September 2000 : 200 km To Reach the Sea
After going up the Dvina and Pinega Rivers since Arkhangelsk with a great deal of effort, Gilles reached the continental divide between river and sea water on the River Kouloï.

He still has a further 200km to go in a northerly direction to reach the sea and to head for the final point of the first stage, the village of Mezen'. The end of this leg could prove to be difficult: 11-metre tides, currents and sandbanks. But while waiting, Gilles allowed himself to be carried off by a gentle current and finally had a little respite. But he is suffering from acute tendonitis in his right arm.

The End of the First Stage
After the 500-km ascent of the Severnaya, Dvina and Pinega and the descent of the Kouloï across the taiga, Gilles reached the Bay of Mezen', where the strongest tides (11m) of Russia prevail, creating fearsome currents. Thus the first stage of the expedition came to a close.

Here is the latest news of the adventurer :
A few days before coming to the end of the first stage, I found myself confronted by difficult navigational conditions in the estuary of the River Kouloï. The wind that had lasted for three days had finally run its course, but the tides reached as high as ten metres with violent currents making the passage into the River Mezen' dangerous. I'm going to spend the night in a comfortable little isba. The owner came to visit me for a few hours to make the atmosphere even warmer and to offer me some excellent fresh rations (home-made bread and freshly caught salmon). It was all the more difficult to put the kayak back into the water in the morning in misty conditions and to go round the seven fearsome capes leading to the River Mezen, which I should reach after 10 hours and 36 kilometres of non-stop navigation.

Having finally reached Mezen, a distrusting and even aggressive reception awaited me. The inhabitants of the village had apparently never seen a foreigner in their lives. The kids threw stones and the adults did nothing to stop them. This somewhat bizarre reception didn't make me want to stay there any longer than I had to." Gilles will soon be arriving in Moscow to prepare for the second stage of his expedition: a long winter ascent on skis and reindeer sledge as far as Noril'sk, across tundra and pack ice in the heart of the polar night, with a stay in a Nenet encampment. He will take advantage of his stay in Moscow to answer his e-mail.

Final trial before Arkhangelsk : Severodvinsk.
It is there that a large part of the Russian submarine fleet is based and built. With atomic vessels playing games in the bay, all navigation is forbidden. I am therefore going to cross the open sea for 22km, and, given the capricious weather, the moment has to be chosen with care. If the storms suddenly alter the wind system, in addition they allow me to collect rain water, which has in my eyes become more precious than food. The place could be compared to the Landes.

I could have thought that I was on Biscarosse beach yesterday but for the many signs of bear around my tent and the young beluga whales wanting to "play kayaks" with me. I was even able to get close enough to a seal to be able to touch it. Lying on its rock, it incessantly threw furtive glances in my direction before falling asleep for a moment. Its myopia had doubtless transformed my kayak into a large specimen of its species!

I've now been paddling for 15km without any problems, with the naval dockyard on the starboard side reflecting the glowing light of the setting sun. A great crossing, I'm thinking to myself, when suddenly the GPS with which I'm following my course, more for entertainment than necessity, shows a speed of zero and, even stranger, the indications of its electronic compass go completely haywire.

Have I caught a submarine by its tail? I look stupidly behind me expecting to see the contraption come to the surface and demand to see my papers. Then, seeing that nobody was after me, I tried to analyse the situation a little more intelligently. It is clear that I had got into a strong adverse current. As for the blocked GPS, it must have been caused by the proximity of a satellite-scrambling base. It must be said that the wind-drift had resulted in my entering the forbidden area for several miles.

The shore is only 5km away but I have to fight like a lunatic for two long hours to reach it. To get to Arkhangelsk some further 60km on is no longer a picnic on the river. Its port also has lost its activity. Not long before, Arkhangelsk was one of the five largest ports in Russia. Today it is used for exports of wood and cellulose. The town is far more pleasant than I had imagined, with very nice inhabitants. The local television station had something to do with it, as it suddenly transformed my status from "Unknown" into "Hero". The White Sea, which prior to my departure I had taken to be a nuclear dustbin, revealed a cleanliness that would shame some of our litter-strewn beaches. Not that the people here are more environmentally conscious, but simply less numerous. I didn't measure the level of radioactivity there but I don't think it was very high, except perhaps for Severodvinsk region. A forest on the edge of the sea, a few isbas along the coast, some rare fishing boats and unspoilt nature was the sum of what had been revealed to me by these 40 days of navigation across the White Sea, a mesmerising sea that cannot be tamed with time.

August 2000 : News From The Solovki Islands
I had thought about this crossing of some 20 kilometres on many, many occasions before my departure. I imagined these islands to be austere, doubtless because of the sad past that they evoke, but here they are, on the contrary, seemingly green and the whiteness of the domes is smiling at me and seems to be inviting me to approach them. After six hours of crossing, I berth on a small island a few cable length's from the village, put up the tent and enjoy the present moment, with all its peace and quiet. Two log fires are giving off sparks near the monastery. A man is singing by the side of one of them. No other noise comes to disturb this early nightfall. The moon rises behind the monastery and captures the scene like a painting.

This initial picture of the islands impregnated with tranquillity will not be refuted in the days to come. Blocked by the wind, I take advantage of this forced rest to soak up this place's very special atmosphere. The very special charm of the village comes without doubt from its "old Russia" style. People no longer go about on horseback, but on bicycles, with only a few vehicles disturbing the silence now and again. People say good morning to each other when they pass in the street and there is no hesitation in engaging in longer conversations. Time does not have the same importance here as on the continent. One is not Solovkian by birth, one becomes it. While looking for the way to Dolgaya Gouba, I met an old couple who were "going for potatoes".

