Big River of Siberia

Siberia.

Few words express so much.

Emptiness and exile.

Diamonds and gold.

Furs and forests.

Baikal and Altai.

Kamchatka and Kolyma.

Tundra and taiga ...

The Lena is a huge, wide lake of a river flowing through the heart of one of the least populous places in Siberia, Yakutia.

In July, Russian Life sent writer Kristin Hiller and photographer Sergei Kaptilkin on a two week cruise down and up the Lena river. They brought back fascinating snapshots, in words and pictures, of a region that few Westerners have had a chance to see.

Virtually a continent in its own right, Siberia stretches from the Ural Mountains in the West to the Pacific Ocean in the East, encompassing 5.3 million square miles. It begins on a longitude with Iran and ends less than thirty miles short of Alaska. It has over 50,000 rivers and over a million lakes. It is three-quarters of all Russia, with just one-quarter of its population. You could fit all of the US, Alaska and Europe inside Siberia and still have room to spare.

Buried in the middle of this immensity, some two-thirds of the way from Moscow to the Pacific, is Yakutsk, capital of the Sakha Republic (formerly Yakutia). In the 1600s, it took a year of traveling to get to this outpost from St. Petersburg. By the early 1800s, the journey had been cut to 100 days. Today, Yakutsk is just a six hour flight from Moscow.

From the air, as European Russia gives way to Central and Eastern Siberia, the neat checkerboard-like squares give way to swirls of greens and browns dotted with lakes. The hand of man is not so evident here ...

Very Big River

In 1632, Russian explorer Pyotr Beketov and 30 Cossacks erected a fort on the bank of the Lena river and called it Yakutsk (repeated flooding later forced the town to move south and across the river). Soon, the massive Lena river became a critical trade route for the fur trade, with Yakutia becoming a vital source of the pelts that would, in turn, be a source of much of pre–industrial Russia’s wealth. It remains a vital trade path to this day, especially in winter, when the river freezes solid, providing a much–needed road to the north.

With its headwaters just a few kilometers from the shore of Lake Baikal in the south, the Lena meanders north and east over 2700 miles (4400 km), cutting through the heart of Yakutia and emptying into the Arctic Sea. It is the ninth longest river in the world, and second only to the Yenisei in the sheer volume of water it carries across Russia, though it is liquid and navigable only 4–5 months of the year. In some places, the Lena is more lake than river, broadening up to 25 miles wide and peppered with hundreds of islands. No wonder then that, in the Yakut language, Lena means “very big river.”

Permyakutsk

Our flight from Moscow touched down in Yakutsk at 6:30 am. Though, not as you would know it. This far north, the nights in July are “white.” In tsarist times, exile to Yakutia was considered one of the harshest sentences. The region was known as a “prison without walls.” Many of the Decembrists were exiled to Yakutsk (see Russian Life, December 1995), and the unluckiest offenders in the last century were exiled to remote villages of the North. “Cut off from the entire world by some thirteen hundred miles of marshy, mountainous wilderness, we had been sent to a living death... the nightmarishly long, long nights [seemed endless]. For a month and a half you would go to sleep in the dark and get up in the dark ... Each night is a year and a year is an eternity. Even the memory of the time you spent in prison seems like a sweet dream...”*

In the 1930s, gold was discovered in the republic, and the trappers and political exiles found themselves joined by prospectors and seasonal laborers. In addition, Sakha was found to be rich in gas, oil and coal. And diamonds. In fact, all of Russia’s diamonds come from Sakha.

Sakha is a region five times the size of Texas (pop. 14.5 mn), but with a population of just one million. Yakutsk, the capital since 1922, claims 200,000 of those citizens. There is no analogous city so far north. Appropriately, Yakutsk’s sister city in the United States is Fairbanks, Alaska. Yakutsk, and indeed all of Sakha, is squarely in the permafrost zone, meaning that, just below the topsoil, sometimes to depths of 200 meters, the ground is permanently frozen. Older, wooden buildings that were simply built on top of the loose topsoil are collapsing. Newer buildings are built on concrete stilts that extend 10 meters below the surface (and two above). One of the city’s more interesting tourist sites is its Permafrost Institute. It sports an underground cavern where you can actually see the permafrost.

