Encounter Narrative
by Carissa Poehler
Field Journal of Jenson Jones
Sunday, 2 June 2120 Time: 0645
This entry is an atypical one, and its purpose is purely for assurance that I will maintain objectivity throughout this expedition. Since this will be a solo mission to an unfamiliar area with unknown expectations and for an entire month, I decided that it is in my best interest that I record some personal data before embarking. Whether it is for peace of mind that I carry some personal information with me to reminisce over on my lonely journey, or that I at least have some proof of an initial notion of sanity, I haven’t made my mind up yet. Either way, my journal is my only company and I intend to share with it not only my observations, but also my own thoughts. Truly, I am as valuable of a study subject as what will be discovered, I must record any changes in myself throughout the trip. This fact is another unfamiliar practice to me, as my experience is vast but not quite as variable as venturing into a 100-year-old radioactive site that hasn’t been observed since the initial nuclear explosion. Needless to say, this is one for the resumé.
My experience as a biochemistry naturalist made me a perfect candidate for the expedition, and twenty-five years in the field has shown me many rewards. When first approached with this offer from the United States government a year ago, I considered it the highest honor yet. The site had once been a secret Russian city, even after it was publicly established it was still closed off from any travelers. The Russian and United States government signed an agreement to shut down the plants after a minor nuclear accident, but just as they had kept the city secret before, Russia continued to operate the nuclear factory. There are many conspiracy theories as to how it underwent the final meltdown. Many believe the American government found out about it and destroyed it, and the surrounding areas, as a consequence. The idea obviously has intrigued me before, so when I met with the colonel and EPA that offered me this position, I was beyond excited.
Now, though, I realize just how monumental this journey is. There are many questions I wish I had demanded answers to during that meeting. Why a solo journey? Why investigate the site now? Why isn’t this profound expedition being covered by any media? After a year of educational, physical, and governmental training for this specific expedition, the questions never got answered. That silence is what encourages my sudden and last-minute hesitance.
My expectations: I expect to encounter an abundance of wildlife that has adapted to the deserted area. It is possible that this wildlife has been affected by the highly radioactive plutonium isotopes in the form of mutations. 100 years would also allow time for primary producers to overcome many of the man-made obstacles it once was challenged by.
I will embark on this journey in just 24 hours, where I will spend the following four weeks alone in the desolate and deserted tundra. I will record any observations or significant thoughts in this field journal. I will travel in a repurposed Jeep and will camp in a canopy tent for a week at a time, each Sunday travelling further towards the center of the site, the old nuclear power plant, Sibirskaya.
Monday, 3 June 2120 2008
I’m writing this now with my eyes barely open, the exhaustion of the day is wearing on me significantly. The travel and labor of setting up camp took up most of my day, which began at 0400 with a QuikFlight to Russia. By 0800 my feet were planted in Moscow and after a train ride I was outside of what used to be Novosibirsk, a city nearly four hours from Seversk. Novosibirsk was also evacuated upon the reactor meltdown, so my government entourage ended there. The Jeep was in the middle of an abandoned highway waiting for me. They helped me pack it up with my equipment and gear, then they were gone before I even closed the back of the vehicle. Upon my first moments alone in Russia around 09:45, I took the opportunity to observe a bit before I set off toward my first camp. In my field notebook, I recorded the weather and my surrounding area. There was an overcast sky with temperature around 18°C. The reason this expedition was planned in June is because Russian winters can be severely unforgiving, but upon more updated information—acquired from this mission—they mentioned a plan for next winter, too. There was a light breeze all day. Buildings and houses around the road looked pristine, as if they had never been abandoned. The ground was flat and barren, very little botany was observed. I put my field notebook away and set off towards my first campsite.
After an hour of driving, I was disappointed with how little of vegetation I saw. I prepared to be in the tundra but the naturalist part of me was expecting a little more macrobiota to work with. The only thing I had to break up the repetitive view was the river that seemed to meander to and from the freeway. I stopped the truck and checked my map; I was only given a paper version for “security reasons.” I walked toward the riverside, looking at the map, which showed the river name to be Ob River. I decided this was as good a place as any to set up camp. I noted my camp coordinates to be 55.4, 82.8. In order to avoid signal blockage from the radioactivity, I was only given a couple of electronics. I’ve been given what is called a pager, which is only to be used for sending my coordinates. I paged my coordinates to the designated contact number and began putting my tent up. This, of course, only consists of finding a spot for it and pushing a button but carrying all my scientific gear and tools was quite laborious.
