BRRRR
Baikal Radar Research in Remote Regions (4/29 - 5/01 1999)
or The Peculiarities of (inter)National Science

Friday morning was brisk and mostly sunny after a small front had passed through Irkutsk the evening before and we left the Eye Institute promptly at 11 AM to begin the 300-km drive north and east to the region of Malyoe More, the Small Sea, in the west-central region of Baikal. Two 4WD transports were loaded with supplies and fishermen at the Institute. Our team consisted of two drivers (Vitaly & Vasily), Sasha, Boris, Vitaly, and Alexi Zavorin from the ISTP research team, three American guests (Steve, Phil, and John), and Eugene, the son of the minister of fish & wildlife for the Irkutsk region. Arrangements had been made with the help of the ISTP director, Geily Alexandrovich Zherebtsov, who had recently been appointed Lieutenant Governor of the Irkutsk District, for accommodation of our team at a new wilderness resort, Chanchur. Boris had exclaimed "Odlichna (wonderful), we will have an accommodation like we have never experi- enced!" During the preceeding week, a meeting had been held between Sasha, Evgeny's father, and the owner of the resort (Yuri Nicholovich), and a deal had been worked out for our stay at Chanchur. As a part of the arrangement, Evgeny, a game warden (and self-proclaimed "ranger without a Colt") was to accompany us.

The vans crossed the Irkutsk and Angara Rivers and headed north through the hills and taiga. The initial stopping point was the roadside Soviet-style monument marking the boundary of the Buryiat region who's capital is Ust Ordinski - Vitali's birthplace and ancestral home. Tradition calls for an offering at such boundaries and a small portion of vodka is spilled to the ground and a drop touched to the chest for the health of each child. Shortly beyond, at a hilltop with an exten- sive view north over the wide Buryatiaya rangeland towards Ust Ordinski, is the traditional native boundary of the province, and all native people when crossing stop to look to their homeland to remember history and tradition and so that the leaving or coming is not made too abruptly. The native people do not farm the land, but raise cattle, sheep, and horses which roam free over the wide close-cropped territory.

Two hundred kilometers north of Irkutsk, the van turned east, towards Baikal, and headed up into the highlands and mountains which surround the Lake. Shortly before the pavement ends, at the high point which marks the border between regions, is a special place where offerings are made and stripes (ribbons) taken from one's clothing are tied to the bushes in respect to Bourhan, the native god. Vitali's van had separated more than a hour earlier to drop off items for his mother, and rejoined us at this border point. We were warned not to venture far into the forest, because of certain dangerous animals there. Ticks infected with encephalitis are prevalent in the area. Some small lunch of beer, bread, salted omul, kolbasa, and vodka followed by the side of the road. After eating we descended the dusty road past old villages like Diagonal Steppe (Kopaya Step) and on to the last outpost of civilization (town), Elantsi, where the tanks were topped off with gas for the trip to the fishing grounds along the west shore of the Small Sea. Although we were 3/4 of the total distance from Irkutsk and had been on the road for four hours or more, the real trip had not yet begun.

Turning north again at Elantsi, we briefly paused at the white stone for a traditional offering. (When asked how the native people determined the proper spots for offerings to Bourhan, Boris explained that almost any large stone will do, although some are more popular through tradition.) The group stopped for a brief visit to an old Slavic cemetery on a hillside and then, near a cluster of small ice-covered lakes, stopped to negotiate with some roadside gatherers of burmash, the grass shrimp collected through the ice from these lakes and which are the basis of omul fishing on Baikal. These small bait creatures are dropped through the ice holes regularly in specific places to form long-term feeding areas for the desired indigenous fish, the Lake Baikal omul - the object of our long trip. For a multi-day fishing trip, a fishing team can use 10 liters of burmash and the native people find that gathering and selling burmash is more profitable than fishing. The going price is perhaps 30 roubles per liter ($1). (Often a bottle of vodka is better than currency in nego- tiating the purchase of burmash). In our case, Eugene climbed the small hill for discussions with the salespeople and came back with a sack with 2 or 3 liters of the small shrimp. Boris explained that for his team, a normal ice-fishing trip would involve leaving Irkutsk at around 8 PM and driv- ing 4-5 hours to the burmash ponds where the team would collect bait shrimp during several hours, getting as many as 30 liters and selling the excess to other fishing teams. They would then proceed to the Lake, where they would drive to the selected fishing area over the ice, arriving in time for the heavy biting at dawn. For this trip, with guests, a much later start was chosen, and other activities would occupy our time at Chanchur until the morning fishing began.

