Sinsk, Sakha Republic, Russian FederationSNOWMOBILE EXPEDITION: HORSE HERDERS OF SINSK
A Thorough Preparation for Our Journey
If there was one thing Ed was a stickler for, it was safety. And in such an extreme environment, it was very reassuring. I must add that until you experience this type of climate, it is difficult to fully appreciate its inherent dangers, and just how quickly you can get into real trouble. As we had found, it is very easy to be complacent. Or just plain stupid.
Before we left that morning, it was imperative that we fully understood what we were in for. Our day's expedition would take us by snowmobile through the taiga east of Sinsk to two lots of horse herders' settlements; the first about 7 km and the second some 15 km further, and near the Lena Pillars we had driven past the previous day. We would be outside in the taiga for the best part of our excursion, mostly towed behind a snow mobile through thick snow-covered forest trails. Having had a very short experience of being towed when we were in Pevek during the winter of 2018, we could well appreciate the dangers and/or sheer discomfort of being exposed to the blasting of freezing air and snow from a snowmobile for any length of time.
Thankfully, we had woken to a gloriously bright sunny day.
That morning Ed took great pains in insisting that we ate a sufficiently large breakfast - which was not at all difficult with the huge hot platters of food we were offered by Marguerita and Katya. And it was no joke. "I can assure you. People who survive the best in difficult extreme cold conditions are those who have eaten well beforehand" he affirmed. Hmm, what did he mean "survive" I wondered? Yes, it would be cold but it was after all, just a day's excursion, wasn't it?
But Ed was unusually serious, taking us aside to explain we would need to wear our warmest outer clothing and our best thermal underwear. "You will be outside all day. Wear everything you've got!" he warned.
So we opted for our military quality thermal leggings over the top of finer, stretchier ones. Layers we agreed were the go. We laminated ourselves further with thermal tops, fleeces, padded ski pants, topped by two down overcoats, balaclavas, neck scarves, ushankas over our woollen beanies, thermal mittens and under gloves - all wrapped in by cashmere scarves. And of course, our Sorel snow boots. Even still, Ed was not happy. I was told to wear a pair of thicker (presumably Katya's) over pants and we both had to wear borrowed Valenki (Russian wool felt boots) instead of our Sorels.
"But don't get dressed until we are just about to leave. If you get hot and perspire, the sweat will freeze and you will be in all sorts of trouble" warned Ed. This was a worry. How would we know what was "just before we leave?" As mentioned, Alan and I are particularly inept at getting into our cold weather gear; an effort that can take us a good 20 minutes. And Ed could tell you, it was a full-time job helping us find lost gloves, pull up our impossible zippers and tie scarves that didn't fall off. And that's without retrieving our usual trail of dropped mittens, hats, glasses, handkerchiefs etc.
It may have been wise to wear everything we had, but by the time we fully dressed we could hardly move. Looking like cosmic freaks, we stumbled out of the house to meet the snowmobile team. I think I noticed almost imperceptible smiles on the faces of Katya and her mother.... Katya had wisely opted to stay home.
A Glorious Morning in Sinsk
Sinsk village was absolutely sparkling. Without a cloud in the sky, it was however by our measure, very cold. Around minus 32 C we were told. And really "not particularly cold" for Sinsk...
I cursed myself for not bringing a proper thermometer. I am addicted to weather in all forms, and I must have driven everyone crazy with my continual questions of "Извините. Какова температура, пожалуста?" ("Excuse me. What is the temperature, please?"). My Russian grammar was often wrong but people were kind enough to respond. Always in English....
Our snowmobile team comprised two drivers Kostya and Evsyey (both horse herders and fishers), Katya's father Alexei, Ed and us. The "motley crew" of Alan and me, would be towed by Kostya. Ed and Alexei would share the sled towed by Evsyey.
Our sleds were indeed very basic; just wooden crate type structures with no padding. Or anything much else. They did however have low rails to hang on to, something Ed was keen to tell us gave the sleds something of a designer wear statement. "In the Anabar Region, the sleds are just wooden pallets", he explained. "There are so side railings. Just a wooden board."
I recall thinking he was just trying to make us feel better. After all, if you couldn't hang on to anything, how on earth could you stay on a sled at any speed? No, he was just joking....
Alan sat at the back of our sled while I sat between his legs leaning backwards. I did have something to hang on to - a thin rope which was apparently essential for me to use to brace myself and save back discomfort. It was all pretty fundamental.
Ed and Kostya, took great pains however to ensure we were protected and warm. Kostya generously insisted that Alan wear his travelling goggles while a huge reindeer coat was placed over my body, partly covering my face. "We'll drive for about a kilometer, then I'll check on you guys. If you are OK, we'll continue on to (first horse herder) Yury's place" said Ed. We must have looked more wobbly than I thought, I recall thinking....
And so we took off sliding, often sideways, down the snow-covered streets of pretty Sinsk village and feeling like we were going one hell of a lot faster than we actually were. After a kilometer, Ed checked on us. We were fine. We had passed the test and were soon "speeding" off, flurried with blasting snow, through the taiga trails to Yury's place. Whoever Yury was...
