Fortey - Life A Natural History of the First Fou

T HIS BOOK would not have been as it is without the trenchant editing of Heather Godwin, nor without the punctilious attentions of Stuart Proffitt. I owe them both a great debt. I sincerely thank Robin Cocks and Neale Monks for acting as scientific readers, and for commenting on sundry facts. Claire Mellish kindly drew two of the diagrams. I particularly thank Chris Stringer, Theya Molleson and Robert Kruszynski for anthropological advice. Many friends and colleagues helped me by providing illustrations and advice (they carry no responsibility if I did not heed the latter). These include: Stefan Bengtson, Per Ahlberg, Cedric Shute, Paul Cornelius, Angela Milner, Bill Schopf, John Richardson, Brian Rosen, Phil Palmer, Jerry Hooker, Giles Miller, Joyce Pope, Andrew Ross, Sally Young, Alison Longbottom, John Whittaker, Clive Jones, Richard Thomas, Peter Forey, Sandy Knapp, Charlotte Jeffery, Jeremy Young, Solene Morris, Andy Gale, Norman MacLeod, Anthony Sutcliffe, Harry Taylor, Bob Bloomfield and Tracey Elliott. I acknowledge the Palaeontological Association for reproduction of a conodont animal. Hamish Francis kindly read the proofs. Finally I thank my family for tolerating my eighteen months exile in the boxroom in the company of the snake.

R.A.F.

S ALTERELLA DODGED BETWEEN THE ICEBERGS . While the Small boat bucked and tossed, I hung over its side, peering down into the clear Arctic waters. I had not known that there could be such density of life. This frigid sea was a speckled mass of organisms. Tiny copepod crustaceans, looking like so many animated peas, beat their way in their thousands through the surface waters, feeding on plankton that I knew must be there, but which could not be seen without a microscope. There were jellyfish of every size: white, gently pulsing discs as delicate as spun glass; small pink barrage balloons decked with beating cilia, which appeared to be solidbut became gelatinous and impalpable if grasped from the water; an occasional orange monster with tentacles that promised evil stings for fish or mammal. They drifted in their millions, swirling and beating against the dumb tides, concealing purpose in contractions as instinctive as breathing, like protoplasmic lungs dilating and constricting in primitive obedience to the prompting of the currents. Behind the nearest iceberg arctic terns beat and hung in the air, peering down as I was, but with so much more precision, then darting to retrieve some living morsel from the sea. The ice floes were stained pink with their droppings.

Salterella was tackling a stretch of sea, Hinlopenstretet, between the islands of Spitsbergen and Nordauslandet far beyond the Arctic Circle at 80 degrees north. Ice floes had melted in the summer thaw, sculpted by the vagaries of weather into plates or crags, or simulacra of giants. On the water-line they were notched deeply by the sea, lapped by insistent waves, and just occasionally one would teeter into instability, cracking and keeling over with a great resigned splash which sent waves to make our small boat buck and grind against the smaller fragments of ice. It was true: the greater part of an ice floe was always beneath the sea, and you approached too close at your peril. If you looked down, you could see the bluish mass curving down into the deeps, while jellyfish skimmed hidden protuberances with impunity. Little Salterella sought the spaces between the floes. Her wooden construction was designed to cope with ice. Winds herded floes into clots that could become almost impenetrable. Then, suddenly, patches of clear water would allow rapid progress, and the bleat of the motor sent little auks and black guillemots fluttering low across the sea to plunder the rich waters elsewhere. In the distance a mysterious coastline lay low on the horizon. Glaciers ran straight down to the sea. Ice cliffs groaned or barked to signal the inexorable creep of sheets of ancient ice. The boat seemed like an interloper.

I was twenty-one and on my first expedition. Cambridge University had a tradition of sending young geologists to Spitsbergen. For a young naturalist it was very heaven. Here there were birds on every side that had only existed as pictures in bird books. The sea, the profligate sea, was a shimmering textbook of zoology. There seemed nothing to interfere with the joy of observation, no end to knowledge, no possibility that any discovery should be less than astounding.