Yakutsk is no Golden Ring city. But, when you strip away the domed churches and kremlins of such cities, you find that what really makes a place welcoming is its people. And the people of Yakutsk are, as elsewhere in Russia, gracious hosts. They display great warmth and openness, eager to tell about their city and republic, and eager to hear about yours.

Pillars of Wisdom

Ironically, the first stop on our trip downriver to the Arctic Ocean was an excursion some 140 km upriver, to what is the most popular tourist attraction on the Lena river – the Lena pillars. These sandstone formations, carved out of the soft rock by the hot summer sun, rain and icy cold winter temperatures over the years, jut up seemingly from the river itself, reaching heights of 200 meters, and stretching south for nearly 20 km.

If the view of the pillars is stunning, the view of the river and surrounding taiga from their heights is positively breathtaking. It is not a particularly easy climb: the process that led to the formation of the pillars is continuing and, as a result, the slopes are covered with a layer of loose rock – pieces of the mountains themselves.

High atop one of the formations, we happened on a wildly decorated tree. There were many brightly colored strips of cloth tied around it; all sorts of objects were tied or wedged into its branches and at its base – coins, paper money, combs, ribbons, match boxes and various bits of paper. This was a TittBes tree, and the idea is to leave something to come back for in the future. You can also write a wish on a slip of paper and leave it at the tree. Yakut legend has it that your wish will be granted.

For those less adventurous souls who did not make the climb to the top of the pillars, another tree was located at their base. Next to this tree were tethering posts, a symbol of Yakut hospitality we would find to be ubiquitous: every village has a place for visitors to tie their horses.

There was also a monument to Mother Nature: a stone pillar topped with the carved image of a woman’s head. The monument stands in a circle of smaller stones, each one adorned with a hieroglyph representing a local spirit. At the entrance to the circle is a stone with a legend, in Russian and Yakut, asking visitors to bow to Mother Nature.

Before the Russians brought Christianity to Yakutia in the 18th century,  and before they translated the Bible and other religious works into Yakut in the middle of the 19th century, the Yakuts practiced shamanism. Grossly misunderstood in the West, and even among some Yakuts today, shamanism is a faith based on the belief that every natural place and object – trees, lakes, mountains, etc. – has its own spirit. This necessitates great respect for nature.

Those believed to have special contact with the spirits are called shamans. Shamans are not, however, to be confused with healers or “witch doctors.” According to Stepan Kolodeznikov, head of the department of Teaching Methodology for Yakut Language, Literature and Culture at Yakutsk State University, there are many different kinds of shamans with different functions and different levels, 7 being the lowest and 13 the highest. Not all shamans can treat all illnesses. Thus, before the revolution, when shamanism was still relatively widespread, people would often call two or three shamans to treat one sick relative.

Today, due to a lack of understanding of shamanism, as many as one out of every four Yakuts is a self–proclaimed shaman. But, according to Kolodeznikov, there are probably only five true shamans of the highest rank in Sakha.

Focusing on Nature

Signs of concern for Mother Nature are not limited to shamanism. Downriver, some 885 km from the Arctic Circle, Russian and foreign scientists are working at the Lena–Nordenskjold International Biological Station on the Lena Delta Reserve, a 1.5 mn hectare nature preserve. The station stands in the tundra, surrounded by what look like plants or grasses. But they are actually tiny trees, unable to grow any larger.

The station itself was built in 1995 and is operational from mid-May to September. The World Wildlife Fund helped finance its construction, and Britain’s Prince Philip paid a visit during its first year.  There is only one other station like this in Russia, in Taimyr.

