During the two winters he spent in Nova Zembla, the steersman Ziwolka had daily consulted the thermometer, and the result of his observations gave to the western entrance of Mathew’s Straits a mean annual temperature of +17°.
Thus Nova Zembla is colder than the west coast of Spitzbergen, which, although still farther to the north, is more favorably situated with regard to the winds and currents, and from five to ten degrees warmer than the high northern parts of Siberia and continental America, which sustain a comparatively numerous population, while Nova Zembla is uninhabited. Hence this want, and the circumstance that the vegetation of these islands scarcely rises a span above the ground, while the forest region still penetrates far within the confines of the colder continental regions above mentioned, are to be ascribed not to the low mean annual temperature of Nova Zembla, but to the unfavorable distribution of warmth over the various seasons of the year. For although high Northern Siberia and America have a far colder winter, they enjoy a considerably warmer summer, and this it is which in the higher latitudes determines the existence or the development of life on the dry land. During the winter the organic world is partly sheltered under the snow, or else it migrates, or it produces within itself sufficient warmth to defy the cold—and thus a few degrees more or less at that time of the year are of no material consequence, while the warmth of summer is absolutely indispensable to awaken life and determine its development.
The comparatively mild winter of Nova Zembla (no less than thirty-three degrees warmer than that of Jakutsk) is therefore of but little benefit to vegetable life, which on the other hand suffers considerably from a summer inferior even to that of Melville Island and Boothia Felix. A coast where the sun, in spite of a day of several months’ continuance, generates so small a quantity of heat, and where yet some vegetation is able to flourish, must necessarily be well worthy the attention of botanists, or rather of all those who take an interest in the geographical distribution of plants. For if in the primitive forests of Brazil the naturalist admires the effects of a tropical sun and an excessive humidity in producing the utmost exuberance of vegetation, it is no less interesting for him to observe how Flora under the most adverse circumstances still wages a successful war against death and destruction.
Thus a few years after Pachtussow’s expedition, the desire to explore a land so remarkable in a botanical point of view, and to gather new fruits for science in the wilderness, induced Herr von Baer, though already advanced in years, to undertake the journey to Nova Zembla.
Accompanied by two younger naturalists, Mr. Lehmann and Mr. Röder, the celebrated Petersburg academician arrived on July 29, 1837, at the western entrance of Mathew’s Straits, sailed through them the next day in a boat, and reached the sea of Kara, where he admired a prodigious number of jelly-fishes (Pleurobrachia pileus) swimming about in the ice-cold waters, and displaying a marvellous beauty of coloring in their ciliated ribs. This excursion might, however, have had very disagreeable consequences, for a dreadful storm, blowing from the west, prevented their boat from returning, and forced them to pass the night with some walrus-hunters, whom they had the good-fortune to meet with. On the following day the storm abated, so that the return could be attempted; they were, however, obliged to land on a small island in the Beluga Bay, where, wet to the skin, and their limbs shaking with cold, they fortunately found a refuge in the ruins of a hut in which Rosmysslow had wintered in 1767. Meanwhile the wind had veered to the east, accompanied by a very disagreeable cold rain, which on the mountains took the form of snow; they were now, however, able to make use of their sail, and arrived late at night at the spot where their ship lay at anchor, completely wet, but in good health and spirits.
“We could esteem ourselves happy,” says Von Baer, “in having paid so slight a penalty for neglecting the precaution, so necessary to all travellers in Nova Zembla, of providing for a week when you set out for a day’s excursion.”
On August 4, after a thorough botanical examination of the straits, the party proceeded along the west coast. The wind, blowing from the north, brought them to the Kostin Schar, a maze of passages between numerous islets, where the walrus-hunters in Nova Zembla chiefly assemble.
On August 9 an excursion was made up the river Nechwatowa, where they rested in a hut which had been erected by some fisherman employed in catching “golzi,” or Arctic salmon. On returning to the ship, a dreadful storm arose from the north-east, which lasted nine days, and, very fortunately for the botanists, caught them in the Kostin Schar, and not on the high sea. Although they were anchored in a sheltered bay, the waves frequently swept over the deck of their vessel, and compelled them to remain all the time in their small, low cabin. Only once they made an attempt to land, but the wind was so strong that they could hardly stand. Their situation was rendered still more terrible and anxious, as part of the crew which had been sent out hunting before the storm began had not yet returned.
When at last the storm ceased, winter seemed about to begin in good earnest. Every night ice formed in the river, and the land was covered with snow, which had surprised the scanty vegetation in its full bloom. At length the hunters returned, after having endured terrible hardships, and now preparations were made for a definitive departure. A general bath was taken, without which no anchorage in Nova Zembla is ever left, and, according to ancient custom, a votive cross was likewise erected on the strand, as a memorial of the expedition.
On August 28 the anchors were weighed, but they were soon dropped again in the Schar, to examine on a small island the vegetable and animal products of the land and of the shore. The former offered but few objects of interest, but they were astonished at the exuberance of marine life. After having been detained by a thick fog in this place for several days, they at length sailed towards the White Sea, where they were obliged by contrary winds to run into Tri Ostrowa. Dreary and desolate as the tundras at this extreme point of Lapland had appeared to them on their journey outward, they were now charmed with their green slopes, a sight of which they had been deprived in Nova Zembla.