A special companion joined East Coast animal life few days ago: Arctic tern. This tireless bird is coming straight from the Antarctic, almost non stop (I have respect for him only for that). To tell the truth, I'm not welcoming him with great pleasure. He is part of Arctic pirates. First is the pack ice pirate: the polar bear, unpredictable killer. "Ice adventurers, be careful!". Then the sea pirate: the walrus, audacious destroyer. "Kayakers, be careful!". Then the air pirate: the Arctic tern. "Arm yourself!". This little bird, loudmouthed and tough, can make a hole in your skull till it bleeds to protect his nest on the bare ground. From now on, I will go out with a very special weapon... a wooden stick above my head on which the flying bawler will persist. The clever anti-tern has certainly some weakness, and a major one, it cannot protect from droppings... Temperature: +3,8°C at hostage-taking (transl. EB)

I can see 3 steps before ice breaking up: time for "Moon Boots", "ski", then "rubber boots". I'm now between 2nd and 3rd periods. Impossible to leave Vagabond evading gravity laws. Without my skis, I would easily sink up to my knees, wetting up my shoes not so much water proof. That’s putting it mildly: there is water everywhere! And sometimes well hidden under porous and not much load-bearing snow. Vagabond could almost float, if I look how is the sea taking her rights again. Logically, that’s what ought to happen, but the boat is aground on a thick layer of ice. With all that water, liquid, solid as well as gaseous (horizon is becoming leaden with fog), it is hard to imagine that Svalbard is a (arctic) desert. Annual precipitations are sometimes less than 180 mm (650 mm per year average in Paris, editor’s note)! (Sébastien Barrault, transl. EB)

In a letter to her brother, Léonie d'Aunet wrote in 1839: "Deserts have their own poetry: sand deserts, ice deserts, it is always infinite solitude, and no voice can talk to soul in a more stirring language". I've been alone on board for the last 7 days. I feel isolation but not solitude. And poetry? Intact! Inglefieldbukta is my haven. Vagabond give me shade and heat, icebergs all around frozen in pack ice are giving me an abundance of water. While my loud mouthed Greenlandic dogs, they know well how to crush the supreme silence of the East Coast. Some episodes of LOST are brightening up my first evenings on my own. Outside, a swallow lost herself in the North! (Sébastien Barrault, transl. EB)

Tassen était de la race des chiens polaires, un chien groenlandais pour être plus précis. Je ne suis pas sur de la signification de Tassen, même les norvégiens ne savent pas trop. Pour certains ce nom ne veut rien dire. Pour d'autres il y aurait une idée de "vitesse". Pour l'anecdote, quand ce chien est né il fût appelé "Bamse", qui signifie "ourson". Et son frère "Tassen". Mais comme son Bamse avait la même couleur que les ours polaires, il y a eu confusion et les noms se sont échangés. Amusant. Tassen avait 11 ans mais était encore en pleine forme. On avait même fait un tour à ski ensemble plus tôt dans la journée avant qu'il ne meurt. J'avais noté ses problèmes d'estomac depuis notre arrivée à Vagabond. Ce sont des chiens robustes mais fragiles avec leur estomac. Il peut se retourner facilement. C'est pour cela qu'ils ne doivent pas courir ou produire d'effort tout de suite après avoir mangé. Dans son cas, l'âge avancé aidant, son estomac s'est retourné alors qu'il était sagement attaché à sa place. Ca arrive parfois. Le froid n'y est pour rien (actuellement, avec les températures positives les chiens commencent à souffrir un peu de la chaleur). Pour revenir au Caterpillar, c'est juste un clin d'oil car à Svea le gros bulldozer a été nommé Tassen. Ca m'a toujours amusé car finalement il y avait des similitudes dans les qualités de mon chien et d'une telle machine. Maintenant il y a 5 chiens avec moi. Trois Groenlandais qui appartiennent à Eric et France, un Leica qui était à bord de Tara pendant la dérive dans l'océan glacial arctique et qui profite d'une banquise plus stable, et finalement un Grønsky (comprendre croisement entre un Groenlandais et un Husky), Tundra, ma petite chienne de 4 mois. La relève est assurée ! Ming (un Groenlandais) est repartie avec mon amie Elin, il y a un peu moins d'une semaine. Leurs fonctions sont multiples. Ce sont des chiens de travail. Ils adorent tirer et c'est bien pratique pour se déplacer à ski ou en traîneau. Mais souvent on utilise les chiens pour déplacer de lourdes charges. Un gros Groenlandais peut tirer jusqu'à 35kg. Si la charge est dans une pulka, ça glisse; il peut tirer deux fois plus sans problème. Les Groenlandais sont des chiens puissants mais moins endurants que les Huskies. Comme les Groenlandais ont été croisés avec les loups, ils ont gardé deux choses : le 5ème doigt (ergot), mais ce n'est pas systématique; et leur capacité à gérer l'effort. Le Groenlandais comme le loup saura toujours s'arrêter avant l'épuisement total. Alors qu'un Husky peut courir jusqu'à la mort ! Au Spitzberg, les ours sont nombreux (env. 3500) et les chiens sont bien utiles pour annoncer leur présence. Sur Vagabond, ils me permettent de relâcher l'attention lorsque je travaille tête baissée dehors ou quand je dors. Ensuite c'est l'humain qui prend la relève pour faire partir le visiteur trop curieux avec des cris ou des pétards. Le Leica est un expert. Il arrive à faire fuir les ours seulement en aboyant. Il est vrai que dans cette région les ours ne sont pas affamés et c'est d'avantage la curiosité qui les amène proche du bateau ou des chiens. La dépouille encore chaude de Tassen qui gît au pied d'un iceberg sur la banquise a reçu la visite de deux femelles ourses. Elles l'ont reniflé et sont reparties. (Sébastien Barrault)

