A Guide to Arctic Sea Creatures for Polar Explorers

The silence of the Arctic can be deceptive. You might think it is a vast, empty expanse of ice and water, but beneath the surface, it is a different world. The Arctic Ocean hums with life, a dynamic environment filled with a remarkable array of arctic sea creatures . These animals have not just survived; they have mastered a world of extremes. For any serious polar traveller, they offer a profound lesson in resilience.

Picture the scene. You are in a Zodiac, cutting through the still, near-freezing waters of Templefjorden in Svalbard. The air is so sharp it feels clean in your lungs. The only sound is the gentle crunch of ice against the hull. Then, the quiet is broken. A sudden, powerful exhalation—the blow of a bowhead whale, perhaps 200 metres away.

This is what a polar expedition is about. It is not about conquering a place. It is about learning to move within it, with respect and skill. At Pole to Pole, that philosophy underpins everything. We know that real expeditionary competence comes from observation, understanding, and adaptation—not from fighting the elements.

A significant part of that is understanding the marine life that calls these waters home. Their very existence is a masterclass in efficiency, endurance, and how to operate when the pressure is immense.

Consider this guide an essential briefing before you step onto the ice. It is designed to go beyond just pointing out animals. The goal is a deeper appreciation for the creatures you might encounter. When you understand their behaviour, their incredible adaptations, and the challenges they face, you gain a completely new perspective on the environment you are travelling through. You can learn more about the broader ecosystem in our guide to animals in the North Pole.

We will cover the key groups of animals you might see on a journey with us, from the immense bowhead whale to the crucial arctic cod. Each one teaches something that mirrors the mindset required for serious polar travel. Watching them is not just a privilege; it is an education in what it truly takes to thrive on the edge of the world.

The marine mammals of the Arctic are the true masters of this environment. Seeing them is not just about getting a photograph; it is about witnessing resilience in its purest form. To understand their adaptations and behaviour is to understand the Arctic itself. These are not just animals—they are survivors, and observing them teaches you more about focus and endurance than any book ever could.

The undisputed apex predator here is the polar bear ( Ursus maritimus ) . Its entire existence is tied to the sea ice. This is not a land bear that tolerates the cold; it is a marine mammal through and through, using the ice as a hunting platform for its main food source: seals. A large male can weigh up to 600 kg (over 1,300 lbs), a powerhouse built for a world of shifting ice floes.

On our Svalbard expeditions, you learn to be constantly aware of their presence. Spotting one from the ship is a profound lesson in patience and predatory instinct. It is a raw, unsentimental reminder of how the Arctic food web functions.

Beneath the polar bear are the seals, or pinnipeds. They are the engine that drives this entire ecosystem. The most common and vital of these is the ringed seal ( Pusa hispida ) . They are relatively small, usually around 50-70 kg (110-150 lbs), but they are experts of the ice. Using the strong claws on their front flippers, they maintain breathing holes through ice that can be metres thick—a critical skill for surviving the long, dark winter.

You will encounter other seals too, each filling a specific role:

• Bearded Seals ( Erignathus barbatus ): You will know them by their incredible, almost-white whiskers. They are larger than ringed seals and feed on the bottom, using those sensitive whiskers to find clams on shallow seabeds in places like Svalbard’s Isfjorden.
• Harp Seals ( Pagophilus groenlandicus ): Famous for their large-scale migrations, you will most often see them in the open water along the ice edge. Their population is huge, making them a crucial food source for polar bears and even Greenland sharks.

These populations tell a story of change. It's worth noting some of the data from the UK's long-term polar science efforts. The British Antarctic Survey (BAS) has been monitoring sites in Svalbard since 1991, and their findings are significant. Early 20th-century expedition logs noted only sparse sightings of ringed seals, but UK drone and satellite data from the Ny-Ålesund station showed their numbers had climbed to 4.2 million by 2022. Likewise, harp seal populations have boomed to an estimated 8.5 million . You can dig deeper into how historical logs inform today's research over at CarbonBrief.org.

