Lake Onega. Petrozavodsk – Kizhi.

Day 1Peski → the Shardon Islands

After packing up on the warm sand, taking a swim and eating a hearty breakfast, we set off at 11 a.m. Fairly late, and while we were getting ready an easterly wind began to pick up. It's worth saying that easterly winds prevail on Onega, and our route ran… that's right, east. Oh well, we're used to it.

We decided not to follow the shoreline and headed straight from Peski toward Cape Shuinavolok, 15 kilometers away in a straight line. We had never crossed such large stretches of more or less open water before. The plus side was that Petrozavodsk Bay is still sheltered from the winds roaming the big water beyond it. By the way, you can travel 130 kilometers across Onega's open water, from Petrozavodsk to Vytegra. Of course, that's not for a kayak, and along the way you'd have to cross the routes of steamships and Meteor hydrofoils. The latter race along fast, and you really don't want to find yourself near one.

Meteors and yachts darted cheerfully somewhere off to our right and ahead, and the buzz of motorboats was constant. Sure, that sound can drag you back to civilization, but I've gotten used to treating them as part of this ecosystem — they buzz, so they buzz.

The wind kept strengthening and drove unfriendly waves at us. They didn't cause much trouble, but they were already affecting our speed: in two hours we'd covered only 9 kilometers, with the cape still looming somewhere ahead. By the way, at our breaks this time we were drinking not water but an isotonic drink. Maybe that was what kept our strength up so well — I felt like paddling without stopping at all. Maybe the new paddle helped too, an Adventure Technology Pursuit. It's twice as light as the aluminum paddles we'd had, and it's better suited to paddling with your hands held low.

Rounding the cape, we came under the shelter of a chain of small islands, and after another 5 kilometers at a more familiar speed of over 5 km/h, we stopped for lunch at Cape Sigatsky Navolok. There we learned firsthand what it means to land on a rocky shore — until then our experience had been limited to sandy or earthen beaches. It was unfamiliar, but nothing critical. The main thing is not to repeat our mistake and try to walk on the rocks barefoot; better to put on at least sandals or neoprene booties.

After lunch we held a course for Suysari Island, where we planned to spend the night. We got there quite quickly, passing along the way a small island that was a tern nesting colony; mistaking us for a potential enemy, they began circling menacingly over the kayak and shrieking. Thanks for not shitting on us. The wind died down and we were doing almost 7 kilometers an hour.

Landing on Suysari, we heard a local fisherman call out to us, warning of the large number of snakes on the island and that we'd do better to go around it from the north and shelter in some bay. But we already wanted to rest; we took a swim and went to pick wild strawberries. Evening was coming on and we'd have pitched the tent already, when we discovered that the Shardon Islands were not far off — and Fedya had recommended we visit them. From that same local fisherman we learned that the island has campsites in lagoons sheltered from every wind, and, by his account, no one had been there yet that day.

We covered the 4 kilometers almost in an instant, practically gliding across the glassy water. On the islands we had to circle around a bit to find a campsite. As had been described somewhere on Google (and there's mobile internet over almost the whole lake), there are a great many ants there. On the island we counted no fewer than 6 large anthills.

For our camp we chose the middle island; it's small itself, stretched from northwest to southeast, sheltered from easterly winds by its twin brother, on which we found two equipped and already occupied sites. A scouting trip showed there were almost no wild strawberries or blueberries on our island, so we enjoyed the sight of the finally perfectly smooth lake and went to bed with peaceful minds. For some reason I had an unbearable urge to pack up the whole camp and cross the Bolshoye Onego gulf right then, across that wonderful smooth water, and had I been with a sturdy fellow of roughly the same degree of stubbornness rather than with Dasha, I'd certainly have done it.

The Shardon Islands only exist on satellite imagery, on Yandex maps and General Staff maps; if you're counting on Google Maps or maps with me (cool offline maps), you'll be badly disappointed. According to those, we spent the night on open water.

Incidentally, it was the first time we parked the kayak on the water. Uncomfortable at first, but the lagoon offered really good shelter, and the next day we'd have a chance to appreciate it.

Day's total: 37 kilometers, 17 of them after lunch. Moving time 6 hours 48 minutes.

Day 2Across Bolshoye Onego

Waking at 6 a.m., we found a strong northerly wind blowing. In the distance you could see whitecaps tearing off the waves, and the whole feeling was not a pleasant one. We had to cross the Bolshoye Onego gulf, and going straight from the Shardons the route was 21 kilometers. I sat for a few minutes meditating on the waves rolling onto our island, then went back to sleep, reasoning that the wind might ease a bit once the sun rose higher. Two hours later the wind did indeed die down. We packed up quickly, loaded everything and set out onto the water.

The moment we came out onto open water from under the shelter of the islands was a revelation. We were not at all ready for waves like these. The bow of the kayak buried itself deep in the waves, we were doused with water, and the paddles sometimes landed between the crests and scooped up only air. Seliger now seemed like an easy stroll.

You definitely couldn't call paddling like that relaxing, but after about ten minutes we got used to our new lot and found that it wasn't so bad. However, because of the not-so-favorable weather, we decided to use our backup plan: bear north and reach the Beryozovye Islands, catch our breath and plan our next moves from there — after all, there's nowhere to pull out on open water.

In an hour and a half we barely crawled to Beryozovets Island (6 km), the one with the lighthouse. We climbed the lighthouse, got our bearings, assessed the strength of the wind and waves, and our direction of travel. From the top there was a beautiful view of our little island, on which you could study how the waves flow around islands.