When I asked them why they had installed themselves here, the old lady replied: "Look around you, all these flowers and the sea air, this peace and quiet. As soon as I visited the island, I fell in love with it and I've never since wanted to leave." It was the same for Piotr, an artist in a Moscow theatre. Leaving everything for the clean quality of life in the Solovki Islands. Two young monks come out of the monastery pushing a cart of vegetables in front of them, freshly picked from their garden. The picture seemed to be straight out of another century.

However, not far away, there was a group of tourists strolling about, who, strange as it may seem, did not in any way mar the atmosphere of the place. Most were Russian, often painters, or photographers, or quite simply holiday-makers walking enthusiastically among history and nature. People also arrive in yachts for the weekend. It is effectively quite another Russia that one can see from this pebble in the White Sea, a Russia full of hope and insouciance.

May - September 2000 : North Cape - Mezen
Having set out from the North Cape on 30 May, Gilles Elkaim reached Mourmansk after three weeks of travel. A period of acclimatisation, in a way, and a test for the equipment. According to his logbook, an episode worthy of interest is to be pinned into this part of the adventure: "The Norwegian/Russian border was crossed without let or hindrance on 18 June. It was one of the most delicate passages of this first stage - in terms of administration. Gilles therefore was privileged to be the first pedestrian to cross this demarcation line, furthermore pulling a sea kayak behind him! The event is historic because this border is exclusively reserved for vehicles equipped with passes. It must be said that the region is hardly suitable for tourism: over 100km of border area occupied by an impressive number of military installations. Months of arduous negotiations with the Russian authorities were needed to obtain this special permission. Proof that the challenge is not only sporting, but also administrative."

Once Mourmansk had been reached, Gilles crossed the Kola Peninsula, from North to South, pulling his 150 kilos of equipment on a small handcart. After which, the adventurer found himself in the grips of the humours of the White Sea. On 15 June 2000, he wrote: "The wind has now been blowing a force 5 in an unsheltered place, rocky coast and cape, big sea. I only made 5km-worth of progress the day before yesterday and 7km during the night which enabled me to get shot of this horrible place. Many crosses of the shipwrecked on the shore! Always this easterly wind. The coast is hardly sheltered as far as Kiem. I caught a cod for my evening meal. Today's camp is located on a pretty little island with tall pine trees that remind me of Provence…"

A huge sea, virtually deserted coasts with a few isolated fishing villages here and there, some sterns, some oyster-catchers, some gulls and some ducks quacking as he passed by, some white whales, a host of mosquitoes and blackflies, such was the daily life of Gilles Elkaim.

20 June: "Also another encounter, with the inhabitants of the village of Gridino, the first staging-post after 10 days of navigation. Arriving on Sunday morning, I found the little village of isbas fast asleep and the shop closed. When the owner had agreed to open, in the next fifteen minutes I was able to get to know the inhabitants, emerging from their dens in search of treasures that a small shop could not however supply. Fruit juice? Niet. Only vodka. These small coastal villages live in an entirely introverted manner. The men fish cod and hunt seal. Some men were watching me without curiosity. Most of them were drunk, some had faces from another century which gave me the impression that I had stumbled across a pirates' hideaway. Their life is coarse and precarious. Numerous orthodox crosses above each of the capes testify to this, and make my hair stand on end when I go past them in bad weather. See two interesting reports written on the hoof by Gilles : An Encounter in the Forest Crossing the Kola Peninsula There is nothing very polar about the White Sea in the month of July. The normal temperature is of the order of +30°C. One suffers there more from thirst and mosquitoes than from the cold. Happy when I find a swamp where I can draw some stagnant water, happy when the mosquitoes and blackflies leave me alone for a while so that I can appreciate the unusual landscape of forests flirting with the immense sea."

After stopping in one of the remotest corners of our planet Earth, the Solovki Islands (see his logbook) where he found the atmosphere of old Russia, Gilles has got as far as 200km from Arkhangeslk. He was stopped for three days by a strong wind from the north-east. He again found himself to be almost without rations and was obliged to eat the local resources: mushrooms, berries, dried seaweed… He was finally able to reach an almost abandoned village near a military base, where a few survivors took the trouble to resupply him.

09 August: "This journey is marvellous. Each day brings me its package of discoveries, joys, fears and surprises. My thirst for this life is getting stronger all the time. I can finally feel myself existing again as a human being on this Earth, making my mark on the planet. This journey is like discovering a hidden world."

A curious turn of fate: Gilles reached the village of Severodvinsk (near Arkhangelsk) where a large part of the Russian submarine fleet is based, precisely a few days after the drama of the Kursk in the Barents Sea - where nobody seemed to be aware of what the black Saturday of 12 August was all about. So as a measure of diplomatic prudence, Elkaim had not wanted to write anything at all about the tragedy in his logbook although he was perfectly aware of what had happened a few thousand kilometres away… In any event, see his arrival at Arkhangelsk.

On 01 September, after ascending several rivers (Dvina and Pinega) towards the sea, the Frenchman had some further 200km to go to reach the village of Mezen', the final point of the first stage of this extraordinary journey. Although everything had passed off more or less OK so far, he was now suffering from acute tendonitis in his right arm…