I know 2 Tassen in Svalbard. My dog, an elegant Greenlandic with a thick fur "smoking" and tattooed "007". True! He is strong, sound and tough. A little narrow indeed. The second one is a huge Caterpillar used to carry coal at the harbour of Svea mine. No wonder why such a machine has been called like my dog, I often repeated to myself! At 5 o'clock this morning, mechanism jammed. I found out, little moved, that Tassen, the dog, will not be jealous of the red balloon anymore. He flew off as well. In the present storm, some yappings died away at Inglefieldbukta. Today Imiaq will have a new collar. (Sébastien Barrault, transl. EB)

I knew it would happen... I'm afraid here we are! After 8 long months, winter is ending. As I didn't want to face it, 3 geese came from South and sway their hips appetizingly in front of the dogs, pulling hard on their chains, it was the end of it. Yes, the fine days of summer are coming, as some would say. But in Spitsbergen, this means that snow is becoming heavy and wet, that permafrost is melting at surface, that sky is getting more cloudy, that soon Vagabond will be trapped in a persistent fog, and that mud will be more perverse than fragile pack ice. Here we would say that a new season is starting. (transl. EB)

Vagabond gave a jump this morning... also I did; we didn't understand. My heart missed a beat. A giant wave broke open the hull of the boat, mixing everything inside, taking all away... even us! In a word, this was how I experienced the first seconds of a mini-tsunami, still in an ethereal sleep. I was only just dressed up, on the deck, I could see the dogs braced on their legs looking at pack ice, though still. The glacier at the other side of the bay was weathering in a furious uproar... and the wave went out by a hole through the ice under the boat's stern. As a matter of fact, it's hot in the sun. It gave wings to "Maurice", our goldfish, who was allowed to go out of his bowl today, and to tickle the clouds. (transl. EB)

Eric left Vagabond under a radiant midnight sun, entrusting his floating house to our care, as well as last scientific measurements before ice breaking up. Although Elin and I are now alone on board, we don't feel unfamiliar with the premises. The boat met us before, as well as glaciers around. Today, 7 dogs are watching the boat and waking up Inglefield Bay with their yapping and howling every time some dog food is showing up at the bow. So our 5 weeks stay on board is looking... musical! (transl. EB)

Elin, Sébastien and their 3 dogs arrived last Sunday, on skis, the weather remained splendid since. Yesterday, I explained them the scientific work, starting with a weather sounding with the helium balloon, then the radiometers, the daily weather report and the ice thickness measurements. Today, we are more looking at technical things: energy control with solar panels, wind generator and main generator, then stove maintenance, safety equipment, and keeping an eye on the temporary repairs of the hull. I'm leaving the boat tonight, for 5 weeks.

Jean-Claude Gascard, coordinator of Damocles, Hugues and Stephen, cameramen, and France and Léonie left Vagabond on Wednesday night. Scientific season is finishing progressively, melting has started, but we will have to wait until July to be free from pack ice, and to get back to open sea. Until then, some weather soundings will complete data from the permanent automatic station set up near the cabin. I'm now doing the last oceanographic measurements, from a very wet pack ice.