Looking much like the real whales this area is known for, a new visitor center will rise from the tip of a Norwegian island 100 miles north of the Arctic Circle. “The Whale” by architecture firm Dorte Mandrup aims to be an unobtrusive addition to the setting while also drawing even more visitors to the remote area of Andøya, a prime whale-watching destination.

“The new Arctic attraction, The Whale, tells the story of the big inhabitants of this underwater world, rising as a soft hill on the rocky shore – as if a giant had lifted a thin layer of the crust of the earth and created a cavity underneath,” say the architects.

“A single curved concrete shell makes up the roof of The Whale. This parabolic form effectively transmits the forces to three support points in the corners of the building, creating a large, inner column-free room.”

The “whale tail” effect is only visible from a certain angle, but it’s still pretty cool, and the structure’s low-lying form is meant to help human visitors maintain a minimal impact on the area (though ecotourism remains controversial, as some say it’s having a negative impact and others say it helps raise crucial funds and awareness for affected species.) Other popular activities in Andenes include taking in the northern lights, exploring fjords, hiking, fossil hunting and berry picking.

The design beat out stiff competition from the likes of Snøhetta, Reiulf Ramstad and Bjarke Ingels Group, chosen for its combination of creativity and respect for the natural environment. You can see all of the proposals at The Whale’s website and judge for yourself.

Redefining what it means to be a hotel on the water, Svart by architectural firm Snøhetta is an energy-positive circular structure hovering above the frigid fjord at the foot of Norway’s Svartisen glacier. Unusual in both its shape and positioning, the new hotel will be the world’s first ‘Powerhouse’ hotel in the Arctic circle, producing its own energy while simultaneously reducing its energy needs. ‘Powerhouse’ is a standard developed in part by Snøhetta requiring a building to generate more renewable energy over a 60-year period than it uses during its lifetime, including the construction, material production and demolition processes.

The ring-shaped building is beautiful, especially after dark, but aesthetics were only a small factor in the design process. The hotel is located in a pristine natural environment, so having a light footprint on the land is essential. The circular shape also makes the most of available solar energy, strategically placing interior spaces like guest rooms, restaurants and terraces where they’ll get the most sunlight. Svart gets its heat from geothermal wells.

The structure itself features a promenade set just beneath it so guests can walk the full circle, gazing down at the water below, and also functions as a storage space for kayaks and other equipment in the summertime, as the hotel can only be accessed by boat. The slim wooden supports taper down to the rocks beneath the surface for the smallest possible disturbance on the setting. The architects took visual inspiration from a type of local vernacular architecture known as ‘fiskehjell,’ wooden structures used for drying fish, as well as traditional seasonal housing for fishermen.

“Building in such a precious environment comes with some clear obligations in terms of preserving the natural beauty and the fauna and flora of the site,” says Kjetil Trædal Thorsen, founding partner of Snøhetta. “It was important for us to design a sustainable building that will leave a minimal environmental footprint on this beautiful Northern nature. Building an energy positive and low-impact hotel is an essential factor to create a sustainable tourist destination respecting the unique features of the plot.”

The tiny Siberian town of Ust-Yansk counters the pervasive whiteness of long & snowy winters by cladding its buildings in a rainbow of contrasting colors.

To say Ust-Yansk is isolated is an understatement: the nearest sizable town (Deputatsky, pop. 2,983) lies 302 miles (486 kilometers) to the southeast. Ust-Yansk itself boasts a population of just 317 (as of 2010, down from 341 in 2002). Both towns are located in Russia’s Sakha Republic, a sprawling Siberian territory slightly smaller than India but with just a thousandth of the latter’s population. The photo above shows Ust-Yansk from the distance of about 1 kilometer or about 6/10th of a mile.

Never a wealthy locality, Ust-Yansk fell on hard(er) times in the 1990s when the fall of communism left Russia’s backwater districts pretty much to their own devices. In Ust-Yansk’s case, those devices consisted mainly of mining, reindeer herding and fishing – activities requiring decent weather to function to their potential. Being that Ust-Yansk lies deep in northern Siberia, the weather is usually anything BUT decent. To quote the Wikipedia entry on Deputatsky, “Winters are prolonged and bitterly cold, with up to seven months of sub-zero high temperatures.” Nice. The unrestored buildings above, photographed by blogger BASOV-CHUKOTKA, look about as miserable as their inhabitants must have felt.