I decided I had the whole rest of the week to begin taking samples and writing down observations, so I ate a sandwich and fell asleep at about 1830. It wasn’t until moments ago that I awoke to a strange sound. I’m not sure if I dreamt it, merely heard the wind, or who knows what, but it was almost like a thrashing of water combined with a deep groaning. Being curious as I am, I left my tent and walked over to the river shore in the dark. The water was as still as it had been when I arrived. Oddly, I realized, everything about the night was still. No chirping of a cricket, no hooting of an owl, no croaks of a frog, even. That’s when I decided to record in my journal about it. It may not be much, but as of now, it is all I have. Tomorrow I will hike around and try to observe more wildlife.
Tuesday, 4 June 2120 1845
The day did not go as well as I planned. Perhaps the battery alarm clock I was provided is faulty, but somehow, I slept in until 0930, three hours more than planned. The weather was consistent to yesterday’s, overcast and not quite reaching 20°C. The breeze broke up the eerie stiffness that I noticed last night, so that comforted me. I packed a bag for hiking and collecting samples. I trekked about a mile away searching for a grove of something, anything. I settled on samples of soil. I measured a foot down and took a cylinder of it. I decided to head back to camp so I could measure the radioactivity found in the soil. Typically, soil has natural radioactive isotopes, but it is vital for me to measure the radioactive levels or uranium due to the reactor meltdown. I got back around 1400 and inserted the soil sample into a machine I had brought along with me. The levels showed to be 663% higher than expected, according to the year of training that I had done. I left my tent and collected another sample, but it showed the same amount. I went on to take fifteen more samples in a variation of spots, all of which showed to be between 650-675% more than the expected levels.
All the collecting of dirt made me feel, well, dirty. The contraption for bathing that I was provided is essentially a bucket that can be filled with any water, which it filters as its carried through an ascending tube and sprayed down from a plastic shower head. I walked down to the shore to fill my bucket and I realized I hadn’t been this close to the river yet. I decided tomorrow would be a fine day to take samples and explore its depths. As I leaned over to collect the water, though, I felt a creepy sense that something was watching me. I turned around and saw nothing, and apart from my tent there was nothing to even hide behind. I faced the water again and, looking back, I am happy that no one was around to hear my girlish shriek. Looking up at me 1.5 meters away in the water was a ginormous whiskered fish. I recognized it from lessons to be an ordinary catfish, but there was nothing ordinary about this one. I was stunned at its massive size. I had heard that in some parts of Russia they had once been recorded up to 5 meters long, but from my research catfish were native 150 km from its closest proximity to here. Perhaps the century without scientific surveys allowed them to sneak this far upriver, but the thought is still astonishing to me that they could adapt to the colder water in a relatively short time for such a species. Another odd observation is that the fish didn’t turn and swim away. It was like we made eye contact for just a second, and then it suddenly…swam backwards. For this species and size of fish, it would be simply impossible for it to swim in that direction, especially so quickly, yet I saw it right before my eyes.
Needless to say, I decided my shower could wait. My eyes feel heavy to keep open, it seems I haven’t packed any energizing food.
Thursday, 6 June 2120 1650
Yesterday was a bit of a disaster. Somehow, I slept all the way until 1100, I got the nerve to take a water sample and found very little evidence of radioactivity. I still can’t believe it, it makes no sense. The soil shows such astonishing high levels. I decided there isn’t much more for me to find here except more questions, so I drove another hour towards Seversk hoping for a change of scenery. The land was barren even there, though, so I decided to keep driving. I stopped two hours in, one hour away from the reactor plant. To my pleasant surprise, I finally have some forestry and plants in my sights. I must continue setting up camp, I’m hoping for an earlier bedtime. I can’t explain the immense exhaustion this place brings me. I plan to get up and investigate my surroundings some more, the river is still nearby. My coordinates, as I sent to the contact via pager, are 56.3, 84.0. More to come tomorrow…
Friday, 7 June 2120 2022
I’m going to keep this entry as scientific as I can, I don’t want to invalidate my observations by describing them subjectively. My observations began last night, after I fell asleep, I awoke to the sound of grunting. It was muffled, but in close range. At some points it sounded as if it was towards the left of the tent, then the front, and right side, like it was circling it. Then it was right behind my cot, the breath of the creature so close I could hear it ruffle the tent. I was frozen there, trying not to move or else I’d make a sound. Previously in my experiences with overnight expeditions I’ve had nightly encounters, but this one was much different because I have always easily identified what it is by just its sound and behavior. The behavior of this creature, though, was very odd. The corralling around the tent is behavior associated with predators, like tigers, but the grunting was a sound closer related to that of a hooved beast. I knew of wild boars in the area; however, they are not nocturnal creatures, and their behavior is much different. Wild boars tend to charge at their threats, they are impulsive rather than calculated. My curiosity, or fear, got the best of me and I began to slowly turn on my side to face the direction of the grunts. As I did, my cot creaked ever so slightly, but enough to scare—or prompt, at least—the creature away. I heard it gallop away but only briefly, the vegetation seemed to muffle the sounds more than my barren previous camp. It took me hours to fall back asleep, the first time I have had trouble sleeping since arriving here, and when I awoke, I almost believed it had been a dream.
