Three days with the nomad reindeer herders of the circumpolar North
A team of four members of the Russian Geographical Society’s Yamalo-Nenets Division spent three days living among nomad reindeer herders on the Yamal Peninsula, experiencing their culture and traditional way of life, which have remained practically intact until the present day. The photo story below provides an exciting account of their journey.
Three chooms - traditional reindeer-skin tents
Most present-day city dwellers have difficulty imagining that the circumpolar North is still inhabited by peoples that have preserved to the current day their ancient culture and way of life. In January, when heavy frosts hit the Yamal Peninsula, the Nenets reindeer herders set off on their journey to the south, driving herds of reindeer – thousands strong – to new pastures. Gradually, they reach the forest-tundra not far from the city of Nadym. At the end of March, we spent three days staying with the Nenets, while they prepared their return journey to the north. Their route passes by the village of Yar-Sale on the Yamal Peninsula, across the ice-covered Obskaya Bay in the direction of Nadym. Repeating the natural rhythm of reindeer movement, they have to the return to the Yamal Peninsula before the arrival of spring.
One early March morning, having hitched our sledge to a snowmobile, we set off for a reindeer herders’ camp. Our driver was Sergei Salinder. The weather was just beautiful – the temperature was only minus eight degrees Celsius. The snow was gently drifting here and there. While we tried to negotiate steep slopes and snowdrifts, the snowmobile’s engine overheated, therefore we had to make a stopover from time to time. The weather became slightly warmer and we could see patches of half-frozen water oozing in small streams. At first, we moved along the winter road, but the last third of the route lay across the snow-covered tundra. Later we turned off the road into a forest area, and having withstood numerous pits and bumps, descended to a river. Having crossed the frozen river, we found ourselves in a forest-tundra area where we stopped. At a distance of about 100 metres, several dozen reindeer were peacefully grazing amidst the larches. “We’ve almost arrived,” said Sergei. The reindeer moved their heads in our direction. “They are curious to see who has come to visit them,” he added with a laugh. Having covered about 500 metres more, we stopped on the top of a hill near a Nenets encampment. Standing amidst the forest-tundra were three chooms – traditional reindeer-skin tents. White smoke from the hearths curled upwards and dissipated in the air… Dogs greeted us by loud barking. It is difficult to say how many dogs there were, but I think about eight. Dogs are reindeer breeders’ best companions – they are quick on the uptake and are of great help.
A proud and powerfully built dog named Peiyak
Interestingly, reindeer herders work in teams, stationed at different places throughout the forest-tundra, at a distance of about 23-35 km from each other. For convenience, they drive all animals into one herd to tend to it together. One herd may number as many as eight or nine thousand reindeer. Roaming from place to place, the herd resembles a wide river flowing across the tundra. When we approached one of the chooms, we could see its owner, Pelya, sitting on a sledge and working with an axe on a new khorei – a long stick used to “encourage” sledge-deer to run faster. Fresh and fragrant spruce shavings covered the ground all around him.
Having talked to us for a bit, he stopped carving and invited us into his choom. Chooms are usually really roomy; the air inside is always fresh, yet it is very warm. Choom design allows for natural ventilation-constituting a kind of simple conditioner – one that doesn’t make as much noise as its electric counterparts. The air inside is slowly pulled through the air vent at the top. Any kind of smoke, even cigarette smoke, dissipates instantly without leaving even the slightest hint of any odour. In the middle of a choom usually stands a moveable cast-iron wood stove, which generates enough heat to keep everybody comfortable even if all are wearing nothing warmer than a T-shirt. Reindeer skins, which cover all chooms, have a remarkable capacity to absorb and retain heat. We were invited to sit at a low table and drink some tea.
Inside a choom
Nomad reindeer herders usually drink tea to refresh themselves and alleviate fatigue. Guests are asked questions like “How was your trip?”and “What was the road like?” Whatever the direction guests come from, the Nenets are always eager to hear every detail of their trips; thanks to this information they know the state of things in all parts of the tundra –where a road is blocked by snow drifts, where crusts of ice have formed, where the snow is loose, and so on.
