Secrets of the Northern Wind

The Russian North is rich in superstition and mysticism.

Some have seen enormous monsters on the lakes of Karelia, while others speak of UFOs over the Kola Peninsula. Legends abound of shape-shifters on Lake Seidozero, of dwarves living underground, and of “white-eyed wonders” that inhabit theses lands. Tourists are told about old men who appear out of nowhere and tell lost travelers how to get out of the forest...

“And that geologist, the one who saw all these ‘signs,’ he went mad. What happened was, he went off to look for berries, and almost got lost. Then he got to this hill, stumbled over the signs, came back to the camp and told everyone where they were, and by that time it was already time to go home. And then, well, he had to be taken off the train by the doctors. He was muttering something about aliens, about voices from space... So be careful out there, take care of each other.”

As the truck rumbled over the stones, our guide tried to prepare us for the amazing archaeological find recently discovered on the Rybachy Peninsula in Murmansk Oblast, near the border with Norway. I spent a month with the scientific field trip, and on several occasions we came across places that I only believe exist because I have seen them with my own eyes...

“The Khozyain said we could!”

A typical tundra landscape of stones and moss. We walk a few hundred meters from the car, and our group stops short, open-mouthed in amazement.

“It’s just an ancient settlement site!”

“Maybe there were anti-aircraft guns here during the war?”

“No, it’s obviously some kind of symbolism and mysticism...”

“But why crosses? We’ll have to dig!”

We are standing on an area of flat ground that commands a captivating view over a bay. In front of us is a symmetrical layout of four overgrown, perfect circles, each measuring about six meters across. Inside each can be seen a figure in the shape of a cross.

Our group includes a female shaman, a descendent of the Sami people who previously lived their nomadic lives on the peninsula. She lies down in the centre of one of the circles and presses herself to the earth. A few minutes later, she gives us permission to make a small excavation. “If you put everything back as it was afterwards, the Khozyain will not be offended.”

I mentally ask forgiveness for disturbing the Khozyain, as the guardian spirits of these ancient places are called in the Russian North, and ask him not to be angry with us.

It is only several months later, after analyzing all of our geophysical samples, that we discover that the ash taken from the center of the crosses is about five thousand years old, while around the “signs” we find traces of organic matter. Our principal thesis is that this was a place of worship used for making sacrifices.

Place of Strength

The Ural crew bus bumps down the road past abandoned military sites. We pass a Second World War-era anti-aircraft gun emplacement. A small dot appears on the horizon, and the driver waves. We have almost arrived.

We get out by some thirty-meter seids (stone sculptures) with humanoid profiles. These are the “Two Brothers” – according to legend, the powerful wizards Kiiperi-Ukko and Kiiperi-Akka, who ruled these lands several thousand years ago and were turned into stone as punishment for the harm they had inflicted. For the Sami, these rocks were sacred, and were even called the “Place of Strength.” Ceremonies also took place here, and people tried to appease the spirits with reindeer blood.

Standing next to the Brothers you have the unsettling feeling of being a tiny gnat in comparison with these giants, which have been gazing out for centuries over the harsh Barents Sea, shifting not even a millimeter under the penetrating winds. At the foot of the cliffs is a park of stone figures. Their forms – camels, frogs, lizards or birds – are a matter for the individual imagination. Wandering around among them, it seems as if someone is following you, running from stone to stone in your footsteps.

“The Kuzomen Sands
won’t let you leave without grief”

On the Tersky coast of the Black Sea is the ancient coastal village of Kuzomen. Translated from the Karelian, its name means “Forest by the Sea.” But no matter how far you look, around you there is only sand. The accepted explanation for the appearance of this desert is that, during the First World War, women had difficulties going far in search of wood, and cut down the trees by the village. But researchers have discovered that there was no forest next to the village, and nothing to cut down.

In its heyday in the early nineteenth century, Kuzomen was a rich village – the center of the volost (district), with two churches, a school, connections by boat to the capital of the guberniya (region), a telegraph station, 143 houses and almost a thousand inhabitants.

According to legend, local merchants struck a deal with an evil spirit, the “fish-tailed woman” (a local version of a mermaid), who lived on the amethyst mountain by the Kitsa River. She was able to command the fish, and to guarantee a good catch, in exchange from the merchants, she demanded human flesh. Shortly thereafter, people started going missing from neighboring villages, and Kuzomen quickly became rich. The secret got out when one boy managed to survive and escape from the evil spirit. The merchants were cursed and sent packing, the sacrifices stopped, and sand began to advance on the houses.

It is still encroaching today. Fences do not help, but only create new dunes and topple under the weight of tons of sand. The people have also given up. Today there are less than a hundred permanent inhabitants in Kuzomen, and only wind and fog roam around between the empty homes. There are genuine sandstorms here. Time has laid bare the graves in the cemetery; from beneath the sand protrude headstones, rotten coffins and bones... All of this is an echo of the old curse placed on Kuzomen. No one here says: “Lay me to rest in Mother Earth.” Old people ask instead: “Bury me in my native sands.”

Walk on and don’t look back.

If we could visit all the previous places without coming to harm, this time things were not quite so easy. The local who agreed to take us through the forest to the site was very afraid. Almost all such expeditions in his lifetime had ended in trouble. In the depths of the forest, almost ten kilometers from the nearest habitation, some stone-works had been found that looked very similar to tombstones. Neither man nor beast would touch them. No one comes around here collecting berries or mushrooms, and if a hunter or a fisherman has cause to come past, local wisdom urges him to do so quickly and to look straight ahead. Sounds seem to fade away near the stones; the light becomes dimmer, and an unaccountable feeling of fear and dread overcomes you.

There is a story about how, several years ago, a local woodsman boasted that he was not afraid of any spirits and would go and investigate these structures. But before he had even stepped outside, he stumbled over the doorstep and broke his leg.

So today we were very quiet and cautious, making a sketch of the site and taking soil samples, and getting away from this oppressive place as quickly as possible.

In the early hours of the morning a phone call woke us. The face of the son of the guide who had helped us carry our equipment through the forest had swollen up so much that he could neither speak nor eat. Our archaeologist was covered with a mysterious red rash, and I felt so weak that I could barely get out of bed. The doctors at the local surgery threw up their hands and were unable to help us.

All of the symptoms disappeared the following day, as suddenly as they had appeared. It is said that we were lucky – this was just a warning from the guardians of the ancient cemetery.

Come. Visit us in the North. If you do, your prejudices will disappear after you spend your first night in the forest or on the seashore.

There are things here that remain beyond the realm of science. RL