The scientific director of the station, Vladimir Pozdnyakov, and Michael Exo of the Institute for Avian Research in Wilhelmshaven, Germany, are there conducting separate studies on how migratory birds adapt to different environments. Birds fly from here to places as far away as Southeast Asia, North and South America, Africa and Australia and experience great changes in climate, food, landscape, etc. There is also a group of French researchers studying lemmings. Up to ten foreign research groups are expected next year. But more funding is needed to continue to operate the station and to enlarge the reserve.

On Samoilovsky island in the preserve, a field of flowers stretches out in every direction away from a river that flows to the beach. Several shades of blue, purple, yellow, pink, orange and red turn the green and brown grasses into a richly embroidered tapestry.

But floral beauty does not last long in these harsh conditions. It is easy to forget that just 1 1/2 meters below this lush surface is permafrost. Although the weather is warm now, and temperatures have been known to reach 30o C (86o F), equally possible are 3o C (40o F) summer days. The typical winter temperature is around –38o C (–36o F), but can reach –45o to –50o  C.

Most of these flowers, which appeared a week into July, will be gone by the end of the month, leaving only a few yellow blossoms to brighten the landscape. The good news is that the mosquitoes will also soon die off. When asked how he manages to live with the unimaginably thick clouds of the blood–sucking insects, Boris, a ranger at the reserve, just laughs. “They are much worse across the river,” he says. “There, even the deer dive into the water to escape them.”

After speaking with Boris, I decide to take a walk along the shore before returning to the ship. Cursing the mosquitoes, which seem to grow in size and number with each step I take, I consider turning back, but am urged on by the wild beauty and unspoiled feel of the landscape. Boris’ idea to organize river boat tours of the reserve is not a bad one, I think.

Suddenly I hear a harsh cry and look up to see a gull hovering in the air, as if suspended from a wire. “Privet,” I say. But her cry is no mere greeting. She cries again, and I understand, too late, that I am trespassing. She must have a nest nearby. Foolishly excusing myself to the bird, I turn to retrace my steps, but not quickly enough. She swoops down on my head, pecking with her sharp beak. I increase my pace, but she’s still not satisfied – whoosh! – again I feel the scratch of her beak, and again a third time, until I begin to run, covering my head with my bag. At a safe distance, I stop and gingerly touch my head. It’s sticky with my own blood. Later, as I related the incident to my new Yakut and Russian friends, I was told how lucky it was that I happened to be wearing my glasses at the time, as gulls often attack eyes.

Village Life

Kyusyur, 1320 km downriver from Yakutsk, was formed when Yakuts and Evens gave up their nomadic lifestyles and settled on the right bank of the Lena. Approximately 1800 people live in the town, surviving on fishing and reindeer herding. There were many small boats along the shore, a few motorcycles buzzing around, one jeep and a large crowd of children when the ship arrived. The wind was strong, but warm. A smell of smoke hung in the air; somewhere, the taiga was burning.

At the top of the bank, there is a small lake surrounded by thick green grass and flowers – white, yellow and purple – growing along with cotton grass, a favorite food of reindeer, with its white cottonball–like puffs. A Russian flag could be seen flying over one building.

A woman in traditional costume gave a brief tour. In one respect isolated, all the major events experienced elsewhere in Russia were felt in this village: civil war, collectivization, WWII, etc. Thousands of unmarked graves have been found in the area. It was learned that they held bodies of not only Yakuts but also of Lithuanians who were exiled here. The truth about these events became known only in 1985. In 1992, a monument was built in memory of the people who died. There is also a monument to the soldiers of the 273rd Leningrad Infantry Regiment of the Red Army who lost their lives here in the Civil War, in 1923.

Life is still hard today in this small Siberian village hundreds of kilometers north of the Arctic Circle. There is no vodka in the stores. There are two makes of VCRs at one local store, but, at 2.5 million rubles apiece ($430), no one can afford to buy them.

