September 12th, 2008 ~ Tuninski National Park

The Ribbon Forest

We're in the Ribbon Forest and it is like nothing I've ever seen before.

Yesterday we drove from Irkutsk to the town of Arshan in the Sayani Mountains. Roma was our driver—husband of Elena Chubakova, director of the Great Baikal Trail Association. Big, strong-featured, huge laugh, Roma speaks no English and we very little Russian, but we got along great during the four hour drive in the official GBT vehicle—a Nissan van with the word «Homy» on the rear hatch. Our Homy-mobile. It's seen a lot of Siberian potholes in its day, but it got us where we wanted to go.

The road took us through the industrial parts of Irkutsk and past big concrete housing complexes, but soon we'd left the diesel and the dust behind, and the crowded roads where people on foot and in cars and trucks were all managing to make it work at high speed and very tight spaces.

The Sayani Mountains

The countryside became rolling forested hills, somewhat like southern Missouri and northern Arkansas. After a few hours we came around a cruve and saw below and ahead of us the southern tip of Lake Baikal. Even though what we could view was immense, it is just the beginning of the lake.

When we reached the water we turned inland, following a wide valley along the Kyngyrga River, one of the 336 rivers that feeds Lake Baikal. The road took us through little villages of tightly-built wooden houses, low to the ground, the window shutters painted pale or bright blue to deter evil sprits from entering, and perhaps keep out winter, too, though the cords of firewood stacked next to the homes may play a larger role in the months to come.

Mountains were rising ahead of us, snowy and gorgeous above the valley. Roma slalomed the Homy Mobile through flocks of sheep on the road and past herds of cows that seemed to think they had the right of way. There were fields with big mounds of hay, and other fields bright yellow with what could have been mustard.

Siberian window shutters

As we passed a sign announcing we were entering Tunkinski National Park, Roma rolled down the window and tossed out a coin. He pointed to it and gave me a thumbs up. «For luck?» I asked, and he grinned and nodded.

We rolled into the town of Arshan, a tourist village at the base of the mountains where we offloaded out gear at a house being used by the GBT crew, then hiked a couple of miles through town and up a trail to the first of many GBT work sites we will visit.

On the way, we entered the ribbon forest. People come to this area for the mineral water, for the scenery, to bathe their eyes in effervescent springs they believe will improve their vision. And they hang ribbons on the trees, asking the gods for blessings. Every tree trunk and every branch as high as a person could reach was festooned with ribbon. It was everywhere.

We met the crew as they were finishing lunch. Three are volunteers from Germany and one a Russian volunteer. The eight or nine others were crew leaders of the GBT, working this site in part to get further training for other locations.

The project they have is challenging. Up to 2,000 people a day use the mile-long trail that leads to a waterfall in a gorge. We saw hundreds, at least, going past, from children barely big enough to walk to elderly grandparents hobbling up the path. The mountainside is composed of very crumbly soil with lots of rocks mixed in. In places the current trail climbs steeply up the roots of trees.

The trail going up through a root system

Natashia, the crew leader, is a graduate student at a university in Irkutsk with several years of experience both here and with Earthcorps in Seattle. She ran a tight crew, giving us directions and getting us right to work. We did have some suggestions for creative solutions to the most difficult problems, and I soon found myself using rock and gravel to shape a staircase up through a root system, relying on thick, exposed roots as part of the structural integrity of the thing. Never done that before.

We worked until 6:30, then hiked up to the waterfall. It was a crazy route, the tread coming right to the edge of dizzying cliffs and no security except branches nailed as railings between random trees. A steep staircase took hikers down into the gorge, a number of steps missing. And then we saw the bridge crossing the torrent. I know enough about bridge construction that I didn't want to be on that span unless I was by myself, and then only if it had held John Griffith and his superior weight just before me. Yet soon we saw 10-12 tourists at a time on the bridge, sometimes jumping up and down to get it to bounce. Oh my.

We returned to the GBT house for a dinner of soup and bread and lots of good visiting. Twenty people packed into the three bedrooms, and while there were narrrow beds enough for everybody, none of them were bunk beds and it was a wee bit snug and snorish before dawn.

BB

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