The Lantern

The Arctic, with its melting ice and changing landscapes, stands as a testament to environmental change. For me, it's more than a place of research—it's a crime scene, and I am its CSI Ny-Ålesund. Trond, the coal miner turned Arctic miner, has left clues scattered across this frozen expanse, much like breadcrumbs leading to his identity. "Don't lock your doors," he had told me, a philosophy that spoke volumes about life here.

In the early days on Kings Bay, coal miners ruled, followed by scientific outposts like the one where I first met Trond. I was the idealistic undergrad, eager to defend nature from the ravages of capitalism, while Trond was already a seasoned Arctic miner. Despite our opposing views, we found an unexpected bond that transcended our differences.

The tattoo “79 ° North” inked on our shoulders symbolized our shared experience and the deep connection we felt. But as the polar night gave way to the first rays of the sun, our lives took different paths. Store Norske Mining Company's decision to close Gruve 7 mine was postponed due to the Ukraine war, pulling Trond back into the depths of the mine. Our bi-weekly video chats turned into occasional texts, and soon, silence.

Now, aboard MS Nordstjernen en route to Svalbard, I'm joined by my Swedish colleagues—Clare, Leah, and Julio. Our mission: to study the mysteries of the polar night, especially its impact on krill and phytoplankton. For the first time, I feel like I'm embarking on a true Arctic adventure.

Yet, I can't shake off the image of Trond deep underground, removing his headlamp in the Gruve 7 breakroom, his hands covered in coal dust. The contrast between our lives is stark. While I revel in the perpetual moonlight of the polar night, Trond toils in the darkness, risking his life day after day.

The Arctic, with its vast reserves of oil, gas, and coal, is a treasure trove of energy. But it's also a delicate ecosystem teeming with life—from the ocean depths to the mountain peaks. As marine biologists, our focus is on the fascinating mysteries that unfold beneath the ice: the werewolf effect, diel vertical migration, and the strange world of algae, bacteria, and plankton thriving in the melting ice.

Arriving at Svalbard, Clare invites me on a hyttetur—a cabin trip to a remote cabin in Sveagruva. With snowmobiles and headlamps, we traverse the sea ice, our breath forming clouds in the frigid air. At Clare's cabin, we warm ourselves with coffee and blankets, preparing for the journey ahead.

The landscape on the way to Sveagruva is otherworldly—glaciers, ice caves, and the occasional glimpse of wildlife like polar bears and reindeer. One particular encounter with a polar bear and her cubs leaves me awestruck, and I can't help but think of Trond. Clare notices my preoccupation and asks if I've heard from him. I deflect the question, not ready to confront my feelings.

At the cabin, surrounded by the vast Arctic wilderness, we settle into the simple comforts of hyttetur life: no plumbing, no electricity, just the warmth of a wood stove and the camaraderie of friends. As we share stories and laughter over Grappa, I'm lost in my thoughts, wondering about Trond and our future.

Later, as I step outside into the polar night, the moonlight casting its silvery glow on the snow, I receive an email from Trond. He writes about the changes in Kongsfjorden, the tragic accident involving a fellow miner, and his own reflections on life and our relationship. The email is a stark reminder of the dangers Trond faces and the distance that has grown between us.

Back in the cabin, I share Trond's email with Clare and the others. Their supportive words offer comfort, but the weight of Trond's words hangs heavy on my heart. I realize that the Arctic has changed us both, irreversibly altering our paths.

As the first rays of the sun break through the polar night, I find myself at a crossroads. Clare's question about staying for the spring lingers in my mind. The Arctic, with its beauty and challenges, has become a part of me. Yet, the uncertainty of my relationship with Trond casts a shadow over my decision.

In the end, I reply to Trond's email, expressing my desire to see him and acknowledging the profound impact he has had on my life. As the sun returns, casting its warm light on the Arctic landscape, I realize that, like the polar night, life is a blend of light and darkness, joy and sorrow. And it's up to us to find our way through it, guided by the light of love, friendship, and shared experiences.