I was truly alone without my faithful dogs that had already arrived at the right port. Rather than taking the main arm of the Ob, I had preferred to follow a labyrinth of channels offering me a more direct way towards the East and a more favourable current. I inherited, on the other hand, marshy banks populated with millions of mosquitoes, flabbergasted to see prey that was so easy to track. The slowness of my canoe enabled me to make an in-depth study of the winged species of the area.
Fishing was in full swing during that period. The most prized fish of the Ob is the Mouksoun. I was unable to catch one with my line as they are herbivorous. Their extremely rich flesh is the delight of the local gourmets.
As I progressed, the scenery disappeared behind me in a nebulous mirage. The only elements that could still be seen were the peaks of the Ural Mountains in the distance, which were turning the sky leaden by capturing the clouds. I could have sworn that I had seen blocks of ice floating on water in front of them. Another hallucination due to the refraction of the rays of light on layers of air of different temperatures.
I had been floundering in calm water for more than six hours, passing some unoccupied tchoums (tipis). I was looking for a harbour for my camp. Not even possible to set foot on the bank as the marshland was everywhere. A sudden ripple brought me out of my torpor, followed by a violent windstorm that took the paddle out of my hands. In a few seconds, I could no longer advance and was obliged to tack to cross the river, fleeing from the wind that had become furious. Waves were breaking and I was being blown in every direction. Which bank could therefore welcome me on the opposite strand? I aimed for a grassy eyot, crossed the river and set foot on some spongy ground. A short excursion revealed an idyllic spot with rich, flower-strewn grass. Quite unexpectedly, there was even some dry wood for cooking my dinner! I thanked Fate for having guided me to this tiny eyot lost in the marshland.
The stem of a black bark was right ahead of me. It was flying a black flag. The fisherman, a man of the Khanti race, was also dressed in black and did not seem to me to be overflowing with good intentions. He was drunk and called out to me in a language that was unknown to me. He cut his engine to come alongside. A bad move on his part, as I paddled hard and left him on the spot trying to restart his old contraption, which was not a model likely to ignite at the flick of a switch.
145km in 6 days. If my average was honourable, the prevailing conditions left me perplexed nevertheless. The North Wind was continuously blowing in strong gusts and I had soon to take a direction due North to go up the Tazovsky Peninsula. In addition, the thermometer was showing 10°C in July and the weather was extremely unstable. What would it be like at the end of August when I had to cross the high seas of the Bay of Tazovsky?
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One Year Already
One year after his departure from the North Cape (Norway), it was 30 May 2000, Gilles had already accomplished a third of his incredible peregrination around the Glacial Arctic Ocean. His journey was intended to lead him, after three long years, to the Bering Strait.
He had just reached the mouth of the Ob and had thus arrived in Asia, having crossed the European Arctic after covering 4,000 kilometres since the beginning of his journey.
Half of this solo itinerary was done by sea-canoe, and the rest on skis, dragging a sledge weighing 120kg, then on a reindeer-sledge, and then on a dog-sledge. The conditions for making progress had often been critical, especially the march in the middle of the polar night that proved to be truly frightening.
Setting out on 30 May 2000 from the North Cape, Gilles was the first pedestrian to cross the border between Norway and Russia. After his crossing, on foot, of the Kola Peninsula, he had to fight against head winds in the White Sea and accomplish, in his canoe, several crossings of the high seas to reach Arkhangelsk, via the Solovki Islands. This was the first time that anybody had crossed the White Sea in a canoe. Gilles then went up the 500km of the Rivers Severnaya Dvina and Pinega, and went down the Kouloï across the taiga to reach, on 11 September 2000, the Bay of Mezen where the strong tides of Russia (11m) prevail, one of the strongest in the world, creating terrifying currents.
On 24 November 2000, our adventurer launched himself into a long six months of winter on skis dragging a sledge loaded with 120kg of equipment across the tundra and the pack ice in the middle of the polar night. A difficult course of 150km on tundra that had summarily been covered in snow again led Gilles to make a stopover of several weeks in a Nenet community of reindeer breeders on the Kanine Peninsula. After his initiation into the techniques of driving a reindeer-sledge, the polar voyager pursued his peregrination along the shores of the Barents Sea with two reindeer harnessed to his sledge.
Early January, after two weeks' progress on a frozen river, Gilles experienced a whole series of trials and tribulations: infernal weather with continual storms and temperatures oscillating between -40°C and + 5°C, unstable ice with several water passages, the stoves not working, the hoops of the tent broken or bent, rationing of food supplies, no more light, and so on.
Soon, the two reindeer became exhausted and dropped dead one after the other. Short of food supplies, Gilles had no alternative but to feed himself on their raw meat for survival. 100km away from the closest village, Gilles was left alone with his dog, Laika, and took up the task of hauling his heavy sledge. At the end of his strength, and suffering from a kidney infection, he came across an abandoned cabin in which he spent ten days or so recuperating.
