November 22nd

Hard to have a bad morning when you wake up to this view

About the safest part of the Dog Trail

Drinking the pure water from Lake Baikal. A little cold, but delicious!

My face and hair covered in frozen sweat; happy to be done (so I thought) after the Dog Trail Part I...

Our third day, with the insistence of Anton, we decided to actually make some solid plans. We finally settled on a two day camping trip to Lake Baikal (which was part of the original plan, only that included us sleeping on the shore without even the barest necessities for sub-zero weather and snow {which, ironically probably would have been safer than what we actually did}). So, the morning of the fourth day, we packed up the YAZ truck and headed out to Baikal. It was a beautiful, almost warm (0° F about) and we were well supplied with camping equipment and adequate footwear. We were short one camping backpack so I got to find out that not only is my suitcase great for arduous journeys from Jacksonville to New York City, but also for rucking around the mountains of Siberia stuffed with food, vodka, a tent, and a sleeping bag. Not bad! Anyways, we made the three hour trek to our campsite over the mountain which was difficult, but not so terrible. We set up the tents, made the fire, chopped wood, took a terrifying and incredibly dangerous death hike and had some incredibly delicious chicken and soup that Anton cooked over the fire. So, death hike: we hiked along this tiny trail about a foot wide at the best bits and covered in snow and ice. It was about ten steep and grass covered meters from a 20 meter cliff, the bottom of which was alternately rocky or Lake Baikal. A year ago a hiker slipped and fell into the lake. Miraculously she survived the fall, but nothing kills you quicker then icy water with nowhere to get out. So, one misstep and you were literally dead. I had never faced death before, and now in a very real sense I was one slip away. On the plus side, this focuses the senses wonderfully. We finally made it, my heart beating wildly and swearing that I’d never do something that stupid or dangerous again. Peer pressure works wonders though… anyways, after that, food tasted better and you really appreciate life, so I guess it works out in the end. It got dark around 5 as usual so we sat around the campfire and we told Anton stories of all the interesting things we’ve done with our lives (it’s amazing how hard it is to make your life of leisure in a provincial Russian backwater sound interesting compared to some of the incredible people Anton has met. Us: “Yeah, then we drank a lot of vodka and played drinking Jenga and vodka checkers! Six nights in a row!” Anton: “Hmmm. Interesting. I rode a dogsled from Kamchatka to Moscow, hunting and fishing and getting food from the local tribes.” Touché, Anton, touché…). We had the most delicious chicken I’ve ever had for dinner and then we hit the hay. We woke up the next morning, broke down the gear and packed up. I was ready for a difficult but safe hike back home, but boy was I in for a rude shock. If I thought that the previous day’s trail was terrifying, I was rudely disappointed. The trail back was three miles of treacherous goat trails that sometimes disappeared into sheer cliffs that we had to scoot along with only toe holds keeping us from certain death (again, this is not creative license. If any of us fell, we would be dead). This path was called the Dog Trail because it was fit only for dogs and goats and it had been closed for a year after the local government was tired of the number of people dying on it. Hardly the words to inspire confidence in a young Floridian who regularly slips and falls on the sidewalk on the way to class in the comparatively mild New York winter. On one of the cliff bits, I was inching along behind Matt Faust who lost his footing when one of his toe holds broke off and fell into the lake 30 feet below. He miraculously held on with one hand while Anton somehow pulled him on to a wider bit. He was white as a sheet and I was hardly thrilled to follow in his footsteps. Brendan actually has a photo of this but I don’t have it right now unfortunately… Well, we finally made it and I thanked God and my lucky stars with all my might. In an unfortunate aside, I think this trip brought my tally up to about 30 Russians making fun of us for Obama getting the Nobel Peace Prize for simply winning an election. I’m having trouble doing any defending and frankly it’s downright embarrassing… More later!

Tired, but truly glad to be alive! Myself, Brendan Fox, Matt Faust, Stuart Coffee, Anton Kuzmin, and Taylor Castelli at the end of the road

Some of the native wildlife we came across on Baikal's shore!