it’s a spring chicken compared with the other heritage remains found nearby.
Contemporary photograph © Barbara Jóźwiak, forScience Foundation
Historical photograph © Szymon Barna, Svalbard Museum’s digital archive
Even though nature has erased most traces of the 18th-century Pomor station located a few hundred metres away from the cabin, a few decades ago archaeologists made a bold attempt to uncover – quite literally – some of the site’s many secrets.
Contemporary photograph © Barbara Jóźwiak, forScience Foundation
Historical photograph © Chochorowski, J. (1999) Stacja pomorska na Gnålodden (Hornsund) w trakcie badań wykopaliskowych [image]. [in:] Problemy dendrochronologii rosyjskich stacji łowieckich na Spitsbergenie / Problems of the dendrochronology of Russian hunting stations on Spitsbergen. Oficyna Cracovia, Kraków 1999, 82. ISBN 83-86957-34-4
The investigation was extended to the nearby solitary grave. It was then that researchers concluded it dated back to an even earlier period, which is to say – the whaling era.
Contemporary photograph © Barbara Jóźwiak, forScience Foundation
Historical photograph © Adam Krawczyk
Treskelen is a narrow strip of land which marks the western edge of the glacier bay of Brepollen, located at the very end of Hornsund Fjord. Interestingly, the peninsula has served this function since quite recently, because in the early 20th century Brepollen did not yet exist. What is now a broad expanse of open water was then packed solid with glaciers. Treskelen and its surroundings are a paradise for geologists and fossil enthusiasts. It’s worth remembering, though, that the area lies within the South Spitsbergen National Park, which unfortunately means that the permitted number of rock souvenirs is precisely zero.
A tar-paper-clad block of Horridonia would hardly win the title of Miss Svalbard in an Arctic cabin beauty pageant. Despite a few major renovations it has undergone over the years, it remains exactly that – a tar-paper-clad block of a cabin. What makes it special is its location. It’s hard not to notice, however, that the view from the cabin window isn’t what it once was, especially the shrinking glaciers across the fjord.
Contemporary photograph © Barbara Jóźwiak, forScience Foundation
Historical photograph © Szymon Barna, Svalbard Museum’s digital archive
The bay of Gåshamna lies in the southern part of Hornsund Fjord and boasts the most convenient anchorage in the area. The fact did not escape the attention of 17th-century English whalers, who chose the place for their whaling station – one of the oldest and largest in Svalbard. Back then, however, the bay looked quite different, cutting much deeper inland. Today, each melting season, the gravel plain stretching from the shores of Gåshamna turns into a maze of rivers, streams and lakes, leaving little room for Arctic flora to thrive. What the place lacks in vegetation, however, it makes up for in culture, with a wealth of heritage elements still bravely resisting the destructive impact of erosion.
Although Gåshamna is most readily associated with 17th-century whaling, traces of Norwegian trapping activity also dot its shores. Among them is a ruined wooden cabin from 1906, known as Grødahlhuset. The cabin is a striking example of human ingenuity, built so that the blubber oven and whale skulls left by the whalers support its wooden walls and shield them from the elements.
Contemporary photograph © Barbara Jóźwiak, forScience Foundation
Historical photograph © Sysselmannen på Svalbard
There is more to the history of Gåshamna than whaling, hunting and trapping. Found in the area are also the remains of one of the first major international scientific expeditions to the Arctic – the Swedish-Russian Arc-of-Meridian Expedition of 1899-1902. Its aim, as the name suggests, was to measure a meridian arc and determine just how much the Earth is flattened at the poles. In 1899, the Russian part of the expedition team, whose task it was to carry out measurements in the Hornsund area, built an impressive research station on Gåshamna’s shores. They did not, however, intend to stay there for long. A year later, once their work was completed, the researchers left, leaving the station behind. Even though it soon fell into disrepair, the site is still known as Konstantinovka – after Grand Duke Konstantin Konstantinovich, president of the Russian Academy of Sciences and head of the expedition’s commission.
