Adventure 234

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First steps on the ice: I had hoped to see the curious shapes and methane bubbles that marble the lake's windblown, frozen surface, but that first afternoon on the ice, we were met by compact snow fields. Phil strode ahead for the first few hours as I chatted to Robbie and settled into my 'polar plod.' Elite ultra-runners Robbie and Natalie were here to scope out the possibility of running across the lake in the future. Phil and I simply wanted to amble across the thing before our tourist visas expired. We had arrived at the shores of this winter curiosity after an intense six months of sourcing equipment, acquiring visas, planning the route, and squeezing in some much-needed training. The latter was undoubtedly required as I was exchanging a sedentary office job for twenty-odd days of pulling two plastic sleds, choc full of food, fuel, and other necessities. The sleds would be our lifeline as we trekked across Baikal, from a small resort village in the southwest corner to the penultimate settlement in the north - a journey of some 640km. The first night on the ice, and the next few after that, took some getting used to. It was now just Phil and I, and the twinkling lights on the shore were distant. Beneath our sleeping mats, the floor creaked and groaned. The ice was solid enough that we had difficulty driving in ice screws to pin our tent down, but it also appeared to be a living, breathing beast. Subtly piercing the overwhelming silence, the faint, haunting sound of the groaning ice below almost sounded like shelling on the western front. This was to be our nightly soundtrack for the coming weeks. Life in the freezer: Our plan was to snake along the lake's western shoreline, only deviating to navigate around the large mass of Olkhon Island at more or less the halfway mark. During the first five days, we slowly found our rhythm and were zipping along nicely, reaching close to 30km of walking on some days. We strapped small micro spikes to our boots to gain traction on the bullet-hard ice. Still, despite being unwieldy and heavy, I preferred to use my snowshoes as they dug harder into the surface. In March, the lake is reassuringly cold, with the mercury regularly dipping to -20c and below at night. Thankfully we slept soundly in our big puffy arctic sleeping bags. Once you overcome the initial fear of deep cold, you almost learn to love it. It renders the air crisp and clear. Ice and snow crunch pleasingly underfoot. And the light takes on a different ethereal quality. During the day, the cold was less of a worry, as the heat from our movement kept us warm. Ironically sweat is the enemy of a cold weather traveller, as it freezes on your clothing and drops body temperature. So I was constantly fiddling with layers, vents, hats, and gloves. Endless faff. To the outsider, sled hauling and the relentless monotony of one step after another might seem like torture. On some days, it is. On those days, all you can do is cinch down your jacket hood, put your goggles and face mask on and drive into the biting wind, only looking up occasionally to scout the way ahead. But on clear sunny days, it's close to perfection. The internal battle is replaced by an overwhelming sense of freedom as the horizon melts into an endless expanse. "I felt like a frontiersman riding into town during the expansion of the Wild West, but thankfully we weren't met by a guntoting local sheriff." The winds on Baikal can be merciless. On our third full day, hoods were most definitely down. My goggles repeatedly fogged over as I worked hard against the headwind. I tried not to slobber as I breathed heavily into my ice-stiffened facemask. No time to stop for long with the temperatures dropping to 30 below; just keep moving forward and shovel in a handful of goodies when you can. We only made 14km that day, but the miles soon flew by as the weather was mostly kind to us. By day nine, we had sighted the jagged bulk of Olkhon. "Let's aim for the darker brown patches to the right," suggested Phil, "I'll meet you there." Despite being twenty years older, Phil was in better shape, so most of the time, during clear weather, he would take off ahead and meet at the end of the day. A risky strategy given we had no radios and I usually carried our one satellite phone - but it had worked for us so far and meant we could both travel at our own comfortable pace. I had met Phil two years earlier on a polar training course in Norway. Tall, bearded, and with a smattering of tattoos, he could look a little menacing. But I soon learned he was a gentle soul. Empathetic and kind, but also tough and very driven. The sort of person you know you can rely on. That counts for a lot in the wilderness. The more I walked, the more I doubted our plan for the day. We wanted to ‘thread the eye of the needle’ and navigate between the mainland and Olkhon's western flank. Things didn't seem