Kamchatka: Where the River Runs Hot

Past a snow field and through a canyon of jagged, red-rock walls, lies a freakish world of fire and ice in the Russian Far East.

It is called Mutnovskaya volcano, and its living heart is a towering, blue-rimmed glacier, surrounded by howling fumaroles (or steam vents), boiling mud pots and various-sized rocks colored yellow from the earth’s intense hydrothermal activity.

Hikers often wander amongst this super-natural landscape. Yet there is always danger when exploring the inner heart of an active volcano – one wrong step could spell disaster.

“Two years ago, a student was trekking through Mutnovskaya, and he leaned too close to one of the mud pots and fell in,” said volcanologist Vladimir Kiryanov. “All the rescuers found of him was half a leg and a rubber boot.”

Welcome to Kamchatka, a remote peninsula of mountains, tundra and volcanoes in the Russian Far East, separated from the mainland by the Sea of Okhotsk and from Alaska by the Bering Sea.

Kamchatka is one of the world’s last best places — a wilderness that is so unspoiled it can be compared to the American West of last century — and for this it has mainly history to thank.

Door finally open

Though it was populated by Eskimo and Aleut-related peoples, Kamchatka was not known to Europeans until the Cossacks ‘discovered’ it in the 17th century.

In the centuries that followed, only ships could reach the peninsula, leaving it untraveled except for trappers and a handful of explorers such as Vitus Bering.

During the Soviet period, the presence of military bases armed with fighter planes, bombers and nuclear submarines — each pointed toward the United States — prevented all foreign tourists (and most Russians) the opportunity to travel there.

In 1983, Korean Airlines flight 007 flew off course, skirting the 900-mile-long coastline of Kamchatka — too close to Soviet subs. It was shot down near Sakhalin Island, killing all 269 passengers and crew members.

But times have changed. Mikhail Gorbachev eased travel restrictions to Kamchatka in 1990. Now, jet service from Anchorage, as well as cities in the former Soviet Union make it possible to reach the peninsula within hours.

Land of volcanoes

My journey began aboard Aeroflot flight 3885 from Khabarovsk, a Russian city near the Chinese border, to Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky.

Traveling light with only a backpack, some clothes and a fly rod, I was at the end of a nine-month trek along the ‘left bank’ of the Pacific Rim, from Australia to Far Eastern Russia.

A modern city of more than 300,000 people (roughly three-fourths the total population of Kamchatka), the port of Petropavlovsk sits on magnificent Avacha Bay, surrounded by majestic cliffs, black-sand beaches, craggy peaks and no less than four snow-capped volcanoes.

It was the opportunity to see wild nature — and perhaps squeeze in some fishing — that motivated me to make a stop in this far-off land. As Stepan Krasheninnikov, an 18th-century explorer and natural scientist wrote,

“The peninsula of Kamchatka is largely covered by mountains.

“They stretch in an unbroken chain from its southern tip to the north and are divided into two almost equal parts. Foothills run from this mountain range in both directions toward the sea coasts, while rivers run from the valleys between them to the sea.”

And then, of course, there are the volcanoes, which most excite the imagination, with names like Koryakinskaya, Avachinskaya and Zhupanovsky.

Kamchatka — roughly the size of California — is currently one of the most active volcanic areas along the Pacific Ring of Fire. Of the peninsula’s 300 or so volcanoes, a staggering 29 are active.

The ringleader is Klyuchevskaya, which, at 15,584 feet, is the tallest volcano in Eurasia. And also one of the more dangerous. In April 1994, Klyuchevskaya erupted, sending a plume of lava three miles into the sky in a spectacular display.

This powerful volcano erupts almost every year, emitting 54 million tons of magma annually.

Where a river runs hot

As might be expected in a region with little to no tourist infrastructure, traveling to the volcanoes is not an easy task.

Traveling independently and on a budget, this posed a problem. But, after time spent hanging around the helicopter pad in Petropavlovsk, I arranged to tag along with a group of locals heading to a volcano called Khodutka for three days of camping.

After an hour-long flight, a breathtaking ride above an endless volcanic desert, we arrived at our campsite beside the Khodutinskaya River, about 75 miles from Petropavlovsk. The clear-as-glass river emerged from the base of the 6,897-foot volcano at 161 degrees, only to be cooled by icy streams to hot-tub temperatures, perfect for swimming.

“We call this phenomenon ‘hot river,’” said Kiryanov. “On Kamchatka, there are many hot springs, but this is the only place where a river runs hot.”

The landscape seemed a bizarre mix of the Far East and Far North. The river banks were lush, overgrown and reminded me of jungles in Thailand or Vietnam. But everywhere else there was vast tundra, just in case one forgot the cool winds blowing from Siberia.

In my journal, I wrote, “After fishing for salmon and trout in the cold rain and picking mushrooms and berries from the tundra bushes, it was nice to come back to camp and jump into the hot river. Very wild to see the volcano through the rising steam.

