88 A SUMMER ON THE YENESEI 



were able finally to laDcl on the farther shore. By that 

 time the wind had gone down and a wan gleam of 

 sunshine lighted the tundra. We reached an old 

 balagan, deserted since the previous summer. It was 

 half-full of water, but it was built in a warm-sheltered 

 corner with plenty of driftwood near, and in our 

 weather-beaten plight, it seemed like a haven of refuge. 

 Here we made a fire, and were glad enough to dry our 

 soaked clothes and have a meal, for we had had nothing 

 to eat or drink since we left Och Marino in the early 

 morning, and the men had been working hard all the 

 time. We then rested in the sun for a couple of hours, 

 and about six o'clock we started for Golchika. 



The fickle Yenesei weather having given us a taste 

 of its bitter mood, now veered round and smiled at us. 

 It was a halcyon evening. To my thinking there is no 

 place like the Yenesei for skies — or maybe it is that the 

 country itself is so flat and bare that one appreciates 

 the more the noble lines and curves of the clouds that 

 lie above it. The sunshine draws up vapour from the 

 basking river, and piles it along the horizon in huge 

 cumulus masses. Then at once the east wind comes 

 along and tears and ravels these up into plumes and 

 banners of cirrus, which are blown across the sky and 

 tinted red and golden in the evening. Along the 

 northern horizon it is even possible to watch the actual 

 birth of these clouds. Almost imperceptibly, they 

 gathered like mist on the surface of the water and then, 

 rising above their parent river, they floated away into 

 the sunset like smoke rings blown from a gigantic pipe. 

 Large flocks of long-tailed ducks were resting close 