In April, as he went along and from what he happened to encounter, he put together a team of five dogs that he trained to pull the sledge. Each animal revealed its own personality, adding a little spice and gaiety to the route. Brought to a halt by the dislocation of the pack ice in the Kara Sea, Gilles was unable to reach the Yamai Peninsula directly and was obliged to direct his march southwards. This detour was to cost him and his dogs five hundred kilometres of effort, plus the impossibility of reaching the town of Norilsk, the final point of the second leg as envisaged in his programme.
He then became embroiled in a race against the spring thaw: night-time forced marches across open rivers, Dantean canyons, snow-free tundra, which almost brought the expedition to an end. No longer able to continue on his sledge, Gilles continued his progression across the polar Ural Mountains on foot, in the company of his four packsaddled dogs. It was thus that they reached the small town of Labytnangui, situated at the mouth of the Ob.
Thus ended the first year of his 3-year peregrination. Before him, more than 8,000 kilometres to cover in Siberia before reaching, in 2003, the shores of the Pacific.
"One year already and 4,000km in my wake. I am a rich man. Rich in trying times and confusing contrasts. What sensations and images have I been able to record in my internal logbook! The natural cycle of the seasons has looped the loop. The luminosity of the White Sea has diminished to become the penumbra on the Soula River. The blizzards of the Barent pack ice have changed their tune, giving way to the murmur of the streams in the Ural Mountains. I live this life of adventure to the full and have an ever-increasing thirst for exploration, discovery and encounter. There can be no doubt that this year has offered me the necessary retreat for the introspection of my own life and an analysis of the things of our world. Nature has made me strong, perhaps a little wiser, but most certainly happier."
In the eyes of our voyager, the most important element was the exploratory dimension of the ARKTIKA project, because its itinerary led him into regions that hitherto had never been entered by a foreigner. Travelling discreetly, in perfect harmony with nature and the local populations that he encountered, his knowledge of the Russian language enabled him quickly to integrate himself. Whether with hunters, fishermen, humble farmers or high-level administrative personalities, contact was always excellent on account of his intimist approach.
"I am not thinking of going to the limits of what is possible, but am rather looking for some still unexplored "Finisteres" on our fragile little planet. I am quite simply questing for the beauty of the world, its Grandeur. Nature gives me a great deal, but I also need the human dimension. Alone in the abandoned Great North, I can observe the world from the distance that an astronaut must have in his space station. My solitude is immense, but I love it."
Four Packsaddled Dogs Across The Ural Mountains
Brought to a halt by the dislocation of the pack ice in the Kara Sea, Gilles was unable to reach the Yamai Peninsula directly and was obliged to direct his march southwards. This detour was to cost him and his dogs five hundred kilometres of effort, plus the impossibility of reaching the town of Norilsk, the final point of the second leg as envisaged in his programme. No longer able to continue on his sledge, Gilles continued his progression across the polar Ural Mountains on foot, in the company of his four packsaddled dogs. It was thus that they reached the small town of Labytnangui, situated at the mouth of the Ob. 
"The dogs and I were embroiled in a veritable race against the spring thaw: night-time forced marches across open rivers, Dantean canyons, snow-free tundra as far as the little abandoned mining town Khalmer-you. Luckily, the sledge floated and we could swim! My little dogs were OK, but Dingo was limping more and more.
At Khalmer-You, the sledge was impaled on a piece of scrap metal. Its Kevlar bottom was ripped over more than 60cm! I was forced to abandon it and to continue on foot with a few rations in the bag, with either tent nor sleeping bag. Despite the difficulties of this trek, it pleased me to see my five dogs running completely free on the tundra. Pouchok took a few baths by trying to chase the many partridges that flew off as we approached. Sokol, despite his young age, was a specialist for lemmings. Big Bars, way out in front, was the leader of our group, whereas Dingo never left my heels. Sharik, for his part, dawdled a few paces behind me, as always conserving his energy.
The dogs smelled the town from afar. Born and bred on the tundra, this was their first encounter with civilisation. I started to feel uneasy. The chimney smoke rising above the horizon, the pieces of glass, scrap metal, the tundra no longer had the same appearance. The dogs were observing the strange landscape, while I was trying to take advantage of the last moments of nature and tranquillity before the hubbub of the town and its inhabitants.
I must have looked like some weird tramp with my long beard, my greasy clothes, and my rifle over my shoulder, surrounded by five worn out dogs. Finding the town mayor on a Saturday evening was a piece of luck for me. Despite our barely civilised appearance and the smell of seal that was pursuing me, Igor Léonidevitch Chpectr extended an exemplary welcome to us. A factory courtyard was found to accommodate my doggies and I was invited to stay with the familt of Nikolaï, the administrative head of the little neighbouring town of Vorgachor.