“I was told that 80% of the Kamchatkans are from other parts of Russia and the Ukraine, and [my new friends] are no different. Yet they seem to enjoy their new lives here on the frontier — hunting and fishing and trapping and dealing with the unpredictable weather.

“I suppose this is what Alaska was like 40 or 50 years ago.”

Fishing with Pavel

A few days later I met Pavel Kuzmich, in an office at Yelizovo Airport, about 20 miles from Petropavlovsk.

Pavel — a retired, 67-year-old fisherman who lives down the street from the airport — greeted me with a firm handshake and a friendly smile, before his eyes drifted to the strange silver tube in my hand.

“Rybalka,” I explained (it was a fly rod for fishing). Pavel, who was wearing a wool suit and tie, shook his head and chuckled, “Ahh, Rybalka.” He wasted no time in inspecting my strange gear.

After a few minutes, he turned to me and said, in Russian: “Tomorrow be here at 9 a.m., and I’m going to show you how we fish on Kamchatka. Bring your rod. I’ll bring mine. And we’ll see what happens.”

Less than 24 hours later, Pavel and I were hiking along the back roads of Yelizovo, shooting the breeze about our dual passion for fishing. I said I had been fly fishing for about 10 years; he said he had been fishing on Kamchatka for the past 41 years.

Undoubtedly, Pavel has enjoyed some good days. On Kamchatka, there are more than 6,000 rivers and 100,000 lakes, many of which are home to abundant fish populations, including four species of salmon, two species of trout and also Arctic char.

It was silver salmon and a unique species of ocean-going trout, called mikizha, that we fished for along the mighty Avacha River that day. While I made a futile attempt to lure some fish with my flies, Pavel put his experience to work.

A crafty angler who used only homemade equipment, Pavel fished with a thick line tied to a hand reel, with silver-colored attractor shields as bait. As an alternative method, he broke off a tree branch, tied a line to it and fished for small salmon — called losos — along the shore.

By day’s end, Pavel’s catch was three silver salmon and about 100 of the smaller fish. And as for me? Well, there’s always another day.

As the sun set behind the mountains surrounding Yelizovo, shining a brilliant light on the 11,404-foot Koryakinskaya volcano, Pavel and I hiked back to his modest apartment.

There, his wife had prepared for us a delicious, mouth-watering dinner — salmon borshch, caviar, chicken, and, of course, a touch of vodka.

Full from our feast, Pavel and I retired to another room, where we spent an hour playing show and tell with our fishing equipment. Like little boys trading baseball cards, we swapped flies, bait, line and lures.

And before escorting me onto the bus to Petropavlovsk, Pavel presented me with an antique map of Kamchatka and some souvenir postcards.

Waving good-bye to my new Russian fishing friend, from my seat at the back of the bus I thought about this irony: I didn’t catch any fish and yet it was the greatest fishing day of my life.

Kamchatka the beautiful

Fresh from my fishing adventure with Pavel, I took the side trip to Mutnovskaya volcano on my final day on Kamchatka.

Trekking out of the crater, my Russian companions and I looked like ants marching through a huge, empty landscape. Bare, rolling tundra — broken up by snow fields, wide valleys and an occasional volcano — stretched out like a carpet before us.

“Like the moon,” said Tanya Bogotorova, who I met days earlier in Petropavlovsk, when she invited me to climb the volcano, along with six young families.

After sharing this dazzling, volcanic experience, we began the five-hour drive back to Petropavlovsk, in a six-wheel-drive, diesel-powered Ural truck. Halfway there, we stopped at a spot along the salmon-infested Parantuka River, where everyone piled from the truck and began preparing dinner.

With the exception of Tanya, none of these people knew me before the day began, and yet — as always during my stay on Kamchatka — I was treated like royalty, an honored guest.

Under the shadow of a venerable volcano called Viluchinskaya, we grilled shashlik (or lamb kebabs), danced and drank festive amounts of vodka and champagne.

This was my final night in Russia, my time to remember....

I took a deep breath, trying to absorb it all — the smiles of my Russian friends; the soothing sounds of the rushing river; the pinks, blues, oranges and reds of the sunset; and the rugged mountain scenery around me.

With Russia’s economic future in the balance, there will likely be pressure to develop this virginal landscape. Protected by the luck of history until now, the magic of Kamchatka — inherent in its forests, rivers, mountains and volcanoes — has reached a critical juncture.

As I stood there, on the rim of the Asian continent, I wished for this wild place to remain as it is. For Kamchatka is a treasure — a wonderful, natural world.

Perhaps my friend Igor, a radio engineer from Petropavlovsk, summed up this mysterious land best, when he walked up to me and said, simply, “You know, we have a name for our home. We call it Kamchatka the Beautiful. Here there is wild nature.”

Andrew Tarica is a correspondent for the Pacific Rim News Service.