Siberia's lake superior

Lake Baikal, which holds as much water as the combined Great Lakes, can be a paradise for the outdoors enthusiast - but bring plenty to drink.

By JOSHUA K. HARTSHORNE
Published February 6, 2005

[Photos: Joshua K. Hartshorne]

The frozen surface of Lake Baikal sometimes buckles, creating picturesque “ice mountains” several yards tall.

	The vast Lake Baikal is surrounded by miles of undeveloped land, giving visitors the sense of being alone.

Only a half day into my three-day solo backpacking trip through Olkhon, a picturesque island in the middle of Siberia's massive Lake Baikal, I realized I did not have enough water.

This was not an accidental oversight. Lake Baikal is the largest source of freshwater in the world. It measures about 400 miles long and 50 miles wide and up to a mile deep. All the Great Lakes cannot equal it. And Baikal is noted for its purity.

So when I was packing, I left my extra water bottles at home. My pack was heavy, and I planned to hike 30 miles or more. I brought only a 2-liter bottle. Even so, my pack barely fit on the bus from the regional capital of Irkutsk to Khuzhir, Olkhon's main town.

I should have sensed the risk when my hired van dropped me off at Khoboi Cape, which towers over the water. If Baikal's water were to be drained, you could see that 40-mile-long Olkhon Island is an extension of one of the mountain ranges that ring the lake.

Though the center of the island has a few sandy beaches, nearly everywhere else the water meets sheer cliff. I could see the water, but it was hopelessly out of reach.

I did not, however, sense danger, and I waved goodbye without worries as the van I'd shared with several Swiss tourists returned to Khuzhir. The scenery was spectacular: sheer bluffs over the water, misty jagged mountains across the lake. Behind me, grasslands.

Most foreign tourists rely on English-speaking agencies to book bus tickets and hotel reservations in Siberia, but after five years my Russian was finally at the level that I found my way deep into Siberia on my own.

I may not have brought water, but I had my guitar and repertoire of folk songs about Baikal. I sat down to play.

Images of musicians serenading nature atop cliffs are romantic. The actual experience is less so. The wind blowing up the bluffs carried the sound from my ears and the cold to my fingers. I didn't play long. It was already afternoon and time for me to start thinking about water.

Water, water everywhere

My plan had been to camp at Khoboi and spend two days hiking back to Khuzhir. This, I could see, would not work:

I only had water for a half day. Worse, the only food I had packed was of the add-boiling-water variety. There were no restaurants. There were no people for miles.

I needed to a find a way down to the lake. I trudged south, hugging the eastern coast. There are no true roads on the northern half of the island - there's not much of anything - but the grass was short and the hills low. The going was easy.

There were many false hopes for beach access. After the second failed descent, I became more careful. Climbing back up the sheer slope made me thirsty.

The day dragged, but even in Siberia the sun cannot stay in the sky forever. The tranquility slowly became ominous.

Just as I was about to give up and pitch my tent, I spotted a footpath running down a relatively mild slope. I followed it to a narrow, rocky beach. There, sandwiched between the cliffs and water, I made my camp.

The fallen boulders strewn about the beach made me feel uncomfortable, as did the knowledge I would be sleeping only a few feet from the waves of a lake known for its storms. At least I now had water.

Having dinner was another story. Baikal is safe to drink, but I needed boiling water to prepare my instant meals. It had been far too long since I'd used a campfire for anything but marshmallows. Though I tried for two hours, I never brought my pot of icy water up to even shower temperature.

All that night, the wind off the lake battered my tent, and I arose at daybreak. I filled my small water bottle to the brim and my stomach as well. I set off for the south again and promptly managed to lose myself in the middle of the island's taiga, or subarctic forest.

There are two dirt roads leading from the steppes into this forest that covers the middle of the island. I chose the wrong one.

It wasn't that I misread the map; my map didn't show either . I would have asked directions at Pleschanaya, a village of a half-dozen decaying houses on the edge of the forest, but it was empty of humans, although it was home to an unfriendly pack of dogs and a number of cows.

But by mid day, I was following the same set of tire ruts that had brought me to Khoboi. They led inland, away from the lake. Before long, I was out of water again.

I soon reached an inhabited village. An old Buryat couple (Buryats are native to the area), who were weaving freshly shorn wool at the edge of town, were the first people I had seen in more than 24 hours. They helped me track down the owner of the only town store so that I could buy some watery Russian soda (there was no water, and although there was plenty of beer and vodka, I didn't think that would help).