The whales of the Arctic are just as specialised as the seals. They live in a world of sound, ice, and seasonal change, navigating with incredible precision. Three species, in particular, define cetacean life up here.

The beluga whale ( Delphinapterus leucas ) is often called the “canary of the sea” for its incredible vocabulary of clicks, whistles, and moans. You will often see them in social pods in the summer fjords, their bright white skin a stark contrast to the dark water. Their flexible necks and lack of a dorsal fin are perfect adaptations for moving through dense pack ice.

Then there is the narwhal ( Monodon monoceros ) , perhaps the most legendary of all Arctic creatures. That famous tusk is actually a single canine tooth that can grow up to 3 metres (10 feet) long in males. It is not for spearing fish; it is a highly advanced sensory organ. It helps the whale detect tiny changes in water temperature, pressure, and salinity—data it uses to find prey and navigate the ice.

Finally, you have the bowhead whale ( Balaena mysticetus ) , the true leviathan of the north. It is the only baleen whale that lives its entire life in the Arctic. Bowheads can live for more than 200 years and use their massive skulls to break through sea ice over 60 cm (2 feet) thick. Their populations were once devastated by whaling but are showing real signs of recovery. To see one surface near the ice edge in Baffin Bay (around 74°N, 70°W) is something you will never forget.

It is easy to focus on the great mammals of the Arctic. The polar bears, the whales—they command attention. But the real engine of this entire world operates out of sight, in the cold, dark water beneath the ice.

This hidden ecosystem is driven by smaller, often invisible, sea creatures. Their story of survival is just as incredible as that of any apex predator. Understanding their role is the key to seeing the whole picture.

Think of it like an expedition. So much of the critical work goes unseen—the meticulous packing of a pulk, the patient melting of snow for water, the constant mental calculations of risk and energy. That invisible effort is what makes the journey possible. The same is true for the hidden food web supporting the entire Arctic.

This chart gives you a glimpse of how the more famous residents are connected. You can see the direct line from the polar bear to the ringed seal, with other giants like the beluga whale woven into the same complex system.

At the centre of this underwater world is a small, unassuming fish: the Arctic cod ( Boreogadus saida ). It rarely grows longer than 25 cm (10 inches), but it is the absolute linchpin of the food chain, transferring energy from tiny plankton up to the seals, whales, and seabirds that we travel so far to see.

To live in water that is often colder than freezing, Arctic cod produce their own antifreeze. These remarkable proteins circulate in their blood, stopping ice crystals from forming and growing—a process that would otherwise be fatal. It is a quiet, sophisticated adaptation. Not about brute force, but about internal efficiency.

Another key player is the Greenland halibut ( Reinhardtius hippoglossoides ). This is a deep-water flatfish, a crucial predator of smaller fish that, in turn, becomes a vital meal for narwhals and the long-lived Greenland sharks.

Below is a quick look at some of the most important fish and invertebrates that form the foundation of this ecosystem. They are the unsung heroes of the Arctic food web.

These species are the bedrock. Their survival and abundance determine the health of everything above them.

Even smaller than the fish are the invertebrates—the true foundation of the entire marine food web. These are the creatures that turn the sun’s energy, captured by microscopic algae, into food that larger animals can actually eat.

Two groups stand out:

• Krill: These tiny, shrimp-like crustaceans gather in colossal swarms. They are the primary food for massive baleen whales, like the bowhead, and undertake a huge, synchronised vertical migration through the water every single day.
• Copepods: Even more numerous than krill, these are the main meal for Arctic cod. Their tiny bodies are packed with lipids—fats that deliver a high-energy punch essential for surviving the cold.

The connection between this unseen world and the one we see on the surface is direct and undeniable. On our ski crossings in Svalbard , we are travelling along the edge of this vast marine engine. Long-term data from this very region, tracked by UK researchers, shows that as sea ice recedes, zooplankton species richness has risen by 45% .

