My unquenchable thirst for Big Things has taken me to some of the most beautiful and wondrous places on earth. It also dragged me through the frozen wastelands of northern Siberia, to the decaying industrial town of Nadym.
I was lured to this remote corner of Russia by fellow Big Thing enthusiast Yevgeny Kafelnikov. No, not the world famous tennis player – every second Russian seems to be called that. Yevgeny enchanted me with tales about a mammoth of immense size, so I spent several months hitchhiking through the desolate tundra to track it down.
If you’ve ever seen a Russian dashcam video on YouTube, you’d know that I really should’ve just caught a plane. I was involved in three fatal car accidents, several brutal street fights, and developed a serious addiction to vodka and counterfeit Adidas tracksuits. If I’d been on the road any longer I would’ve started yearning for the downfall of western civilisation.
Sadly, by the time I arrived in Nadym, Yevgeny had fallen afoul of the local mafia. Considering his divisive opinions regarding roadside attractions, it came as no surprise. Fortunately, I was able to stay with his grieving widow, so Yevgeny’s public beheading didn’t get in the way of seeing the Big Mammoth.
From Tusk Till Dawn
I visited on a balmy summer afternoon, as the temperature threatened to climb out of the negatives. The flat, lifeless terrain, punctuated only by the odd car wreck or abandoned shanty, made it easy to find what I was looking for. The massive mastodon lives a few kilometres out of Nadym, where a group of her ancestors were discovered a few decades ago.
I never completed my paleontology degree, so I don’t know for sure what killed these graceful beasts, but my guess would be the boredom of living in Nadym. They certainly got the raw end of the stick compared to the mighty milodón!
Tears of joy froze upon my cheeks as I finally approached my holy grail. Along with her baby, the hirsute hottie is the size of a real mammoth. If you think that disqualifies them from being regarded as Big Things, I know some Russian skinheads who want to have a word with you.
Of particular note is the mummy mammoth’s titanic tusks – she would’ve needed a really big toothbrush! More than 100 political prisoners died during the monument’s construction, so it’s nice to know their deaths weren’t in vain.
Despite their detailed craftmanship and enviable size, the mammoths can’t really be considered roadside attractions. The nearest town is 10 hours’ drive away so there’s little passing traffic, and any car that slows down risks being burnt out by a gang of troubled youths.
You can’t pull the wool over my eyes! Actually, you can…
During my visit I encountered a young boy named Yevgeny Kafelnikov (again, not the tennis player) who offered to photograph me with the mammoths. I thought it was a kind-hearted exhibition of man’s kindness to man, until I realised it had all been a ruse so that his chums could steal my iPod. Oh well, boys, hope you like Shania Twain.
After a glorious afternoon with the mammoths, I filled my backpack with cheap vodka and set off on my months-long trek back to Moscow. I would’ve stayed longer, but Nadym made the possibility of freezing to death or getting bopped over the head with an iron bar seem like pretty appealing options.
As I crossed the River Nadym, its oily surface shimmering like a dying rainbow, I wondered whether it was all worth it. The confronting journey gave me time to reflect on the fact that I’m much like the mammoth. A graceful relic of a bygone era, loved and feared in equal measure.
A few weeks after I left, local children discovered my friend Yevgeny’s remains out near the mammoths. I think he would have liked that.
