182 A SUMMER ON THE YENESEI 



were exceedingly hot. Just then a second boat came 

 along, manned by a regular kindergarten, the eldest of 

 whom could not have been more than twelve years 

 old. They promptly began to race us to the shore, 

 yelling with glee and splashing all over the place. The 

 natives thoroughly entered into the joke, and scooped 

 away with the paddle while I tugged at the oars, but 

 the kindergarten were already past-masters of oarsman- 

 ship, and beat us squarely by half a length to every- 

 body's delight. Afterwards I distributed cigarettes to 

 everybody who was over ten years old, and we parted 

 the best of friends. 



After leaving the natives, I went along the shores of 

 the great bay, which were as firm and hard to walk 

 upon as a rolled gravel path. It was a treat to walk 

 along easily at a brisk pace instead of stumbling over 

 the sphagnum and tussocks inland. The tundra itself 

 was terribly heavy to walk upon, and what with the 

 frequent stoppages to identify some bird, I do not 

 think that we ever averaged more than two miles an 

 hour when crossing it. At the end of the day, one was 

 apt to suffer from a complaint whose nature will be 

 sufficiently indicated by its name — I christened it 

 tundra legs ! 



About twelve miles from Golchika, where a stream 

 ran down the beach, stood the small turf-roofed 

 balagan of Kuria. The sand was strewn with fishing 

 nets spread out to dry, and a couple of boats lay off the 

 shore. Four pretty Siberian girls, who were salting fish, 

 looked up much surprised at my approach. I asked 

 them to give me some boiling water to make tcliai^ 