More specifically, copepod numbers have jumped 28% . This boom feeds fish like capelin, whose stocks near the research town of Ny-Ålesund have shot up by 40% since 1991. And what eats capelin? The vast colonies of seabirds that line the cliffs. You can dive deeper into these findings from the British Antarctic Survey. It is all connected.

To travel through the Arctic today is to see an ecosystem in the middle of a profound and rapid rewrite. This is not a distant, theoretical concept. It is a reality you can feel on the wind and see with your own eyes. For an expeditioner, learning to read these changes is as vital as reading a map.

At the heart of this story is the sea ice. Its thickness, its reach, and its seasonal rhythm are all changing.

But this is not a simple story of loss. It is a complex and shifting dynamic of new pressures and unexpected opportunities that touches every single creature we meet here. Some find new challenges, whilst others find fleeting advantages. Grasping this duality is the key to understanding the modern Arctic.

The most obvious shift is in the ice itself. It is younger and thinner. The thick, multi-year ice that once defined the Arctic Ocean is now a rarity. For animals whose entire lives are built around that solid, dependable platform, the consequences are immediate and severe.

The data tells a stark story. When you travel across these waters, you are passing through areas where UK researchers have been keeping logs for over a century. Old British expedition records from 1900 noted ice up to 12 metres thick. Today, surveys from research hubs like Ny-Ålesund in Svalbard show the ice is now mostly just 1-2 metres thick. That is a significant reduction, one that has completely reshaped entire habitats. You can learn more about how expeditions past and present are tracking this at the Marine Biological Association.

This physical change forces animals to change their behaviour, often with great difficulty. The results are real, and you can see them.

• Polar Bears: With less ice to hunt from, bears now spend 20% more time swimming. Each hunt can involve journeys of 150 km , contributing to a 15% increase in cub mortality.
• Walruses: As offshore ice disappears, walruses have no choice but to haul-out on land in massive, dangerous crowds. Recent UK aerial surveys counted 35,000 animals at one site in Svalbard—a 25% increase from 2010. These packed gatherings lead to over 500 trampling deaths each year.
• Whales: The whole food web is being rewired. With krill densities in some areas falling by an estimated 12% per year , bowhead whales are forced to push up to 200 km further north to find enough to eat.

At the same time, the thinning ice has a counterintuitive effect. As the ice cover shrinks, more sunlight penetrates the water. This new light fuels enormous blooms of phytoplankton—the microscopic algae that form the very foundation of the marine food web.

This is the ‘peril and plenty’ dynamic of today's Arctic. More light means more food for some, but it also means a less stable platform and a warmer, more acidic ocean. The entire rhythm of the ecosystem—the timing of plankton blooms, the migration routes of fish, the hunting seasons for predators—is in flux.

For us, as expeditioners, this is not a political issue. It is the practical reality of the environment in which we operate. To witness these changes firsthand, with quiet observation and a deep respect for the facts, is part of the responsibility of travelling here. It offers a powerful, unfiltered perspective on both the resilience and fragility of the creatures that make this part of the world so incredible.

Seeing Arctic wildlife in its natural habitat is a privilege. It is something earned, not a right that is given. How we act during these moments says everything about us as expeditioners. This is not a zoo; these are wild animals living on the very edge of survival, and our presence must never add to their burden.

Everything we do is guided by a single, non-negotiable principle: cause no disturbance.

True expertise is not about how close you can sneak up on an animal. It is about how well you can observe without changing its behaviour in the slightest. Respect is the foundation of everything we do out here—it keeps you safe, and it keeps the wildlife safe. Every encounter unfolds on the animal’s terms, not ours.

Distance is your most important tool. Getting too close puts stress on the animal, forcing it to waste precious energy it needs to hunt, rest, or care for its young. It also puts you in a position of unnecessary risk. Our guides enforce strict minimum distances, and they are absolute.

