In the Land of White Death: An Epic Story of Survival in the Siberian Arctic by Jon Krakauer, David Roberts, Alison Anderson, Valerian Albanov
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hiding behind blocks of ice. We waited in silence, but when we spotted the animal, it was out of range. We were in a favorable position, however, which allowed us to follow the bear’s every movement. He raised his muzzle and sniffed the wind. The smell of roasted fat coming from our camp clearly enticed him, but he could not decide whether to move closer. If it had not been for three black spots on his head and the yellowish tinge of his fur, he would have blended in perfectly with his icy backdrop. Only his nose and eyes betrayed his presence as he moved about.
He soon detected our presence and watched us with a lively interest for roughly five minutes. Then suddenly he turned tail and bolted for safety. There was no time to lose; we had to attack. We both fired simultaneously and hit our target. The gigantic animal fell, but got up again right away and began to trot off. So we fired off a few more rounds in succession: The bear fell once more and rolled head over heels, but again got up to flee the danger zone. He was so badly wounded, however, that this new attempt at flight was unsuccessful; he could no longer stand, and after writhing about and biting the ice, he soon lay motionless. We immediately got into a kayak and rowed to the spot where, by all appearances, he lay dead. But as we drew near, the bear jumped up on his hind legs and ran off as quickly as a racehorse. As we could not pursue him, we returned to the camp, greatly annoyed at this useless waste of ammunition.
After a few minutes, Konrad asked permission to continue the hunt. I agreed but, for his own safety, sent his friend Smirennikov along with him. They quickly found the injured bear, which again tried to run away as they approached, but his strength failed him and after a few steps he fell dead into a pool. We all went together to fetch our magnificent prey, and carefully cut up the carcass back at the camp. Before long the cauldrons were bubbling all around us. Once again we had a superb meal, if quite unexpected, and we ate to our heart’s content. But this time, we left the liver for the goddess of the hunt!
Today, May 31, seems to be a very lucky day. In addition to the roast bear that Diana has bestowed upon us, we have enjoyed the distinguished favors of Aeolus, blowing from the north. My calculations showed our latitude to be 81°54´, and it seemed to me, although I could not be certain, that our plumb line touched the sea bed at one hundred fathoms. I harbored the increasingly firm conviction that land must be nearby. All around us Nature had suddenly taken on a new aspect. Various signs of life were replacing the lethal silence that had reigned so far. We often saw birds now, and encountered a good number of seals. Flocks of fulmars flew overhead. These were clear signs that we were approaching those latitudes where the realm of white death would end. The ice was in constant motion, and chunks continually broke away from the large ice floes.
In our camp, too, there were more signs of life today. Cooking utensils played a major role and the steward was displaying his talents. Under his supervision everyone was cooking, roasting, making sausages, or drying meat. The bear we killed today was no less than ten feet long from the tip of the nose to the tail. His pelt is truly beautiful. One would get a lot of money for it in a market. It is a pity that we must abandon it; but it would be impossible to haul such a load with us, now that we are preparing to discard even some of our essentials.
Sadness has given way to exuberant high spirits, and there seems to be a contest to see who could offer the best proof that life is worth living, even in these desolate, faroff regions.
A strong wind out of the north brought a violent snowstorm during the night.
SUNDAY, JUNE 1
My saint’s day! Early in the morning everyone began to offer me his best wishes. Our steward, Regald, made an effort to mark the event with a well-prepared
He soon detected our presence and watched us with a lively interest for roughly five minutes. Then suddenly he turned tail and bolted for safety. There was no time to lose; we had to attack. We both fired simultaneously and hit our target. The gigantic animal fell, but got up again right away and began to trot off. So we fired off a few more rounds in succession: The bear fell once more and rolled head over heels, but again got up to flee the danger zone. He was so badly wounded, however, that this new attempt at flight was unsuccessful; he could no longer stand, and after writhing about and biting the ice, he soon lay motionless. We immediately got into a kayak and rowed to the spot where, by all appearances, he lay dead. But as we drew near, the bear jumped up on his hind legs and ran off as quickly as a racehorse. As we could not pursue him, we returned to the camp, greatly annoyed at this useless waste of ammunition.
After a few minutes, Konrad asked permission to continue the hunt. I agreed but, for his own safety, sent his friend Smirennikov along with him. They quickly found the injured bear, which again tried to run away as they approached, but his strength failed him and after a few steps he fell dead into a pool. We all went together to fetch our magnificent prey, and carefully cut up the carcass back at the camp. Before long the cauldrons were bubbling all around us. Once again we had a superb meal, if quite unexpected, and we ate to our heart’s content. But this time, we left the liver for the goddess of the hunt!
Today, May 31, seems to be a very lucky day. In addition to the roast bear that Diana has bestowed upon us, we have enjoyed the distinguished favors of Aeolus, blowing from the north. My calculations showed our latitude to be 81°54´, and it seemed to me, although I could not be certain, that our plumb line touched the sea bed at one hundred fathoms. I harbored the increasingly firm conviction that land must be nearby. All around us Nature had suddenly taken on a new aspect. Various signs of life were replacing the lethal silence that had reigned so far. We often saw birds now, and encountered a good number of seals. Flocks of fulmars flew overhead. These were clear signs that we were approaching those latitudes where the realm of white death would end. The ice was in constant motion, and chunks continually broke away from the large ice floes.
In our camp, too, there were more signs of life today. Cooking utensils played a major role and the steward was displaying his talents. Under his supervision everyone was cooking, roasting, making sausages, or drying meat. The bear we killed today was no less than ten feet long from the tip of the nose to the tail. His pelt is truly beautiful. One would get a lot of money for it in a market. It is a pity that we must abandon it; but it would be impossible to haul such a load with us, now that we are preparing to discard even some of our essentials.
Sadness has given way to exuberant high spirits, and there seems to be a contest to see who could offer the best proof that life is worth living, even in these desolate, faroff regions.
A strong wind out of the north brought a violent snowstorm during the night.
SUNDAY, JUNE 1
My saint’s day! Early in the morning everyone began to offer me his best wishes. Our steward, Regald, made an effort to mark the event with a well-prepared
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