CHAPTER X. 



The charm of the tundra — The reindeer sledges — " Into the tundra " — A 

 wet drive — The sense of locality — A difficult passage — The choom— 

 A wet night — The Dolgan family — Sunshine on the tundra — 

 Photographing the Eastern golden plover — A goose hunt — Good-bye 

 to the tundra. 



To us, whose maps are speckled all over with the names 

 of hills and rivers and townships, there is something 

 arresting in the blankness of the map of Northern 

 Siberia. Here and there a hair streak of river wanders 

 uj) into the Arctic Ocean : the rest is emptiness. And 

 actually when you visit those parts your first impression 

 is the same — of great rivers pressing to the north, fed 

 as they go by nameless lesser rivers ; and around and 

 beyond them, a grey and wind-swept waste, unbroken 

 either by valley or bluff, stretching away into the 

 lonely distance. In the country of the Yenesei, the 

 natives themselves have no name for the vast land 

 that lies on either side of the river. When they enter 

 it, they say simply that they are going "into the 

 tundra." 



For those who live beside it, the tundra has a weird 

 kind of fascination. Its vastness, its loneliness, its 

 hopelessness grip you. At first, when you explore it, 

 you think that you are the first human Deing who has 

 ever walked there, and feel as solitary as Robinson Crusoe 