The forecast was discouraging — the wind wasn't going to leave — but at least far fewer whitecaps were tearing off the waves. In principle we could have spent the night on the Beryozovye Islands too; Bolshoy Beryozovets has a small lagoon, so on the first day and in good weather you can paddle this far. Our alternative plan assumed we'd head off from here to Kondopoga, but we really didn't want to do that.

We decided to storm the gulf after all, but since there was still plenty of time before lunch (we usually have lunch after 4 hours or 20 kilometers of paddling), we just ate a hearty breakfast. By the way, the dried meat went down very well. We stuffed ourselves with everything that could give us as many calories as possible for the trial ahead, since we might well end up in conditions where rest is an unaffordable luxury.

For a landmark we chose a tall hill well to the right of the southern tip of Bolshoy Lelikovsky Island; it was the only thing we could make out — because of the low-lying shore, we couldn't see it from the water. Not for the first time, we regretted not bringing binoculars.

Coming out from the island's shelter, we took a fresh look at the waves in general. We had to go right across them, and our first decision was to head slightly into the wind at first, then slightly with the wind, making a sort of zigzag. In practice it turned out that waves under a meter high are easily traversed. The side-to-side rolling didn't bother us, and the kayak — apparently because of its inflatable sides — didn't even tilt much, while it could still build a quite decent speed. However, we constantly had to compensate our course into the wind, so we kept a heading of roughly east-northeast or northeast, but were actually traveling east.

While we were crossing the gulf, the wind shifted from a steady northerly to a northeasterly and began creeping toward easterly. Past the midpoint the character of the waves changed sharply and we could no longer pick out any single set of waves. They seemed to come from both ahead and the side — apparently the size of the lake contributes to this. Going through such interference is very hard, but, gritting our teeth on the paddles, we kept going. Somewhere around the middle the sense of open water started to set in. The shores were barely visible and it felt like we were in the open ocean. By the third hour of paddling, fatigue began to bear down from the constant fight with the wind, which, strengthening, was already tossing us hard. The shore kept refusing to come closer, and only the GPS readings confirmed the hypothesis that we weren't standing still.

The last kilometers were probably the hardest. The shore seemed visible but was still far off, and drew nearer treacherously slowly. I paddled and tried to work out a distance scale tied to the height of Dasha's head above the horizon, but didn't have much success with it.

All told, storming the gulf took us 4 hours 30 minutes. We got acquainted with a dozen new types of waves and learned even better what we're capable of. We stopped at the northern cape of Bolshoy Lelikovsky Island (you can't miss it — it's a huge slab of bare rock, visible from 7–10 kilometers away), where we immediately made dinner, skipping lunch.

We rested, swam and picked berries for two hours, then moved deeper into the small islands to look for a place to sleep. We could have stopped at the cape too, but we didn't want to leave more than 10 kilometers for the third day. We landed after about 6 kilometers at one of the capes — I'm not sure I can find its name, but there are plenty of campsites there; you can pitch camp on almost every island, and in some places there are very large, well-equipped sites. Of course, it's better to look for them than at 9 in the evening, the way we did.

What looked from the water like some kind of thicket somehow drew me in and turned out to be a really decent campsite. This time we hauled the kayak ashore and gave it a once-over. Since we'd landed quite late, we set up camp quickly, had a light dinner and fell asleep.

After everything we'd been through, we were both rocking heavily from side to side, and our eyes were closing on their own.

Day's total: 31 kilometers, 25 of them on open water. Moving time 7 hours 30 minutes.

Day 3Kizhi

On the third day we had about 10 kilometers left, and we weren't straining too much. A wind blew in the morning, but in the water enclosed by islands the waves didn't bother us much, and after yesterday's adventures the wind didn't seem like anything frightening. Just for fun we decided to accelerate to the max. It turned out we can do 10 kilometers an hour against a light wind, with wonderful waves rising up from the bow of the kayak.

The weather was starting to turn slightly, so we sped up and around 11 o'clock approached Kizhi Island, our final point. The clouds were quickly dragged past, and the weather improved.

But landing there proved very difficult, and we barely found a little spot to the right of the pier, into which our kayak fit perfectly. Japanese tourists passing by happily photographed the fully loaded touring kayak while we unloaded.

I of course expected security guards to swoop down on us and that we'd have to endure unhealthy doses of negativity, but I was pleasantly surprised when the guard told us where to leave our things and how to catch the Kometa hydrofoil. They run full to Kizhi, but not so much on the way back, since people stay to rest at the nearby resorts. Assembling the kayak and repacking took about an hour and a half. We had a freeze-dried lunch, left our things at the museum ticket office and in an hour ran around the main tourist part of Kizhi.

I'd have liked to spend more time, of course; Kizhi strongly reminded me of Stockholm's Skansen, the village where the Swedes moved houses from various eras. Everything is arranged very decently. The houses are restored, the churches are being restored, and in the rooms girls sit weaving something out of beads or making headdresses, birchbark crafts or little belts. They all amiably tell you about their work. Meanwhile, peasants out in the field are gathering hay, which sparks the liveliest interest among foreign tourists.

It's better to spend more than an hour on Kizhi, but we didn't even have that much time. We boarded the Kometa and, to our delight, discovered that you can not only sit in the stuffy cabin but also stand closer to the bow in the open sections and breathe fresh air, racing across the waters of Lake Onega at 60 kilometers an hour. In the distance we could make out islands familiar to us; we were quickly nearing Petrozavodsk, where, after a short walk, we boarded that same "Kareliya," but in the platzkart car this time, to be in Moscow by Tuesday. Yes, the trip ran slightly past the weekend, but it was unquestionably worth it.

Day's total: 10.5 kilometers. Moving time 2 hours 28 minutes (we rested a lot).