We rolled out of Irkutsk several hours ago in a small, comfortable van. Kilometers of snow-covered pine forests meld together monotonously before our eyes, but the voyage is pleasant in the company of our driver Nikolai and his partner. They are enthusiastic about taking us on this tour of Baikal, as it also offers them a chance to escape the city. After a turn that marks the end of the asphalt road, we start our descent into a valley where the landscape of taiga is replaced by fields of snow. Our guides, pointing toward the bottom of the valley, exclaim “Baikal! Baikal!”
The lake is a vast, white expanse, because the ice is covered by a thin layer of snow. Only the presence of a boat, stuck in the ice, betrays the fact that we are actually driving across the lake. Long poles mark the way. There are even speed limit signs frozen in the ice. This time of year, cars, motorcycles and trucks all use the ice to get from one place to another, even preferring it to roads around the island. For several months, the lake becomes solid ground, and the island is demoted to mainland.
We drive some distance over the snow before Nikolai kills the engine. We exit the van into a vast icy plain where the snow has been swept away by the wind. Finally: the legendary ice of Baikal.
The ice is so transparent that we can see the deep, dark, almost black waters below. White streaks cut through the ice and tiny fissures are proof the frost is still hard at work. We stay here, admiring the infinite variations of color and pattern created by the zebra streaks and trapped air bubbles. It is difficult to estimate the thickness of the ice sheet, but we are told it varies from 60 centimeters to over a meter.
“Hello, we are so glad to see you!” Nikita Bencharov greets us with a huge smile to his village of Khuzhir, on Olkhon island. Nikita is a former table tennis champion who was on Russia’s international team. Today he hosts tourists in a complex of wood cabins at the head of the village. Khuzhir is the only large village on Olkhon, which also has several smaller settlements, so we are glad we found a comfortable place to stay.
Winter has stopped everything: boats sit immobilized and abandoned in the port, the village’s main streets are practically empty, and cars and motorcycles pass quickly by without paying attention to us, surely pressed to get home as quickly as possible. Only tongues of smoke rising out of numerous chimneys hint at a human presence in the village. Khuzhir is comprised of small wooden houses, each with a little garden and surrounded by a tall fence. It seems like we are standing in a postcard from the 1930s, with cobblestone streets and old sidecars.
In Nikita’s large dining room we meet other travelers, mostly Russian. The meal, delicious and largely composed of omul, Baikal’s most famous fish, gives us a chance to plan our walks around the island while Nikita makes arrangements with drivers.
Our first adventure is to the north of Olkhon, alternating between walking and driving. It is March, the weather is peaceful and the sun warms the air to a bearable -5 to -10º Celsius. Such highs are not normal for March, we are told by fishermen we meet on our way. They are concerned that the lake freezes later every year, while spring keeps coming sooner. They talk to us about global warming and the narrowing of the time period when moving around is simple – across the ice. The fishermen use augers to bore small holes in the ice and pursue their quarry with a stick, a fishing line, and some bait. Oh, and sonar – to locate schools of fish hiding under the ice.
As we approach the northern shore of the island, three almost identical cliffs rise up before us, as if chained together. These are the “three brothers.” Huge stalactites and grottos of ice have formed at their feet, as if it had been thrown there. Finally, we reach Cape Khoboy. From here, the lake stretches another 300 kilometers to the north. And our driver has prepared a surprise: we are going ice-skating! We toss off our ice shoes to glide across the vast reaches of ice. The first few steps are awe inspiring – it seems as if we are gliding across a bottomless abyss.
As we cluster together, making fun of our timid skating technique, a dull, violent noise explodes from the ice beneath our feet. Immediately we are surrounded by tiny cracking sounds. Streaks of white expand in every direction. Our instinct for survival takes over and we skate as fast as we can toward the van, where our driver Vadim is quietly reading a magazine…
Suddenly, the noise stops. Silence returns. Our breathing and heartbeat return to normal. We have just witnessed the lake ice at work. A seam broke beneath our feet, tickling our nerves. But this time of year there is no danger, since the ice is for the most part over 60 centimeters (nearly two feet) thick. We get used to the ice explosions and newly forming cracks. Some can be heard from kilometers away. Spending several nights on the ice would be a test of one’s nervous system…
A group of muscovites visiting the lake as part of a photography seminar propose a hike to the west side of the island. The walk begins in the steppes of Olkhon and wanders quickly into the taiga, where we follow a trail which soon becomes impassable.
Just as we start wondering if the ordeal of this hike was worth it, we arrive to the bay before Cape Ukhan. It’s an amazing sight. From here, we see the lake stretch out some forty kilometers toward a mountain chain in the east. In the bay in front of us, for several hundred meters, scattered patches of light blue contrast with the darkened ice – these are the famous torosy (“ice hummocks”), formed by the movement of the ice. Huge sparkling, clear blocks are raised up into interesting, natural ice sculptures, some over two meters high. It would be difficult to cross them, as they are so slippery and unstable, so we have to take long detours.
On our last day, Nikita has cooked up something special. We drive across the lake in an ancient Lada to a small, sheet metal hut, which has a large smokestack jutting out of it. We quickly realize we are about to bathe in the icy waters of Baikal!
Vadim and Vladimir have cut a rectangle from the ice and crafted simple stairs. Vadim uses a large net to fish out the tiny ice particles that form on the surface of the hole. It is 5 p.m. and the temperature has dropped below -20 degrees Celsius, but all things are ready, and we have no choice but to partake…
First, we have to absorb the maximum amount of heat possible in the hut’s sauna. As soon as we feel like we are hot enough, we take a deep breath, open the door, and run, barefoot, across the three meters separating the banya from the pool.
At first, the sensation of cold is not extreme. But moments later our bodies are pelted with millions of needles. Our muscles start to tense… It is time to return to the sauna to absorb more heat and stimulate the circulation with willow branches. By the fourth bath, the cold has become too intense, and more ice is forming on the surface. So we end our Baikal banya, totally invigorated by the contrast between hot and cold, and spend the rest of the evening chatting with our hosts. We have become true Siberians! RL
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