End. Start in Start in No. 15 (549), No. 14 (548), No. 13 (547). <\/em><\/p>
The view of polar explorer Nikolai Pleshivtsev <\/strong><\/p>
I got to Antarctica at the age of 45, after many years of work on various ships of the merchant and fishing fleets, so I did not feel any particular awe. Just a new workplace with a 'one-year voyage' by fleet standards.<\/p>
And at first there was nothing special. Yes, beautiful sunsets against the backdrop of remarkable icebergs, of the most bizarre shapes, amazed with their bright palette of colors. Due to the special transparency of the atmosphere, everything looks so bright and vivid that it seems unreal. And the starry sky is a symphony in itself; you won't see anything like it anywhere else.<\/p>
The hardest thing is to survive the first winter. There is almost no daylight, every day katabatic winds up to 30 meters per second at air temperatures around minus 20 degrees, and you have to walk against the wind, bent over at an angle of more than 45 degrees — all this is very tiring and depressing. Only having some hobby or pastime helps; then everything goes much easier. But spring comes, and even though the frosts still linger, the sun is so bright and warms much more intensely than on the mainland, and the soul thaws. As soon as the birds return, everything immediately comes to life.<\/p>
The most vivid impression is the animal world of Antarctica. Penguins are understandable; they are natives here and the cold doesn't bother them; you quickly get used to them. But the birds are amazingly intelligent creatures. Skuas are a treasure trove of intelligence and resourcefulness. I'm fishing in a crack in the spring. A skua sits opposite me (by tradition, the small fish is given to it). I put the fishing rod on the ice and walk a few meters to the side; then there is a bite on the rod (the bobbin twitches vigorously). I look around and see: the skua has grabbed the rod with its beak and is backing away from the ice hole, trying to pull out the fish. I had to give it the caught fish for its cleverness.<\/p>
Or I sit on an inverted wooden crate and put the caught fish under it. There are skuas all around, waiting for handouts. But I sense something is wrong under me. I turn around — the smartest one has gnawed or scraped away the snow under the crate behind my back and is calmly taking out the fish I caught.<\/p>
In summer, penguins frolic in the clear water, seals and leopard seals lazily swim along the shore; well, if killer whales come in — that's it, complete silence and stillness, everyone hides wherever they can.<\/p>
These are the strongest impressions. Among the human ones — the courage and selflessness of the driver-mechanics, who, during trips to Vostok Station, change units on tractors worn to the limit at temperatures down to minus 40 degrees, manually, with almost no mechanization. They return having lost dozens of kilograms, with frostbitten and burned faces, blackened from the soot of diesel exhaust that has become ingrained in their skin.<\/p>
Another constant accompanying factor of life is the howl of the wind outside the windows, almost every day in the autumn-winter period. The feeling is as if you are flying on a fast train. The changing tone of the howl with the wind speed and the various reactions of the building — claps, cracks, thuds — everything is alive. And when suddenly the gust of wind drops to zero, a reverse reaction begins: the house, as it were, straightens its shoulders, creaks, groans, clicks, just like a living person after a long stay in an uncomfortable position, stretching stiff joints that creak from old age.<\/p>
And in general, for me Antarctica is a place of work that gives me the opportunity to live decently on the mainland for my family and myself (during long vacations). A place where you feel you are in the right place due to the specifics of your favorite profession, which is no longer in demand on the Big Land. A place where there is time to think about the meaning of life, to comprehend what has been lived and to understand how to live on. There is no daily hustle and bustle, no worries about daily bread. Do your job, help a comrade if you see that he is having a hard time, do not give in to the blues from separation from loved ones, find an activity to your liking — that is the basic principle of life on a wintering. That is why many return here again and again. And there are also professions that are in demand only here, which is why there are so many veterans.<\/p>
The view of documentary filmmaker Olga Stefanova <\/strong><\/p>
Buromsky Island is the largest cemetery in Antarctica. This year, during the season of the 58th Russian Antarctic Expedition, I managed to visit it. Watching newsreels, my heart always stopped at the footage where a tractor with Ivan Khmara goes under the ice.<\/p>
The first Antarctic expedition... 1956. The Soviet Union was opening the first polar station on the continent. Mirny. Ivan Khmara was from the construction team, a tractor driver, he had just turned 20. I heard many stories: that day he received a telegram — his son was born.<\/p>
Unloading of the 'Ob' on the fast ice was underway. One of the tractors with attached sleds cut through the ice with its track, stalled and stopped. The driver jumped out of the cab. Several people watched the scene, among them Ivan. He ran up, jumped in, grabbed the levers, lurched forward — and went under the ice, as seen in the film footage. The newsreel is silent, but after him, words must have flown: 'Where are you going?! Careful, watch out!'<\/p>
A stone block, a five-pointed star. 'To Ivan Khmara.' Life teems around the obelisk: Adélie penguins establish a colony, fluffy chicks scurry about, mothers cry out. Also here — a pair of skuas, a nest. Icebergs all around, the sun bright, hot, Antarctic. The ocean has just broken up, the water sparkles and glitters. Spring! Quiet, peaceful. I want to learn about each one, commemorate each one... Burned in a fire, lost in a hurricane, frozen in a blizzard, fell into water, fell into an ice crevice, died in a plane crash...<\/p>
Graves are not dug here. There is no soil; the island is a rock. A sarcophagus of thick sheet iron is fixed on the stones. If the body of the deceased could not be found, the burial is marked symbolically. For example, a photograph under glass hangs on the rocks... More than 80 people in the 58 years of the existence of the Russian Antarctic Expedition have found their last earthly resting place in Antarctica. May they rest in peace. Eternal memory.<\/p>
Prepared by Оксана КИСЛИЦЫНА,
«Газета.Ru».