There is darkness in the shadows. The rain, which had been falling steadily as we crossed the White Sea in the steel hold of our boat, the Vasiliy Kosyakov, lightened as we pulled even with the Solovetsky Transfiguration Monastery on Bolshoi Solovetsky, the largest of the Solovetsky Islands. The boat listed to the side, weighed down with picture takers crowding the rail. It felt unstable, but nobody said anything; and in any case, we pulled into port safely. A crowd waited at the pier with piles of suitcases, tourists at the end of their tour and ready to head for home. The island, lying before us, seemed to be sleeping; it seemed peaceful and tranquil.
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| The Vasiliy Kasyakov, our transportation across the White Sea |
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| View of Solovetsky Monastery pulling into port, in the rain |
Who would have thought this place had been the site of the first Soviet gulag? But it had been, and something about the history of the place had drawn me here. A dark past lay hidden beneath the pleasant modern veneer. The monastery, dating back to the Middle Ages, was now covered with scaffolding; the past would be rebuilt. But only a certain past, we would see; to find the story of what happened here from 1921 to 1939, when Solovetsky became the testing grounds for what would become the GULAG, the widespread system of Soviet labor camps under Stalin, required deeper searching. There remained few markers of that dark and sordid past.
We left the pier and turned down a dirt path to the right, toward the monastery about a half mile distant to the south. We could see the walls from where we stood; they dominated the landscape, thick walls of stone with narrow slats, designed for defense against heavy cannon. There was an agenda to our visit, at least for me: I wanted to see the monastery and the Gulag Museum, what was supposed to be a room with some exhibits in the monastery’s walls; and then rent a bike to get out to Sekirnaya Gora, where a church had been used as a punishment camp on the island; and lastly, past Sekirnaya to Savvatyevsky, an older secluded church to the north of the island where the political prisoners, socialists and anarchists who disagreed with the communists, were kept separate from the other prisoners.
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| A corner tower dating to the 1400s |
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| Solovetsky Monastery and reflection |
The first problem we encountered was finding where to purchase tickets. The monastery was largely free to enter, but for certain rooms, tickets were required. The Gulag Museum was one of these places. We wandered the monastery, but many of the walls and internal buildings were closed due to renovations. The area where the museum was supposed to be, according to my guidebook, was closed; I read later that the museum had been moved to Solovetsky Village, but we were, unfortunately, unable to find any signs of it during our visit. We were able to visit a newer chapel in the rear of the monastery, though, where an Orthodox service was underway, as well as explore a section of the walls that was open for tours. We put thoughts of the gulag behind us and enjoyed the setting, the wind-swept coast and the sea breeze. We had lunch at a small restaurant near the monastery, shi soup (with a meat broth and cabbage) and for dessert, blini, Russian pancakes with a jam filling.
And from there we continued our explorations. We got lost wandering around the village. We found a small square with memorials for different national groups who had been imprisoned on the island. This would prove to be the biggest acknowledgement we found of the atrocities committed on Solovetsky over those years. It was well-maintained and swept. Somebody took care to keep it that way.
We circled the walls of the monastery back around to the road, past some wandering cows, bells ringing as they ate their fill of coarse marsh grass. We rented bikes and set off to the other end of the island, along a sandy dirt road pitted with puddles, absorbing the bumps and racing in sections, reconnecting with our lost childhoods. The beauty of the island was impossible to ignore, as we felt the cool forest breeze, and saw alongside as we flew past sun-dappled trees. Before long we were alone on the road, except for occasional passing trucks with passengers. At a fork in the road, we turned right toward the botanical gardens.
The botanical gardens on Bolshoi Solovetsky Island have an interesting history. They were started, naturally enough, by the monks who inhabited the island for much of its history. Prisoners, however, made great contributions to the gardens in the early years of the gulag, before the camps were turned over solely toward labor and economic productivity. Many prisoners, especially politicals, were highly educated—many were scientists, some even botanists—and the gardens were expanded during the 1920s to include a wide variety of plants from the surrounding arctic region. I expected to find some recognition of their contributions. But aside from the signs on a few building showing they were built between the 1920s and ‘30s, there was no mention in the gardens of the prisoners. The buildings, I noted, were almost surely built by prisoners, based on the dates of construction; but here, also, there was no mention that prisoners had ever been present in the gardens. We did, however, find some of the most amazing, colorful mushrooms as we walked the trails, complete with bright red caps (most assuredly highly poisonous).
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| Mushroom, most assuredly highly poisonous |
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| Many of the buildings dated to the 1930s, when Solovetsky was used as a prison camp. |
We remounted our bikes and set back out along the dirt track toward Sekirnaya. From here, the road quickly became worse, with deep puddles and mud, and the going slower. We kept a close watch on the time; we needed to be back in time to catch our boat. Reaching Sekirnaya Hill, we found a steep dirt track and turned up, needing to get off and walk the bikes; we passed a banya—in use at the time—and, taking a right at a fork, up one last steep section to discover the church alone on a rise with a commanding view of the rest of the island. Church steeples were visible in the remote distance, rising above the tree line, somewhere among them Savvatyevsky. But we would not be getting that far out on the island today. Our time was short, and we needed to head back to town to catch our ferry.
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| On the way to Sekirnaya |
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| Sekirnaya Chapel, where prisoners were punished in the basement |
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On the way down the hill, we discovered an information board
concerning the use of Sekirnaya during the labor camp years. There was a small
cemetery further along, down a narrow trail where prisoners had been buried; according
to the information, another cemetery was located closer by the chapel. After
biking down the hill, we found the large wooden cross erected at the bottom of
the wooden staircase leading down the hill, where the dead bodies had been
thrown down when Sekirnaya had been used as a torture site. The hill was
overgrown now, but had been clearer in those days. Today it was quiet; there
was an eerie stillness. One could almost hear the shadows whispering. The place
seemed forgotten.
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| The cross at the bottom of the stairs, Sekirnaya Gora |
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| Entrance sign to the cemetery, Sekirnaya Gora |
We left that behind us: the haunted chapel, the remote
nature, the mud puddles on the road. Biking back toward Solovetsky village and
the pier, our legs were heavy and spent. We breathed the fresh air and stopped
to take some last pictures of the sun-dappled trees, the remote, tragic beauty
of this island in the White Sea.
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| A small chapel near Solovetsky Monastery and reflection |
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| Solovetsky Monastery from the boat upon departure |
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| The moon rises above the White Sea, taken aboard the Vasiliy Kosyakov |