Within no time, we had left downtown Sinsk. The only inhabited locality and the administrative centre of the Sinsky Rural Okrug of Khangalasskiy District, the tiny village comprises a population of less than 1,000 people. From what we could see there were only around 200 or so cottages, all constructed from heavy timber logs. There certainly is no shortage of timber in this region.
YURY'S HUT
Yury didn't know we were coming. It surprised us that Ed had not let him know but Ed just shrugged his shoulders "He is always here. And he always like a visit." That was true. The wiry, aged Yury may have looked suspiciously at us but he certainly was pleased to see Ed and his team.
And it did appear to us that Ed got on very well with local Russian and indigenous people. It wasn't only that he spoke fluent Russian. He just seemed to have an effortless rapport with, and fit seamlessly into the local way of life.
Yury was a Russian horse herder who lived on his own in his humble log hut, some seven kilometers from Sinsk. Looking at his interesting, lined face I gathered he was not nearly as old as I had first thought. He was in fact just 70 years of age; not that much older than me... I wondered who Yury really was. And what was his background. And what made him live in this remote little settlement; just himself and his herd of Yakut ponies?
Yury's hut was pleasingly warm. Ed had brought with us a heap of cakes, biscuits - and a bottle of vodka. Pulling us aside he whispered "I know it's very early in the day. Not really drinking time. But it is, well sort of tradition to have a drink of vodka with Yury. Would you like a small sip?" Needless to say, for two people who are known to like a drink or two, we didn't need much convincing.
The straight vodka was beautifully warming. And so was the second. The third felt even better. I can't recall just how many drinks we had but between Yury, Ed, Alan and myself, we managed to drink the whole bottle. I was feeling amazingly good. Alan was looking relaxed.
After some time "relaxing" in the warmth of Yury's hut, it was time to venture out to visit the Yakut ponies. Cute little woolly guys, surviving without stable shelters in the extreme cold of Sakha, they are known to be some of the toughest horses on earth. Around only 13 to 14 hands high (or around 140 cm from hoof to withers), the ponies looked to be put together by a committee with a great sense of humour. Coarse headed with upside down necks, pointy rumps and stumpy short legs, they were at the far end of the bell-shaped curve of equine beauty. And especially for someone like me who is used to being around the aristocratic English Thoroughbreds and European Warm Bloods. But I had to totally admire these hardy little fellows, with their lovely nature and adorable sweet faces. And more importantly, they were not "nutso", like my hysterical Thoroughbreds....
The Yakut horse is thought to be related to the robust Mongolian Pony and also the much famed ancient Przewalski's Horse of southern Russia and Mongolia. They have ingeniously adapted to the harsh cold environment; being able to forage out vegetation buried deep beneath the snow and by developing unique morphological adaptations to the sub-Arctic climate. They have acclimatised their requirements in line with seasonal phases by accumulating high fat levels during the short vegetative growing season and lowering their metabolism in winter. Furthermore, they grow extraordinarily thick coats in winter.
In Sakha, the Yakut horses are used as an important source of meat protein, as well as for transport. Yury who was obviously very attached to his horses, was quick to inform us that any used for work purposes was never eaten.
During our stay in Sakha, it was hard for us to get our heads around eating horse. Impossible as it was to argue why these creatures should not be eaten yet cute furry cattle were, it was still difficult for me to eat horse meat. And Alan felt the same. I still shudder when I think of one of the meals offered on our hotel restaurant menu being "Fillet of Foal in Cream Sauce"....
Outside had become overcast, and seemingly even colder. As we trudged back from seeing the horses, I wondered how Yury would get on if he became ill. Or fell down a hole...
On returning to his hut, Ed asked us if we would like a horse sled drive down to the Lena River. Yury had to get water for his house pony and had apparently asked if we would like to join him. It seemed that the somewhat taciturn Yury was thawing toward us. To my surprise Alan (self-confessed-holder-of-horses-for-years-outside-the-women's-toilets during my dressage competition days - and an understandably devout disliker of anything horse) agreed.
Our pony sled drive down to the Lena River only took about ten minutes through the untouched snowy taiga trails. And lying on my back against Alan I had a wonderful opportunity to take photos of the splendid forest as well as our new friend Yury. The forest was exquisite; arching bare birch tree branches heavily coated with thick white snow. In a relaxed haze, it seemed all the more gorgeous....
Digging for water was not easy for Yury. While our quiet little sled pony waited patiently, we watched with interest as Yury dug into the hard-packed ice for quite some considerable time before he reached water. Even then, we were surprised that it was only some 20 cm below the ice surface. And the very road upon which we drove the previous day.
A pale sun faded to a pearly halo in a featureless opalescent sky. I was very cold and cursed for not taking an extra coat with me. I cursed my mittens for not allowing me the freedom to take photographs with my camera.
It was then I decided to use my phone for photography; something I had always vowed I would never do but for which I had to admit was infinitely easier to use in these frigid conditions. Furthermore, my faithful little Panasonic camera that had served me so well even in the minus 55 C days at Bilibino, finally told me it was not going to co-operate in these conditions. From here on, most of my photos were taken with my iPhone 11.