The tea was followed by a delicious dinner – even more pleasing after the long journey. Hot boiled venison and frozen whitefish fillet are two main wintertime foods. Peoples of the North rarely eat white fish in the summer; white fish contains a great deal of fat. It’s good when the weather is cold, as it provides the body with a lot of energy. But in warmer seasons they prefer leaner fish. (Unlike the Nenets, visitors from the mainland eat all kinds of fish regardless of the season and nutritional intricacies.) White fish is eaten frozen not only because it is stored that way, but also because it is extremely oily. Once thawed, it’s difficult to eat, as oil streams down your hands. But eating it frozen, you can easily cut or bite it.
As has already been said, every choom has a moveable wood stove standing in the middle. On its right and left are wide wooden boards placed directly on the snow and then covered with mats made of young birch trunks, twigs and grass, which in turn are covered with reindeer skins. You feel strange sitting in the warm choom and seeing beneath you bits of snow peeking though chinks in the covering below.
In fact, chooms have a very solid structure; they are set up according to an ancient method, tried and tested by generations of nomads. Standing amidst the open, wind-blown expanses, this type of dwelling can withstand even the strongest gusts of wind. Each choom is made of 30 solid poles which are covered by two layers of niuks – traditional coverings for nomad tents. In wintertime, chooms are covered with four huge niuks made of reindeer skins stitched together; in the summer, the covering is made of tarpaulin. (In the past, summer niuks were made of boiled birch bark.) The first layer is usually put with the fur on the inside, and the second layer with the fur on the outside. Altogether, it takes an average of 80 reindeer skins to make a winter covering for one choom.
The Nenets nomads usually let their dogs roam freely inside the chooms. Northern dogs are not really big – at first glance you might think that they are still puppies, but in fact they are adult, well-trained dogs. Sometimes, masters tether them on a short rope tied to one of the poles inside the choom, so that they don’t get in the way. At night, dogs sleep near the choom’s entrance. These dogs never snatch food from the table. They often sit close to the table, but never take even the smallest piece of meat. When we entered the choom, a dog named Peiyak got very interested in the guests – it would always approach us, now from one side, and now from the other. You wouldn’t believe that it was already four years old and very deft at driving numerous reindeer scattered around the tundra into one herd.
Meeting the deer
Upon leaving the choom, we found ourselves surrounded by male and female reindeer, as well as their young. In the afternoon deer often come closer to the chooms, where people feed them with bread and fish soup. Calves are fed with milk from feeding bottles. Meeting the deer is an unforgettable and extremely pleasant experience, evoking the feeling of something really good and authentic. Nenets kids of four-five years of age, accompanied by their mothers, also enjoyed the meeting, interacting with reindeer calves, grabbing their antlers and stroking their thick fur. While we were taking pictures and shooting a video, one of the calves apparently decided to familiarise itself with our work – it approached me and then Igor to have a closer look at our photo and video cameras. The animal seemed to be genuinely interested in our equipment and ended up licking the photo camera as a sign of approval.
While we were photographing and shooting a video of the reindeer, Pelya continued making his khorei. We came up to him and continued our conversation:
“This khorei won’t last for a long time, just about six months,” explained Pelya. “What kind of wood are they made from?” “This one is made from spruce. But to make a khorei serve longer, you should use birch, and make its point from reindeer antlers,” he answered pointing to a khorei standing near a tree. The point of the khorei was a spherical knob about the size of a five-ruble coin. “How long has it been in use?” “Six years. It’s very durable, while spruce ones break easily and are never in use for more than six months.”
Near the sledge lay half-finished khorei sticks – very thin spruce branches hewed by an ax on four sides to be square in cross-section. The half-finished sticks looked so even and smooth that, had we not seen how they are made, we would have thought that they have been hewed on a lathe. Later we were shown a drill – a wooden arch with a leather strap and staff equipped with a cutting tip in the middle. (In fact, similar drills are used by other Nenets living along Obskaya Bay.) The tool resembles those used for kindling fire in times gone by. City dwellers can see tools like this only in museums, but the Nenets say they are very reliable. “Modern tools are heavy and often break, and you can’t have them repaired in the middle of the tundra. But we can always make our own tools, which can be easily mended. Of course we do have a gasoline-powered saw and an electric plane. But when we run out of gasoline, our power station doesn’t work and we have no electricity. Therefore, our own tools are much more reliable,” explained Pelya.
