Holding the ball of blue-green clay in my hands for the first time was an indescribable thrill. I can only imagine that Luca felt the same way. It was tangible evidence that we were now very close to the source of the natural quasicrystal that had figured so prominently in our lives and our minds for the last two years.
I was still lost in thought when Valery interrupted. “We’re not there yet,” Sasha translated. It was the same blue-green clay, but not exactly the same spot. So for most of the next hour, we followed Valery as he zigzagged up and down the stream, walking a half kilometer this way and that.
There was a specific landmark Valery was searching for that he had not mentioned until now, a spire of rock about fifty feet tall. It took quite a bit of searching, but once he spotted it, he was visibly relieved and moved decisively toward it.
About a thousand feet from the spire, Valery stopped along the bank of the Listvenitovyi and declared that this was the place where he had found the Florence sample.
After thirty-two years, and in defiance of all the naysayers I had consulted, Valery had indeed managed to bring us back to his original dig site. It was a moment of intense personal pride for him and one that I will never forget. Luca and I took a photo together holding our hands raised high in victory (color image 14), the image from my dream long before we ever knew of Valery’s existence or that we would be taking this journey together. To say that the first morning went better than I ever could have expected would be an understatement.
We named Valery’s spot the “Primary,” meaning it would be the primary location where we would begin digging and collecting samples, hoping that lightning might strike twice and we would discover another natural quasicrystal.
We hiked back to camp and discovered that there was an unexpected benefit of camping next to the Iomrautvaam River. While we were busy searching for the dig site with Valery, our drivers Viktor and Bogdan had set up hundred-foot-long fishing nets across the river. It was the summer spawning season, so it only took them a few hours to catch enough salmon to feed the entire team. The abundance of salmon helped confirm our suspicions about the presence of all the hungry bears in the neighborhood.
At dinner that night, Olya was able to serve freshly caught salmon and fresh caviar. It was the orange-colored caviar that is so common in Kamchatka. Everyone was impressed, especially Chris, who declared that this trip was already setting a new standard for geological expeditions. I had never been much of a caviar fan, but was instantly converted.
Caviar, especially salmon caviar, spoils quickly, and is typically treated with salt and preservatives to prolong its shelf life. Up until now, all I had ever tasted was that overly salted version. But there is simply no comparison between the preserved caviar one buys in a can and what we were treated to while dining alongside the Iomrautvaam River.
As I looked around the table, abundant with delicious food, I began to truly appreciate all of the contributions Olya was making to our effort. She had the ability to be warm and welcoming but at the same time, could be very business-like. As a lawyer, Olya had worked with our Russian colleagues to expedite the complicated permit process with governmental authorities. As an organizer, she had helped secure our transportation and coordinate our stay in Anadyr. Now as a cook, she was making another tangible contribution by helping energize and inspire everyone.
I divided the group into three teams: the diggers and the panners, who would both work along the stream, and the mappers, who would explore the area and map the local geology. The only one who wound up without a specific assignment was me. I gave myself the job of “floater” so I could move from team to team to help solve problems and ensure we were working together as effectively as possible (see color images 15 to 18).
The next day, I decided to spend part of the afternoon with Glenn, Chris, and Mike on the mapping team. They began working near the Primary trench and stormed their way up the Listvenitovyi Stream as fast as possible, taking note of rocky outcrops along the way. Then they slowly worked their way back downstream, systematically recording the locations and geological properties of those rocky outcrops. After a few hours moving down the stream in that methodical way, we could see the fire and steam rising up in the distance that was being created by the panning team.
Once we arrived back at the Primary, it was obvious that Will, who was doing the digging, was having a great time working with Luca and Valery, who were doing the panning. Will would dig up enough blue-green clay from the riverbank to fill up a large pot. Then Luca would add water from the stream and bring the mixture to a boil over a hot fire. The boiling water made the clay less sticky, so one could reach into the water and break up the clay until it became more like a thick sand.
Valery, the master gold panner, would take the pot of thick sand to the Listvenitovyi where he would swish the huge pot in the cold mountain water. To the uninitiated, the swishing operation gave the appearance that Valery was washing everything out of the pot. But in reality, he was carefully separating out the densest grains because he knew the material we were looking for was denser than most terrestrial materials. Once he was satisfied, Valery would pour the remaining contents into a broad, V-shaped wooden dish and repeat the swishing process in the stream in order to further separate the denser particles. Every now and then, Valery would bring the wooden dish close to his face to look for any unusual or shiny bits. After another repeated round of swishing, he usually wound up with a palm-sized amount of material, which he would pour into a small bowl before repeating the process. Once Valery was satisfied, he would pour the small bowl into a small metal cup and after a final round of swishing, the meager amount of remaining material was given to Luca, who would boil away the water. In the end, the final product was a dry powder of promising mineral separates.
Ultimately, Luca would pour the dried contents into a plastic bag and assign it a number along with the date and source location. The labor-intensive process would be repeated over and over and over again until the very last day of the expedition to obtain as much sample material as possible for later testing.
