The airstrip is covered in … grass. We will take off on wheels, and land on water. No snow, no skis. It has not yet occurred to me, what the implications of this will be, on Bely Island.
I will be traveling with Yuri, a scientist from Ekaterinburg. Yuri is an expert on methane in the atmosphere, an important “greenhouse gas” that is released from melting permafrost as well as by leakage from oil-and-gas production. Yuri has been to many places; has the modesty that comes with experience; and – like most other Russians as I am now learning – is universally referred to by his {first name + patronymic}, not his ‘family’ name. Thus, he is always Yuri Ivanovich, never Yuri Markelov. My careful memorization immediately evaporates: I had not taken note of anyone’s middle name.
We load the plane,
shake hands with the aviation manager
and pilot {Alexey son-of-someone} steps on the gas.
Alexey takes my camera and tells me to hold the controls. No, it’s not at all easy, to keep the plane flying straight and level … after all … we’re only supported by air !
Outside, the “land” looks more like 50% water. In April, it had all been snow and ice, and Vasiliy drove a giant truck all the way to Bely, loaded with the prefabricated building. This would be impossible in summer.
We fly for three hours up the coast of the Yamal Peninsula – flat to the horizon.
Finally, we approach our fabled destination, the pristine view that has been my screensaver for the last four months, the gleaming landmark at the top of the world ….
And as we approach, I see it all,
The ‘Goal of a Lifetime’ is surrounded by ….
MUD. Mud and water and squishy grass and more water and mud that sucks your boots off and more squishy grass and mud and water all the way to an infinite horizon, four hundred miles of trackless, featureless, landmark-free cold swamp.
The Russians call it tundra. They know what this means. I didn’t – I always thought of it as a winterized version of the Colorado Plains: flat, scrubby, but dry.
WRONG. One does not ‘stroll’ anywhere.
To dispel my ignorance I’m not going to use the word ‘tundra’ anymore. Folks, it’s a swamp.
Plank boardwalks connect everything important because it’s almost impossible to walk around otherwise.
And the best part is that the small shed where I will install the Aethalometer; assembled on the ice by Vasiliy only 4 months ago; is located as far as possible from everything else, to minimize contamination. My commute is a half-mile round trip slog through the swamp.
“Aethalometer Serial Number 360, this is your new home. You’re not in Kansas anymore.”
Tolkien described the Last Homely House before approaching Mordor. I don’t think he had ever been anywhere like this.