Nenets sledges are also made from wood. They are assembled from different parts, which are fit into each other. No nails, screws or other fittings are used. Despite this, the structure is very solid and reliable. Sledges usually serve for several years and are used for travelling long distances not only in the winter, but also in the summer – their wooden runners slide easily on reindeer moss. Such sledges are light, durable and capable of absorbing the shock from collision with bumps and pits.
Sledges differ in size and type: there are cargo sledges which are very long and are equipped with massive runners – often they have large boxes placed atop, with their sides reaching one metre in height. There are children’s sledges, which are usually very light and are no bigger than an ordinary iron sled for children. There are also sledges for men and women – the latter have wooden sides, which prevent women from falling over when they travel with little children. Finally, there are sacred sledges, sledges for choom transportation (you can’t sit in them), and sledges for food transportation (they have boxes with doors placed atop).
Broken sledges are never thrown away – the broken part is simply replaced with a new one. The Yamal Peninsula is distinguished for its scarce vegetation, and wood is in particularly short supply, therefore the nomad reindeer herder simply can’t afford throwing away a sledge with one broken runner.
While we were talking with Pelya, several dozen reindeer dispersed in different directions across the tundra. Pelya shouted out a couple of words in Nenets and all the dogs – some of them inside the choom, others sleeping or walking outside – went running in the direction of the reindeer in order to gather and drive them home. In a twinkling of an eye, all the reindeer were marching towards the main herd. We managed to film this episode.
“Trained dogs are of great help to reindeer breeders,” said Pelya, leisurely walking towards his choom. After a while, he emerged carrying a tynzyan – a lasso for catching reindeer. “See how it is woven?” he asked while showing the artfully fabricated rope. Tightly woven of four leather cords, it was very solid and long. Later, Pelya showed us the proper manner of holding and throwing it.
The night was drawing near and those Nenets who had spent all day in the pasture, tending to the thousands of reindeer, returned home. Alexey was with them. We asked him if it was true that he could make a sledge in three days. He looked at us intently and said in a calm, self-assured manner that it was indeed.
The Nenets explained to us why residents of each of the three chooms were so busy making sledges. As has already been mentioned, the Yamal Peninsula doesn’t abound in trees, therefore when the nomad reindeer breeders migrate to the forest-tundra areas of the south, they seize this opportunity to make sledges, new choom poles and khorei sticks. With the arrival of spring, they will return to the north, to the tundra, where there are no spruce trees or larches. When it comes to choosing trees for their household implements, the Nenets are very fastidious. “For some objects you need a tree with a curved trunk, for others you may need larch wood of a reddish shade, or otherwise of a white shade…” The more our hosts talked about all the intricacies of the woodworking, the more startled we became at their enormous knowledge.
On the following day we drove to the tundra to see the main herd of reindeer, composed of many thousands of animals. We were told to drive about six km along an indicated forest trail. A wooden sledge was attached to our snowmobile; reindeer skins were placed atop the sledge and tied to it with a rope. Sergei took his place at the helm and off we set…
The trail was all pits and bumps and we bounced along with the sledge as it travelled along the uneven stretch of ground. When driving in a sledge, the most important thing is to sit properly and hold on to it. Sledges are usually very stable and even when they jump they hit the ground so smoothly that you have an impression the vehicle is equipped with an invisible, state-of-the-art shock absorber. Sergey stepped on the gas, the engine of the snowmobile screeched and we took off, countless trees whizzing by…
When the sledge hit another bump, its right side tilted. We couldn’t return it to the normal position. We shouted to Sergei to slow down, but he couldn’t hear us – the wind was too strong and our shouts were drowned out by the roar of the engine. Another bump and we fell off the sledge, ending up half-buried under the deep snow. Sergei looked round – “I told ya to hold on to the sledge!” Having seated ourselves, we continued our trip.
