Section 6. Kolmogorovo – South taiga and local land use.

Days 12, 13 and 14: (August 23,24 and 25) Travel upstream from Mirnoe to Kolmogorovo. Ground transport to campsite. Excursions to forest and peatland ecosystems of the south taiga. Landuse and ‘Old Believers’ village life of the region. Travel up river to Krasnoyarsk.

Kolmogorovo on the Yenisei, Saturday, 24 August, 7:30 p.m.

A brief break in the cloud gives me a chance to sit on a large log at our campsite, and bask in the sun. All day the sun has tried to break through, and all day the cloud cover has resisted, at times even splattering a few raindrops in our direction. Yesterday we arrived at the Kolmogorovo village dock in good time to reach our campsite, four km north of the village, well before dark. Once again luck was with us, the thunderstorms that had entertained us during the day, cleared just before our landing, so that we could pitch out tents without getting rained upon. My main worry now is the condition of Willem Vreeken, the retired soil science professor from Queen’s. When he fell at Mirnoe, he was obviously in some pain, and was shaken up, but it looked not serious, at worst a cracked rib. But by now, he is withdrawn and still suffers from pain, and has a terrible time pitching his tent; even just getting in and out of his tent is very painful. He is talking of getting off at Krasnoyarsk and flying home from there. I hope he will not deteriorate any more before we get to Krasnoyarsk, which is the nearest place with medical facilities. Today our luck held, and we had another fascinating excursion through what the local botanists call the southern taiga. Here in Russia, it is still very much in vogue to divide forests into distinct zones, whereas in North America we tend to see the changes more as gradual clines, and avoid as much as possible giving names to specific ecosystems or communities. As we have step by step come southwards from Igarka, I have certainly noticed fewer circumpolar species, and more southern Eurasian species. I can still name the genus of nearly every plant I come across, but more and more I do not know the specific name.

At Mirnoye we had already found the first stand of the common Eurasian pine (P. sylvestris), but here it is a major constituent of the forest, especially on poor soils, dry areas or bogs. I had never thought of this species as one that grows where others can not, but that is the ecological role it plays here in Siberia. It is also well adapted to surviving fire, a trait that we studied in one stand on a poorly drained area, which was close to being a monoculture of common pine. However, the age distribution was distinctly bimodal. Louise had her tree corer with her, and we sampled a number of trees. We found that there were only two ages. Some ten percent were large trees with fire scars, and they aged at 150 years; all the others were very variable in size, but all of the same age, 72 years. Feodor, our local guide and the regional forest ranger, confirmed that this site had burned around 1925. Obviously, the 150 year old trees had survived that fire, and had re-seeded the burnt area. As we continued our hike, we slowly left the pine forest, and entered a very extensive peat plateau. In some ways it reminded me of the peat plateau we visited near Igarka, but here there were no polygons, and if there was permafrost at all, it was much deeper. Another big difference was the presence of scattered, small, unhealthy looking and stunted common pines. We dug one small (120 cm high) pine out of the peat. Not only did this poor pine have to grow in a very nutrient poor substrate, it also faced a more serious challenge. As the peat keeps growing upwards, it raises the ground water level, slowly burying and drowning the roots and lower stem of the pine. In fact, we showed that this little pine was 35 cm taller than we had originally measured, but those extra 35 cm were under the peat, and the original separation of stem and root was under water. Interestingly, the tree had grown adventitious roots along the buried section of the stem. We cut the lower stem, and counted the year rings; this little pine was approximately 35 years old when I killed it. The other noteworthy plant in the bog was the ordinary cranberry, which grew in great abundance, and according to Feodor it is a major source of vitamin rich winter food for the Kolmogorovans. I ate a few, but they were not ripe yet, and sour to the point of astringency.

On the Yenisei between Kolmogorovo and Krasnoyarsk. Sunday, 25 August, 11 a.m.

