In the Land of White Death: An Epic Story of Survival in the Siberian Arctic (16 page)

We had no sooner left the water’s edge than a walrus attacked us. I quickly fired in his direction and he immediately disappeared under the waves. We made good progress, and those on the glacier did as well; they were visible from the water. We could see them waving their caps at us, striving not to be left behind. Walruses threatened us on several occasions as we paddled toward our destination, so we had to be very careful, and above all to be prepared for the worst, for it was hardly an ideal spot to fend off an attack. We were clearly at a disadvantage, for on the port side rose a sheer face, roughly one hundred feet high, while ahead of us and to starboard was the open sea, with a few ice floes.

We approached the black cape at around eleven at night, but could not land since the bay was still icebound. We set up our camp on the edge of the ice and lit a fire with driftwood we had brought from Cape Harmsworth. In the meantime the skiers arrived. We had covered at least twenty-five miles. If we could continue at that rate, we should reach Cape Flora within four days at the latest. On a number of occasions the skiers had seen bear tracks on the glacier, but no sign of the animals themselves. I regretted having had to sacrifice the third kayak; otherwise we should have been able to lash two kayaks side by side and travel all together by sea, thus avoiding this unsettling separation into two groups.

I have just seen a few more walruses. They often poke their heads out of the water. They are far more repulsive than one might imagine: Their heads and necks form a mass of bloated folds; from their lips and around their muzzles hang long, thick whiskers, which give them a sort of mustache. But strangest of all are their little bloodshot eyes and their astonished and threatening—even aggressive—gazes. Their long tusks give them a prehistoric look, which has earned them the reputation of feeding solely upon human flesh. As they emerge from the water, they puff and blow very noisily, and when you hear such sounds, your hand reaches involuntarily for your rifle. There is no doubt that in open water they are a serious danger for small craft. On the ice they look rather harmless, but their gigantic size is astounding. Meeting a walrus is analogous to encountering an enormous hippopotamus, which would be similarly terrifying on first sight.

In the kayak, I was constantly on the lookout for possible walrus attacks, and I kept a loaded rifle at the ready, attached to the boat by a long rope. I also had an ax within reach, although I was less convinced of its effectiveness against a sudden assault. A walrus in the water is a formidable opponent, particularly when one is in an eleven-foot canvas kayak! Polar bears are hardly friendly creatures, but compared to walruses, they can be considered almost harmless. Thus not all my companions were particularly enthusiastic about traveling by kayak, but it was good, nevertheless, that some of them had the choice.

The landscape around us is fairly monotonous: one glacier after another. From time to time the snow gives way to dark, rocky areas. I find it hard to believe that all of Alexandra Land will have the same monotonous scenery. If this is the case, however, we ought to have renamed Cape Harmsworth “the Promised Land.”

 

 

Yesterday we set off again at about ten
A.M.
Most of the men are again letting themselves go, and their omnipresent need for sleep has once again gained the upper hand. I plead with them, cajole them, and give them orders, but with little success. I employ all my eloquence in trying to convince these “lazybones” that we simply must hurry if we do not want to be caught by the south wind that will fill the sea with pack ice, blocking our way. Besides, we have far too little food to be able to stop for long. Had we not, in any case, left Cape Harmsworth well rested and with renewed strength? Delight in good fortune does not last long with these fellows. They never act of their own free will, but merely follow each other like sheep. They hang their heads, every one of them, their faces full of despair.

Arhireyev was the most resistant to continuing. During the last few days, he had reached the point that it was impossible to get him to fetch driftwood for the fire, or water from a nearby stream. Only at the threat that he would receive no lunch or dinner would he get to his feet and grumblingly do what he was told to. He got along with none of his comrades, cursing and snarling at us all.

