NatureTravel

At the Heart of Europe’s Winter: The Norwegian Whale Feast

Berlin, Paris, London, Barcelona, Milan – most Europeans, especially among new generations, are born in – or adopted by – large cities. The European youth is used to living in places where the night is bright with a thousand lights, clubs and concerts are at hand, and students cram rented apartments and dorms.

But there are places, no less European, where little of this can reach.

In the region of Troms og Finnmark, in Northern Norway, every winter magic repeats itself with no need for human intervention. The sun sets never to rise again until spring; the snow cloaks in a pale cape mountain and forest alike; and millions of herring fill the fjords, luring a host of whales and orcas. The latter is one of the most unique Wild Europe events.

Tours depart from Tromsø, a university town 75,000-strong, white pearl perched over 300 kilometres above the Arctic Circle. By car, van or bus, a jumbled band of operators will take people to the island of Skjervøy, some 130 kilometres farther north, where the whale feast is held. The guides are people like Aurore. Aside from boasting an apt name for these latitudes, she is a Belgian married to an Italian, speaking English to the tourists and Norwegian to the locals, and driving studded-wheeled through winding, frozen roads. It doesn’t get any more European than that.

Red hues paint the morning sky, off Skjervøya
Red hues paint the morning sky, off Skjervøya | © Luca Mapelli

Around 9:00 AM, the world starts to lighten up. The sun does not rise, but lingers at the rim of the southern horizon for a few hours, delivering an eerie hue. The polar twilight unveils the shape of jagged mountains looming around, shimmering fjords and shiny fir trees caked with ice. The very trip to Skjervøy is a wonder in itself.

Skjervøy is a fishermen village, to which whale tourism is both bless and blight. The whale-watching boats are moored at the local harbour, next to fishing vessels, tugs and sailers. By the time the party gets there, the southern sky is blushing and the north is azure: the light is finally enough to go at sea.

As the boat leaves the piers, a breeze picks up, raising plumes of spray from the foamy swells, spitting shreds of icy water all around. The temperature is still mild for the arctic, only a few degrees below freezing.

“There she blows!”. It is not long before the nowadays whalers spot the first spouts, an eruption of steam four metres tall: it’s a group of humpback whales. They move slowly, some tens of metres by the side of the boat. Above the surface, their blows are loud and contain a dissonant, characteristic high note. Below the surface, however, these giants sing low, lovely melodies. At some point, they head for the concert halls of the deep, diving; their flukes emerge, dripping water as if to say goodbye.

Orca bull surfaces to breathe, off Skjervøya
Orca bull surfaces to breathe, off Skjervøya | © Luca Mapelli

The boat moves farther off the coast. This time, tall black fins slash the swells, betraying the presence of orcas. Killer whale society is centred on matriarchal families which unite into larger blood-bound groups, or pods. Normally, pods live on their own, but here they gather from all over the North to feed. Their dozens of local dialects and foreign languages mingle in the water, making for a Nordic cultural melting pot. They head for some fishing vessels, where they will snatch herring directly from the nets. Fishermen must be careful: should one of the rascals get entangled in their gear, they would be forced by law to release the whole catch.

Once pillage and plunder are done, the raiding orcas move on in a slow post-meal travel. They appear and disappear in a sinuous dance, riding the waves. Their quiet blows are the only sound breaking the silence, soft and soothing beyond words. The day, too, is drowsily drawing to an end. The mountain tops, fang-like, bite at the fiery horizon. The sharp orcas’ dorsal fins seem to mimic the surrounding peaks.

Northern lights erupt from behind the mountains, south of Tromsø | © Luca Mapelli
Northern lights erupt from behind the mountains, south of Tromsø | © Luca Mapelli

Dusk darkens. It is time to head back, freezing outwardly but warm within. On the way to Tromsø, the serene skies may well bless the polar travellers with the green-purple sight of the Northern Lady.

Wanderers for a day, Europeans young and old will soon head back to their cities of lights, clubs, concerts and cramped buildings. But now they know there is more to their homeland. A place where only Aurora shines in the night, her features move in dance, leviathans sing, and the blackfish dwell.

 

Guest article by Luca Mapelli. This content does not necessarily reflect the official opinion of My Country? Europe. Responsibility for the information and views expressed therein lies entirely with the author.

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Luca Mapelli

Always wandering with body and brain. Passionate about fantasy and wildlife, but cursed with a Master's degree in political economics. Keen on getting metal out of the amp, veggies on the plate, and Europe in the newsfeed.

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