Continuing another kilometres, we found ourselves in a vast, clear tundra area; the huge reindeer herd seemed to be flowing like a wide river across it. This is an awe-inspiring sight – when the deer move together, their branchy antlers brush against each other, producing a clanking sound. With thousands of deer, this clanking blends into a sort of natural music, the live music of the tundra. Listening to this music, one can watch the reindeer river endlessly….
Reindeer grazing in the tundra
We waited until the reindeer crossed the tundra and stopped at a distance, near the forest. The enormous herd became a dark moving strip on the horizon. We could hear the noise from the approaching snowmobile’s engine and several seconds later we saw Alexey emerging from the snow-covered tundra. A dog was sitting in the back seat. It seemed undisturbed by the fact that the snowmobile was moving at full speed –sitting upright, it maintained its balance perfectly and even managed to twist its head to look around. “Alexey, doesn’t your dog ever fall over when you drive at such a neck-breaking speed?” I asked when he stopped. “Never! I often take it with me and it has already got used to my style of driving,” he smiled. “Just look how beautiful the reindeer are, they move so gracefully,” Sergei said pensively. “Go drink tea at the neighbours?” suggested Alexey. “Is it a long way?” “Naw, about 10 km.”
As it turned out, we had covered much more than 10 km when we finally reached the three chooms and met Alexey’s relatives. While treating us to frozen white fish and hot tea, the hosts showed us their photographs taken at different times. “In this picture we are crossing a river on the Yamal Peninsula,” commented Alexey. “You have to be very attentive when several caravans of reindeer, drawing loaded sledges, cross a river. It requires not only actual skill, but also good coordination and concerted action.”Alexey was leafing through the photo album and talked about the things in the pictures, and you could feel that once again he was experiencing the events of the past, as if they were happening that very moment. He seemed to turn into a child when he looked at his early childhood images…but metamorphosed into a mature, adult man, aware of his responsibilities and all the hardships of nomadic life, when browsing through photographs taken at a nomad camp the previous autumn. He could recall every little detail – the weather, his and other people’s moods- reliving those emotions as if they were something fresh and new.
We warmed and refreshed ourselves in the choom, and once Alexey finished his fascinating story, we thanked the mistress for her warm welcome and hospitality and set out on the return trip. Another day had passed. Soon darkness fell over the snow-covered tundra and we switched on the snowmobile’s headlights. Alexey drove ahead of us, showing us the way. The road had practically disappeared under the blanket of snow; we couldn’t see any tracks left by the snowmobile the day before. Then Alexey went in another direction and we parted. At night, we finally reached our camp.
It’s very interesting how the Nenets perceive distances. “Where have you been?” asked Pelya when we approached the choom. “At the relatives’, drank tea,” said Alexey. “How far is it? It’s more than 10 km, isn’t it?” “Actually it seemed to be more than 20,” I said. “Ten or twenty, what’s the difference?”Alexey said and gave a broad smile. We entered the choom laughing. In fact, such a difference really is insignificant for the Nenets. They often call on their relatives and friends staying at a distance of 50 or even 70 km from them. Constantly moving from place to place, these nomadic people measure all distances by 50 and 100 km. That’s why 30 km more or less is not something worth worrying about. “Alexey likes moving from place to place,” remarked Pelya.
After dinner we gathered in Alexey’s choom to watch the things we had filmed on a TV screen. The Nenets have small TV-sets and DVD players, powered by a mobile power station. They can’t watch regular channels as their camps are usually placed in remote areas, but they can watch films, which is a favourite communal pastime in the evenings.
Nomad reindeer breeders usually go to bed early, and get up early – at about 5 a.m. (even on Sundays!). During the night the stove isn’t used, but one is still warm sleeping under a yaguskhka – women’s clothing made of reindeer skin. In the morning, it is fresh and cool inside the choom. The mistress starts the stove and the choom fills with pleasant warmth. While having breakfast, we were told that the camp would be dismantled that day and the reindeer breeders would move to a new place, several km to the north. “Pelya, how do you recognise your reindeer in the enormous herd? Do you use any kind of marks?” I asked. “We do use marks, but there are also unmarked reindeer,” he answered. “But how do you distinguish those unmarked?”I wondered. “I can recognise each of my reindeer.” “But how do you manage? They all look alike!” “Well, people look alike too; they all have a head, two arms, and two legs. You can distinguish between different people, can’t you? So I can distinguish between reindeer. I never mix up my reindeer with someone else’s. I can recognise all my reindeer. And you know, they recognise us as well,” the man said earnestly.
