10-YEAR ANNIVERSARY FLASHBACK: This was Icepeople’s homepage on July 29, 2010. It has most of our web articles between then and the first issue in March of 2009

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Seeds inside the Doomsday Vault in peril, amazingly warm winter temperatures, warnings about behaving badly around polar bears, a wrecked ship abandoned in a remote part of Svalbard…hmmm, maybe contrary to common perception Svalbard hasn’t changed all that much in ten years.

We’re putting the last touches on Icepeople’s 10-year anniversary issue and, while looking up a few of our first articles, came across this archived version of the homepage in the Internet Archive’s Wayback Machine from July 29, 2010. So we’re sharing it here just for the hell of it. It features most of the major stories between then and our first print issue on March 3, 2009, and contains plenty of surprisingly repetitive topics along with some now equally oddly obsolete content.

Just one hitch: for whatever reason the story links don’t work directly from the wayback Machine’s page, so you’ll have to copy the URL in the error message window to its own page. Like this: http://www.icepeople.net/icepeople051810/ashcloudsvalbard.html

By the way, if you’re wondering why you can’t just link to the directly from our current site, we switched our content/server system at the beginning of 2015. As with so much else, porting those articles to the new system is something that requires oodles of time we’re not sure we’re likely to find soon. Hence the PDF archive so everyone can all that early stuff.

Have fun!

About Post Author

Mark Sabbatini

I'm a professional transient living on a tiny Norwegian island next door to the North Pole, where once a week (or thereabouts) I pollute our extreme and pristine environment with paper fishwrappers decorated with seemingly random letters that would cause a thousand monkeys with a thousand typewriters to die of humiliation. Such is the wisdom one acquires after more than 25 years in the world's second-least-respected occupation, much of it roaming the seven continents in search of jazz, unrecognizable street food and escorts I f****d with by insisting they give me the platonic tours of their cities promised in their ads. But it turns out this tiny group of islands known as Svalbard is my True Love and, generous contributions from you willing, I'll keep littering until they dig my body out when my climate-change-deformed apartment collapses or they exile my penniless ass because I'm not even worthy of washing your dirty dishes.
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