But the people here are quick to tell you about the good things, their eyes full of pride and genuine warmth in their smiles. They have two schools, and English is taught in them along with Russian and Yakut. The collective farm system was abandoned during perestroika. The village boasts a new club that serves as disco, exhibition hall and theater. The mountains about 500-1000 km from the village are proudly said to rival the Alps. The water here is clear, and many of the animals are unique to the Siberian arctic. Newspapers are delivered just once a week by helicopter, from Yakutsk, but this small village receives three television channels: two from Moscow and one local Yakut channel.

The lives of the people of Kyusyur are closely connected to the Lena river. Her fish feed them (fishing licenses are not required for subsistence fishing), and her waters cleanse them and slake their thirst. The weekend before we arrived there was a banya (Russian-style sauna): Saturday for the men, and Sunday for the women.

Every spring, when the deer herders arrive, a great celebration is held to greet the sun with traditional food, games and dances.

As we entered the town’s club, we were offered kumis (a traditional drink made from fermented milk) and oladi (silver-dollar-sized pancakes). Inside there was an exhibit of clothing and handicrafts.  Coats started at 1 million rubles ($175), and boots, from 800,000 to 1 million. A sable fur coat would set one back 10 million rubles (and last a lifetime, they say), and a hat, 1 million. A rug could be had for as little as 300,000. Also on display were the traditional birch bark and leather bowls and vessels. These water-tight dishes are used for storing food and drink.

Life continues to change here. According to a local teenager, Vladislav, there are only two cars in the village, and motorcycles made their first appearance this year. “Now there are already too many,” he complained. Many people dream of leaving after finishing school. And some do. But of those who leave, many return, said Vladislav’s friend Vasily. Some because they can’t find work, but others, he said, “are just drawn back.”

Above the Circle

Some time past midnight of the seventh day, the ship approached famous Stolb Island. Those who were still awake toasted the event on deck and photographed one another against the backdrop of the mighty stone in the center of the river. It stands as a sentry, guarding the entrance to the delta. As it turned out, our ship’s planned excursion beyond the delta and around the cape to Tiksi was blocked by icebergs. Time to turn south.

Heading back to Yakutsk, just 325 km upriver, we stopped at Sangar, a coal-mining town. From the water, it almost looked cheerful: a jumble of brightly colored buildings and boats with hills and, further, mountains rising up in the distance.

Upon closer inspection, however, the settlement, founded in 1928, showed the wear and tear of time and the elements: broken windows, chipped paint and badly rutted roads. It seems a wonder that the weather–beaten houses were able to stand under the fiercely blowing wind in this coal mining territory.

Natasha, born and raised in Sangar, works in a store. She and her co-worker Galena discuss the plight of the miners, some of whom have not been paid since March, some for as long as two years. Many are on strike. There is much to buy in the store, but, as everywhere in the republic, prices are high. Only the vodka is cheaper than in other towns. Selling goods on credit is not allowed.

Natasha wondered out loud where the money from their taxes goes. Since perestroika, she said, the mines are only being closed. But the mayor just bought a car – a western make, she emphasized – for 180 million rubles (nearly $30,000).

When asked what changes she would like to see, she answered quickly: a new government that would help the miners. “Just don’t close the mines. There is so much coal here. Keep the mines open so people can work.” Natasha just might get her wish. There have been reports of an American investor interested in buying the mine to keep it in operation.

The people born and raised here aren’t the only ones who feel the pull of Yakutia, a yearning to stay and make it work. Valery, a driver, came to Yakutsk 14 years ago. “Life is hard here,” he said, “but it is much harder in Kyrgyzia,” his childhood home. He has seen many changes. “People used to come here to make money,” he said, “and they could spend it here and still make trips home to see their families.” Now the wages are lower and often late. Prices are two to three times higher than in Moscow, and the living conditions are much more difficult.

Valery said not many tourists come to Yakutia, and he does not see why they should. “What about the river?” I asked. “You have rivers in America, too,” he replied.  RL

Then I told him about Martin, a Swiss man on our cruise who made the same trip two years ago, and who said he will come back again, if he can.

Valery paused, absorbing this. “Yes,” he nodded, “when I go away on vacation for a week or two or three, Yakutsk somehow draws me back.”