In addition to our mapping, digging, and panning teams, Marina, Vadim, and Sasha formed an independent team to identify additional locations of blue-green clay up and down the stream. They also brought samples to Luca and Valery for boiling and panning.
After checking out all the activity, I went back to my tent and began adding notes to my logbook. At the end of the day, Will, Luca, and Valery returned from the stream. Will threw open the tent flap and asked me to hand him the video camera. I noticed that he had a funny grin on his face, but all he was willing to say was that I should come outside to watch him film Luca. It seemed like an odd request, but I played along. Luca was standing in front of the dining tent where Glenn, Vadim, Chris, and Mike were chatting and having tea. I noticed that Luca, just like Will, also had a funny grin on his face.
After setting up the camera and hitting the record button, Will called out to Luca so that everyone could hear:
“Luca, what happened today?”
“I have found a grain in one of the clays,” Luca said, “that has shiny metal connected to silicate. I think it is a quasicrystal candidate.”
Caught by surprise, I was speechless. Was Luca serious? Was it possible that we had been successful on our very first day in the field? I did not know what to think, but rushed forward to give him a big hug.
Luca told me it had been a group effort. He, Will, and Valery had been focused on their digging and panning work at the Primary while Marina and Sasha were searching for other promising dig sites along the stream bed. After a while, Marina had come back to the Primary to tell them about a spot on the other side of the stream, which was later dubbed the “Green Clay Wall.” Will immediately stopped what he was doing and walked across the stream to where Sasha was waiting. Together, the two of them dug out a bucketful of greenish clay, which they brought to Luca and Valery for processing.
Something caught Luca’s eye as he too
k a quick look through the panned grains. He spotted a peculiar grain that was composed of small metallic bits attached to blackish minerals. Luca immediately showed it to Valery and Will, who also noticed the shiny metal.
It seemed auspicious, but everyone knew that there was no way for us to positively determine while still in the field if Luca had discovered a meteorite, much less a tiny quasicrystal within that meteorite. That would require the kind of advanced microscopes we had back home in our laboratories. But I also knew from experience that Luca had a great eye. So maybe, just maybe, he is right, I thought.
After dinner, we took out the crude geological microscope that Valery had brought with him and tried to examine Luca’s grain. It looked promising to me, but Chris and Glenn were skeptical. They were certain that it was chromite, a common terrestrial mineral. A friendly debate ensued for about an hour, but the truth would have to wait until we returned home and could study the sample properly. Even though we could not be sure of the outcome, the potential discovery helped inspire the team for the rest of the trip.
At last, everyone went to bed for the night except Will and me. Will was busy organizing the photos and videos he had taken, and I was too energized by all the events of our first day in the field to relax. I stepped outside the tent for some fresh air and walked over to the river’s edge where I had a clear view for miles around. I watched as a low-lying fog crept its way across the river valley. A starkly beautiful quarter moon rose above the fog in the gorgeous, crystal-clear, midnight blue sky. It was nature at its most exquisite, and I called Will outside to take a photo (shown in color image 19).
The two of us stood together on the riverbank for a long time. This exotic place was unlike anything either of us had ever seen before and we were both mesmerized by the hauntingly beautiful view.
NINETEEN
* * *
NINETY-NINE PERCENT
By morning, the distant fog Will and I had admired the night before had turned into a dreary rain. As temperatures plunged to near freezing, we took turns at breakfast huddling around the kitchen stove for warmth.
The bad weather put our digging and panning efforts on hold. But I watched with quiet concern as the mapping team geared up for their first long-distance hike to one of the nearby peaks.
Chris was in charge of the team. As a structural geologist, he planned to locate and identify rocks that could be used to determine if there was any evidence of a superplume or unusual geological phenomena that could provide a terrestrial explanation for our sample. Alternatively, rocks would also be examined for micro-cracks that might indicate the impact of a large meteor. Thick vegetation at the base of the mountains covered most of the rocks except for a few outcrops. So Chris had decided to take Glenn and Mike up to a nearby peak where some bare rocks were more accessible.
It was a huge undertaking so I could understand why the mapping team did not want to be sidelined by bad weather. But I was worried about the decision to charge ahead because we would never be able to help if they ran into serious trouble. We were prepared with basic first-aid supplies, of course. But we could not cope with any critical injuries. The emergency plan was to use our satellite phone to call for help. But all of the worst-case scenarios kept running through my mind.
What if the storm worsened? What if we could not get a satellite signal? What if the weather was so bad that the rescue helicopter was grounded and emergency teams could not arrive?
As I feared, the storm worsened considerably by the time the mapping team made it to the top of the nearest peak. They were forced to turn back. And their return to camp would be especially grueling. The three of them had to maintain their footing as they carefully worked their way down from the peak in a freezing downpour. Once they reached the bottom, they had to slog their way through acres of mud and muck while fighting against the thick wet brush, which was waist-high at points and teeming with mosquitoes.
They finally made it back to camp without injury but were soaked to the bone and clearly exhausted. Once they changed back into dry clothes, Chris and Mike appeared none the worse for wear. But the same could not be said for Glenn, who was accustomed to working in an indoor laboratory. He had done virtually no geological field work since joining the Natural History Museum staff twenty-seven years earlier. Glenn was also the oldest of the group and not particularly physically fit. Within half an hour, he was shaking uncontrollably.
