End in Sight?

We pulled up to the shore, dragged our canoes onto the pebbled beach, and sat on the driftwood logs to snack on our daily oranges and mixed nuts, admiring the view across the lake. To the south and north was an endless horizon, yet across the lake we could make out a large gap in Baikal's western mountain range; the mouth of the Angara River, the lakes only outflow. 

The river lay 40 km from where we sat; another 80km down the Angara laid the town of Irkutsk, where the expedition would finish.  As the crow flies the end is near, yet without wings an attempt at crossing the lake would be risky, our canoes are no match for the open water and big waves. Instead we will contour around the southern tip hugging the shoreline. It adds a considerable distance; yet it allows us to discover the coast and its many villages.  

Sarah McNair-Landry

Un train-train quotidien

Milieu de la nuit. Je me réveille en sursaut. Le sol vibre et un bruit infernal approche. Dans la tente, les trois autres dorment. Quelques secondes, le temps que mon esprit se dégourdisse. Je réalise alors qu'il s'agit d'un des trains qui traversent la forêt, là, à quelques mètres de notre campement.

Depuis plus d'une semaine qu'on pagaie sur le lac Baïkal et presque autant de temps qu'on plante notre tente à une vingtaine de mètres de la voie ferrée. Pas vraiment le choix: le Transsibérien longe la rive est du lac, le chemin exact que nous pagayons. Des trains de marchandises et de passagers s'y succèdent à une quinzaine de minutes d'intervalle. Et ils ne chôment pas la nuit, je vous assure.

Dur retour à la réalité pour un quatuor qui a écouté pendant plusieurs semaines le silence des plaines mongoles. Depuis Oulan-Oude, les signes de présence humaine se multiplient: chalets, cabanes de pêcheurs, villes et villages. Le train n'est que le plus bruyants et plus visibles de ceux-ci.

Ce n'est pas un sujet de discussion, mais on sait que Baïkal est la dernière étape du périple. Tous, silencieusement, on tente de faire abstraction des bruits environnants pour profiter des beautés de cette mer d'eau douce. Et les beautés sont nombreuses. Des montagnes garnies de conifères qui plongent dans les abysses du plus profond lac du monde (jusqu'à 1,6 km à certains endroits). Des rivières claires qui s'ajoutent à une étendue contenant 20% de l'eau douce de la planète, l'équivalent des Grands Lacs canadiens réunis.

Mais mon coup de coeur reste ce petit lagon d'une dizaine de kilomètres qui nous a accueillis à la sortie du delta de la Selenge. Dès qu'on s'est mis à le longer, Sarah m'a lancé toute souriante: «Il ne manque que le goût salé de l'eau et on est aux Îles-de-la-Madelaine.» Elle avait raison. De minces bancs de sable séparent la rive de l'eau turbulente du large. Un pas de plus nous rappelant que le retour approche... 

Par Ulysse Bergeron

Seconds anyone?

Being a vegetarian in other countries is often a challenge; in Mongolia it was impossible. So you can imagine my excitement when, three weeks ago, we stopped at our first Russian village and ventured in to restock on food. As we entered the small shop, I scanned the shelf's spotting not only oranges but also bananas, tomatoes and a variety of other fresh produce. My mouth started to salivate.

Both Eric and I are vegetarians, however during the first month of the trip we gave in to the local foods. The Mongolian diet is largely based on the animals they herd; meat, fat, and a hard dried and slightly mouldy milk product that they call cheese. When invited to share a meal with a family, it rarely mattered if it was breakfast, lunch or dinner; the same stew would often be served. Cooked in big cast iron wok, a broth with short flat noodles, unidentifiable meat and chunks of fat would be brewed. Occasionally an onion or cabbage would be added.

The trick was to avoid at all cost the first servings, as the chunks of fat all float to the top of their stews, and are scooped up into the first bowls of food. However as guest in their homes, we were always served first. Of course, I could never refuse their generous offers, for people who have so little they offer so much. Instead I would accept with a smile, take a deep breath and swallow the chunks of fat floating in my bowl (or discreetly slip them into Ulysses bowl).

Their diet was not the only thing scarce in vegetables; their shops were equally so. To make matters worse the distance between towns would often be more than a week, making perishables difficult to bring. We adapted to the conditions, and lived mainly off a bleak diet of oatmeal, stale cookies, rice and noodles.