to add up, though. As the day wore on, the darker brown side of the island looked too far to the right to be the passage we were aiming for. My feet were screaming from days of being bashed on the hard ice, and the sun was dropping ever lower behind the mountains. I scanned the horizon for Phil. He had the tent. "Trust yourself, Ash," I muttered to myself. "Trust the map." I took a bearing and headed left of the darker hills, assuring myself that Phil must have come to the same conclusion. The negative part of my brain was mulling over the prospect of a night out in the open, huddled inside my sled bag, with as much clothing as possible. That was definitely not a pleasant prospect. But just as I began to fear the worst, I spotted it – our tent - a tiny dark fleck on the horizon. The pain in my feet melted away, and I pushed onward, celebrating and muttering to myself with musings I have long since forgotten. A changing landscape: The shoreline of Baikal isn't without life or interest. Lumpy rolling hills covered with deep snow and generous smatterings of dense woodland filled much of our view before Olkhon. The ice itself drew us in with its natural artistry. Trapped methane bubbles and sweeping white swirls were frozen into translucent sheets with hypnotic effect, and the broken ice forced upward by pressure twinkled with blue and emerald tones. There were also occasional Dacha's, wooden summer houses for the rich or visiting tourists. Olkhon has several dwellings on its shores, and we took up the hospitality of one friendly hotelier to 28//WHERE ACTIONS SPEAK LOUDER THAN WORDS/#<strong>234</strong>
Top to bottom: Sunrise through a blade of ice. A typical camp spot, with the mountains of the east coast of Baikal in the background. Home for a night, a small hut at a weather station on the west coast of Baikal. "Subtly piercing the overwhelming silence, the faint haunting sound of the groaning ice below almost sounded like shelling on the western front. This was to be our nightly soundtrack for the coming weeks." escape into the warmth and refuel. Never have black tea, honey, bread, and a bowl of plain white rice tasted so good. The character of the landscape began to change after this. Undulating lumps gave way to huge alpine giants. Steep buttresses and gullies soared high into the deep blue sky, and the loose snow danced around these features as the wind buffeted their upper flanks. Although local mountaineering clubs do access these remote ranges, there are no doubt many lines that remain unclimbed. Endless beckoning nothingness to the right and jagged alpine mountains piercing the skyline to the left. Now, this was why I was here. ADVENTUREMAGAZINE.CO.NZ//29
Page 1: adventure where actions speak loude
Page 4 and 5: page 12 Image by Lauren Murray Imag
Page 6 and 7: BEHIND THE COVER... SCALING EVEREST
Page 8 and 9: PATAGONIA EARTH IS NOW OUR ONLY SHA
Page 10 and 11: The founder of Patagonia, Yvon Chou
Page 12 and 13: BOULDER BASH ‘SEE NO EVIL ROUTES,
Page 14 and 15: THE JOYS & PAINS OF 'DANGER - WALKI
Page 16: Above: A climber negotiates Chèré
Page 19 and 20: Right: Jimmy Finlayson enjoying the
Page 21 and 22: EXPLORING ARTHURS PASS NATIONAL PAR
Page 24 and 25: Above: Beasley Hut before taking on
Page 26 and 27: #2 Old Man Hut, Mt. Richmond Forest
Page 28 and 29: A KIWI ON THICK ICE Words and photo
Page 32 and 33: Interesting encounters: After 15 da
Page 34 and 35: BIG PINE LAKES Words by Paige Hareb
Page 36 and 37: "We asked if we should buy some bea
Page 38 and 39: "Lauren spotted two eyes up ahead s
Page 40 and 41: Paddling 38//WHERE on the ACTIONS W
Page 42 and 43: Images compliments of Visit Ruapehu
Page 44 and 45: Above: Despite the dull day, the re
Page 46 and 47: Top: Mick on his way to the Devils
Page 48 and 49: Tim: (dictated to mum) I am Tim and
Page 50 and 51: Come cycling in stunning Central Ot
Page 52 and 53: CAMPING & TRAMPING 50//WHERE ACTION
Page 54 and 55: cotopaxi 16L & 24L Batac Backpack -
Page 56: GLERUPS HONEY RUBBER AND BLACK RUBB
Page 60 and 61: Jetboil mini mo $329.95 It's about
Page 62 and 63: exped DURA 6R Sleeping Mat (medium)
Page 64 and 65: SOBER OCTOBER Visit the team at Cle
Page 66: PROVEN TO SAVE LIVES 30% (typ) smal
Page 70 and 71: Zerofit: A personal preference When
Page 72 and 73: EXPANDING HORIZONS EXPLORING WITH A
Page 74 and 75: Above L-R: The diversity of NZ’s
Page 76 and 77: FEED YOUR ADDICTION Like a ‘perfe
Page 78 and 79: Serving Hot Mexican & Cool Margarit
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Cook Islands. Lonely Planet’s top
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t r a v e l The stunning backdrop t
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9.30am Mt Yasur on Tanna Island Hik
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A l p i n e R e s o r t Terrace Res
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Reeecoveeer Fasteeer OOOOOOOOOOOOFF
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