Around Baikal 2003

Day 58-63

Day 58 -- July 28, 2003
Three days ago we sat, holed up on a small patch of beach, just south of Olkhon Island. Ten or fifteen minutes of paddling would have put the half mile crossing behind us, and delivered us to the base of Olkhon, to start exploring its mystical and "Holy" coast. Or, we could continue south and, with good weather, arrive in Bolshoye Goloufpnoye, and claim "Around Baikal" a success.

Staring out towards Olkhon, Baikal's largest island, the crossing may as well have been a hundred miles. Under a thick blanket of fog, the island was totally invisible. And, an east wind as if the nearby Sarma Canyon were inhaling, sucked whitecaps through the channel, straight from the open lake.

We watched, as the conditions remain unchanged as darkness fell. Though our decision, we knew, was already made. Olkhon is an unrivaled epicenter of myth and ancient legend. And is considered Holy, beyond our comprehension. It is believed to have been the birthplace, home and/or burial place of history's most powerful Khan. It is steeped in Shamanism that is practiced to this day; is home to prehistoric petroglyths within its countless caves. It contains, we have come to realize, a bunch of the most demanding and spectacular shoreline we'll see, on all of Lake Baikal.

The following morning we were on the water early and finished the crossing just as the winds regained strength. We cruised past miles of rock, plastered with bright orange lichens. The sky began boxing us in with thundering blue/black clouds. For the past 2 days, not a sliver of clear sky has slashed through this eerily dark storm. We made short burst off the island's west coast through 2 to 4 foot chops and following gusty winds. We declared these rowdy passages "training sessions" for the islands much more exposed and cliffy eastern side.

Having today, finished the expedition's final food buy in the town of Khuzir, we may round Olkhon's northern tip and resume heading south once again, as early as tomorrow afternoon. As darkness falls tonight, the lake is finally starting to lay back down. And to the South, a clear sky has at last begun breaking through.

Heather and Brandon Location: North 53 degrees, 16', 17.5" East 107 degrees, 29', 28.3" Seven miles North of Khuzir on Olkhon's eastern side

P. S. Brandon's final thoughts of this message were, "I wish you could see it thru my eyes, what I'm looking at right now. It's just the most amazing…what I'm looking at. I can see across the Bay, to the other side of Lake Baikal. And, the clouds are just soooooo dark, and so cottony…it looks like you could take a big scoop of them…it looks like mud. It's been this way for a couple of days. It's starting to break up to the South, it's just amazing…"

Day 63 -- August 3, 2003
Interesting how what passes for a comfortable camp can change so radically with worsening water conditions, burning mutinous muscles and bones, or yet another mile past, without a hint of a landing. A stone shelf, we'd be surprised to see a flock of gulls cling to one day, the next -- can look like the honeymoon suite at the Waldorf.

These postage-stamp size treasures of Siberian real estate, have earned our heartfelt gratitude and, an esteemed spot in our ever-evolving list of expedition lingo. We call them "nuggets."

As we rounded the craggy, un-climbable, northern port of Olkhon, and began cruising the eastern shore, we prayed out loud that there be a humble handful of "nuggets." But our charts portray icons of in-hospitability lining the length of our mythical monolith.

Radiant lines squeeze together until they nearly overlap and they grow steeper still in their submarine plunge to the center of the earth. The bruise-colored sky of the past few days has thickened like fudge and began to spit. Stroking southward, we clung to our hopes as lifelines and chant our montral, like heroin freaks on a quest for salvation -- "Show me the nuggets!"

A pile of gravel, in among house rocks, a slated slab, with room for us both -- if we curl up tight. "A cave, a cave," damp and dark, with shards of stone like daggers, but shelter, nonetheless. We paddled by these geological gems, grinning like apes -- reassured that a perch for the night could be ours. Then, at the start of the second mile, "What's this -- nugget of nuggets!" A pebbled beach 100 yards long. Surely a mirage. But, we paddled to it and true enough, our boats grind ashore.

We seize this unimaginable opportunity to add layers for warmth and psych up for the next push, for surely this anomaly of accommodation is a one of a kind. And, thirty miles might pass before another. With a war cry, we shove off and paddle southward again.

Around the next point we emerge brave to face our vertical walled fate -- but instead discover . . . three more inviting and pristine, driftwood stocked beaches, each one bigger than the last. We cruise past, around each bend there are more, only growing in length and beauty and, features like hammock hanging trees, wind blocking walls and rain sheltering shelves. These aren't nuggets, but full-blown resort-style, stuff-of-dreams, beaches.

As it turns out though, they are merely an appetizer for what is to come. In the days that follow, we find ourselves camped out in utter luxury. Smooth rounded cobble runs for miles lined by lush pines and stands of birch rustling in late summer breezes.

The Baikal sun finally burned through and dried everything -- including the countless white sandy beaches we explored all day today. As we cruise the southern third of Olkhon - a landscape looking for all the world like its twin -- the Utah desert. We are camped now on the south edge, minutes from where we entered a week ago. Tomorrow, the home stretch begins.

Read more about the journey in the introduction.