Around Baikal 2003

Days 33-38

Day 33 -- July 04, 2003
NOTE FROM JANET NELSON: I wish everyone could have heard Brandon's voice as he dictated the following update -- the compassion and empathy he expressed was tremendous.

In the midst of our day among the Nerpas of Bushkani Islands, we were both surprised at how incredibly shy these animals are. Aside from the one youngster, who modeled for Heather's photographic frenzy, no seal would come near us or even stay above water for more than a moment after spotting us. We read that, approached over ice, Nerpas will bolt at once; as this is how several thousand of their kind are hunted each winter. But, the mid summer fear of humans we saw was plain.

So, as we continued our rounding of the Holy Nose and, not 6 feet from Heather's boat, a Nerpa broke the surface and then lay there. We didn't know what to make of it. Lifting our paddles from the water, we both looked on for a few seconds and expected a departing splash, but none came. "Is it dead?" Heather asked.

Slowly, we paddled closer and then saw the reason. This full-grown Nerpa was not dead, but, tightly bound in a section of fishing net. Like a lens, the icy clear water magnified the woven strands biting into flesh and fur. The Nerpa wasn't tangled, it's flippers were free and the section of net was separate from any lines or long trailings. It was more like a body suit of netting only 6 sizes too small -- as if it had been grown into over the years.

This Nerpa needed our help. As we looked on, the seal dove a mere 4 feet below, then stopped and looked up. Bigger, sadder eyes I hope to never see. Without sound from wind or waves and, for an eternity the creature floated and stared up at us, "Are you the ones, will you cut this hellish twine from me at last? Can I trust you?"

One soft thrust of its tail and we could have reached it. The knives on our vests would melt thru the netting and the Nerpa would know freedom again. And still it floated just out of reach and then it decided, and then it dove. It would never come as close again. Not by ten times.

For the better part of an hour we sat without paddling. In need of a breath, the seal would finally surface 75 feet ahead of us, 60 feet behind, the white netting on it's back visible each time it curled forward and dove again.

Broken hearted we finally paddled away.

Location: North 53 degrees 58' 34.4" East 109 degrees 22' 52.5"

Day 35 -- July 06, 2003
Our decision to go counter clockwise around the lake has given me ample time to really nail down my food buys. If I didn't calculate my proportions correctly, forgot an item or could not find something we needed, there would be another village within a few days. But, as we approached Ust Barguzin and the Grizzly Coast, the pressure was on. With nearly 300 miles of uninhabited coast, and with a 6'6", 240 pound husband, who's got the appetite of a grizzly coming out of hibernation relying on me…I was about as tense as a deer with a big-rig bearing down at it at 65 miles per hour. But, I refused to be the deer caught in the headlights. I was going to be prepared for my big food buy.

My tent became my headquarters for "Operation Food Buy." Two Russian/English dictionaries, flash cards, index cards, a 24" X 50" Baikal map, a Baikal chart book, three pens -- red, blue & black, and a copy of a shopping list I made in Yurkusk (sp?) surrounded me. I stared at the map with an intensity reserved for a college student, cramming for finals. I count kilometers from Ust Barguzin to Sezerobaikalsk, double check on the second map, figure time in for storm days…then do it again.

Twenty-one days, I decide, now the shopping list. I grab an index card. On the left, I write the item in black ink -- making sure to include the number or the kilograms I need. Next to it, I write in red, the Russian word, which I had translated letter by letter from Cyrillic. At the bottom of the list in blue, I make a cheat sheet… how to count from one to ten…how to say tin, or bag, or half a kilo.

Next, the food buy. One would be wrong in assuming the actual food buy is the easy part. The markets, magazines -- they are called, are about the size of an AM/PM. Each item is displayed on a shelf behind the counter. As an impatient line forms behind me, I point, fumble with the list, pull out my dictionary, stumble through words and try to explain apologetically, "ya nye gavaryu po rooski." Finally, I emerge with about one quarter of what I needed. Luckily, each village has about four magazines.

Now, eight days into the isolated Grizzly Coast, we pull our boats ashore, exhausted from a long day of paddling. Brandon sets up the tent while I start dinner. My mouth waters at the thought of the pasta, salmon and mushroom feast I'm about to create. As the pasta cooks to tender perfection I prepare the main ingredients, which entails, opening the cans, draining the water, and spooning into the pots.

No sooner than I had opened the first can, I started to giggle. I opened the second can and burst into fits of laughter -- that had Brandon rolling before he ever knew what was happening. "Baby," I finally spit out, "tonight we eat pasta with salmon flavored cat food and almond stuffed olives."

He ate the meal with gusto, and even licked the pot clean…But, I still haven't had the heart to tell him that the emergency supply of peanut butter I purchased in case we run out of everything else...well...let's just say we've got enough butterscotch to invite forty of our friends over on Sunday.

Location: North 54 degrees 31' 39.6" East 109 degrees 29' 55.8"

Day 26 -- June 26, 2003
Don't be bamboozled by Heather's tale of pet food pasta, and a bucket of butterscotch.

Labels aside, I've been served far more frightening food at restaurants far and wide -- without eight hours of paddlin' behind me to get my gut rumblin' like thunder. And, I damn sure didn't get to climb into bed with the cook after desert.

But, Heather's not one to pat her own back. So, let me serve up a slice of what must be her train of thought on any given day in the camp kitchen.

"Damn, I got moves, I'm the paddlin' pantry princess, The kayakin' cuisine queen, Tourin' with an eatin' machine.

I got more game of white rice and spice than Las Vegas' got dice.

Breakfast, bring it on. What you got? Espresso maker, waffle iron, micro wave, juice machine. Man, throw that in the can.

I got one match, two rocks and a bundle of sticks. And you think Aunt Jamima got tricks. How about raspberry crepes on a rocky beach, Pounded by surf. This is my turf.

Peaches and cream, that's standard fare, and so are the wolves and the grizzly bear; Who be sniffing my food, and acting rude. Look dudes, I'm cooking for two.

Not you, not today -- and tonight my kitchen be twenty miles away. And after that, there's two hundred more, til the next store.

So, if you're feelin' like stealin' - You be dealin' with a woman crazed; Not phased by the fangs and claws.

The only jaws that I be feedin' are those needin' rocket fuel. Gourmet nutrition, the backbone of any expedition. Baikal is stormy, cold and deep; But, I've got a dinner date to keep. And, a salad of wild plants to reap. And, a grocery list to translate before I sleep.

Location: North 55 degrees 24' 49.5" East 109 degrees 49' 33.6" 20 miles south of the north end of Baikal.

Read more about the journey in the introduction