It wasn’t yet 6 a.m., but outside the work was in full swing – the Nenets had started packing their things and loading them on the sledges. A cat emerged in a laid-back manner from a neighbouring choom and started rolling in the snow (a sign of good weather). The first bright rays of light were breaking through the clouds. It’s interesting to watch how the nomads pack up their things before setting off for another location. Everybody does precisely what they are supposed to do without talking too much. Men are usually responsible for packing men’s things – axes, tools for manufacturing sledges- while women have to pack women’s things, such as two-handled saws, wooden boards for currying reindeer skins and so on. Women never touch men’s tools and men never touch women’s tools. The Nenets don’t regard tools as ordinary devices, but as strictly personal items, and there is an unwritten rule that prohibits touching someone else’s personal possessions. Apparently tired of rolling in the snow, the cat jumped on a loaded sledge and sat itself comfortably to watch what was going on from above.
When everything was packed, the Nenets started dismantling the chooms. First they took off and folded the niuks. Then, when the niuks were folded and tied to the sledges by ropes, the men started dismantling the poles. Within an hour, the place where the chooms had stood was completely barren.
Cat near a sledge
After that, the Nenets positioned the sledges as if to form of the Russian letter “П” and stretched a net lengthwise between them, leaving just one entrance. All reindeer were driven into this improvised enclosure. This is done so that men and women can pick reindeer that will haul their loaded sledges across the tundra. Before the reindeer were driven into the enclosure, a Nenets woman tied a dog to a rope not far from the well-rolled snow road. In fact, the dog had an important task to perform. “It will prevent the reindeer from taking this road while they are being driven into the enclosure,” explained the woman. As soon as over a 100 or so reindeer could be seen on the horizon, the dog started barking and jumping up enthusiastically, letting the reindeer know that there was no running in that direction.
Dogs and people on snowmobiles coming from all directions encircled the running reindeer and drove them into the enclosure. As soon as most were inside the enclosure, several Nenets women barred the entrance with a rope. However, several reindeer were still galloping across the snowdrifts in the forest, huge lumps of snow bouncing from under their hoofs. Some of these reindeer were later driven to the main herd by dogs; others were skillfully caught by the Nenets with the use of tynzyans. Interestingly, wild reindeer often latch on to domesticated herds, and nomad reindeer breeders have to tame them.
When all the reindeer were gathered in one place, the Nenets picked some to be harnessed to sledges and led them out of the enclosure. Women picked reindeer for women’s sledges and men picked reindeer for men’s and cargo sledges. Within minutes, they had harnessed the beasts into sledges and were ready to set off.
Nenets women preparing their sledge
When all the reindeer teams were ready, the Nenets double-checked the sledges. While they were doing this, our team drove ahead on snowmobiles so as to take pictures and shoot a video. We were accompanied by Kostya, Pelya’s son. The boy has yet to finish his eighth grade at school, but he is a full-fledged reindeer herder already. Every day, he works in the tundra on a par with other men, tending to the enormous reindeer herd and is very apt at handling a tynzyan. Nomad reindeer breeders’ children become mature quite early, as they are exposed to all the hardships of household work and deer herding from their early childhood. We had been talking to Kostya for some time when we heard voices coming from a distance.
The caravan of reindeer was approaching, Alexey riding in a sledge at its head. Usually men ride at the head of the caravan, as it is difficult for reindeer to step on untrampled snow and animals often fall through. The men were followed by sledges carrying women and children. The latter have less difficulty travelling, as the snow road already becomes harder under the hoofs of the reindeer walking at the head of the procession. Elderly Nenets usually ride at the end of the caravan. The Nenets have high regard for and deeply respect their elders. Generally, the younger generation obeys the older unconditionally – such behaviour is dictated by their nomadic lifestyle. Elders have more experience, wisdom, knowledge and skills. In their turn, elders are very considerate and attentive towards the younger generation; they teach them how to survive in the harsh conditions of the tundra. Men teach young boys to hunt, fish, herd reindeer and manufacture sledges and various tools, while women teach young girls how to keep house, sew, curry reindeer skins, dress out fish, cook, assemble and dismantle chooms, and so on. All responsibilities are strictly divided between men and women and this is what ensures their survival.
