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www.niger-meteorite-recon.de
Kainsaz meteorite expedition
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strewnfield map
Approaching the target
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Russian veteran on the road as seen on an advertisement in the Muslyumovo post office
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The Tupolew 134 A that was destined from Moscow’s Sheremetyevo
airport to the city of Samara in Tatarstan, was in good shape.
A large fisheye canopy under the nose of the jet pointed to a
possible alternative use as a military recon plane, just in case
of course. My request to spend the approach to Samara in the nose
station was friendly rejected by the stewardess.
The jet left Sheremetyevo at dusk, and because
it flew eastbound the sun had already disappeared
behind the horizon as we overflew Nizhni Nowgorod, Russia’s
third largest city at the confluence of the Oka and Volga rivers.
My first impression of the vast Tartaran prairies were large
bushfires that that lit the darkness beyond me like marks of a
fiery whip. Thick clouds of smoke hampered sight as the lights of the 1
Million city Samara came in sight framing the winding banks of the river Volga.
It was the end of April and when I left Berlin this
morning it was a warm spring day with temperatures
around 28° Celsius. But when approaching Samara
airport, and to my greatest disapproval, I saw the
complete airport except the runway and taxistrips covered
with snow. It might have been a good idea to take some
insulation blankets for my tent I thought. At least it
wouldn’t rain when we were out in the open.
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The colours of Tartarstan framing the banks of the river Milya.
Picture was taken from Muslyomovo viewing north by northwest towards Kainsaz
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Kainsaz collecitive farm, September 13th, 1937, 14:15 hrs
On September 13, 1937 at around 2:15 pm Ivan Baryshnikov,
who was cutting firewood in the forest east of the Kainsaz
collective farm, froze and looked up startled by a black object
that had appeared out of nothing from the southeast in the brillaint
blue early winter sky. The intriguing phenomenon approached him with a
breathtaking speed and passed overhead with a whissing sound. In the
same second a distant thunder rumbled across the forest, came nearer
and culminated in five loud explosions that almost deafened the 72 year
old Veteran of WW1.
More objects could now be heard impacting the surrounding
with heavy thuds. Baryshnikov would later report that there was
no smoke in the sky. The rumbling still echoed in the in the near
canyons when Ivan made off to catch in his Tartar
pony that had paniced and bolted when the bolide had passed.
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Approaching the strewnfield
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Pyotr Muromov (name changed) and his assistant
Andrew waited for me at the arrival hall of Samara
airport. In fact this was a dimly lit wooden thatch
crowded with figures and where people with fur coats
that seemed just as alive as their owners were trying
to snatch the luggage from the arriving passengers while
gesticulating and swearing as if this was a matter of
life and death. These were the taxi drivers I was later explained.
It was 01:00 in the morning and after a journey of 28
hours and half a day spent in a noisy beer bar of
Sheremetyevo my attentiveness to the activities
surrounding me slowly but steadily decreased. I got my
luggage, glad that no official asked me to open it and
explain to him the meaning of the GPS system, the
radios and that mine detector like device I had brought with me.
I noticed a man in the background and
in contradiction to the agile figures
around me he stood there calm and relaxed
like a Soviet Buddha. I fought my way towards him
and couldn’t resist asking him “Pyotr Muromov
I presume”. He smiled and confirmed and according to
what I supposed was the correct Russian code of
behaviour for this kind of situation I gave him a hug.
Pjotr was a man in his thirties of wiry build, with coal
black and short trimmed hair and a pair of bright and
vivid blue eyes that mustered the German expedition guest
curiously. Soon his assistant Andrew Andreev showed
up whom I greeted in the same way.
Loaded with my expedition gear we made our way to the car.
It was a quarter to two in the morning and I was
curious to see what kind of sleeping place the
two had arranged us for the night. “Actually we
intended to make for Kainsaz tonight” Andrew replied.
“How long is that”, I asked. Some twohundred clicks,
maybe eight or ten hours driving. Although I couldn’t
figure out what reasons were responsible for this
disproportional correlation between time and distance
his answer was fine for me - as long as
I could catch an eye full of sleep on the mission.
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Varajst-Bas coming
in sight. The borderline of the distribution ellipse runs
through the eastern outskirts of this seddlement
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The car was a 4wd Lada Niva, a Russian build jeep, good
in shape and equipped with a turbo diesel engine and
a GPS unit. Something irritated me. The car was crammed
to the roof with gear and there were only two seats
in the front left free. While I still stood and wondered
how my equipment not to mention myself was supposed to
fit in the vehicle Andrew
started to stuff my luggage through the back window.
After completing this in some Copperfieldish manner
he wrenched himself through the window and folded
between cooking pots, gas canisters and a barrel that
according to its fearsome tag contained some sort of
explosive liquid. I took the front seat and was
given the role of the navigator.
click to continue
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strewnfield map
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