Later, when diving the lead close to shore we have a chance to investigate the bottom.  It is teeming with life, brittle stars wave their arms at more than fifty to the square metre, and tube worms, nudibranchs and filter feeders of all sorts carry on their business next to red and green seaweeds.  Far from mirroring the relative scarcity of species in the Arctic desert up top, this is an ecosystem that is exploding with life.  I regret not taking a macro port for the camera.  Next time perhaps.

 

Each day we check the line to see if a shark has been attracted to the bait set over half a kilometer down in the icy depths. Probably less than thirty people have ever dived with these rarely seen deep water denizens so imagine the excitement when Graham shouts, ‘Yes, we’ve got one, kit up fast.  I want to get the animal back to the deep as quickly as possible.’

 

Little is known of the shark’s behaviour other than it has a reputation for being a sluggish and a non-aggressive carrion feeder, with the largest recorded clocking in at over 7 metres. Slow moving does not fit the evidence though, as scientists have been unable to explain how the sharks have been found with fast moving prey in their bellies like salmon and seals.

 

Slipping into the water, 30 + metre visibility reveals our shark swimming lazily, its dark mottled body stark against the blue ice, I approach the business end cautiously, keen to photograph the parasitic copepod that is found on each shark’s eye.  Sure enough there it is.  It is believed that the parasite actually blinds the shark over time, but the huge nostrils, largest of any sharks belie its main feeding sense in the dark cold water.  Kelvin is over the moon having shot his first Greenland shark, but the rest of us have really come to this remote spot for the beluga and narwhal.