Lunayev, Gubanov, Smirennikov, Regald, and Arhireyev are on skis, the rest of us in the kayaks. We intend to meet up next at Cape Neale on Prince George Land, which is separated from Alexandra Land by the wide Cambridge Bay. The current is against us now, and we must paddle strongly to keep up with the skiers. Upon arriving at the bay, where the ice was still fairly thick, we hugged the edge of the pack ice to be able to keep the others in sight, in case they encountered some major obstacles. Moreover, the walruses would be a danger if we headed out to more open waters. I raised a sail, which helped us along; the other kayak could not do so as they have no mast: Those foolish sailors had burned it at their useless campsite on the glacier. Such thoughtless acts always come back to haunt one in such uncertain circumstances as these: Their punishment was now having to paddle twice as hard. If they had been brighter, they would have replaced the mast with a ski pole! A west wind is blowing strongly, whipping up some high waves.

We arrived at Cape Neale at ten in the evening and found ourselves in a sheltered bay. The cape is a flat, moss-covered promontory that slopes down to the shore. A multitude of streams gush and splash noisily into the sea. Sheer walls of basalt protect the cape on both sides, one of them terminating in a steep glacier. No sooner had we landed than we heard an infernal clamor, but for a long time we could not determine its source. Shrieking noises seemed to be coming from the top of the rocks, and must have been the cries of birds, as on Cape Harmsworth. But the sound here was much more piercing, and so unbearable that it was actually painful to our ears. It was as if evil spirits were voicing their anger about our intrusion. But we did not manage to catch sight of the creatures themselves, as they remained hidden against the dark background.

The birds were visible only as thick, cloudlike flocks against the blue sky, immense congregations of such density that one could not make out the slightest detail, as if they were distant swarms of buzzing flies. What sort of birds were they? If I was not mistaken, when I looked closely I thought they could have been gulls, murres, little auks, and others. We could have collected a huge number of eggs, but it would have been a risky business; it would have required days of acrobatic climbing to scale the sheer glacier, and it would have been impossible to descend again without ropes.

——

We have been here for two days now, and the other group has not yet arrived. My mind is tormented by the possible causes of this long and inexplicable delay. So close to their goal, had they been overtaken by their chronic need for rest, as on the Worcester Glacier? I am sure they are capable of anything. They had taken their malitsi with them. I sent Maximov and Konrad to look for them. A fresh wind had picked up, driving ice floes toward the bay.

My two envoys came back at six o’clock in the evening, having walked for seven hours without seeing the slightest trace of the missing men. A few hours later, we heard a noise, and there they were, only four of them: Arhireyev was missing!

The new arrivals told us that Arhireyev had been having problems since the previous morning. He was constantly falling behind; sometimes he refused to go any farther, sitting or lying down on the ice. At first his comrades did not trust him, suspecting he was up to one of his old tricks. If they lifted him up and dragged him bodily along, he would walk for a little while, but then he would lie down again, saying, “You can kill me, but I’m not going any farther with you!” When his companions asked him what was the matter, he complained of pain in his lungs and eyes.

Toward evening Arhireyev’s legs gave out completely, as if he were paralyzed. He lay motionless, unresponsive to questions, muttering incoherently. It was too difficult to transport him on skis, so his comrades decided to stop for the night. In the morning, Arhireyev could neither move or speak. His comrades sat with him until ten o’clock, when, worried that they would not be able to catch up with us, they left Arhireyev behind and hurried toward Cape Neale. They confessed that on their way they had noticed a great many bear tracks. And it was in these conditions that they had left the poor, helpless fellow! Such brutal behavior exasperated me greatly at first; then I reasoned that it would have been impossible to take the dying man with them, and even we ourselves could not have helped him. However painful the event, we had to accept the inevitable. Nevertheless, after the four of them had taken some comfort in the form of a nourishing soup, I sent them back with a sledge to the place where their comrade lay.

 

 

They returned at ten o’clock, announcing that Arhireyev had died during their absence. At first they wanted to carry the body from the ice onto earth; but as the ice was very unstable, they had to abandon that idea.

