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Russia Today
3 days ago
- Russia Today
Ocean, ice, and empire: The rise and fall of Russian Alaska
Choosing Alaska as the meeting place for the presidents of Russia and the United States may look unconventional. However, it is a deeply symbolic and probably intentional choice. Alaska is more than just a remote US state; it once served as Russia's frontier, its only significant overseas possession, and was considered almost a mythical land. The story of Russian America, similar to those of other Russian frontiers, was full of drama and adventure. By the early 18th century, Russians had explored most of Siberia and come up against a natural barrier. For over a century, explorers journeyed eastward in search of fur, walrus ivory, and other treasures that Siberia could offer. In the southeast, they encountered the vast and largely unknown expanse of China, leading to various confrontations before the borders with the Asian power were established. Further north, they navigated the picturesque, majestic, yet seemingly impractical Kamchatka Peninsula. Beyond lay only the immense Pacific Ocean, and those who reached its waters felt like they were standing at the edge of the world. Farther north, in some of the harshest terrains where survival was a challenge even by Siberian standards, lay the Chukotka Peninsula, home to the fierce and untamed Chukchi people. This was the farthest corner of Russia, a wild and hostile area fraught with danger. While developing Chukotka proved to be a challenge, the explorers had a pretty good idea about its contours. In the mid-17th century, while searching for fur, explorer Semyon Dezhnev navigated around Chukotka and reported a strait to the east. It didn't take long to discover new lands beyond that strait. In Siberia, rumours circulated about Russians who had been swept by storms onto the American continent, where they settled. Captured Chukchi also told tales about the unknown land. Over time, the conflict with the Chukchi ended and gave way to trade relations, and the Chukchi became Russian subjects. However, there seemed to be no reason to arrange an expedition to Alaska. Crossing the ocean was just too costly. Nevertheless, the Russians continued to explore the region. In the mid-18th century, a massive research expedition encompassing Siberia, the Arctic Ocean, and eventually the waters of the Pacific was launched. The expedition was split into seven teams, each with a specific task. In 1741, a group led by Captains Bering and Chirikov reached the American continent aboard two packet boats. They didn't find any Russian settlements, but confirmed that this was indeed the American continent. Gradually, Russians learned more about the region and began harvesting marine animals – primarily various seals and sea otters – in the Pacific. Additionally, they discovered Arctic foxes in Alaska. All these factors made voyages to Alaska economically promising. The Russians established settlements along the shores of America, and several companies laid claim to the riches of Alaska. In the 1780s, they began constructing small forts along the Alaskan coastline. In 1784, an expedition led by Irkutsk merchant Grigory Shelikhov built a fort on Kodiak Island. By the end of the century, it had developed into a thriving fortress with residents and priests who baptized the local Aleuts. At that time, there were barely over 500 Russian settlers. Empress Catherine the Great sent additional settlers – laborers, officials, and clergy. Competition among fur traders culminated in the formation of the Russian-American Company in 1797, which pushed its rivals out of the market. Shelikhov died a wealthy man, and his heirs transformed the Russian-American Company into a local monopoly; the Russian Empire granted it many privileges. Life in Alaska was extreme even by Russian standards, but there were always people who were willing to come – usually, to escape serfdom, taxes, and oppressive masters. One such settler shrugged off the hardships, saying, 'There are no masters in America.' The Russians established friendly relations with the Aleuts, the most numerous local group, who eagerly adopted new tools, useful European household items, and customs, gradually drawing closer to their Russian neighbors. In 1799, Shelikhov's close associate Alexander Baranov established a fort in Sitka. Here, the Russians crossed paths with English traders and, more importantly, the Tlingit Indians. This fierce warrior tribe believed the Russians were encroaching on their land and hunting sea otters within their territory, which was indeed true. Additionally, many Russians married Tlingit women, stoking resentment among the indigenous men. Unlike the British, the Russians also refused to sell firearms to the Tlingits. Confrontation became nearly inevitable: everyone wanted sea otters, and everyday challenges heightened tensions. Bloodshed followed. In 1802, the Tlingits attacked, captured and burned down the fort while most of the inhabitants were out hunting, killing nearly all its defenders and ambushing hunting parties in the area. A total of 24 Russians and about 200 allied Aleuts and Eskimos were killed. Baranov was furious but kept his composure. In 1804, he led an expedition back to Sitka with 150 Russians and 900 Eskimos, Aleuts, and allied Indians. They besieged the Tlingit wooden stronghold, bombarding it with cannons. The Tlingits, fearing capture, killed their elders and children to prevent them from falling into Russian hands and fled. In 1805, fighting broke out again at the Yakutat fort, resulting