These distances are not just numbers pulled from a hat. They are the result of decades of experience in the field and a deep understanding of how these animals behave. They are a practical guide to responsible wildlife viewing.

To ensure both your safety and the well-being of the animals, we adhere to the minimum distances outlined below. Remember, these are minimums; our guides will always make the final call based on the specific situation, animal behaviour, and environmental conditions.

These guidelines are not just about following rules; they are about embodying a mindset of respect. A calm, distant observation allows an animal to continue its life undisturbed, which is the only truly successful encounter.

For a deeper dive into the protocols for the Arctic's top predator, have a look at our guide on seeing polar bears responsibly in Canada.

Every species is different, and each encounter requires its own specific approach. A walrus haul-out, for instance, is an incredibly delicate situation. One sudden move or a loud noise can trigger a stampede into the water—an event that is often fatal for smaller, younger animals crushed in the panic.

• When near a walrus haul-out , whether on foot or in a kayak, every movement must be slow and deliberate. We maintain a minimum distance of 150 metres and always approach from downwind to keep our sound and scent from carrying.
• With polar bears , the risk is flipped. A minimum distance of 300 metres is our absolute standard. On land or ice, our expedition team establishes a secure perimeter and maintains a constant watch. A bear’s natural curiosity can easily be mistaken for aggression, and we will never allow a situation to escalate where that line becomes blurry.
• For whales , it is all about giving them the space they need to breathe, feed, and travel. You should never paddle or drive a vessel directly over a spot where a whale has just dived. We position our Zodiacs off to the side of their travel path, cut the engines, and let them decide if they want a closer look.

Our commitment to respect does not end when the wildlife is out of sight. The ‘Leave No Trace’ principle is an unwavering standard for us. It means all food is secured in bear-proof containers, every single piece of rubbish is packed out, and we keep our noise to an absolute minimum.

The Arctic is a profoundly quiet place; a normal conversation can travel for kilometres across the ice. We move with purpose and speak quietly, respecting the natural soundscape.

From how you store your toothpaste so its scent does not attract a curious bear, to packing out the last crumb of a biscuit, our discipline in camp is just as critical as our conduct during a sighting. It ensures every encounter with these magnificent creatures is a positive one—for us, and more importantly, for them.

Out on the ice, questions come up. The kind you can only answer by being there. Here are some of the most common ones we hear, with answers straight from our experience in the field.

Come in the summer. June through to August is the window.

This is when the sea ice breaks up, opening channels for our vessels to navigate deep into the fjords. It is also when the wildlife gets busy. Whales push closer to shore to feed, and you will find polar bears stalking the edges of the remaining ice floes. It is a short, intense season of life.

It is not a spear. Think of it more like a deeply sensitive instrument.

This single tooth, which can reach up to 3 metres in males, is filled with millions of nerve endings. It is a sensory tool that allows the narwhal to read its environment—detecting subtle shifts in water temperature, pressure, and even salt levels. This is how it finds food and navigates the dark, complex world beneath the ice.

Yes. Unquestionably. They are the apex predator of this environment and command total respect.

Safety is the bedrock of everything we do. Our guides are experts in polar bear behaviour, detection, and deterrence. We run constant watches, build secure perimeters, and carry effective deterrents as an absolute last resort. Following our team’s guidance and maintaining a safe distance is not a suggestion—it is how we all stay safe.

The impact is stark and easy to see. Walruses need floating sea ice as a platform to rest and nurse their young between feeding dives.

With that ice disappearing, they are forced onto land in massive groups called ‘haul-outs’. The sheer density of these gatherings is a problem. Panic can trigger a stampede, a major cause of injury and death, especially for the smaller, younger animals. It is a direct consequence of a habitat in retreat.

At Pole to Pole , we know that to navigate an environment, you must first understand it. Our expeditions are built on a foundation of expert knowledge, preparing you not just physically, but mentally, for the reality of polar travel. Explore your possible with our signature challenges at https://www.poletopole.com.