Alien land ... the Kamchatka Peninsula.Credit: Lonely Planet
I'm still picking the volcanic ash out of my nails and blowing it out my nose. My clothes reek of sulphur, mud, smoke, horse and reindeer.
Highlight of the tour so far: no one has died.
I'm in Kamchatka, a massive peninsula jutting out of far eastern subarctic Russia. It lies to the north-east of Japan and the Kuril Islands and to its east is Alaska's Aleutian island archipelago.
At about 1200 kilometres long and up to 480 kilometres wide, this vast peninsula of pristine wilderness covers roughly the same area as Japan. Straddling the Pacific ring of fire - the world's most volcanically active belt - it is home to 160 volcanoes, at least 29 of which are active. Those intrepid enough to get to this remote region come here to climb them.
There are no roads in, so a flight from Vladivostok or Moscow to Petropavlovsk is the usual entry. It was a restricted military zone after World War II and foreigners weren't allowed in until 1990; even Russians were banned until 1989.
Every day yields a new surprise. I'd seen the steaming vents of the Valley of the Geysers, bunked down in a yurta with nomadic reindeer herders, been terrified by lurking Kamchatkan bears and watched seals and puffins frolic in Avacha Bay. I'd even gatecrashed a Russian wedding. But I'm here to see volcanoes. To feel them. To sleep on one. To gaze perilously over a rim into an active caldera.
It is, I admit, a peculiar hobby.
The highlight is ascending Mutnovsky, one of southern Kamchatka's most active volcanoes. Its last known eruption was in 2000. Our group sets off in rugged six-wheel-drive trucks to the base but heavy snow means camping further out.
"We'll have to walk a bit further," says Tanya, our auburn-haired Russian tour guide. The trip notes are clear: up to seven hours of walking a day; suitable for all fitness levels. So maybe we'll take eight.
"A bit further" turns out to be at least an extra five kilometres - each way. And then more.
The first part involves hiking over a lumpy terrain of rich, chocolate-coloured volcanic soil and spongy mud littered with boulders of pumice and basalt. Several hours later, near the base, springy grasses and alpine blooms emerge. The ascent begins gently; with glacial meltwater streams to cross, we quench our thirst on fresh, chilled mountain water.
Ascending, we hit snowdrift after snowdrift, often flecked grey with pumice the size of sugar grains, or dusted in soft shades of orange-pink from the volcanic ash.
Like all stratovolcanoes, the 2322-metre-high Mutnovsky is steep. I slip deep in snow, falling behind, fearful of tumbling down the volcano's 45-degree flanks.
The chasm leading to the summit caldera is an alien landscape. Its steep sides are built from layers of compacted ash. Trickling sounds alert us to small landslides overhead.
As the hours pass, every turn promises a glimpse of the rim, only to reveal another rise, then another. By the last rise, almost climbing now, I skitter on crumbly yellow soil; to my left is a cliff of hundreds of metres falling into a boiling, churning, grey stream.
We'd left camp at 8am and have walked almost constantly for seven hours when we finally hit the rim. As I take the final step, I let out a great gulping sob. I've made it.
We gaze down at a dusty, grey bowl littered with greenish-yellow sulphur deposits, dotted with steaming fumaroles spewing gas plumes. Hanging precariously overhead is a glacier, streaked with layers of ash - black, grey, brown.
Is the emotion I feel awe? Or terror at the thought of getting down? Why did I - a middle-aged, rather round woman - believe I could do this? Desire has overruled reason but now is not the time for such questions. I get down by sliding on my bum; it gives my jeans a unique volcano stonewash. With my guide, Luba, keeping a watchful eye, I navigate dozens of snowdrifts. Near the base we catch up with our mountaineer, Yuri, and Kay, a fellow walker. Roger, her husband, has been sent on ahead. Just the easy flat part to go. Apparently.
After plodding on for ages, Luba says we have three kilometres to go. Kay and I groan - we'd had a decent breakfast of kasha, delicious buckwheat porridge with raisins and honey, and along the way had snacked on bread and a yoghurt bar. But it's 8pm now and we're flagging.
Almost an hour later Luba reports we have 2.8 kilometres to go. We'd covered only 200 metres? Something is awry. Yuri hurries us. Thick fog appears, making conditions dangerous. Then it dawns on me - he's using a GPS to calculate a linear distance of 11 kilometres each way. Our actual route must have been well over 40 kilometres.
About now the sole of my boot begins to peel off. Volcanic ash and pumice is ideal for wrecking clothes; under a microscope it appears as tiny glass shards. I'm worried we're going the wrong way. The eerie, shrouded landscape looks unfamiliar. We trudge on, my boot flapping. I count footsteps to convince myself of progress.
About 10pm we arrive at the campsite, letting out a weary cheer. I crawl into my sleeping bag to avoid getting chilled. Just as I settle, there's a commotion. The truck toots, people shout. I venture out.
Roger is missing.
Kay is white with terror. If anyone knows what to do in this situation, I tell her, Roger will. He's a geographer, meteorologist and Antarctic expedition leader.
Some of our group is mobilised as a search party but this is pristine alpine wilderness. There are no paths and it's cold and darkness is gathering. Flares go up, headlights flash.
In a panic, Kay starts thinking of who to inform and how to get a body home. I suggest we focus instead on Roger's return. This is partly to allay my own terrifying vision of him sauntering in unharmed while Kay is suffering from exposure and shock. So I encourage her to eat and get warm. We ready his sleeping bag and dry thermals and fill hot-water bottles. We drink tea and wait.
At midnight, we hear shouts in Russian. Roger has been found. He's tired but fine. He'd become lost in the fog and knew he had to find shelter. He huddled in a hollow behind boulders, donned all his clothes, put his feet inside his backpack and tried to stay awake - sleep, he tells me, means exposure and death.
We toast his return with vodka. At daybreak we're meant to be climbing Gorely, a unique volcano with 11 craters.
The group unanimously votes to cancel.
Then, just as I think the day's drama is finally over, my sleeping bag zipper gives out with a resounding "zzzzt".
FAST FACTS
The only airport in Kamchatka is Petrapavlovsk-Kamchatsky, which can be reached from Vladivostok. Korean Airlines has a fare for $2035 where you fly to Seoul (overnight at airline's expense) and then on to Vladivostok. Malaysia Airlines has a fare to Seoul for $926 with an aircraft change in KL and then on to Vladivostok with Korean Airlines for $844. A one-way fare with Siberia Airlines from Vladivostok to Petrapavlovsk-Kamchatsky is $509. (Fares are low-season return from Melbourne and Sydney, not including tax.) Australians require a visa for stays up to 30 days; you'll need supporting paperwork issued by a travel company in Russia.
Touring there
Kamchatka is not an ideal place to travel independently; there are few roads and six-wheel-drives and helicopters are required to see the volcanoes and geysers. The Lost World, Kamchatintour and Kamchatka's Vision run tours with English-speaking guides. Accommodation varies from grim concrete Soviet bunkers to swish hotels.
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