The East Is Red, Blue, Yellow, Green…

Snow falls early and often in Ust-Yansk, and when it falls it stays – like most tundra towns built on the permafrost, Ust-Yansk’s buildings rest on stilts to prevent heat from melting the frozen ground beneath. This type of construction can be expensive, however, but after the turn of the century rising oil prices flooded Russia’s coffers with bright, shiny rubles and towns like Ust-Yansk began to reap the benefits.

New construction and renovation transformed Ust-Yansk into a more livable town but what really stands out in these photographs taken in May of 2017 are the wealth of colors! From rich primary hues to more delicate pastel tints, Ust-Yansk brilliantly refutes the popular image of Siberia as a dreary place fit only for marginalized indigenous tribes and prisoners of the soviet Gulag. Well, it’s a start at least.

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Siberia Space Russian Town Tints Its White Winter World

You might say that the kinds of built structures you find in either Antarctic research stations or the coldest permanently inhabited place on Earth (located in Russia) are polar opposites: some are high-tech, capable of elevating themselves above the accumulating snow or departing to warmer climes via helicopter, while others are as humble as it gets. But people have learned how to survive in these harsh places, whether by keeping coal fires burning around the clock or burrowing into the earth for warmth, and even polar bears have some secrets to share with architects on surviving amidst all that ice.

Monte Rosa Hut, Switzerland

This five-story wooden structure on Switzerland’s Corner Glacier by Bearth & Deplazes Architekten has an exterior look befitting its environment, making it seem morel like a research facility than an ‘alpine hut’ for adventurers.

Memu Meadows Experimental House, Hokkaido, Japan

An experiment by architect Kengo Kuma, the translucent ‘Memu Meadows’ house was designed to test the limits of domestic architecture in extreme cold conditions. It’s a modern spin on the traditional homes of the indigenous Ainu, whose buildings used bamboo grass exteriors to hold in the heat of a central fireplace that remains burning all the time. Kuma’s version replaces grass with insulation and polycarbonate cladding but remains cheap and accessible, and allows the house to glow like a lantern after dark.

Halley VI, World’s First Mobile Research Station, Antarctica

Halley VI by Hugh Broughton Architects stands up to some of the most extreme conditions on earth, serving as a mobile home base for Antarctic expeditions. It’s located on the floating Brunt Ice Shelf and can be transported on its ski-like feet, while hydraluic rams allow it to be raised above the snow as it accumulates. Seven interlinking blue modules offer offices, bedrooms, labs and energy plants while the central two-story red module contains social space for 16-32 crew members.

Arctic Adaptations: Concepts Reflecting Indigenous Canadian Traditions

Canada commissioned Lateral Office to curate its Nunavut-inspired exhibition at the 2014 Venice Biennale, entitled ‘Arctic Adaptations: Nunavut at 15.’ The project proposes how architecture could improve the development of cohesive communities even as the environment and the world around them rapidly changes.

Trollstigen Tourist Route, Norway

Set along the Trollstigen national tourist route in Norway, this visitor center and overlook by Reiulf Ramstad Architects gazes out onto a mountain pass that’s lush and green in the summer and formidably snowy in the winter. The overlook is particularly dramatic when the snow starts to accumulate.

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Extreme Architecture 15 Structures Built To Withstand The Worlds Coldest Places

Back in the 1950s, Cold War tensions ran high and so did the DEW Line: high above the Arctic Circle, that is. Though many of the original 63 radar stations have been re-purposed or dismantled, many still remain in place, remarkably preserved by some of the coldest temperatures found outside Antarctica.

How DEW You Do?

(images via: Tundra Daisy and 50before50)

The Cold War didn’t get much colder than the chain of 63 lonely radar stations strung across the 69th parallel, roughly 200 miles (300 kilometers) above the Arctic Circle. Ironically, the DEW Line was meant to function as a sort of “trip wire”, providing us with a Distant Early Warning of an impending Soviet nuclear airstrike.

(images via: Tundra Daisy and 50before50)

Though the DEW Line was rendered mainly obsolete by the mid-1960s when speedy Soviet ICBMs supplanted slow bomber aircraft, the stations were officially kept in operation from April 15th, 1957 through to July 15th, 1993. Some of the stations were then incorporated into the DEW Line’s successor, the North Warning System or NWS; many others were left to slowly decay beneath drifting snow, howling winds and the ghostly aurora borealis.

(images via: DEWLine Adventures)

One significant DEW Line station isn’t located quite as far north as the others: northern Illinois, to be exact. A prototype station was set up in a cornfield outside Streator, Illinois, where technical functions of the radar equipment could be tested and human operators were sent to be trained. Above are views of the facility in its heyday and just below, the current remnants.

