An Iñupiat man was shoveling snow out of his truck by the Arctic Ocean. He and the ocean behind him were in one; the Iñupiat Peoples have been in harmony with nature since time immemorial. “We're a part of the environment … our traditions and practices, our subsistence hunting, are dependent on the environment and we don't see ourselves as outside of that.” Said an Iñupiat leader.

In that calming tranquility, the Whale Bone Arch was like a gate through which I could see the rich history of this Iñupiat settlement. Hunters set sail; after many days went by, they would bring back the whale to the community, and then celebration and sharing began. In the deep snow brought to the shore by the Arctic winds, the bones and the boat were the epitome of timelessness, as the culture and the Iñupiat Peoples’ profound spiritual connections with land and waters had never changed for centuries.

Approaching winter solstice, 320 miles above the Arctic Circle, the sun never rose, dawn was directly followed by twilight, and the hues of the sky during the brighter hours were ever-changing and mesmerizing. The silhouettes from afar defined one small section of the horizon of Utqiagvik from where I stood. When I could barely see or pass by any pedestrians, the smoke coming out of the chimney was a symbol of life and warmth. It calmed me as I stood in the cold air, for I felt the families in those little houses were being warm and cozy.

I walked right under the Whale Bone Arch and took this picture of two whale bones touching each other. That very moment and that exact place were the crossroads where day and night met and where past and future connected. Just like how one generation passed their wisdom and knowledge to another, one elder inspired a young hunter, and one individual touched another individual's soul. I could also see it as a representation of the spiritual connections between humans and whales.

The stripe shows where the winds blew. The horn right above the door of the house reflected the northern way of life. Hunting is essential in Iñupiat culture, and humans have deep respect and gratitude for the animals and have spiritual ties with them, just like what a leader said: “It's so deeply rooted in us that we're respectful of the land and the resources … there's that spiritual tie to it.”

The flatness of Utqiagvik made the cable lines very prominent, and they along with the yellow street lights delineated the shape and layout of the town, symbolizing development and enhanced quality of life. In all that remoteness, walking on the icy roads covered by deep snow, I found peace.

I stood on this slope for a long time, shivering even with the parka on. Yet I was blessed with the expansive and calming views of the Norwegian far north, with the splash of the industrial presence unique to Hammerfest: gas ship resting from afar yet eye-catching with its uncommon red color, and of course, the lights and sounds from the industrial island, Melkøya.

As I spontaneously hiked up the hill and stood by Prestvannet – the mountain lake, also the highest point of Tromsøya – I saw an otherworldly combination of nature’s best gifts: a clear, dark blue evening sky full of stars; long-lasting, seemingly perpetual sunset hues; and dazzling northern lights slowly dancing out of the mountain range of Kvaløya, splendid yet distant, just like a blurry dream. It was a combination that you may only see in springtime in the far north.

Tromsø (left, 69.6° N) and Hammerfest (right, 70.7° N) gave me drastically different feelings. Even though geographically remote, Tromsø had many characteristics that resembled many other major northern European cities. Yet, in Hammerfest, traces of ongoing economic and industrial development were still everywhere – at harbors, along the shoreline, and on the sign that said “Melkøya” and “Hammerfest LNG.” Dozens of engineering companies and other supporting services had their logos on power plants, company cars, factories, and offices along the main highway in Hammerfest, all connected together in a tight network that supported that boomtown in the far north.

See caption of Contrasts (I).

Melkøya lighted up as the sun went down the horizon. What I thought was just a normal, rocky island suddenly seemed like a beautiful town neighboring Hammerfest, with the facilities’ lights almost mirroring those of the houses in Hammerfest. Flickering across the waters as it outshone the sunset colors that slowly slipped away, Melkøya unveiled its prominence in this small boomtown in the Arctic, both in a visual sense and in the broader social and economic context. It was far away, yet it was everywhere. Even when I looked away, there would be a big red gas ship in my sight, floating across the sea in front of me. But when the lights dimmed and Hammerfest woke up again, it would be this very island that brought so much life, diversity, and youth to this small boomtown in the far north.

Some small boats were at a harbor in downtown Hammerfest. It was a Saturday, yet the construction of the port on the other side of the water was still busy, with workers in neon green workwear. The young bikers who came to talk to me were also friends with a worker doing measurements, so I had the luck to start a conversation with him about Melkøya. He said a lot of people in Hammerfest worked at Melkøya, and some of them fished. When asked what he thought about Melkøya, he said, “gas is so important to life here. And we get paid with money from gas, money from Melkoya. Without the Melkoya money, we wouldn’t have this [economic development]."

A kid was doing a wheelie at a small plaza in downtown Hammerfest. That was where he and his friends hung out almost every day. In Hammerfest, while working with my camera by the harbor, I was asked by these lovely young bikers to take photos of them, and I had the pleasure of learning about their stories and documenting an aspect of that small, tight-knit community in the far north. Many of those kids were immigrants, which I did not know before visiting Hammerfest myself.

When I was living in Rovaniemi for the first time in winter 2022, I loved doing little hikes in the forest of a hill called Ounasvaara alone at midnight. A year later, during my second visit in 2023, I met a German family traveling here as well as a Rovaniemi local. The mom of the family was really kind and shared some marshmallows with us, and all of us had nice conversations about Rovaniemi, about travels, and about the beauty of nature. "I have a car," said the Rovaniemi local as he offered me a ride back to the city center knowing how far it was to walk there from my hostel. It was a kind act that reminded me of the time back in 2022 when a local saw me lost on the snow-covered highway in Rovaniemi, asked how I was doing, and drove me to my destination.

Some traditional Finnish houses could be seen outside the window of Florian's car as he drove us to Bruce's house for dinner. His car was old but big, perfect for traversing the Arctic. Florian, also a professor at the Arctic Centre, has profound experiences living with the Indigenous communities in the Russian far north (Yamal Peninsula) and has also worked with documentary crews. Both Bruce and Florian went to many places in the Arctic, and their captivating stories were like what the most experienced and wise nomads would tell you as you sit with them by the fireplace. 

Karu, one of Bruce's two lovely Lapphunds, looked at me on the porch. Bruce is a professor at the Arctic Centre and is also my amazing mentor and dear friend. Every time I went to Finland, Bruce would invite me to his beautiful wooden Finnish house in the snowy forest of Sinettä and have a delicious dinner with his family and friends. Cozy and wonderfully decorated, his house always gave me a feeling of family, love, and warmth. 

This was the bonfire place right next to Näköalatorni. During those solo walks in the snowy forest late at night in the winter of 2022, I would always rest a little bit whenever I reached the observation tower, moving wood to this pit and making a little bonfire to warm myself up in deep winter. In the coldest months of the year, I saw the brightest sparks.