We stood and watched the reindeer caravan disappearing over the horizon. In a little while, we followed the caravan on our snowmobiles.
Reindeer caravan disappearing over the horizon
Finally, the Nenets stopped in an open area amidst the tundra, unharnessed the reindeer and started clearing a ground for the chooms. While they were doing this, the reindeer scattered across the area in search of moss and lichen. Reindeer are very good at digging holes in the snow with their hooves – they put their heads inside the holes to eat in a way that only their antlers stick out. Usually it is women who set up chooms. Men only help to cover them with niuks. The order in which chooms are assembled is not accidental – not only is it explained by the Nenets view of the world and religion, but also by more down-to-earth considerations, such as practicality.
The Nenets worldview can’t be described in just a few words. The Nenets believe that the world in inhabited not only by people, but also by various gods and spirits, who have complicated relations with people. This is a wide topic, which should be discussed separately. It incorporates the Nenets beliefs about Earth’s formation, the emergence of diverse animal species, good and evil spirits, popular legends about the people called Sikhirtya, and many other things. In this article we will limit ourselves to mentioning that the Nenets believe in the existence of the god of the upper world, Num, and the god of the underworld, Nga. That is why the first thing to do before you set up a choom is to put a sheet of iron on the place where the stove will stand – right under the hole at the top of the choom, which connects the Nenets with the upper world. The Nenets believe that such a sheet of iron will cover the pathway to the underworld.
While reindeer skins were being unfolded inside the choom, the dog Peiyak stretched itself out on one of them and soon fell into a doze. (The dog already knew that this was where the dwelling would be, even though the choom wasn’t assembled yet.) As soon as the stove was installed and burning and everything inside the choom was put in its place, women started raising wooden poles. First, they mounted three poles, which were tied together on top. Reindeer skins were placed under the poles.
Installing choom poles at a new location
Then the Nenets women set up the remaining poles. Watching how quickly the frame of the chooms grows taller and taller, one is amazed at the dexterity and physical strength of the Nenets women. They assemble chooms from long and heavy wooden poles almost all on their own. Men do help, but only when women can’t cope themselves. As soon as all the poles are installed, women set up a final pole called simzy – a sacred pole placed inside every choom – and tie up the cross-bars. The stove was already burning brightly and tea was boiling in the kettle. Later, using wooden poles, men covered the chooms with niuks, which were secured at the bottom of the chooms with several cords. The cords are drawn diagonally so as to cling tightly to the surface of a cone-shaped choom. This prevents violent gusts of wind from tearing the covering off the chooms. When all details of the chooms were fastened, their bottom edges were covered with a layer of snow on the outside.
At 4 p.m. we were already sitting inside the fully assembled choom, eating and drinking tea. Each thing stood and lay in its usual place: an oil lamp was hanging on the wall; a goose wing, used as a whisk broom, lay near the entrance next to a wooden stick used to beat snow off shoes; a washstand was hanging to the left of the entrance; dogs were lying on floor mats. All as if nothing had happened, as if nobody had moved anywhere.
At a new location
Before it got dark we started to pack our things and prepare for our journey home. These three wonderful, unforgettable days spent with the nomad reindeer herders have changed something inside us, changed our way of thinking. When you find yourself among these patient, skillful and hard-working Northern people, when you learn about their traditional way of life, when you hand-feed reindeer calves, when a small but powerfully build dog Peiyak peers into the distance, you get a feeling of something authentic, yet not easily definable, as if you have acquired an invisible great fortune. In a couple of days, the reindeer caravan will resume its journey across the endless tundra expanses further to the north, where spring has yet to set foot. They will head for the Yamal Peninsula and the village of Yar-Sale, whose name is translated from the Nenets as Sand Cape.
Translated into English by Nadezhda Tsyba