(images via: Paul Malon and WIX.com)

In late 1954 the USAF contracted the design and construction of the DEW Line stations to Western Electric, who were given until July 1957 to build 63 separate stations stretching from northwestern Alaska to the east coast of Greenland – a distance of over 6,200 miles (10,000 km). Against all odds and despite the challenge of constructing sensitive electronic installations in mostly uninhabited, prohibitively cold and nearly inaccessible locations, Western Electric handed the “keys” to the DEW Line over to the Air Force almost three months ahead of schedule.

The (Polar) Bear Necessities

(images via: Yvon from Ottawa, WFNS and Zone Interdite)

Not all 63 stations were identical in appearance, functionality, number of on-site staff or all of the above. Some of the Auxiliary (“AUX”) and Intermediate (“I”) sites had as little as a half-dozen staff while the keystone MAIN stations housed dozens.

(images via: Hallbeach.com, DEW Line History and The Kraalspace)

The locations of the DEW Line stations are also evocative of the High Arctic: Icy Cape, Cold Bay, Storm Hills and of course, Point Lonely. On the other hand, Hall Beach (above, top) sounds positively summery but don’t bother bringing a surfboard.

(images via: Idlewild Expedition, UT Systems Ecology Lab and Wikipedia)

The Air Force’s relative lack of experience in arctic warfare didn’t impact on the design of the DEW Line stations, which ended up being remarkably low-maintenance facilities regardless of the main problem: drifting snow.

(images via: Przystanek Grenlandia and Radar-Junk)

The average DEW Line station consisted of two long rows of connected metal huts for equipment and staff. The rows were laid out along the direction of the prevailing winds and parallel to one another. They were connected by a raised “bridge”, making the station itself take on the appearance of a spindly letter H.

(image via: Seldon’s Gate)

Inside one of the H’s three-sided courtyards was a round, geodesic radome that housed and protected a pair of radar dishes mounted back to back. The radome was mounted of steel stilts that raised it as much as 50 feet off the permafrost. The stations also featured other radar dishes and reflectors that facilitated communications with neighboring stations and also to command and control centers hundreds of miles to the south.

Drawing a Line in the Snow

(images via: Wild-A, Roclar.net and Paul B Jones)

DEW Line installations were built to last; environmental concerns came last, for the most part. Asbestos insulation kept the manned modules warm, PCB lubricants ensured the radar dishes spun easily in the cold, and lead-based paint kept rust at bay. All well and good until the stations were decommissioned and their components left to decay or worse: be salvaged by local Inuit for building materials.

(image via: BS Keyhole.com)

Getting equipment OUT of the High Arctic can be just as difficult, time-consuming and expensive as getting it there in the first place. How’d you like to be the guy whose job it is to dismantle the main radar station at Cape Dyer, on the rugged (to say the least: above) eastern shore of Baffin Island?

(images via: Radar-Junk, Polar Star and Ruud Leeuw)

Other original DEW Line sites are more accessible but have their own issues. Take the LIZ-3 DEW Auxiliary site at Wainwright, Alaska, closed in 2007 due to soil erosion. Unlike some of the northern Canadian and Greenland sites, Wainwright can be TOO warm at times leading to subsidence of the permafrost and severe shoreline erosion unhindered by ice-free seas.

(images via: Tundra Daisy)

Without the preservation afforded by sub-zero temperatures, structures and equipment can decay and corrode alarmingly quickly – that’s a typewriter above right (or at least, it was). Corrosion exacerbates pollution problems as well. Most of those 55-gallon oil drums typically dumped in rusty mounds contain residual fuel and lubricants that can (and do) leach into the soil, contaminating groundwater.

(images via: J P Newell and Polar Star)

Cleanup costs skyrocketed when the realities of arctic environmental remediation became apparent and the cleanup completion date has been extended from 2011 to 2018.

(images via: ThisBlogIsMyBlog and Dew Line History)

The DEW Line served a noble purpose in its heyday, drawing a line in the snow against Soviet aggression that was never crossed in anger. In doing so, the long and lonely chain of isolated radar stations forced both Americans and Canadians to see their far northern territories in a different light. With post-Soviet Russia taking a greater interest in the real roof of the world these days and Global Warming setting the stage for a scramble for arctic resources tomorrow, our erstwhile line in the snow north of 69 degrees may have been the shape of things to come.