With a supply of burmash on board, we were ready for the 40 km drive along the lake shore to Chanchur. Little did we know that this would take another three hours of rock hopping and mud bogs. Boris had told that as little as five years ago, this easily would have taken three and a half hours, but now the road was much improved. The first ten kilometers went smoothly enough, with several brief photo stops opposite the Gate which connects Maloye More with the main body of Baikal, and again at a scenic vista overlooking small rugged islands and the expanse of ice. The Institute owns several small native houses in a tiny windy village near the first traditional fishing area and the fishing team would normally have shared rough accommodation there while com- muting over the ice to the selected fishing grounds. Beyond this we came to the first kamchatka, or traditional omul group fishing area, where people, tents, and huts cluster together on the ice over a long-established fishing spot and to enjoy the fish-attracting effects of volumes of burmash dropped by the fishermen clustered above the feeding omul. It was noted that the kamchatka was nearly absent - a bad sign that the omul fishing was already over for the spring. Of course, it was a Thursday evening and a bigger crowd could arrive there for the long weekend. Boris stated that as many as 1000 people would crowd into one kampchatka a few years ago, but now there was less interest in fishing and only a hundred or so was a normal group these days. Our fishing ground was much further along the lake shore, and a bit less accessible to the less-dedicated fishermen. In all, we passed 5 or 6 kamchatkas along the way to ours, near Chanchur.

A "modern" wooden building marked a stopping point for Eugene who entered with several men and emerged immediately with a sack with two large seeg or whitefish which would be pre- pared as uchah, the traditional Russian fish soup which, along with dark bread, is a necessary accompaniment for vodka. (At that point we assumed that Eugene had purchased the fresh catch as his contribution to our dinner.) The road beyond this point deteriorated into tedium and three hours of bumping finally ended with our arrival at the gate of Chanchur a bit past 8 PM. Of course, the gate was locked. Alexi and Eugene set out in the direction of barking dogs to investi- gate.

Chanchur is a cluster of small, rustic wooden buildings being built and marketed to attract hunters, fishermen, photographers, and nature enthusiasts to the beautiful, relaxing, and wild envi- rons of Lake Baikal. Our accommodation was a comfortable cabin with four beds and a masonry heating stove downstairs and an upstairs loft for two additional. Another cabin served as a bunk- house for others in close quarters and our drivers slept in the vans. A much-anticipated banya (bath house) sat amid the snow beside the frozen stream a bit above the cabins and a kitchen and dining area was a short walk through the forest. After claiming bunks and stowing our belongings we headed down to the kitchen where Eugene was boiling a large iron pot with a few potatoes and onions while chopping the whitefish into serving-size chunks with his oversized knife. There was salted omul and sallo (slabs of fat) on the table with the bread and some mixed salad, and very soon the uchah was ready and ladled into our bowls.Vodka appeared and the first official gathering of the fishing team began. It was nearly dark at 10:30 when it was decided to relocate the activities to the banya for some healthy steam, a good whipping with the birch-leaves, and a visit to the ice hole.

The wood-heated banya consisted of a changing area on the porch, a preheating area with wooden benches, and the superheated closet where ladles of water would be splashed to the heated stones to form the required layer of scalding steam along the ceiling which could be snatched down for application to backs, buttocks, and thighs by a deft flick of the birch. Outside, a meter of ice covered the small stream and a hole about one meter square had been cut through to the shallow water and rocks below. Ice steps transported the mist-shrouded bather into the flowing stream and a bucket was used to pour the frigid water over sweltering back and shoulders. The joys of the Siberian banya were captured for further enjoyment and entertainment with Steve's video camera and should speak to the enthusiasm of the team as it readied itself for the coming day's fishing. The combined experience of fire and ice in rapid succession led to the desired feel- ing of total exhaustion and relaxation and cold beer quenched our thirst as frequent trips were made between banya and pool. By midnight, it was decided that the banya had been thoroughly enjoyed by all, and it was time to retire to the kitchen for a light supper of fish, fat, and vodka.

At 6AM the team stood for the day, a bit late it was later decided, and headed off for a 3 km drive to the location of our kamchatka. The half-meter thick blue ice was crumpled along the shore, but the Small Sea was solidly frozen and we crossed the rifts of open water and shifting ice floes near the shore on bridges and ramps of poles and set out for the 10-min walk over the smooth ice to the small group of fisherman marking the spot of our endeavors. Everyone wore 6 or more layers of clothing and moved chubbily over the ice carrying supplies on sleds and boxes. Fishing appeared to be slow at the kamchatka, but some fish lay on the ice as words were exchanged with the other teams about burmash (a required entry fee to the company of the kam- chatka), the depth of the feeding fish, and other significant information. Selecting holes and breaking out the night's freeze, we began to fish.