Dingo finished his adventure there. I left him to the good offices of Nikolaï, who proposed to offer him a well-earned retirement in a rest base located on the tundra. Poor Dingo was limping too much to continue our marathon.
The temperature had got up to between -15°C and +5°C. I continued my peregrination, still on foot with my four packsaddled dogs. Each one was carrying 20% of its weight, or 5 to 7 kilos divided into two bags. Somewhat unbalanced at the outset, they were quickly to get accustomed to their new burdens. They then entered a competition to be the closest to their master.
At the end of that month of May. nature bartered its snowy coat for its summer adornment. Geese came to us from Portugal, Holland and sometimes France to nest on the shores of the Arctic Ocean. There was an explosion of spring which, in just two weeks, provoked debacle in the rivers and produced a few buds on the stunted willows. The first mosquitoes ventured timidly to bite their prey and floods transformed the tundra into an immense marshland. Only the snow-capped summits of the Ural Mountains were there to remind us of the long winter months.
On the first of June, after 10 days of marching, we reached the little town of Labytangui, which was to mark the end of this 2,000km-long winter leg.
The Race Against Spring
3,730km from the North Cape, there are still more than 7,000km to go.
Difficult to set out because the wind was almost blowing a gale. I was anticipating a tough journey. It proved to be far worse than I had feared. Nature is hard!
The slope was so steep that the sledge could no longer advance. If all the dogs pulled together, it was OK. I was counting mainly on Bars, Pouchok and Dingo. Poor Pouchok was strangling himself and crying out with fear. Dingo only stopped pulling when the sledge was moving. With the help of some kicking, we slowly advanced. I shouted encouragement while pulling on the front handrail. Little by little we found a slope that was less steep. But at the top, the tundra had no snow. It was painful for me to watch them working in such conditions. The sledge passed over mud, grass and water. It was so heavy! The thought of going down this track frightened me to death. I hesitated getting going. I set the sledge going. Hanging on the its left-hand side, I braked with my boots and barked orders at Bars. A snow-free area of the tundra brought us to a halt. I restored order to the coupling, where everything was in a tangle.
At the end of the slope there was the River Kara. We were already in the water and my feet were soaked. I could not cross this river where the track was, there was too much water. I thought of giving up, but continued to advance by way of a bridge of ice. We then had to up to the track again and I was up to my waist in melting snow. Throughout this journey I was distressed at having to inflict such treatment on the dogs, and on ten occasions I thought of giving up. But, by sheer hard work, we put the uplands behind us one by one and crossed several rivers. Bars was extremely courageous and jumped over the crevasses, followed by the others: some fell into the water… br>
I did not have the courage to get up that morning as the wind was so strong. I was so tired through lack of sleep. I released the dogs, have breakfast, carried out a few routine tasks and went back to bed. In the afternoon, Bars and Dingo returned from what was probably a long escapade. Sokol caught a dead hare. I gave it to Dingo, who had the strongest stomach, to eat in case the animal was off. I got us all ready for a night march …
I was not really on form and the weather was dull. The dogs were tired and set off slowly. After an hour's march, I was soaked and frozen. The weather was very humid. Dingo was limping more and more. I would have like to untie him, but that would have been too difficult for the other dogs. He was not complaining and was pulling nevertheless.
We suddenly noticed fresh traces of a sledge. The dogs regained their strength and brought me with a sprint to the tchoum. A Nenet in his kind of old malitsa. I had to wake him up. The other tchoum had not been put up, but the skins were placed on the ground. Children were asleep beneath them.
We barely talked. I was beginning to get cold and decided to take to the road again. Nobody tried to stop me. The dogs were extremely disappointed and let me know it. None of them any longer wanted to pull as they were supposed to. We marched on and on until we found a snow-free part of the tundra for our camp.
The alarm must have gone off, but I did not hear it. Still not easy to set out in such weather. Snow was falling and the wind was blowing. But as soon as I saw my companions, I was heartened. Pouchok was showing that he wanted to be harnessed and was setting the tone for the day. The little darling!
We reached the town of Khalmeriou. What cataclysm must have been endured by this ruined colliery town? I seemed to be travelling in the aftermath of a nuclear catastrophe. Three men passed who seemed to have taken on the colours of the scenery. One of them was pulling some kind of rusty push chair behind his back. They made me think of vultures scavenging for scraps in the ruins. They took no interest in me! I had to call out to them to satisfy myself that the railway bridge was still sound. Strange individuals. I knew that two people were living there. But what were they doing here? They passed by my camp again in the afternoon, still pulling the push chair".
