MOSCOW, February 9 /TASS/. The Kepino meteorology station is probably absolutely most hard-to-reach station of all Russian far-away stations. Bringing food and stuff there is possible only once a year, when the spring snow is still covered with reliable hard ice.
The extreme as a part of life
- Look, there he is with the granny. It was smart to take her! This way, she won’t grouch at him. - Along the narrow winter road to the ATV comes a fisher on a motorbike, and on it, wrapped in two coats, is an elderly woman. She’s far from being happy. No wonder - the snow blows right into her face.
Here, even in spring, there is never a shortage of snow. The ATV cuts its way through high snowdrifts like a knife slides through butter. The snow is in layers. One layer is light, the other, is darker - because at some point it had thawed.
Inside our vehicle there is not enough space; it is hot, noisy - like in a tank. Talking is a big deal.
- We have been working from Sochi to Sabetta: the country is huge, paved roads are rare, and attractive destinations are more than you can imagine. We use only specially adjusted vehicles - says Eduard Goryagin, who owns the Arctic Way Company. Today, he drives to replace a sick driver. - Look, I drive now to smooth the road, to make it geometrically correct. See, we are sinking almost one meter. But later on, it will be easier for the others.
The distance from our starting point to Kepino, the meteorology station, is about 60 kilometers. From Arkhangelsk to Kepino the distance is 120 kilometers.
Normally people would not drive on their own. Sergei on a snowbike is far ahead of us. He makes our company and backup. A few years ago, he lost directions in the taiga and managed to get to people only in 20 days. While wandering the forest, he fished, rafted, ate berries, and lost much weight. Since then he knows for sure how long it takes to dry up matches on a body - three days.
- We’ve got perfect self-isolation here, in the North. The population is little, getting here is a problem, and the winters are long. The extreme becomes just a part of life, something regular. People, who live 200-300 km apart, know their ‘neighbors.’ Everyone has own lake, own part of taiga or river: "this is mine, and that is his."
Amateur drivers have ruined the road - it is all in waves. People living in Arkhangelsk are skilled in adjusting vehicles for snow and swamp driving. Roads do not go further Arkhangelsk, and over there remain just directions.
- People come here not really for fishing or hunting, but rather for impressions, for emotions. What matters is the process: to get stuck in the mud, to be crawling from it for hours. To escape the plastic-cement world. To run away from supermarkets, cell phones and television. I, vice versa, at times take a break from adventures.
The vehicle stirs the snow dust. Paw prints on the snow, like rays, are running away from the road. Some are of hares, some - of bigger animals.
Important job in the middle of nowhere
The light fighting though trees is a surprise. A few houses, a sauna and a meteorology site - this is what civilization here is like. The staff is three people. We meet the station’s manager, Maxim Gavrilchuk, and meteorologist Sergei with a very fitting last name Moroz (Frost in Russian). The third person is away on holiday.
- To leave? Never gave it a thought. No. I’ve been working here for four years, - Maxim takes food products out of the vehicle. They will have more dishes on the menu.
Everyone in turn takes care of the station: to start the oven, to bring water, to cook food for all. A shift is every two days. Every three hours a responsible person registers the equipment data and transfers them to Arkhangelsk. The station also has two hydrology facilities: on the Kotuga and the Kepina Rivers. The experts measure the water levels, the currents’ speed and temperature.
Since 1947, the station has been working every day, with no breaks.
- Nobody is lonely here. - Maxim is not talkative. Probably, over the years in isolation too many words are too many. - For communication, we use the Internet. We also meet fishers and foresters - this station is in the territory of the Soyansk nature reserve. This is our company. Quite sufficient for us.
It is quiet. The dark sky is clear from the urban lights. Just put on warm clothes, get onto a snowbike and watch the stars: from tiny grains to big, well-known constellations.
The forest around continues its regular life. Wolves, bears, moose, hares, squirrels - who not. One day, Maxim ran into a bear and its cubs. They were walking along the other side of the river and did not show any interest in the human.
Maxim spends holidays in Novosibirsk, his native city.
- The city is noisy. Everyone is rushing. Normally, I would make lists of what to bring to the station. We have supplies only once a year, and any new food is due next spring only. Some new tastes are always a dream. Some cookies, vegetables.