We said ‘good-by’ to Kolmogorovo this morning. A large proportion of the village population was involved, some as participants, but most as observers. It was quite the exit, we were the first outsiders to visit the village in over two years, we spent more money in three days than the entire village sees in weeks, and we showed a genuine interest in the people and their lives. They treated us as honored guests, and we showed our gratitude for their hospitality. However, despite our common humanity, it was hard to imagine a greater cultural difference than the one between the Kolmogorovans and us, their visitors from a world beyond their comprehension. Yet, their children are going to high school in Krasnoyarsk, and some continue to the university there. Our day started at the campsite just after six, and we had one hour to dismantle the tent, and get everything packed. The warm humid weather after a night of rain brought out every mosquito from miles around, so that I worked with my net over my head, which I find very awkward. Rolling up sleeping bags, foamies, and the tent on a plastic sheet on the dripping wet grass was not the most pleasurable job, but once everything was in the bags, and stowed on the trailer, we were rewarded with hot tea and buckwheat porridge for breakfast. By eight the vehicles arrived from the village, and Feodor (who seems to perform the roles of headman and shopkeeper as well as forest ranger) orchestrated our evacuation back to the village dock. Our ship arrived exactly on time, and all our luggage got on board without getting rained on.

While waiting for the good-by party to get underway, we wandered around the village, and even struck up some conversations with willing villagers. The village consists of two rows of houses and sheds, one on each side of the unpaved road that runs for a few kilometers both north and southwards out beyond the village, parallel to the river. All the houses are small, and made of wood, about half of them are abandoned, and even the lived-in ones are mostly in bad shape. Each inhabited house has a fenced-in vegetable garden, while the cows, pigs, sheep, goats, horses, geese and chickens have the run of the road and surroundings, which they share with children and pedestrians, as well as with the odd ramshackle car or truck. The general atmosphere is reminiscent of pictures by Breugel or even Hieronymus Bosch, yet, there are bits of late 20th Century technology interspersed into the otherwise mediaeval village. We were sorry to see that the economy of the village was collapsing, and with it the social fabric. We learned that the only cash-flow into the village came from Feodor’s salary and from money sent by young men and women who have left for jobs elsewhere. Most of the older people live the lives of subsistence peasants. This and many other similar villages are doomed simply because they can not provide their inhabitants with an adequate life in the current technology-driven economy. They are in a sense very much like the coastal fishing villages of Newfoundland, or the small farming communities of central Saskatchewan, which disappeared half a century ago for much the same reason.

After a while the farewell party got under way. We were all invited into Feodor’s house, where his wife offered us freshly baked bread, cloudberry preserve and mint tea. The interior of this house was a wonder to behold. It was quite a surprise to me, as it was such an enormous contrast with the balanced traditional esthetic of the exterior. The furniture was simply awful, mostly made of shiny veneered chipboard. And every nook or cranny was decorated with horrid pictures, stuffed animals, cupboards with crockery and porcelain figurines, cheap knick-knacks, scatter rugs, and other items that for some reason appealed to the lady of the house. The pièces de résistance were a set of mostly very large hand-made wall hangings, tapestries or hooked rugs, they were very brightly colored, and gave the appearance of having been made according to some pattern, which was more fairytale than traditional. We were very intrigued by these works of folk art, and impressed when told that they were made by Feodor’s wife herself. I guess she made the most of Kolmogorovo’s long cold winters. Jeri was also taken by her dressing table, which was richly decorated with empty make-up bottles and containers, while my heart went out to the sheds that were attached to the house; they were very old, but well made by competent carpenters, probably in a long forgotten pre-revolutionary age. By the time we emerged from Mrs. Feodor’s palace, a crowd had assembled to bid us farewell, giggling children, dolled-up teens, and a miscellany of other villagers. Doris had organized a collection among us, and she gave the envelope with our gift of rubles to Feodor for some worthwhile or needed improvement to the village. I guess it was but a drop in the bucket, but it was really appreciated, more for the idea than for what they could really buy with it.