Marina and Olya immediately recognized the signs of hypothermia and swung into action. They sat him down, covered him with blankets, and began administering hot tea and soup, along with vodka, the Russian cure-all. Passive rewarming, I thought. This is all we can do. Glenn no doubt sensed he was in danger because he seemed to panic and began snapping at the women whenever they tried to help. Irritability—a symptom, I thought. So is resisting help, which is going to make everything more difficult.
The team gathered around and watched as the frightening scene unfolded. I, for one, felt helpless. What if this doesn’t work? Fortunately for Glenn, despite all of his complaints, our two Russian colleagues gently persisted in keeping him as still as possible. It was a long fifteen minutes before the shaking finally began to subside and the color slowly began to return to his face. Marina and Olya’s swift intervention prevented Glenn’s hypothermia from progressing beyond the mildest stage, but he would need quite a bit of rest before he could fully recover.
Thank goodness he was back in camp when this happened and not in the middle of a hike, I thought with relief.
Disaster averted, the team dispersed and I walked back to my tent to record the day’s events in my logbook. Glenn would be all right, I concluded. But I would need to rethink his role in the expedition.
Blam! My note-taking was suddenly interrupted by the sound of a loud blast. What now? That sounded dangerously close to my tent.
Blam! After the second blast, I knew it was gunfire and my thoughts turned to the only weapon in camp, a modified AK-47 that our Russian drivers kept on hand as a precaution against a possible bear attack. The Kamchatka brown bear’s fur is apparently so thick that it can blunt the effect of a smaller weapon.
Kamchatka bears are enormous, fearsome creatures. The largest males can weigh up to 1,500 pounds and are absolutely gigantic. They stand ten feet tall on their hind legs, a posture they often adopt to make full use of their keen sense of smell. During the summer and fall months, the bears are instinctively driven to consume an enormous number of calories in order to store enough fat to survive the winter hibernation.
Three years before our expedition there had been a deadly bear incident at a large compound south of our location. Salmon poachers had severely depleted the fish supply in the area that summer, and thirty starving bears made a concerted attack against a mining camp in search of food. Hundreds of geologists and miners scattered in panic. The bears easily outran two of the men, who were gruesomely killed and eaten.
We had been finding fresh bear tracks all around the campsite and knew there were groups of bears nearby, gorging on fish in the Iomrautvaam River. So it would not have been a complete surprise to me if the shots I was hearing were actually meant for a bear.
I rushed outside and saw that everyone, including Will, was crowded together about fifty feet behind my tent. No one was running for cover and everyone looked relaxed, so I quickly surmised there was no immediate threat. When I asked Will what was going on, he told me that Viktor and Bogdan were holding target practice. The drivers usually kept the Kalashnikov loaded with large cartridges for protection against bears. Now they were using smaller caliber bullets and had set up empty vodka bottles along the riverbank as targets.
I watched carefully as other team members took their turns with the rifle. Viktor wanted everyone to try hitting the targets, including me. I did my best to refuse, explaining that I had never fired a gun of any kind much less something as powerful as a Kalashnikov.
“No,” Viktor insisted with a smile. “No exceptions.” Everyone would have to t
ake three shots.
He handed me the rifle and I looked at it warily. Normally, I would want nothing to do with such a weapon. But under the circumstances, I felt there was no choice. So I brought the Kalashnikov up to my shoulder and took aim. Having never fired a weapon before, I made the rookie mistake of rotating the barrel toward my face to make it easier to look along the sight. As a result, and to the great merriment of the rest of the team, neither of my first two shots landed anywhere close to the targets. Everyone roared with laughter.
Viktor reloaded the rifle for my third and final shot and quietly murmured something in Russian to Sasha. “You should adjust your grip,” Sasha translated. “You need to aim with the gun sight straight up, looking straight over the top of the rifle.”
I nodded wordlessly, knowing the advice would be of no help. The problem had nothing to do with how I was holding the rifle. The problem was that my eyes were not sharp enough to see any of the targets. But there was no point trying to explain. At this point, I just wanted to get the humiliating experience over with as quickly as possible.
I took aim in the general direction of the bottles and fired off my last shot. In response, the team erupted with even more laughter than before. I stepped back, and sheepishly gave up the rifle.
A few hours later, the subject of target practice came up during a conversation with Will in our tent. I told him I was sorry if I had caused him any embarrassment when I proved to be a total failure as a sharpshooter. He gave me a puzzled look and said, “What are you talking about? You hit the target on your last shot!”
I was flabbergasted. The team had not been laughing at me after my last shot. They were cheering for me.
That was impossible, I thought with a smile. If I had managed to hit the target, it was literally a case of blind luck. So blind, in fact, that I could not even see the vodka bottle shatter. But I was more than happy to accept bragging rights. I had successfully fired a Kalashnikov in Kamchatka, which is a claim few other theoretical physicists can match.
The Second Kind of Impossible Page 23