Since three men are sick, I am obliged to change the teams and send Lunayev, Shpakovsky, and Nilsen off in one of the kayaks; they are suffering from swollen feet and symptoms of scurvy. Konrad and I will be in the other kayak. Now Maximov, Regald, Gubanov, and Smirennikov will be on skis. I entrusted Maximov with the command of this group, and gave him precise instructions in accordance with my map. They were to leave after we did, with one rifle, seventy cartridges, a bucket, and five cooked eiders. The weather is improving; the wind has shifted to the north. We shall rendezvous next at Cape Grant.

 

 

We set out at noon. We struggled through the broken pack ice, which had been driven against the shore by the wind, until we reached open water. Our frail craft headed for Cape Grant, fifteen to eighteen miles away. Fortunately, the unfavorable wind did not prevent us from raising our sail. We had replaced the missing mast on the other kayak with some ski poles. The two kayaks moved forward nicely, but the cold, biting wind and sizeable waves made the sailing conditions unpleasant. We often resorted to paddling to keep warm. The walruses paid us three unwelcome visits. Each time we managed to repel their attacks. The assailant generally rose up out of the water about 150 feet away, huffing noisily as he observed our movements. Suddenly he would dive and we could see him beneath the water as he turned on his side and headed our way to ram us with his powerful tusks. We quickly laid aside our rifles and raised our paddles to strike the beast, but in each instance he managed to avoid our blows, and eventually moved out of range. It was generally at that point that we would fire a shot, which put an end to his pursuit.

We crossed Grays Bay and were heading for Cape Grant when a violent wind blew up out of the northeast. Together with the current, this wind threatened to carry us out into the open sea. It became obvious that there is a very strong tidal current between Cape Grant and Bell and Mabel Islands. Within only a few minutes, we had drifted four nautical miles from the cape. We had to rapidly furl the sails and paddle with all our might. It was not until about five in the morning that we reached the ice barrier that floated just offshore from the cape. But even during this exhausting incident, we still managed to shoot sixteen diving ducks, which we devoured raw, right then and there, with a bit of salt.

And now all five of us are sitting in the shelter of a very steep, rocky cliff; glaciers descend on either side of us and, as at Cape Neale, there are countless birds’ nests.

Although our journey has taken seventeen hours and we have been here for a whole day, we are still waiting for our companions on skis. Soaked to the skin, we cannot seem to dry out in this damp weather. This does nothing to raise our flagging spirits. At dawn, Nilsen and Konrad wanted to take the kayaks to a more sheltered place, but Nilsen started to be blown out to sea, and we had to rush to his rescue in the other kayak.

Nilsen is sick and so lethargic that he seemed to surrender to the current almost without resisting; he did not even paddle as the current swept him away, and, despite the danger, seemed almost indifferent when we came to his rescue. Certainly he has become quite peculiar; he walks unsteadily and often sits silently on his own.

 

 

Abominable weather. Strong easterly wind with penetrating cold and snow. We are still patiently waiting for the others to join us. The sky cleared during the night, so that we can now see a rocky island to the east-northeast, which must be Bell Island. The strait that separates it from Prince George Land is not yet free of ice. A second island is now visible a little farther away, most probably Northbrook Island, site of the famous Jackson encampment at Cape Flora. It does not seem possible that we could be that close to our destination, but, according to my map, it can only be Northbrook Island. We are at least twenty-five miles away, and yet it seems so near. The air here is so perfectly clear that the contours of the tall, dark rocks stand out against their surroundings with incredible precision; such conditions ordinarily reduce one’s perception of distances by half. Nansen called one of the capes of the Franz Josef archipelago “The Castle” because of its distinctive shape. I fully agree with his description. Most of the headlands I have seen thus far looked indeed very much like castles or cathedrals, particularly the rocks of Bell Island when seen from Cape Grant or a more southerly point. Their slopes and lower cliffs are generally covered with ice or snow, while the ridgelines are crowned with rooflike glaciers. Even from this distance, the rock no longer gave the impression of a shapeless mass, but resembled an immense castle, or a giant, ornately constructed dome. The vertical escarpments of basalt seemed, from afar, to be perfectly regular and of identical height. On these rock palisades, between them, and behind them were thousands of nesting birds.