Exploring Kamchatka's Valley of Geysers

By Yvonne Lanelli, Freelance Writer

January 2008

“Few people in the world will ever see this.” 

The white helicopter’s giant blades swung slowly to a stop. I eased my cramped body out of the seat, crouched through the narrow door and followed my staring companions down the short ladder.

I followed their gaze. Jagged brown mountain peaks, their deep valleys oozing white snow like vanilla icing drizzled on chocolate brownies, soared above the wildflower-filled valley, the helo’s tarmac landing site and a small two-story brown Swiss-style chalet.

Sputtering, spouting fumaroles bubbled from rocky hillsides. Mud puddles burped. Heat and oppressive humidity pressed on my lungs. Rotten-egg smell exuded from every hillside’s pore. A sudden roar jerked my head around. A geyser erupted across the river, hissing and roaring.

On a hillside, silhouetted against the sky, a lone gunman stood, automatic rifle at the ready.

A local guide smiled broadly. “Welcome to the Valley of the Geysers!”

For seven days, leaden skies had smothered the port city of Petropavlosk on Russia’s far eastern Kamchatka Peninsula. Each day, the helo pilot radioed the Valley then shook his head.  “Nyet (no).”

Finally, the summer skies cleared.

“Da (yes),” verified the pilot, swinging the twenty-nine-passenger helo northwest, over the brownie-like mountains, identical to those I had glimpsed over Anchorage, Alaska, a seven hour flight east along the same latitude. Plumes of smoke rose from many peaks.

In between the mountains, mud-brown braided rivers laden with summer’s glacial melt meandered through green valleys.

“Russia’s Valley of the Geysers is one of the three big geyser hotspots of the world.  The other two are Yellowstone National Park in the US and Rotarua in New Zealand,” said my guidebook.

But unlike Yellowstone and Rotarua, Valley of the Geysers is accessible only by helicopter. The guidebook continued. “Few people in the world ever see these geysers.”

Would I become one of the few today?

Kamchatka lies on the edge of the Ring of Fire, a poetic name for an area of volcanic activity that surrounds the northern Pacific Rim.

Katya, the local guide, gestured out the window to a prominent peak. “This is Karimsky Volcano, one of twenty-seven active volcanoes surrounding ‘Petro.’ Karimsky Volcano is the most active volcano in Kamchatka. It last erupted in the 1900s. We are in constant danger,” she continued over the helo noise, adding, “but we don’t have mice or snakes.”

The helo flew over Karimska Lake. “Red salmon used to live in the lake but ash from volcanic eruptions landed in the lake and killed them.”

The helo pilot circled Karimska Lake in both directions so that everyone could take photos.

An hour and 20 minutes after leaving “Petro,” the ‘copter dropped into a steamy depression among the mountains, the Valley of the Geysers.

From the helo pad, we followed Katya along a tidy network of wooden paths and bridges into the narrow valley of the Geyserna River, past steamy waterfalls to fancifully-named observation points from which visitors leaned over railings to watch hundreds of mini-geysers erupt at irregular intervals. Steam exuded everywhere, permeating the air with sulfur-filled humidity.

Yellow, white and purple wildflowers thrived in the humidity, defying snow only a few yards above them.

“Although the area was discovered in 1941, it wasn’t declared a national park and developed for constructive tourism until 1981,” said Katya.

“At first we called it Valley of Death because animals wandered in and died from concentrations of carbon dioxide.  But tourists wouldn’t come to Valley of Death so it was renamed Valley of Geysers.”

She pronounced the last word as “gee-zers,” bringing a chuckle from my gray-haired companions.

“We call this Gates of Hell because of sound,” yelled Katya over the roar of the river at one observation point. Wild orchids and iris bloomed purple and pink near “Hell.”

Katya stopped by a bathtub-sized red mud pot.  “We call this ‘Lavatory’.  You see why,” she added with a smile. Sure enough, after erupting, the pot “flushed” itself.

Bathing Pond’s blue color “because of the aluminum” invited a dip.  “It’s 100 degrees Celsius, so I don’t recommend,” warned Katya.  I did quick math—212 degrees Fahrenheit, the boiling point of water.

Big Mud Pots, a series of muddy, bubbling brown ponds, lay near a long gray rock, “birch tree turned to stone 400 years ago,” explained Katya.

I looked forward to viewing Big Geyser, whose spout was reputed to rise 50 feet high.  “You just missed it!” announced departing visitors.

“It won’t erupt again for 20 minutes so we go,” Katya announced.

“May we stay here and wait?” someone asked, a disappointed note in his voice.

 Katya shook her head.  “Nyet. Stay with group—and walk only on wooden paths. We have bears.” She gestured to a silent young man a few paces behind us dressed in camouflage and carrying an M-16. “Sergei saw mother and three cubs earlier today.”

I fell in line.

Back at the wooden chalet, a buffet lunch awaited on a blue cheesecloth.  Scraping back a wooden bench, I tucked into fried and smoked salmon, white rice, peas, fresh tomatoes, caviar, cheeses and sausages, all washed down with Russian beer. Just as I popped a chocolate candy into my mouth for dessert, someone yelled, “Bolshoi med-vyed!” and everyone abandoned their lunch in a rush for the door.

Following their pointing fingers, I trained my binoculars across the valley to four dark dots in the snow about 1000 yards away—Kamchatka bear (med-vyed)!  A sow the size of a mini-SUV and three cubs, each almost as large (bolshoi) as their mother, wrestled one another.

They were too far for my little point-and-shoot, so I watched them through borrowed binoculars until Katya announced the ‘copter ready for re-boarding.

The helo lifted up and way again, wooden chalet, walkways and sputtering green valley dropping quickly from view. I stared out the window. A dark gray storm brewed far in the west. It would reach the Valley tomorrow.

I recalled the guidebook’s words and smiled.

Today I became one of the lucky few.

**All photos by Yvonne Lanelli

If You Go

Kamchatka Travel

www.kamchatka.org.ru

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