Around Baikal 2003

Days 26-28

Day 26 -- June 26, 2003
If the Selenga was the gateway into a beautiful, wild, untamed Baikal, then Ust Barguzin has been the gateway to luxury. We arrived in the village around 10:30 Monday morning. I stood guard by the boats while Brandon searched for our contact, Vera. As we had pulled up beside a busy ferry terminal, I became a sideshow to lift the boredom of Russians of all shapes and sizes stuck in line, waiting their turn to board the small ferry boat. Our canary-yellow and sky-blue kayaks, mango lifevests and orange sun hats and splash jackets (that would make any highway worker proud) drew people like seagulls to a bucketfull of fish guts.

First they would approach slowly, not looking directly at me as not to give away their interest. Then a bold group nonchalantly moves in: a dignified women with her grandchildren. They touch our gear gingerly, smile for a photo, but are quickly shoved out of the way by a boisterous gang of men who bang on the boat and appear to discuss how seaworthy these long, skinny craft could possibly be. The door has been opened & now they come in flocks. Five rescue workers offering their card, a fisherman offering smoked omul, a traveler biologist toting a large backpack and hiking the lakeshore, a young girl eating sunflower seeds. But finally, the alpha moves in and everyone else scatters. This comes in the form of two 12-year-old boys who try on every piece of gear, touch, knock, yank and switch on everything they can get their hands on. But before the boys destroy anything, Brandon arrives on his white horse, a cargo truck driven by our new host, Sergei.

By 1:30 p.m., Sergei had our boats stored in his garage, had given us a room for the night with a queen-size bed, 2 easy chairs and a telescope by the window, he heated up the banya and fed us soup with veggies fresh from the garden, homemade bread, crepes, tea and sweets. It has been pure luxury, after 23 days "at sea" to be fed, pampered, bathed, and did I mention fed?

We could not resist a second night, for when we leave Ust Barguzin we head out around the Holy Nose Peninsula, an exposed section of cliffs that appears to be an island, if not for the sandbar connecting it to mainland Siberia. From there it's into Chivyrkuisky Bay, home of hot springs, Nerpa seals and small bays where the water is warmed by the summer sun to nearly 70 degrees. Then it's up the Grizzly coast, aptly named for the giant bears who reside there. We will have no stores, no villages, until we reach Severobaikalsk, 280 miles to the north.

Day 28 -- June 28, 2003
Twenty miles we paddled today, in all to camp not an inch from where we slept last night. The fact is we were on a mission to visit the true mascot of Baikal if ever there was one, the Nerpa seal. Set out six and one half miles from the Holy Nose Peninsula, are four islands called Ushkaniy. They are zapovednik, a protected wildlife preserve, as they are home and playground to the bulk of Baikal's 60,000 endemic Nerpas.

We started early, on the 2 hour crossing, and were granted a glassy passage. Within 3 minutes of landing, a motorboat full of rangers swooped in and, with a flash of our magic letters of introduction, we were shown to an enchanted trailhead. A ten-minute walk brought us to a camouflaged barricade overlooking rocks covered in sun tanning Nerpas. The seals are not huge; the big ones weigh in at 250 lbs. Their eyes look as big as tennis balls and are inky black, as is their fur.

These critters are shy, we learned, and the slightest sound or motion has them sliding or rolling their plump bodies back into hiding.

Nonetheless, our cameras clicked for an hour or more. Then we slowly began to learn their habits and personalities. Eventually we snuck around to a closer spot and spied on some nervous seals swimming and flopping on and off the rocks. Heather then moved in close and sat, not fifteen feet, from the water. 'That'll never do,' I thought, 'her being so plainly out in the open,' and not at all still in her movement. But, eventually a youngster bravely, or ignorantly, swam to the closest rock and plopped himself upon it. Heather zoomed in so close she later said, "I could see the warts on his face," and burned thru the bulk of a roll of film.

After that we hiked back to the boat and ate lunch; then started to paddle along the island's shore. It was nerpa nirvana. Hundreds and hundreds of the things watched our every stroke; timing their exit from their tanning beds like a living wave as we progressed. Poking thru the smooth plane of crystalline water, 40 to 50 peeking heads would appear at once; and, another half that many watched us from the rocks. Around each bend we slowly paddled, as countless splashes ahead were matched by filled those left behind us.

The islands were in themselves, as beautiful as any paradise. Heather said, "these are what you hope to wash up on after a shipwreck." It was true. White cobble climbed from the infinitely clear water and grew into caves and cliffs, then, lush green grasses and trees of all kinds. Sea gulls and their hatchlings filled the water, the sky, and our ears with their cries.

After another hour of visiting the sacred islands and their inhabitants, we struck out to re-cross to the Holy Nose. As we prayed for, Burkhan held his breath from the minute we set our course until (as true as I sit here and write this now) we were within 50 yards of landing, only then did the South wind resume its flow.

Location: the North end of the Holy Nose Peninsula

Read more about the journey in the introduction