MOSCOW, November 2. /TASS/. Every year, the Mikhail Somov scientific-research vessel departs from Arkhangelsk to deliver food, construction materials, equipment and people to hard-to-reach weather stations. To join a shift, to leave for a holiday, to receive once-a-year supplies - this is the work the Mikhail Somov does. The ship is leaving for the current year’s seventh voyage - to 30 stations and across six Arctic seas. The final destination is the Wrangel Island between the East Siberian and the Chukchi Seas.
Here, in the Arctic, the light is of pearl color, it’s impossible to explain what it is like. Transparent-grey, hardly seen. The sky, filled with gold, hides the rare autumn sun. This sky, unlike the sky elsewhere, has heard maximum prays.
We are in a rush. We - are the expedition, the crew and the Mikhail Somov. We hurry from the west to the east, to manage before the thick ice freezes up, to make routine deliveries to polar stations until weather conditions may turn them into struggling efforts.
The White. Lullaby for tundra
It is the home sea for the Pomors. It is not deep. The sea is moody right now. The usually grey-blue water looks rather brownish. To many polar stations the ship cannot get close enough due to the shallow waters. Thus, most deliveries from the deck to the shore are conducted by a Mil Mi-8 helicopter (home port in Arkhangelsk).
- Expedition members flying to the shore, please proceed to the heli pad, - we hear the announcement. Onboard announcements are usually invitations to breakfast, lunch, tea and dinner, notifications about new time zones, or even invitations to lectures - in cases the ship picks travelers in some far-away territory.
The legendary ship is a dear visitor everywhere.
"Fly, fly, fly, fly," the propellers are roaring. The tundra is catching the fading autumn sunshine. It is colored in red and yellow with blue splashes of lakes. Through the open window we can feel its spicy odor with a touch of ice-smelling inevitable winter.
The first station - Abramovsky Mayak (Abramov Lighthouse) - was opened back in 1929.
- I come from the Koida Village, some 40 kilometers from here. In winter, it’s about two hours by a snowbike, or in summer - by a boat. - Grigory Popov, the station’s chief manager, has been working here for 16 years. After a secondary school in the village, he learned the profession here, at the station.
He is about to leave for the first holiday in a few recent years. He plans to leave for three months together with wife Olga, when another specialist comes to replace him.
- My husband began working here, and a year later I joined him. I’ve got trained here. At first, it was very complicated, I thought I couldn’t manage it, - Olga says. - In the very beginning, we sent out telegrams only daily. We did not have telephones, or television or the Internet. One year, we remained cut off communication for seven months. We simply continued to register the data.
In addition to the regular actions (registering and sending out the data), which are made every three hours, they have everyday tasks. "It’s like in a village: the garden, greenhouses plus the diesel generator, or filling in reports - we are never idle."
The meteorologists may leave the station only in case of an emergency. Another option is to leave for holidays. Last year, Grigory had to travel to the village to pick parts for the generator. The supplies, which the staff receive, are formed to be sufficient till another shipment - in 12 months.
Grigory says he enjoys living away from people. Fits the character, he explains: he is not talkative, and living with just the wife is very comfortable.
- I do not miss people. When the [Mikhail] Somov comes, work begins from the morning. By the evening we are worn out - too many people. The maximum I can live in a city is two weeks. I’d rather relax in a village, - Grigory said. - Daughter Victoria visits us for the New Year. She studies at NAFU (the Northern Arctic Federal University) to become a polar meteorologist. She’s a fourth-year student.
At this station, which was the first on our expedition’s route, it is for the last time that we can see trees. It may seem nothing important, but the more you get deprived of regular things during the voyage, the clearer and sharper you feel their importance. Heavy clusters of Christmas-colored mountain ash berries are bending the branches. People say, if there are many berries, the coming winter will be cold.
In a few weeks we will see the first snow - as if we make a huge step from autumn into winter across the country.
Bitter lingonberries are hiding in the moss. High up the shore somebody has made a bench and a table. For the best view - on the White Sea.
