There is a back story to these pics if you are interested: Today in Russia is Orthodox Easter. A few years ago, the family and I were staying in a small dirt road village in Zhukovka Russia. We were there to adopt three of our five kids. I was told by our liaison that I was invited to join some of the local men on their annual Easter over-night fishing trip. I was also told it was a big deal to be asked, so…I am not one to turn down an adventure. I promptly said yes. I was instructed to go to the local store and pick up some vodka, bread and cheese. That got me a little concerned. I don’t drink much vodka and there is so much vodka in Russia that the quality can be really suspect. I picture it dripping out of rusty tubes into galvanized wash tubs. I followed instructions and procured my supplies. That evening an army jeep…CCCP on the side…pulled up at my apartment. Inside were three Russian men, all dressed in Russian military clothing. None of them spoke English so we greeted each other as best as possible with smiles and repeating our names. One was a giant fellow with massive hands and a gold tooth, His name was Igor and apparently the jeep belonged to him. Sergei was the town constable and then I met “Doug”. It is very likely I miss-heard his name, but I only recall Doug.
We piled into the jeep and were on our way. It was late afternoon and starting to get dark when we turned off of the main road into the Russian forest. Tall looming black pine trees framed a very narrow deeply rutted muddy road. For over thirty minutes we bounced and rocked our way to our destination, which was at the time, a mystery to me. As light slipped away I began to think about my situation. I’m in a Soviet era jeep with three former Russian soldiers in a dense forest deep in rural Russia. Nobody that loves or cares about me really knows exactly where I am. I don’t speak Russian and my new friends have no idea what I am saying. I’m typically a trusting person but the situation is starting to feel a little vulnerable. I try to relax. At last we pull into a clearing by a river. It was very dark out and there are two other Russian fishermen there feeding a very large bon-fire. We unload our supplies and eventually gather around the fire. They introduce me in Russian and Igor breaks out the first bottle of vodka…here we go. He pours a round of straight vodka in plastic cups and they raise them in unison to toast me. Vayne…Vayne…That first shot was rough…metallic…and followed by several more rounds, toasting all of the English words the group knew. “George Boosh”, “Perestroika” … “Crockadills” … wait what? Why are we toasting Crocodiles? Looking around I suddenly realized that the potential for crocodiles in this remote swampy place was possible. The vodka was making me hazy, but I perked up a bit. I got bolder and started saying random things knowing they had no clue what I was saying. “You guys are crazy” …” You are going to kill me and feed me to the crocodiles aren’t you”? You just brought me here to see how much vodka the American could drink before he died…didn’t you”? They just kept the party going and kept toasting…Vayne! At some point the fire started to abate…Sergei stood up and walked to the jeep. He came back with a greasy, smoking chainsaw and started whacking down whole trees and dropping them so they would land in the fire… trees crisscrossing…pounding the fire…sparks flying… until it was blazing on the edge of control. Another round of vodka. Things were getting surreal…voices were becoming more muffled…I sat trying to get warm. Suddenly…Pow pow pow…I jumped to turn, and Igor was standing behind me with a bolt action rifle shooting it in the air. Everyone had a good laugh at my reaction…” Vayne” …! What the hell? Why are we shooting? I thought this was a fishing trip. Oh God, they are going to play “let’s hunt the drunk American”. But, it was apparently just picture time. They wanted a picture of me in a Russian Soldier overcoat…jeez…I don’t want to do that…and holding the rifle. I played along…had some more vodka and passed out by the fire. I woke up around 3 am. Everyone was gone except Igor. He was laying in the dirt on the other side of the fire snoring. I could see his gold tooth. I was freezing. I had not prepared for the night air. I stood up and the intense nausea hit me. I stumbled over to the edge of the river to puke…in mid-heave, I remembered…Crocodills! I finished quickly and ran back to the fire. It was one of those nights when you can’t do anything but hunker down and pray for daylight. Conversations with God. I had no idea where everyone else was…I had not seen a boat. I crawled into the jeep and sat there drifting in and out of sleep. Near dawn I heard shouting and saw two boats that appeared to be military issue coming into shore. It was the rest of the party. They unloaded, and we started packing up. Thank God…my Russian fishing trip was almost over. We headed back out of the woods and onto the main road. We eventually passed a small store. We stopped, and the guys picked up packets of dried fish and beer. This was to be breakfast. Vayne! Vayne! We went out into a large field and sat down on some stumps and ate. My stomach was still sensitive, and the smell of dried fish was not helping. I toughed through it and strangely the beer seemed to help that green feeling one gets from way too much rot-gut vodka. I got dropped off at my apartment and handed a big bag of fish…which was very generous considering I had not even seen a hook let alone wet one. I graciously accepted, later discovering that the river we were on was a tributary of a river that flows through Chernobyl. I went to bed and slept the sleep of fools.