The climate has been changing, he continued: winters get warmer, frosts are rare, and river remains without ice for longer times. Recently, fishers have lost a snowbike in the river.
- A human at the station is a must. We have an automatic meteorology complex, but it requires attention. Imagine, a bear comes, breaks the wires - and that’s it. I hope the profession of a meteorologist will remain. And we shall continue working in hard-to-reach forests.
What kind of person you are
The flashlight’s ray picks out the station’s details - Sergei is out to collect the data.
Sergei continues the dynasty of meteorologists: mother, father, senior brother, and grannies.
His granny was the top manager here, and later on the senior brother took over the position. Sergei has been in Kepino for the third year.
- The parents did not mind, nobody talked me out of this ‘life in isolation.’ Clearly, anyway, I would have chosen a similar life. This is what kind of person I am. I am not like those who need to be among many people. I’m fine. Look, right now we have many guests, but sometimes I remain here on my own for months.
Sergei sends the data to Arkhangelsk over the Internet, when it works, and if not - then over the radio. Today the stormy wind was 12 m/sec, and he has sent out reports more often. Even now that we have computers, all the data is coded and put down into a book.
- We here aren’t talkative, right? Maks is never too naughty; he rather keeps silent. I thought I am not talkative, but if compared with Maks - I am a chatterbox. Another person working here is Alexander Priluchnyi. He somehow unites us all. He needs to have communication. You know, not everyone can live like this. I know very well certain people who cannot do without other people, without civilization. Some would stay here for a year, then leave and never come back. I’ve heard many stories of the kind, usually about far-away stations.
The Northern geographical names sound like music: the Soyana, Yeryuga, Verkhnyaya Kuchema, Bolshaya Turya, Kotyga, Kepina, Yerna - those are rivers around Kepino, where salmon spawns. On a map the image is: a green territory crossed by river threads, where people are rather exceptions.
Sergei kneels in front of thermometers. Just think - all meteorologists across the globe are doing pretty much the same thing at this very moment. They check air and soil temperatures, the wind’s speed and direction, measure precipitation and air pressure, or thickness of clouds. And then, at about the same time, everyone sends data to national managing centers.
- I am all for the automatic mode. Technologies could make many aspects automatic. They need to be introduced gradually, so that specialists could oversee the process.
The fishers ask to transport their sunken snowbike. In the far-away places, people rely on each other. The fishers offer money, the ATV’s owner refuses.
In a few hours, the station will be idle again - all the guests will be gone. Sergei watches our packing.
- Does living here change people? That depends.
Going home
- Northern people have never settled. The anxiety to be leaving a place simply stirs up. This is why the territory is so vast: people have been moving all the time. - Eduard takes us aboard the ATV, and together with us go specialists, who had been repairing equipment at the station. - Natural curiosity: what’s there beyond the hill?
Beyond the next hill runs a brook. We slide off the road, the vehicle lies down on a side. Small unfixed items are jumping. I can see only snow and water.
For nine hours we will be fighting to get out from that trap. We will receive the emotions, for which very many people would come to places like this.
As for Eduard, everything began from his hobby - to get to a place to where no roads lead. The first one was Sweden’s Hagglunds BV-206 (all-terrain carrier). "Nowadays we’ve been restoring vehicles, made back in the 1980s. We inhale another life into them. Replacing engines, transmissions, making spare parts."
- I receive different requests. For example, to lay a route on the Yamal for an expedition. They leave fuel for us at certain locations. When done, we return and take the group. There were ten quadbikes and two ATVs. On another occasion, we worked in Sochi at the construction of the Olympic Games’ facilities - carried materials and waste. It would’ve been more expensive by cable cars. In Karachay-Cherkessia we worked in Tiberda, laying new routes for freeriding. We have crossed Karelia: from the Murmansk Region to the Leningrad Region. Inspected high-voltage grids. On Yamal, we assisted in laying fiber optic cables.
The starry sky is amazingly low. Everything happening in the world seems to be so far away. And of absolutely no importance.
- As soon as Russian people abandon their lands by installing automatic equipment to replace light-houses and weather stations, as soon as they flee their villages and cities - "Grumants" will turn into "Svalbards."
Meanwhile, due to the complex logistics, due to the absence of roads, the North remains unique. We must not fail it.