I covered between 20 and 30 miles that day and reached Khuzhir just before nightfall at 10 p.m. I had had enough of camping and wanted the luxury of Khuzhir's excellent tourist resort. It had soft beds, stove-heated cabins, a restaurant - all for less than the cost of a typical U.S. motel.

My trip may not have been the smoothest, but I have never fallen in love with a place so quickly. Olkhon has it all: sand dunes, beaches, mountains, grasslands, forest and the lake. One moment it's like being in the ranges of Wyoming; the next, you are in alpine Switzerland. Walk a few miles, and you find yourself on a sandy beach.

But bring your own water.

If you go

Though managers of the tour bases in Khuzhir speak English, nobody else does. Among the agencies is Baikal Complex (www.baikalcomplex.irk.ru) a friendly, ecologically minded business (in the interest of full disclosure, the Baikal Complex has collaborated with a nongovernmental organization for which I volunteer). Baikal Explorer (www.baikalex.com) runs a comprehensive Web site.

Readers who speak Russian well may e-mail me at joshuahartshorne@netscape.net for do-it-yourself details, and should also read my article in Escape Artist on obtaining a visa www.escapeartist.com/efam/61/Living_In_Russia.html

Go in Winter

It's hard to think of a better place to frolic in the snow than Lake Baikal, which is covered in white six months of the year.

Dropping temperatures in October mean snow freezes to the pines as it falls. On early winter weekend mornings, locals grab their skis and head for the woods, which are crisscrossed with trails. The woods are so vast that you hear nothing but your own labored breathing.

By February, temperatures turn the lake into the world's largest skating rink, ringed by snowy mountains that appear to have been painted onto the sky.

Once Baikal freezes, cross country skiers and hikers flock to the lake. Some make an overnight trip of it. "It was terrifying," said Gretta Hoffman, a U.S. student who camped on the frozen lake. "The ice cracked and shifted all night."

Crossing Baikal is such a popular winter activity that traffic jams form on the trails leading to the shores. Once the winter enthusiasts emerge from the woods onto the expansive lake, the lines disappear; there is room for everyone.

Go in Summer

In May, the snow and ice give way to a lush landscape. Where all had been uniform in winter, variety is Baikal's summer game.

The vast Russian taiga - newly green - beckons, where ski trails have turned to footpaths. "The taiga is not a just forest," says Sasha Doniliko, a local student. "Standing in it, you feel its power. You feel how huge it is, and how small you are."

The equally vast Central Asian Steppe in the south has also regained its color. These are the wildflower-covered grasslands where Ghengis Khan rode his first horse. In the east, the lovely Barguzin Mountains combine blue brooks, green moss and jagged gray stone into majestic views.

The "sampler platter" is Olkhon Island, which packs mountains, taiga, sea, steppe and sand-dune beaches into its 50-plus square miles.

Locals claim the lake is so clean that fish are visible 100 feet down on a still day. Bathers often keep an eye out for the world's only freshwater seals, the locally beloved nerpa, found a thousand miles from their ocean cousins. Said to be the world's most biodiverse lake, Baikal supports more than 2,500 species of plants and animals.

Baikal, of course, is more accessible in the summer. The retreat of ice is followed by the advance of boats. Besides boat tours, regular hydrofoil service takes passengers on a 12-hour excursion from one end of the lake to the other.

Most notable among the nearby cities is Irkutsk, which retains the elegant charm brought by St. Petersburg's exiled best and brightest. Running a close second is Ulan-Ude, best-known for sporting the world's largest Vladimir Lenin head.

All this beauty comes surprisingly cheap. Travel in much of the former Soviet Union is remarkably underpriced. Decent accommodations can be had for $30 a night (budgeters can live on half that) and a $10 restaurant meal is considered lavish.

For more information

Books about Baikal include: Baikal Sierra Club by Peter Matthiessen; Around the Sacred Sea by Bartle Bull, Kerim Yalman and John Boit; and Lake Baikal , edited by Koji Minoura.

Photo galleries are at www.waytorussia.net/Baikal/Gallery.html

Freelance writer Joshua Hartshorne covers travel, politics and culture. He now lives in Taiwan.

[Last modified February 4, 2005, 11:03:08]