I packed my hiking and sampling supplies and headed out around 1000, but first I inspected my own site for signs of tracks. It had rained yesterday so I expected to see footprints in the mud, but somehow, I found nothing. The grass had soaked in the water already and the blades were standing stiff and erect. I bent down and attempted to extract a blade of grass for sampling, but the edges were sharp and cut my finger like a deep paper cut. After quickly disinfecting and bandaging it, I plucked a blade with some forceps, learning my lesson. Then I set out heading west towards the forest. I labeled the species of botany that I observed on my way, a series of shrubs and grasses, an occasional spruce tree, and when I reached the forest edge I was astonished by the sight. It seemed that the entire forest, from what I could see, appeared to have been planted. The whole forest was organized in a pattern for highest efficiency of the plants’ resources. This was peculiar to me because I know that I am the first to enter the evacuated area since the meltdown, and the trees along the forest edge were too young to have been planted before the reactor blew.
After taking a sample of some pine bark, I trekked into the trees. I felt out of place, like I was disturbing the sanctity of the woods. My footprints left weeds and grass crippled, I noted that the forest floor also showed no signs of the previous day’s precipitation. In the woods, I could finally hear other sounds of life: birds. They sounded far away, but I was hopeful that eventually I would reach them and have the opportunity to observe and document them. As I was looking up into the treetops for signs of birds, I stopped dead in my tracks to the sound of an aggressive hissing. My eyes shot to my feet, but then I saw movement two meters ahead of me. A rapid, slithering-like movement, but faster than any snake I had ever seen. The forest floor seemed to separate to forge a path for it, but then closed behind it as quickly as it had retreated. I couldn’t find its tracks; the grass and weeds were so thick. I tried to follow the direction it went in, but I found myself walking for an hour with no other signs of wildlife.
I squatted beside a tree and took a water break, disappointed by how little I had come up with. So far, the only confirmed animal species I had recorded was a very odd and large catfish. Even the details on that sighting were sparse, though. I leaned against the tree and stared at the trunk across from me. The trees in this part of the forest all looked the same, larger than the ones at the edge, though. This was typical of forests, but I recorded it in my notebook anyway. Moss and lichen were upon many of the trees, too. I took a look at my map to gauge where I was but was perplexed with what I found. According to my coordinates, there shouldn’t even be a forest for another 30 miles. How old is this map? I wondered, dumbfounded, and irritated by how little I was provided for this oh-so-vital mission.
I was taking a sample of the tree I had been leaning against, not only of the bark but deeper into the tree’s flesh, when I heard a high-pitched shrieking due north. Instinctively, I gathered my things in one swoop and set off, running out of sheer excitement for what I would find. The shrieking was continuous for about thirty seconds, enough for me to know exactly what direction to follow, but then abruptly stopped. I continued in that direction as far as what I calculated the sound to be coming from but found nothing. I stood still, searching for something, anything, to catch my eye, and then there was a slight movement off to the corner. It was about 10 meters ahead, and I was so stunned I nearly forgot to pull my notebook out to record the sight. My first animal-animal interaction lay right before my eyes. A wild boar, as large as an Angus calf, was laying on the ground, stiff-legged, with what first appeared to be a vine wrapped around its body, only the vine began moving and I realized it was snake. I creeped closer as quietly and slowly as I could muster until I was only five meters away. Honestly, I wish I hadn’t, because once again I was only met with more questions. The snake was not a snake at all, it had legs, yes, legs. While I knew I should be recording the feeding event of… whatever it was, I couldn’t stand to be in proximity of a creature I knew nothing about. I slowly pulled from my pack the anesthesia grenade and oxygen mask. I put the mask on and tossed the grenade, which rolled right up next to the boar’s brown, furry body and exploded a dome of anesthesia with a one-meter radius. I watched the snake-lizard creature loosen its grip and collapse on the forest floor. While I couldn’t haul the lifeless wild boar without my truck caddy, I took a sample of its fur, saliva, and its shoulder muscle. I packed the other creature in my mid-size metal canister that provided an air-tight seal with an anesthetic oxygenator input. This contained it and kept it asleep so it wouldn’t be able to escape.
