An imposing vaulted doorway studded with metal guards the entrance to the Biological Museum, bordered by wooden vines and swirling patterns reflective of flying reptilian beasts of Norse legend. It isn’t what one would picture of a historical archive of nature, with its sweeping roofs, low hanging eaves and predominantly timber framework that are all distinguishing features of the austere stave churches from medieval Norway.

Yet it is without the slightest doubt an excellent repository, chronicling the slow disappearance and emergence of species across Scandinavia. The carcasses of these creatures have been carefully preserved and stuffed to create an almost life-like caricature of how you would expect to see them within their natural habitats. These dioramas are set to backdrops of watercolor and gentle pastels applied by the hands of Bruno Liljefors, one of the most remarkable wildlife painters of the late 19th and early 20th Century. A tour through the museum would allow you to see sights such as falcons caught midflight with their talons extended towards the petrified branches of a tree in winter. Whole cliffs are recreated to depict the chaos that ensues each year during mating season as shorelines become a squabbling battleground of terns and other aquatic birds. The temperate forests and pine groves aren’t left out either, hiding the bulbous nose of moose looking straight at you with dead eyes of marble as not meters away, bears are shown to be nosing the ground, unresponsive to the intrusion. There are even Frankenstein-esque additions such as the bird-rabbit, created by stitching together the rear end of bird with the torso of a rabbit to create nightmarish grotesques. A glorified display of the dead, the museum is a stark reminder of the drastic losses in wildlife that we have suffered and will continue to do so if nothing is done.