The Russian station comprised two main parts: the observatory and the laboratory. In 1965, Norwegian trappers built a wooden cabin on the ruins of the observatory. It is still there today, but – judging by the state of it – it may not survive much longer.
Contemporary photograph © Barbara Jóźwiak, forScience Foundation
Historical photograph © Szymon Barna, Svalbard Museum’s digital archive
The laboratory, once a neat wooden building with a gabled roof, survived in a relatively good condition until the 1960s. Today, unfortunately, only a messy pile of wood remains, within which one can still make out wooden gables, window frames and other distinctive elements of the original structure.
Contemporary photograph © Barbara Jóźwiak, forScience Foundation
Historical photograph © Jan Szupryczyński
Arkeologvika, or the Bay of Archaeologists, lies on the southern side of Hornsund Fjord, at the foot of the Wurmbrandegga mountain ridge. It is sheltered from strong winds and high waves by the headland of Høferpynten, which juts into the sea from the west, and by the islets and skerries of Schønningholmane skirting the bay from the east. To reach its shores safely from the sea, one needs a little boat and great skill – never the other way round – to navigate local shallows and underwater rocks. The bay can also be reached on foot from nearby Gåshamna, an area which once was a centre of whaling activity. The shores of Arkeologvika command a magnificent view of Hornsund Fjord and the distinctive vertical wall of Gnålberget rising on its northern side.
This stark yet picturesque valley was named after Elisabeth (Lisbet) Thomson by her husband, Adolf Hoel, who led Norwegian expeditions to Svalbard in the early 20th century. Lisbetdalen is one of Sørkappland’s largest nonglaciated valleys and home to one of its largest lakes. Svartvatnet, or the Black Lake, is over 2 km long and reaches depths of more than 20 m. The valley’s coastal section spans roughly 6 km of beaches – wide and sandy in the east, but narrower and flanked by cliffs elsewhere. Numerous mountains and significant elevation changes make the valley visually striking, despite its sparse flora and fauna.
Palffyodden lies on the north-western tip of Sørkappland, in the shadow of the rather grim Hohenlohe mountain (nor. Hohenlohefjellet). The area is most readily associated with an old trappers’ cabin – or rather two old cabins, only one of which still stands today. They were used by Norwegian trappers and then by Polish researchers. A few decades later, when the older cabin was already gone and its younger neighbour was slowly but surely following in its footsteps, the forScience Foundation took the place under its wing. Between 2015 and 2025, Kapp Horn Hytte – as it’s usually referred to in official records – underwent a series of renovations, while serving as the forScience team’s field base.
The older building burned down in the early 2000s, but the second cabin is doing better than ever.
Contemporary photograph © Barbara Jóźwiak, forScience Foundation
Historical photograph © Marek Górski
The history of Palffyodden, however, began long before the arrival of trappers or scientists. As early as the 18th century, the area was frequented by the Pomors, who came to Svalbard from the shores of the White Sea. Why did they choose Palffyodden of all places? Most likely because the numerous skerries, rocky islets, sheltered bays and quiet beaches offered excellent walrus hunting opportunities – and the Pomors were particularly fond of the walrus. Besides, the area was crossed by polar bear paths, which meant bears too were a common sight here. And so it happened that most heritage elements found in Palffyodden today were left there by the Pomors, not the trappers.
Lindqvistbukta is a bay on the north-western edge of Sørkappland, not far from the entrance to Hornsund Fjord. It was named after Alfred Gustav Lindqvist, a Norwegian trapper who passed away in 1934 after spending many harsh winters in the Far North. Camp Erna, which stood just a little further to the south, was named for his daughter. The land around the bay is dotted with lakes fed by streams coming down from the nearby mountains. Consequently, looking for shortcuts in these parts is a tricky – and wet – business.