in more casualties and brutal skirmishes. While these conflicts slowed Russian expansion, they didn't stop it. The Tlingits were hardly the peaceful natives of pastoral tales – having eaten one missionary, they claimed that they had partaken of his body and blood. Fighting continued, and Baranov did not live to see its end. Old and worn out, he retired and died on his way back to St. Petersburg. Nevertheless, the Russians and Tlingits eventually found common ground and divided the land. In 1818, they signed a peace treaty. Much like with the Chukchi on the Eurasian continent, the Tlingits were ultimately subdued through trade; tobacco, potatoes, and bread proved stronger than cannons. The Russians continued their journey along the shores of America, and for a time, there was even a Russian settlement in California – Fort Ross. The land for this little town was acquired from the native tribes in exchange for three blankets, three pairs of trousers, two axes, and three hoes. The Russians were drawn to California by a practical consideration: Alaska was too cold, so Fort Ross was established to supply food for the hunters. At Fort Ross, they raised livestock, planted orchards, and even built small ships that they sold to the Spanish. Interestingly, alongside the Russians, several dozen Aleuts migrated from Alaska to California as well. Eventually, the colony was dissolved, but it has survived to this day as an open-air museum. Throughout this time, the Russians faced a major challenge – there were too few of them in America. Despite the colonization of Alaska and expeditions to California, the Russian population in America did not exceed 1,000 people. Russia's Far East was already considered remote territory; even today, reaching Kamchatka or Chukotka from central Russia is difficult and expensive. This was especially true in the era of the Russian Empire, when the Trans-Siberian railway and air travel didn't exist. Kamchatka and Chukotka are at the far edges of the continent, meaning that to get to Alaska from central Russia, one had to travel to what felt like the edge of the world, board a ship, and cross the ocean. There were also about as many 'Creoles' – descendants of mixed marriages with Aleut, Eskimo, and Native American women. Over time, their numbers grew, and by the mid-19th century, there were about 1,500 Creoles and 600-700 Russian settlers. However, these were still very small colonies. The fate of the Russian settlements in America mirrored the story of Viking colonies on the opposite side of the continent: for the Scandinavians, Greenland was a distant outpost, while Vinland – America – lay even further beyond. If the Russians had trouble exploring and developing Siberia due to its vast expanses and harsh climate, it's no wonder that they simply didn't have enough people and resources when it came to Alaska. Russian priests eased the situation somewhat. The missionaries carried out active work and instead of engaging in witch hunts, learned local languages and helped the population. As a result, to this day there is still a considerable number of Orthodox Christians in Alaska – the descendants of those converted by the Russian missionaries. By the mid-19th century, Russia began questioning the necessity of having a colony in Alaska. The population of sea otters had declined due to relentless hunting. The prices paid by the Russian-American Company to hunters were rising, leading to diminishing profits from reselling. For a while, the colony's budget was buoyed by an unconventional trade – harvesting ice for California, which was in the throes of a gold rush and willing to pay for ice to store food. However, that source soon dried up as well. Russian rulers had several reasons to be concerned about Alaska: due to its remote location, it was difficult to protect the colony in case of an armed conflict; meanwhile, it consumed resources and the return on investment was minimal. The idea to sell the territory originated with Nikolai Muravyov-Amursky, the governor-general of Eastern Siberia. A staunch Russian imperialist who made significant contributions to the development of Siberia and strengthening Russia's position in the Far East, Muravyov recognized a harsh reality: the United States and the British had far easier access to Alaska, and selling it would be wiser than facing potential conflict without the means to defend the territory. These considerations led to negotiations with the US government. In 1867, Emperor Alexander II sold Russian America for $7.2 million – a substantial sum for that era. The Russian government rightly concluded that holding onto a territory where there were so few Russians and which lacked serious economic value made little sense. Moreover, Russia needed the money: the funds from Alaska went toward building the railway network in Russia. Today, many Russians view the sale of Alaska with good-natured irony. The story has lingered in popular culture – in one song, Russia offers America valenki [Russian felt boots] to help deal with the cold, while a famous Russian rock opera tells the romantic story of Nikolai Rezanov, a Russian diplomat and explorer, who fell in love with María Concepción Argüello, the daughter of the Spanish governor of San Francisco. They became engaged and Rezanov set off back to Russia, vowing to return, but fell ill and passed away on the journey. The rock opera 'Juno and Avos' based on this poignant love story has become a classic in Russia. As for Alaska, it remains the point where Russia, the US, and the indigenous peoples of that rugged and beautiful land once crossed paths.