Now on the populated cost of Baikal we pass towns every day allowing us to stock our food barrels with fresh produce. The small shops do have a limited section, yet compared to Mongolia we feel like little kids in candy shop. Our eyes bigger than our stomachs, we often overload our food barrels with oranges, apples, cheese, eggs, fresh bread, cabbage, red peppers, carrots and more.
By Sarah McNair-Landry

Baikal

An old fisherman paddled his wooden row boat towards us, and after exchanging greetings, he waving us eagerly towards shore. He beached his boat, and walked up to a shack, returning with a heap of delicious smoked fish. On his write hand was a tattoo of a lighthouse; his face wrinkled from spending too much time under the sun. Before we left he looked each of us in the eye, and through very animated sign language he warmed us of Baikal`s often violent storms. Never stray far from shore.

Indeed his warning was not to be taken lightly; Baikal is 636km long and 60 km wide. When the winds pick up the swell grows to several meters in height. Nestled in southern Siberia, Baikal contains more water than all five great lakes combined, almost 20% of the worlds unfrozen fresh water. At its deepest point, the lake reaches 1637 meters, earning Baikal the prestigious title as the worlds deepest lake.

After eating the fish we headed back into the mist, hugging the eastern coast. To our right, the lake seemed to continue endlessly, to our left small row boats were scattered along the rocky beach. The surroundings were so similar to an ocean that I almost expected the water to be salty.

Last night a rain storm passed overhead, heaving up white caps on the immense body of water. By morning the conditions had improved but the waves were still present, so we have taken the morning off waiting for the waves to subside.

By Sarah McNair-Landry

Leaving the Selenga behind

Upon leaving Ulan-Ude I knew that our time on the Selenga was limited to three days, a fact that left a feeling of remorse yet anticipation. It would be unfortunate to see the river go, another stage of our journey completed, however I could hardly wait to see the expanse of Baikal.

As the river branched apart we held the left; the Selenga delta is 30 km wide, a wrong turn could add significantly to our days distance. With every division the river became narrower, tall grass and a constantly winding course afforded us no view of what lay ahead. The current all but ceased and the river began to take on the characteristics of a swamp, as we came around yet another exaggerated bend the river finally gave way to the vast expanse that is Baikal.

As we paddled along the shore, the water gradually changed from the brown sediment laden color of the Selenga to the simmering blue-green opal that is Baikal. The water that flows from the Selenga will spend on average the next 300 years in this lake before exiting on the same path as us, down the Angara River. Luckily our journey on Baikal is a little less than a month, enough time to discover this lake we have heard so much about.

By Eric McNair-Landry

Location:
Latitude:51.6834
Longitude:105.71116
GPS location Date/Time:08/27/2010 17:56:46 ULAT

Click the link below to see where we are located.
http://fms.ws/3L-Jq/51.6834/105.71116

Chercher la vague

Les vagues se cassent contre les canots et le vent nous frappe en plein visage. À l'horizon: un lac immense qui se confond avec le gris nuageux du ciel. De l'autre côté: une plage qui nous rappelle qu'on avance à pas de tortue. En sept heure d'effort, on n'aura pagayé que 13 kilomètres. Récit de la première journée sur le lac Baïkal.

Hier, la première chose qu'on a fait en atteignant le lac, a été de stationner nos embarcations sur un banc de sable, de lever un verre de vodka à la santé de l'expédition et de plongé dans l'eau froide du plus vieux et plus profond lac de la planète, dernière étape de l'expédition. Ce soir là, en disparaissant à l'horizon, le soleil a coloré le ciel d'un camaïeu de mauves. Une arrivée au lac marquée par le beau temps.

Mais au cours de la nuit, Baïkal a changé d'humeur. Il a troqué son sourire de la veille pour une grimace couleur charbon: le ciel s'est couvert, le vent et les vagues se sont levés. Bref, en une journée, on a eu l'impression que l'automne se pointait le bout du nez. Force est d'admettre que septembre arrive cogne à notre porte.

Un changement de conditions et de température qui n'est pas sans nous déplaire. Au contraire. Plus tôt aujourd'hui, Eric me lance de l'avant du canot: «Ça fait du bien de pagayer de bonnes vagues». Quelques minutes plus tard, j'entends Sarah et Elsa qui rigolent. Coup d'oeil: leur embarcation surfe sur une vague. Dès la pause suivante, on se promet que – d'ici la fin du périple – on débarquera notre équipement des canots afin d'attraper quelques vagues au large des côtes.

Vraiment plaisant que d'adapter nos coups de pagaies à de nouvelles conditions. Et tout particulièrement lorsqu'elles sont plus difficiles.

Par Ulysse Bergeron