I gladly left the crime scene behind and started my walk back to the campsite. It took three more hours then I had thought it would, but I am here now, writing this down after I’ve emptied the canister into a large observation tank. The anesthesia has ceased input, but I’m not sure I want the creature to wake up. I think I have identified it as a common northern viper. As a scientist, I should never say “I think,” but it is a very large snake with six legs laterally organized from each other, something I’ve neither seen nor heard of before. I had taken a DNA sample and its currently running in the genome reader machine I brought. My other samples, of bark, soil, etc., are also running for radioactivity check. It should all be done by morning, but I doubt I sleep much knowing that such a creature is existing beneath the same tent as me.
Sunday, 9 June 2120 1900
Nothing is making any sense to me. I slept fifteen hours straight last night when I didn’t even believe I would get any sleep at all. It seems if I shut my eyes for more than a second, it feels like I’ve blinked and its midmorning the next day. I’m beginning to wonder if this is a side effect of my increased anxiety throughout the trip, or if the radioactive isotopes cause drowsiness. I’ve decided to sample my own blood, which I just loaded in the radioactivity detector and genome reader.
Then again, I’m afraid the machines might be broken so I’m not sure if I can trust the results. The soil samples came back with minimal percentages of radioactivity. How could this be when I am two hours closer to the reactor site than my initial campsite where the soil showed percentages of 650+%? I thought on this for an hour before the other samples finished running. Those results astonished me even more. The grass, the tree bark, the tree flesh, all have 2000+% of radioactive material. It started to make more sense to me after a while. The plants are somehow identifying the isotopes from the soil and absorbing them as nutrients! It sounds crazy but what other explanation could there be? The plants must have identified them as beneficial nutrients and so they target them with their roots, leaving little behind in the soil! What that benefit is, though, I’m not quite sure. It makes me wonder about the organization of the forest, could that have been a coincidence that the plants’ seeds landed perfectly in a pattern that most greatly benefitted them? I’m starting to catch myself losing my train of thought in sci-fi novelistic narratives. The wild boar’s samples were also highly radioactive, near the 500%. Its DNA samples show mutations of its brain development, and I suspect that if I had dissected that boar, I would have found a higher developed brain that what typical wild boars are known to have.
Then I examined the DNA of the snake. What I found were mutations after mutations. Longer fangs, muscle mass for constriction, even a mutation in the Sonic hedgehog gene, allowing for it to grow legs. With these mutations, the snake is an even smarter and powerful predator, against everything but me, apparently, because the snake never awakened. There was no heartbeat detection, so I discarded its body near the river’s shore. The waves must have washed up shore, though, or perhaps an animal drug it off, because when I walked by again it was no longer there.
Tuesday, 11 June 2120 1200
My blood samples came back with unfortunate news. Maybe not unfortunate, maybe justice is finally being served. It is odd, though. Radioactivity seemed to cause mutations that benefitted the plants and animals, I don’t understand. My blood sample showed traces of radioactivity, and after running my DNA through the genome reader, mutations are already taking place. Similar to the boar, my mutations are also of genes in my brain, specifically my pineal gland and amygdala. Instead providing any benefits, though, it seems they are dysfunctional mutations. This explains the increase in my drowsiness, from the pineal gland, and in my anxiety, from my amygdala. I slept a long time on Monday, I’m not sure how long anymore. I awoke with this crazy notion that I needed to face my fear immediately and so here I am, I drove the rest of the way to the old nuclear power plant.
It is completely overtaken by plants. Vines, trees, grasses all extend out of what used to be the roof and windows. Walls are barely standing anymore. I fear my mutations are occurring more rapidly. My brain is deteriorating as we speak, I’m hallucinating herds of animals all around me. I’m safe in my Jeep, they’re just watching me. Bears, grey wolves, wolverines, owls, I finally get to see some more intricate pieces of nature. Yesterday I might have even hallucinated a page from my contact giving the coordinates of my starting checkpoint. This couldn’t be real, though, because they said they wouldn’t page me for anything until my four weeks had been up, and it has barely been one week, right?
As I look at the nuclear plant, I realize what an atrocity it must have been to nature, what an atrocity people are to nature. We are destructive and reckless; it is nice to see nature take over the building like it is reclaiming its stolen property. Humanity’s need for power quite literally blew up in our faces, and now nature is taking back its planet isn’t it? Starting from here, the center point. They don’t need us; they’re recovering the land as quickly as that forest is growing. I can’t help but be glad, I guess I feel less guilty knowing nature won in the end.
My drowsiness is overwhelming me now. I’ll send my final coordinates, I suppose, then close my eyes for a little while.