Lake Baikal ice fishing is a distinctive art, and instruction and some practice are needed to hook and land a fish. Omul cruise about halfway between bottom and ice in 25-meter deep waters, travel in small (or large) schools, and will bite a small hooked shrimp lure when it is bounced and bobbed appropriately from above. Each ice-fishing rig is a foot-long wooden stick with a V- shaped notch at each end and wound end to end with 25-30 meters of nylon line. Four or five lures are attached to the line near its end which is completed with a moderate sinker and a lower lure, for insurance. The line is lowered into the ice hole approximately 12 meters - that is, to the depth at which the omul are biting, and jigged up and down constantly while trying to adjust the depth to find the fish. Barbless hooks are used to keep the line from fouling on itself during the two-handed retrieving which results in the classic windmill motion of the successful Baikal ice fisherman. In the lucky instance when an omul tugs at a lure, the fisherman begins a sharp and rapid retrieval of line and fish from the depths. This is done by alternately dipping the free hand and the stick under the line near the hole with arms spread to effect a wide loop and rapidly wrapping the line around both hands. The string of small lures comes last and is wrapped over the line already retrieved, and finally the omul is pulled through the ice to the admiring comments of the team. The fish is flipped away from the hole, the sinker is returned to the water, and the line is unreeled into the hole by alternately dipping hand or stick towards the hole while maintaining tension between the arms so that the loops of line stay neatly on each hand. Freeing the dangling hooks from the skein of line as this is done takes a bit of practice - as does taking in the line properly. When done by an expert in the kamchatka this is a rapid, effective, and graceful procedure. When attempted by a novice, the result is often comical. From shore, those resting and eating can tell right away when the heavy biting is in progress as five, ten or more men begin waving arms violently in the air simultaneously and the addictive rush of omul adrenaline sets in, canceling the effects of hours of standing in the chilling wind on the frozen lake.

On our Friday morning, Steve took the first omul, after about 10 min of waiting and discussion, and learned that on taking of the first fish, each man is expected to make an offering and to leak a small portion of vodka to his companions in the kamchatka. A bottle appeared and Steve made the rounds of the members, offering a cup and accepting thanks and congratulations. Fishing was quite slow and the team took fewer than ten omul in two hours. It was agreed that preparations had taken too much time and the team had stood up and gotten to the ice too late to have success- ful morning fishing. Accordingly, it was decided that we should return to the camp for some breakfast and then to proceed to another spot for `guaranteed' harius fishing (in Alaska, the harius is called grayling). So, our first effort on the ice was not too successful, but it was instructional. Of course, the omul is not the only (or most numerous) fish taken by this technique. A small indige- nous fish with canary-yellow wing-like fins, the sheerka (looks like a skulpin), is taken in large numbers and causes much extra arm-waving activity and plenty of snacks for the gulls who sit on the outskirts of the kamchatka awaiting the unwanted `fishkas' tossed their way.

Harius fishing is done in more shallow water (6-8 meters) and involves dangling a burmash lure 15 cm above the bottom and hoping for results. Unfortunately, the harius were not as active as expected and three more hours on the ice netted no more than a dozen specimens, although of quite good size. Sergei, the retired commercial/military pilot who worked at Chanchur and who was our guide to the local fishing spots suggested a visit to his net, strung under the ice to snag passing harius and omul. The net was impressive, several hundred meters long with a hand- cranked winch on one end and attached to the surface through a large ice hole at the other. John and Sergei retrieved the net from under the ice hand over hand for about 20 minutes, carefully stacking it on Sergei's coat to keep it from freezing to the ice. Only one fish was caught and this was followed by another 20 min of hard cranking by Phil and Alexi while Sergei and John played out the net into the hole. An ice lunch of bread, kolbasa, vodka, and sallo was followed by a deci- sion to return to the camp for a rest in preparation for a dinner of shaslik and fresh-caught omul and harius prepared `en rashna' (salted and skewered on a pointed stick and seared at high heat next to a wood fire in the traditional Baikal method).