Vestkiva is an open bay full of underwater rocks and little rocky islets. To the north, it borders the much smaller Lindqvistbukta, while its southern edge is marked by the tip of Raksodden. In the southern part of the bay, wide sandy beaches slope gently towards the sea, whereas in the north the shoreline turns gravelly and the gentle slope turns into steep cliffs. Beyond the beach stretches a plain rich in vegetation and dotted with lakes, separated from the coast by a low ridge. The lack of natural barriers means that the animals roaming the area can be spotted from far away, which is handy for keeping an eye out for polar bears. On the flip side, no barriers means no shelter from fierce winds. As a result, fieldwork here is often a real challenge – and landing by boat trickier still.
Breineset is a broad headland located roughly halfway along the picturesque plain of Breinesflya, which stretches for about 12 km between Raksodden in the north and Røysneset in the south. The area features a wide beach of sand and gravel, which slopes gently to the sea. Here you can also find old marine terraces formed due to changes that have taken place in Sørkappland since the end of the last Ice Age, around 11000 years ago. As the sea level gradually fell and the land lifted, driftwood and whale bones were left stranded a quite a distance from the shore, may sometimes be found far inland, well beyond the reach of even the largest storm waves.
Vektaren, or the Watchman, is a barren rock rising from the sea less than half a mile off the shore. Does it bear any traces of early human activity in Svalbard? Probably not. But it serves as a useful reference point, because the coastal plain of Breinesflya stretching here spans some 12 km of classic Arctic nothingness. Still, it might be worth noting that the cultural heritage elements marked with the code VEK (for Vektaren) are not located on the rock itself, but scattered across the nearby area, in the southern part of the plain.
Bjørnbeinflya is an extensive coastal plain with pleasant scenery and a surprisingly grim name, which translates as the Plain of Bear Bones. The area stretches along the south-western coast of Sørkappland. Its northern edge extends a little beyond the forefield of the Vitkovskijbreen glacier, where the glacial river of Bungeelva separates Bjørnbeinflya from the neighbouring Tørflya. The plain’s southern boundary is marked by Fisneset – Fart Headland – whose name was inspired by the nearby sulphurous springs, which fill the air with the delightful stench of rotten eggs.
In the 1980s, the ruins of the Pomor hunting station located in this area attracted the attention of Polish archaeologists. The information they gathered during the excavations and the insights drawn from it were later published in numerous articles, many of which found their way into the New Dimensions bibliography. None of the text, however, explains what has become of the stump of the monumental votive cross or the human skeleton – both clearly visible in the photograph from the excavations, and clearly gone today.
Contemporary photograph © Barbara Jóźwiak, forScience Foundation
Historical photograph © Chochorowski, J., Krąpiec, M. (2018) Remains of a monumental cross and a burial . . . [image]. [in:] Structure and chronology of Russian hunting stations on the Sørkappland and Hornsund coasts (Spitsbergen), 147.
Olsokflya is a plain that’s anything but plain (as is often the case in postglacial landscapes), stretching northwards from the Olsokbreen glacier, from which it takes its name. And where does the glacier’s name come from? It was chosen in 1920 by a group of Norwegians who arrived in the area on 29 July – a day known in Norway as Olsok, and elsewhere as St. Olaf’s Day. Olaf himself, or more precisely King Olaf II Haraldsson, perished 890 years earlier during the Battle of Stiklestad, where his forces suffered a bitter defeat. That did not, however, stop Olaf from being canonised and shortly afterwards – becoming Norway’s patron saint.
There is one more heritage element in the area – a former trappers’ cabin (recorded as ND-133212-1), now reduced to scattered pieces of wood and rusted fragments of a stove. Since the mid-1980s, the site’s condition has gone from very poor to even worse. The surroundings have also changed, particularly the extent of the Olsokbreen glacier visible in the background.