TO KOSTYA'S AND EVSYEY'S HUT
We thanked Yury for his hospitality and bade him a fond farewell; a lonely figure fading into the snowy distance as we left on our snow mobiles for our next destination of Kostya's and Evsyey's fishing hut. It had been a real privilege to have met this interesting man.
Our trip from Yury's hut to our next stop although only some 15 km seemed much further, taking us through fabulously beautiful dense taiga and then closer to the Lena River. Our lovely driver Kostya was worried about us, especially Alan who was taking the brunt of the snow flurries. Constantly checking, he would leap off his snowmobile and brush any ice from our faces, pull up the reindeer skin and make sure we had no evidence of frost bite. He was also probably concerned about our rather lavish intake of vodka.
And talking of vodka, as I lie corpse-like, completely covered by the reindeer skin coat, I did wonder whether perhaps I may have died. And perhaps all this strange but pleasant haze of blackness was what people experienced when they had Near Death Incidences?
And after all, wasn't this what our 2017 guide Nick had told us on our first visit to Yakutsk when we asked him if many people died in Sakha because of the cold? I firmly recalled him replying casually "Oh not many. Only those people who are stupid enough to get drunk, die of the cold..." Oh dear, we always did things to the extreme....
Obviously I didn't die but on arriving at Kostya's and Evsyey's hut, I was dying to find a toilet. Ed quickly explained that although there was a facility at the back, the hut had not been used for some months and trails to and around the dwelling had to be stamped out before we walked too far.
While they opened up the hut, I decided to find the loo. Inexperienced with deep snow, I thought I would be quite safe to venture just to the toilet which was quite close. The old narrow trail was formidable and on several occasions I fell right over not being able to keep my balance in the thick snow.
But on the way back I slid into a deep snow drift and which I can only describe as being the snowy equivalent of quicksand. And the more I struggled, the deeper I lodged; my massive amount of clothing exhausting my efforts to free myself. The only positive about my sheer panic was the realisation I wasn't dead after all....
Ed's voice called out "Are you OK Wendy?" Of course I bloody wasn't but pride took over. Ed then with a Herculean effort took my arms and somehow dragged me out of my snowy abyss. "Oh, you would have got out yourself, in the end" he breezed. I wasn't so sure.
The hut certainly had not been used for some time. And inside it was simply freezing. The chimney had filled up, clogged tightly with snow; the task of unblocking it taking Kostya and Evsyey some considerable time and effort. Finally freed of its enormous snowy plug, the fireplace was doused liberally with petrol resulting in such an explosion we thought the place may burn down.
In the choking smoke we could barely see each other. But revived by the new warmth, steaming mugs of hot tea with pancakes and jam were very welcome.
DOWN TO THE LENA PILLARS - A FISHING TRIP
Kostya and Evsyey were serious fishers. And they knew that I fished a lot back home. Keen to show me all their gear, including quaint little floats made from birch bark, they insisted that we take a trip down to the Lena where they had set nets. Alan-who-hates-fishing-nearly-as-much-as-horses groaned but went along with it.
Once down on the Lena River, to our surprise we were just opposite the Lena Pillars, just 30 kilometers from Sinsk. In the vast distance they looked quite different; almost insignificant. But then again here the river is hugely wide and right on the far north-western side, we would have been many kilometers away.
It took Kostya and Evsyey quite some time to find their fishing holes. And by the time they had found, dug up and retrieved their nets I was convinced that ice fishing was not always an enjoyable occasion. On the open bed of the frozen Lena, it was frightfully cold. The wind began to blow and the fish they caught froze immediately on the ice. No need for rigorous icing of fish like we do at home, I thought....
Meanwhile Alan was not looking at all happy.... And by the time we left for Sinsk, we were both feeling uncomfortably cold. Ed asked if we would mind travelling home on the Lena River rather than back through the taiga. It would he said, be a much faster trip. Needless to say, we readily agreed.
BACK HOME IN SINSK
Our trip back along the river to Sinsk WAS fast. Although we were only travelling at around 40 km per hour, on the back of our rough sled it felt like 100 km. Kostya however frequently stopped to check on us. And it was just as well as Alan had the signs of early frost bite just under his left eye. Fortunately, he found it and wrapped Alan even tighter in another scarf.
The scary bit was that neither of us knew when we had ice on our faces. It was only when Ed or Kostya would check us, that we realised our noses or cheeks were spray painted with snow. And we had no idea what the signs of frost bit felt or even looked like. And again, it was a warning just how easy it is to get into trouble if you don't know what you are doing.
Marguerite and Katya were at the door to welcome us to a warm home oozing with the delicious fragrance of just cooked hot food. Max emerged from his room grinning. "Had we enjoyed our day?" they asked.
Actually, it had been the most fantastic experience. The best adventure. It had been interesting and fun. And our company had been fabulous. We loved every minute - even if I thought I may have died and Alan had suffered slight frost bite....
londone7
2020-05-26
Nice pictures but too cold for me!