“RG” correspondent on the Putorana Plateau caught grayling and met with a secret KXan 36 Daily News

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The morning of climbing the plateau is sweet and transparent. Before breakfast we head to a secret spot on the shores of Lama Lake for a cool dip. Looking at the beauty around me, I once again did not understand: why is this place called a plateau? The lake is surrounded by low mountains. Well, not normal – “dining room”, with cut tops, but there are bases and look like cones. So, I needed to go to the thousandth to make sure I was really plateauing.

We got into the boat, with the breeze it headed towards the Cape, facing the Bucharama River. and get up

After going to the first terrace, a two hundred year old idol is seen. The guide offered him to leave the offering; “Then we shall surely meet the bear.” But, apparently, the passion of the Evenks who live in the lama is of no use to us.

The forest path is cut by kurumniks (accumulations of large, small, sharp and most importantly “living” stones). There are no drains, so water has to be saved. Somewhere in the middle of the climb we came out to the creek and saw a small waterfall. They filled the pot. Next spring it will be on the plateau.

In front of Mount Shaman, they say they see flying saucers

The sun is unbearably hot. Getting wet under a waterfall, drying off in five minutes, and then getting wet again, but with sweat. Salt irritates the eyes.

All thin-legged larches, mosses, reindeer moss, blueberries remained down. It’s getting harder and harder to stop, you almost have to sit down at a 45 degree angle. Finally, the last two steps, and you can look over the edge and find out if the plateau really exists.

Yes! Straight cut. And far, far away. And for a long, long time. As long as the eyes are visible. Even our entire fleet fell silent with joy or exhaustion. For a moment of joy, my heart beats with a pulse…

And again everyone started shouting loudly. Slowly, breaking into smaller groups, we made our way along the creek and beyond, along the edge of the plateau, to the halting place. In this cosmic and lifeless landscape, a beige shadow suddenly moved. And, like a stereoscopic image, the rabbit gained volume. Ears twitched, eyeballs closed nervously, for a second, and they were gone again. A strange bird slowly passed by us. Behind her, stumbling and treading with thin legs, ran her little cubs. Flowers sway back and forth in the wind. And something cracked next to me, my temples stopped and squeezed: spirits sniffed.

But here I sit on the edge of the cape and I just turn my head to see and remember everything, everything, everything. The sparkling surface of Lake Lama. The Oman-Yurakh river flows down the terrace. Our camp is directly opposite the slopes of Mount Shaman, where they say, “flying saucers” are often seen, I don’t know, I didn’t see them.

But I can easily imagine how long ago mammoths, musk oxen and sheep roamed here. And right there, in the southwest of the Putorana Plateau, near Lake Vivi, there is a huge heartbeat – the geographical center of Russia.

On the way back I stopped at a cairn. The shed’s horns were tied up, now my blue scarf with white polka dots fluttering over them. One white night, wrapped in a blanket, I remembered my scarf left on the Putorana Plateau, which I now know for sure: it exists.

And here is the last day on the plateau. We are lazy, we appreciate tired legs. Time to get up and pack. And already at five o’clock sit on the pier, wait for the ships, and that’s it, Ede – the adventures are over.

But suddenly we hear: someone, jumping down the stairs and running towards our attic. “Defchonki, Kostyan offers to fly to the sea, to fish.” We already know Kostyan. We had a day when a terrible storm passed in the night, heavy rain fell, the water of the lake rose and pulled the boat from the pier, lightning ripped the sky… In the morning we decided to stay in the camp, sat down. On the shore, read, draw. And so they listened and then waited for four hours until a small, nimble and elegant seaplane approached. Pizonisto fell at our feet, circling the lake. A real helicopter pilot stepped out of the plane. Not even Mimino, Cooler! He stepped out, long hair held back by a rim, happily worn clothes and face. His eyes are alive, so they shoot women. And when he opened his mouth, that’s it: write garbage … charming, funny, stories poured out like a sieve, and everything was perfect for him. Constantine. No one flew, brought a family of sorrow, like us, beauty. By the way, from Lugansk, since 2017 he lives and works in St. Petersburg.

Fishing in Lake Vivi is the strongest experience. Photo: Elena Nedoshivina

And here is the second visit of Konstantin, and after 15 minutes the four of us, not counting the pilot, accelerated and flew to the surface of the llama. Kostya leads to the secluded lake Neralakh. This is where the mysterious land of Plutonia was, and I wouldn’t be surprised to see dinosaurs grazing peacefully. The plane landed at the mouth of the lake. Nearby was a green clearing with silky grass and amazing flowers. Kostya removed a table, chairs, burners, a frying pan, tackle and moonshine from the belly of the plane. Pouring moonshine into glasses, he poured one into a pond so that fishing would be successful. Apparently, Putoran’s spirits are far from teetotalers. Well, teetotalers have always caught me off guard. The helicopter pilot caught the first grayling, immediately butchered it, washed it in the river, cut it into pieces, salted it, peppered it, put onions in it, and in half an hour we ate the most tender sagudai, wiped like cats. Only Tanya dragged the Graylings one by one. But after the 10th grade, Kostya said: Sha! – Drop the rest. And when he himself made some kind of adaptation to my spinning, after three or four trials I drew two white and black graylings at once. “The spirits love you,” Kostya nodded, and… something rustled next to me again. I slowed down and clenched my temples. Then he gave us a taste of fishermen: fried belly, caviar and grayling liver. Thank God, we were not late for Norilsk. Five fish were fried for us, and the rest we salted and took with us. In general, we take a lot of things from the highlands. Beauty – a handful. Clean water and air. New impressions. A new understanding of its power. And your place in life.

Source: rg.ru

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