Contemporary photograph © Barbara Jóźwiak, forScience Foundation
Historical photograph © Adam Krawczyk
Sørkappøya, or the South Cape Island, is tiny – a small patch of land of indeterminate shape and a circumference of merely 17 km, located about 5 km off the southernmost tip of Spitsbergen, whose name – Sørkapp – means the South Cape. There’s no point looking for Sørkappøya on the list of Svalbard’s must-visit destinations. Why not? Mainly due to its broadly-understood inaccessibility. Sørkappøya lies within the South Spitsbergen National Park and is therefore subject to tight restrictions. In addition, along with the neighbouring islets, it forms the Sørkapp Bird Reserve, where restrictions are even tighter. But it hasn’t always been this way. Long before environmental protection became a concern in Svalbard, Sørkappøya was reached by the whalers. Later, it became the hunting ground for the Pomors, as the nearby skerries and shallows teemed with walruses. The tiny island attracted also Norwegian trappers, whose main target was the polar bear. Today, walrus colonies are a thing of the past and polar bears are far less common than a century ago. The island abounds, however, in relics of human activity, generously contributing to Svalbard’s cultural heritage.
Although Sørkappøya is home to numerous elements of Svalbard’s cultural heritage, the most distinctive of them is probably Hi-Fix – a wooden trappers’ cabin from 1908, or rather what remains of it. The cabin was originally known as Trondsenhuset, after Petter Trondsen, one of its builders. Successive occupants subjected the cabin to regular repairs and renovations, yet in the 1930s it was already in a sorry state. Three decades later, it was reportedly renovated by a team from the Norwegian Polar Institute. And it was around that time that the still-visible name HI-FIX appeared on the cabin’s gable. According to information available on the Spitsbergen | Svalbard website, Hi-Fix is short for High Precision Fixing – a radio-based navigation system that relied on land stations and was used during the search for mineral resources in the Arctic. It may therefore be that one of such stations was installed on Sørkappøya.
Contemporary photograph © Barbara Jóźwiak, forScience Foundation
Historical photograph © Per Kyrre Reymert, Sysselmannen på Svalbard
Skjemmeneset lies on Sørkapp – the southernmost tip of Sørkappland and, at the same time, of the entire island of Spitsbergen. In earlier times, the area was home to a small trappers’ cabin – or perhaps even two – but today only faint traces of them remain. And the name they inspired, because the old Norwegian skemma means none other than a small cabin. True to its name, Skjemmeneset was chosen as the site for yet another hut. It was put up in 1980 and has been used by the representatives of the Governor of Svalbard ever since. Beside it stands a little automatic lighthouse, warning ships of the treacherous shallows that stretch along Sørkapp’s forbidding coast.
Located on the south-eastern edge of Spitsbergen, the bay of Grunnvågen – or the Shallow Bay – is defined not only by its modest depth, but also by the presence of numerous skerries that extend from the Kikutodden promontory. During storms, the turbulent waters of the Barents Sea mould the beach, which reaches the width of 20-30 m in its eastern section, while in the west it narrows in places to just little over a few metres. It hasn’t always looked this way, however. Past changes in the shape of the shoreline are reflected in the raised marine terraces, which have witnessed storms and other coastal processes for the last 11000 years. Above the bay stretches the coastal plain of Grunnvågsletta, cut by numerous streams that drain water from meting snow, local glaciers and rainfall. To the north, the plain is framed by the steep slopes of Keilhaufjellet. Both the slopes and the plain at their foot are covered with lush vegetation, as the area is intensively fertilised by countless birds nesting on the inaccessible rock walls. To the west, the plain borders with a 20-metre-high terminal moraine of the Mathiasbreen glacier, which marks the glacier’s extent in the early 20th century – right after the end of the Little Ice Age.
Bettybukta is an open bay on the south-eastern coast of Sørkappland. It stretches for about six kilometres, from the foot of Mount Skolthuken in the north to the moraines of the Keilhaubreen glacier in the south. Above Bettybukta lies the coastal plain of Skoltsletta, bordered to the west by mountains and high glacial valleys, and to the east – by the sea. The plain ranges in width from a few hundred metres to over 1.5 km. What the area lacks in vegetation it makes up for in driftwood and intriguing heritage sites left by the Pomors who once stayed here. Research suggests, however, that the modern coastline of Bettybukta looks quite different from how it did in the times of the Pomors. This is due to marine coastal accumulation – the gradual extension of land which supposedly occurred here at the rate of approximately 40 m per century.
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