The White / the Barents. One-on-one
The ship is alive, and thus it’s never silent around. You can hear the heating work, during storms waves are splashing, a closet in the cabin is creaking, a mug is rolling across the table.
At dawn, almost in the darkness, the [Mikhail] Somov gets to the Kanin Peninsula. Here meet the two seas: the White and the Barents. A black-and-white lighthouse sends a beam. At Cape Kanin, by the weather station, the only person is waving to the helicopter.
In late August, Nikolai Kostikov was appointed the station’s new chief manager. Earlier, he worked on Cape Chelyuskin (the northernmost point of the Afro-Eurasian continent). Such appointments inside the family of weather stations are nothing special. Sometimes, people have to substitute those who leave for holidays or for good, or to take positions of people who cannot work together - things do happen.
- When at the station, you enjoy the freedom. I can feel it here that I’ve come to [Cape]Kanin. I like it when the life - everyday life and the work - depends only on myself and nobody else. It is very important.
For a newcomer it is rather tiresome to walk in the tundra - too soft. The springy mixture of plants and soils returns every effort. [Cape] Kanin is the native land of the Nenets. The area is a network of nomadic routes, which only the indigenous people can see.
Nikolai’s steps are long - he is a tall man.
- Addicted to the North I am! - He says. - Whenever I come home, and if I have to stay there for long, I don’t feel I belong there. I must return to the Arctic. Friends would ask - what’s there for you? I really don’t know what to say. Some inner yearning. Even if you realize it’s not worth it, there’s no resisting it.
The polar history of Nikolai’s family began from his great grandfather - traveler Stepan Vostrotin. Later on, his grandfather and father also worked in the North.
- I met the family, the parents and sisters, back in 2014. That year, we were lucky to come together at the same time.
Nikolai’s two sisters are also meteorologists.
His son will turn 12 in December. He was only two when the father left for the weather station. Bringing children to stations is not allowed - no schools, no doctors there. This is why the boy lives with relatives in the Altai Region.
- It’s ten years now. Earlier, it was easier to travel, to have holidays. Probably, because it was easier to find human resources. I realize my son sees me the way I look online. Sure, he’s proud his father works in the Far North. He also knows his granny used to travel to Yamal quite often.
Every day, Nikolai does homework with the son on the Internet. Questions, answers, some details - "like in any other family, though at a distance," he says.
- It is important for me to make sure my son understands why I spend more time in the Arctic than with him. He is ok about it. If it were up to him, he would come here to the station already tomorrow.
The North selects people. Some do not fit from the very beginning; others get culled later on.
- The life in the Arctic is 99% of a solitary existence. I can even say: if your wife does not work with you - then it is being on your own in personal matters. I’ve noted many times: if people here work not together with spouses, they are lonely souls.
The station is like a baby. Makes you wake up every three hours. People get used to this life, they say.
- It’s a feeling of being in the open space. You are sent to the station, and you live there autonomously, isolated. This is how once I’ve told friends about my life here.
The Barents. ‘Apple trees’ on Novaya Zemlya
We make a brief stop on the Yuzhnyi Island, the Novaya Zemlya Archipelago, to see the Malye Karmakuly aerology station. The observations here continue for 125 years. To celebrate the date, the station’s chief manager Nadezhda Filimonova has ordered a cake from Arkhangelsk.
Nadezhda came to the Arctic at the age of 18. Now she is 34. We do not have time to chat: the ship has delivered spare parts for the generator, specialists are adjusting a new automatic meteorology complex, plus the new furniture has arrived. Soon, the personnel will be able to move into a module house.
The team is eight people. In late August, five volunteers joined them - a snowboard rider, a fantasy writer, a photographer and a man of all skills, Alexander - are cleaning the Arctic.
- I come from the Perm Region, from Ocher. We all are from different regions: St. Petersburg, Moscow, Volgograd. Every day, we collect old barrels, including those still filled with oil, lime, water, fuel, and pile them at four locations for further processing, - Alexander said.
