Nature
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Text: Anna Henriksson Photos: Private
M.Sc Student Anna Henriksson is studying the thermal properties of Arctic fox fur. These are her impressions from time in the field...including a surprising encounter.
The first few days in Longyearbyen have been intense but very educational. We’ve spent long days in the laboratory carefully examining arctic foxes to check for lice and document any findings.
Although I’ve spent months and months deep diving into everything there is to know about arctic foxes, there are still surprises left. Despite many hours of closely studying any literature available concerning fur, I gasped in surprise today when I, for the first time, saw their paws. It was as if the fox had stepped on cotton grass, and it had clung onto their pads. It makes sense. Their scientific name in Latin is Vulpes lagopus - “The hare-footed fox” - after all. It is a reference to the similarly fluffy feet a cold-climate species of hare has in winter. In fact, the furs thickness on the arctic fox’s paw pads more than doubles in winter, making them look like little white cushions. So, I find the name very fitting.
Field workdays
First try.
Everything is packed, ready to go. I’ve spent the past few days going through every detail of my project, making sure my equipment will run smoothly and even borrowing a husky for an hour to test my infrared camera’s trigger mechanisms. It was the closest animal I could get to an arctic fox.
Watching the footage from the husky test I tell my supervisors that we’re all set, and ready to start the next day. As I finalise the files however, it all goes wrong. Trying not to panic, I realise the program and all the settings and configurations, which we’d spent months figuring out, are gone, wiped from the disk. Why does this happen to me? And why did it have to happen now, the night before we begin?
Trying to troubleshoot the problem, I realise I haven't had any food for hours. Trying to see what can be saved I realise nothing good will come out of being hungry, tired and stressed (a conclusion my supervisors had reached a few minutes before me). I’m ordered to have a pizza and sleep on the issue, and I readily oblige. After all, my supervisors have done this a thousand times, have been through it all. I’m lucky they have my back. Their calmness is contagious.
I tell myself that experiencing setbacks is a part of learning. It’s a part of the process to become better at a skill. The following day, looking out the windows across Adventdalen, I feel slightly bitter. The weather is stunning and here I am fixing my own mistakes instead of being out there, doing field work. Eventually I manage to reset all the vital parts in the program. It seems everything is working, so I celebrate by taking a walk in the never setting sun.
Second try.
The forecasts are optimistic and so am I. In the morning we double check our packing lists. I make sure I have all the tools to connect the batteries to the solar panel and infrared camera. I can't afford another mishap.
Driving out to our site is a smooth ride. The Adventdalen delta is covered in snow and ice at this time of year, providing snowmobile drivers with a flat and quick way to make some distance. After some time, we finally arrive. It’s steep and the snow is rock hard, which makes it hard to walk around without slipping, but I recognise the terrain from the photos I have been studying. Once I spot a characteristic boulder, I know exactly where the fox den is located. Childishly I feel an urge to run ahead to take a peek but hold myself back. We’re a team and I am the newbie in this context. Moving closer together we find that no foxes have been here yet and the den entrance is under a thick layer of hard, crusty snow. Are those fluffy little paws I saw a few days earlier really going to dig through this rock-solid snow? Will there even be any foxes here this year? Before I have the time to think too much, we begin working.
Breaking through the hard snow takes time and we rotate the work between digging and carrying up the heavy tools and equipment. We have to make sure everything is securely in place; not only will the equipment have to withstand the harsh climate, but the Svalbard reindeer are notorious for damaging scientific experiments by using equipment as scratching posts.
I’ve not seen a live arctic fox yet but have seen plenty of traces of their presence.
It’s a beautiful day but freezing cold. As we’re working on setting everything up, I can’t help to look around me. I’ve not seen a live arctic fox yet but have seen plenty of traces of their presence. An echo of a bark. Fresh tracks. But since their camouflage is too good for my untrained eye, I have no chance of ever spotting one.
We mount all our equipment, triple check that everything is running properly, while also securing any cables within reach of a curious fox. We expect that a few foxes will come by to check out our setup and I’ve been told that if there is anything they can chew, they will.
We pack up and head home with high hopes. See you in July little camera!
The arctic fox encounter back in Longyearbyen
Back in town Longyearbyen, rumour has it there is an arctic fox in the area. A local friend sent me a text about it late last night, but after a long day of being in the field I was exhausted and chose to sleep. A day off was ahead of me anyway.
Being a very active and mobile animal, I think to myself that this little friend will be miles away by now, but it’s worth a shot, I suppose. I’ve still never seen a live one, after all.
The past few days have been intense, so the gentle walk along the edge of the town is perfect for today. I’ve been hiking for an hour or so when I decide to take a break on top of a scree hill with a view over Longyearbyen in the sun. Scanning the landscape, I see no tracks nor any other signs of foxes. I remind myself my chances of meeting one here today are slim, but still, I’m disappointed.
Suddenly I get the feeling I’m being watched. I’m trying to shake it off when I suddenly meet his eyes. Two large yellow eyes squinting right back at me from a distance. If it wasn't for the contrasting backdrop of the buildings behind, I would never have spotted him. His fur is perfect, brilliant white and blends in perfectly with snow, the perfect camouflage for the arctic.
We begin walking circles around each other, I go down the hill and move towards him as he rounds me, investigating my tracks, rolling in my scent.
For an hour we keep no less than 10 metres away from each other, him leading the way and me respecting his boundaries as best I can. We enjoy the sun for a while before he darts up the hill. I follow him slowly - my human legs aren’t evolved for the snow like his are. I take his picture; he sniffs the air. Perfect.
Published: December 2023
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