Arctic Kingdom: Life at the Edge Page #5

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All around her the ice is changing

The pasture of algae

that once blanketed the surface has

sloughed off

and joined together in flowing

ribbons of green

Long tendrils reach out to

absorb light

and nutrients from the

passing currents

A new lead has opened in the ice

and a pod of narwhals comes

streaming into the crack

They usually travel in small numbers

but when fishing is good

hundreds may come together

As they enter the crack

these specialized hunters

take a risk

The opening unlocks a rich store

of Arctic cod

but the ice is still shifting

Without warning, the lead closes off

The whales are trapped

The entire pod must surface to breathe

in this small pool of open water

They bob up and down

in a crush of bodies

careful not to wound each other

with their tusks

If the hole closes over completely

the narwhals will have to make a

run for open water

if they don't find it

they will suffocate and die

Then suddenly, as unpredictably

a it closed

the lead reopens

and the whales are free

High off the cliffs of

Prince Leopold Island

fulmars and kittiwakes ride

the wild winds

Even gusts of 40 miles per hour

present no problem

for these aerial acrobats

Landing is the tricky part

There is new life in the murre colony

The adult birds are busy plying back

and forth to the sea

returning with cod for their young

The chick will need to triple

its weight over the next three weeks

and feeds round the clock

in the constant daylight

At the top of the cliff

glaucous gull chicks are hungry too

But gulls don't limit their

diet to fish

This one goes hunting closer to home

looking for an unprotected chick

It returns with a grisly catch

For the fox, these are hungry times

Egg laying is over and the chicks

have hatched out of his reach

He has only his store of buried eggs

to see him through

High summer finally reaches the Arctic

The last remnants of ice swirl near

the shores of Lancaster Sound

The frozen sea is broken at last

drifting in tattered pieces

on the current

Moving inshore are the gleaming

white shapes of belugas

They return by the hundreds to the

same inlets they frequent each year

Their smooth, white skin has turned

yellow and wrinkled

It's time to molt

On the rocky bottom of the shallows

the whales scrape off their old

weathered skin with a rejuvenating rub

Terns wheel overhead and dive

for bits of molted skin

As the tide turns, the whales retreat

into deeper water

But one young beluga has pushed too

far inshore

The benevolent sun now becomes

his greatest enemy

He could easily sunburn

and out of the cold water

he could overheat

The others can do nothing

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