Bears - we’ve seen them, the Northern Lights - yes, plus supporting the nature - they have met all expectations from this adventure, Alexander added.
The polar weather specialists are laughing without rancor - the volunteers have brought tree seedlings. But on Novaya Zemlya nothing grows - there is practically no soil, only stones.
Pechora Bay in the Barents Sea
A rainbow hangs above the Barents. The sun rays can barely shine through the darkened sky. White-headed waves top the grey sea. It’s windy. The grass is still red. For more than 20 years the Nechayevs, Tatiana and Sergei, have been working at the MG-2 station on Cape Konstantinovsky.
Tatyana was born in the Mountainous Altai, not far from the Belukha Mountain. The village had a weather station, and school students went there on excursions. Tanya gave it a try - and has stayed in the profession for 40 years. She has graduated from a college in Novosibirsk, and then from a university in St. Petersburg. Her first station was Cape Kanyushin, the second - Cape Konstantinovsky.
- We work for 24 hours. It’s easier together: my husband prefers mornings. Later on, I join him. As years pass, we get used to this work, and without looking at the clock I can feel it’s about time to go, - Tatiana says.
Summers are short. In June, it is still not clear whether it’s summer or long spring. This year, the winter was very rich in snow.
Bears are often visitors to the station: both polar and brown bears. They normally would come whenever the sea throws ashore a seal or a walrus.
- The tundra is very fragile. We try to live in harmony with it. The beauty here is specific. The sea would throw waste out to the shore-we collect it. The Barents wouldn’t tolerate the weak. We’ve been to many seas: the Black or the Red, but the Barents is the best.
This year, the family has decided to skip holidays. The cape is their home. When in the city, the adaptation takes a few days, they get tired of people, and of things to be done.
- In order to work here, people must be tolerant, patient, able to compromise. Two of us have been working here for 18 months, with nobody around. All duties are common. With time, people develop the wisdom of living together.
Many people would leave, as they cannot tolerate it here. Everyday life is tough, Tatiana says.
We take a return flight. For almost two months, [the Mikhail] Somov is our return location.
The Barents / the Kara. North is addictive
Getting to most hard-to-reach stations is easier off the Mikhail Somov. In Arkhangelsk, she takes onboard the staff to have them landed, like off a bus at a stop, on small islands in the icy seas, on the verge of the country, or, probably, of the Earth.
Yulya Morozova heads for the Vaygach Island. The sacred Nenets land guards the Kara Gates. The Yugorsky-Shar Strait separates the island from the mainland.
Yulya will meet on the island her sister Natalia, who actually has instigated their polar adventure. The "adventure" is the work. They both have been working there with husbands for quite a time.
We easily get used to the helicopter and seem not to notice its noise or vibration. The propellers whistle louder - we are taking off. The northern sky does not hurry to wake up. It’s overcast. Down there is the winding coastline, and rocks on the other side. The sea persistently breaks waves against the rocks - into the salty dust.
Here is the Vaygach. Natalia meets the sister, and we manage to chat.
She was born in the Altai Region’s Khabary Village. After the secondary school she planned to get trained to be a customs officer. However, she graduated from a meteorology college and at the age of 19 went to the first station.
- The station here has been frozen, and we had to revive it. We were three. It was tough to get used. But anyway, I worked for two years, and then came home to spend the holiday. The sister persuaded me to stay. I say, you haven’t been to the North and cannot understand what you are talking about, - Natalia told me.
Later on, Yulia came to the station to visit the sister for a few months - to remain there for good. From a holiday on the mainland she returned to the Vaygach, saying her home is at the station, and she would return to the city only to visit friends.
- The North is addictive. Not for all, of course. If you fall in love with it, you can’t live without the North, - Natalia says.
A bear is wandering near the station. It disappears to come back, then falls asleep. People and the bear do not pay attention to each other.
We are sailing on. Through the Kara Gates.