The team arrived back at camp at 2PM in the bright sunshine and cool temperature of a fine and scenic day along Baikal. While some moved to the outdoor kitchen area to rest and observe the preparation of dinner, and others retired to their quiet bunks to rejuvenate themselves, Phil and John took camera, water, and back-country gear and headed up the stream valley to attempt one of the high ridges behind the camp. After 20 min of hiking and some initial climbing, persistent shouts from the direction of camp stopped our ascent and we descended to meet Alexi who wanted to join us (protect us) on our walk into the mountains. A rather steep climb for 30 min brought us to the top of the rugged ridge 500 meters or more above the Lake and to spectacular views along the ice and islands in both directions and behind us to the 1600 meter bare white peaks which capped our ridge less than a kilometer to the west. With only 30 min left till dinner, we descended rapidly the steep forest slope to the valley and returned to camp exactly at 4 PM. There, Jura, our Armenian meat-cooking specialist, had shashlik and ribui en rashna roasting. All enjoyed sitting in the sun in anticipation of a feast which was thoroughly enjoyed a la fresco with the usual accompaniments.

Fishing at dusk for omul at our kamchatka was much more successful. We arrived near 7PM with the sun still quite high. A few test fishes and fishkas were hauled up while Boris advised to be ready for sunset and for heavy beating (biting) just as the shadow of the mountain fell over our position on the ice. Being a scientific research team, we had a sonar fish detector powered by a car battery in position to monitor any unexpected motion of the lake bottom and to report the appear- ance and depth of any omul. The detector gave a heartening beep whenever a fish ventured into the kamchatka's vicinity and this was accompanied by shouts of "how deep is it?" and "get ready!". Multiple beeps usually resulted in one or more arm-waving sessions almost immediately and, as predicted, just as the shadows swept over our position the detector exploded with a chorus of chirps and heavy beating began. Everyone in the kamchatka began hauling line and landing fish simultaneously and in a minute the ice flopped with the fresh catch and the business of repair of snarled and tangled line began. Episodic swarms of omul passed through the area as darkness descended and soon it was too dark to fish effectively (at least for those old enough to need glasses). Boris led the team with a two-handed effort to land more than 10 omul while Sasha added the excitement of a bare-handed grab into the hole to dip out a good-sized specimen. As we left the ice at 11 PM by the light of a rising full moon, a sack of 40 omul weighing perhaps 15 kg accompanied us to the camp. The sight of the team strung out across the ice silouetted in the light of the full moon was an impressive end to a successful day fishing.

It was decided to stand up at 5:30 to improve our morning performance, but first, Yuri Nicholovich, the owner of the camp had arrived and invited us to join him for a midnight supper of fish soup, some toasting, and a chance to hear him expound on many and varied topics. A sound night's sleep brought the dawn, and by six the van was carrying drowsy fishermen to the ice. A larger weekend contingent had arrived at the kamchatka overnight and already many arms waved in greeting as we crossed the ice to join them. Holes were found, burmash offered, and moderate fishing, but much better than the preceding morning, resulted good success for everyone and 15 or more omul to take to camp where the previous night's catch was being smoked for our enjoyment on the road back to Irkutsk. An ice breakfast and the offerings needed to improve the quality of the fishing resulted immediately in the highlight of the trip. Phil was encouraged to take Steve's video camera and record the friendly antics of the members of the kamchatka as they went about the numerous activities associated with Baikal fishing. The fish finder was being of great interest to the less scientific members and periodic concentrated biting was keeping spirits high and the rising sun and the ice breakfast were warming the fishermen. Steve became aware that he was instinctively hauling in line and Phil was called to record the action. After some rapid retrieval, a hook snagged on the ice bottom and the kamchatka sprang into action with bountiful advice and warnings and finally the application of a helpful ice-extraction tool which, after some effort, freed the line. Steve gave some final swings of his arms and a large omul - a VERY LARGE OMUL - made its appearance to the loud appreciative cries of all members of the kam- chatka. Steve had hauled up a half-kilo specimen - the largest omul of the trip. A round of photo- graphs and offerings celebrated the catch. On our return to camp, Steve's fish was promptly smoked by the Chanchur crew and served both Steve and Phil for lunch later that day. A box of forty smoked fish was loaded into the van and the team bounced its way back towards the white rock at Elantsi and civilization. Along the way, Eugene stopped at the fish house and collected a sack of 70-80 omul which he salted and packed in a large metal milk jug for the trip to Irkutsk. Near that hut, the fishermen used a net to extract up to 1000 omul per day from the deep current, and part of the licensing procedure for such activity involved the occasional sampling of the catch by a passing ranger.

As Boris explained: fishing is fishing.

John Foster
May 2, 1999
Irkutsk

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