Russia Today
31-07-2025
- General
- Russia Today
Meet fierce Northern warriors who fought Russia for a century and learned a valuable lesson
In the late 17th and early 18th centuries, on the frozen edge of Eurasia, the Chukchi watched strangers approach across the tundra. Tall, bearded, clad in breastplates and iron helmets, the men seemed like figures torn from legend. 'They had whiskers like walruses, iron eyes, and spears so wide they could block out the sun,' Chukchi elders would later recall. These were Russian Cossacks – pioneers sent by the tsar to collect tribute and push the empire's borders ever further east. For decades, they had swept across Siberia with little resistance, subduing one indigenous group after another. They believed they were unstoppable. But on the Chukchi Peninsula, they met a people who would not yield. Nomadic, fiercely independent, and hardened by a landscape where survival itself was a daily battle, the Chukchi refused to be conquered. The collision of these two worlds would ignite one of the longest and bloodiest conflicts in the history of Russia's eastward expansion. The Chukchi were few in number – perhaps no more than 15,000 at the time – but their way of life had made them nearly impossible to subdue. For millennia they had roamed the windswept Chukchi Peninsula, a world of brutal winters, short summers, and endless tundra. Temperatures could plunge to -40°C, and in summer, swarms of mosquitoes turned every journey into torment. Survival in such a place was a daily act of endurance. They lived in small, highly mobile camps, moving with their reindeer herds twice a year. Each settlement had its own leader, known as an umilik, and there was no central authority – no single chief who could negotiate, surrender, or be coerced. This political fragmentation made it nearly impossible for outsiders to strike lasting agreements with them. Chukchi society revolved around two things: The herds that sustained them and the sea that bordered their lands. Inland clans were reindeer herders; coastal groups, dubbed 'foot Chukchi' by Russians, hunted whales and fished in Arctic waters. Their dwellings reflected this dual life: Semi-subterranean huts reinforced with walrus bones in winter, and collapsible, cone-shaped yarangas for summer migrations. But life in the tundra was not simply about endurance – it was about strength and dominance. The Chukchi had a reputation for launching sudden raids on neighboring peoples, including the Koryaks, Yukaghirs, and even Eskimo groups across the Bering Strait. These raids were not mere skirmishes: Several camps could band together, attack without warning, and vanish into the tundra with stolen reindeer and supplies. These campaigns were central to their survival and prestige. From childhood, Chukchi boys and girls were trained for hardship. Running long distances with heavy loads, learning to go hungry for days, and sleeping little were all part of their upbringing. They became expert archers, spearmen, and hand-to-hand fighters. Armor was fashioned from bone, horn, or leather, and they perfected tactics of surprise – striking at night or when enemy men were away, then disappearing into the wilderness before reinforcements could arrive. To the Chukchi, capture was unthinkable. Warriors, women, even children would rather take their own lives than be enslaved. The elderly and the gravely ill were expected to choose death rather than burden the camp. This unforgiving code of survival, combined with their mobility, warrior culture, and intimate knowledge of the land, made the Chukchi extraordinarily resilient opponents. And yet, on the horizon, a new kind of adversary was drawing closer – one unlike any they had ever faced. The Russian Empire was pushing relentlessly eastward, driven by the lure of fur and the promise of new lands. When its Cossack detachments finally reached the Chukchi Peninsula, a clash was inevitable. By the late 17th century, Russia was driving deeper and deeper into Siberia. The motivation was clear: furs. Sable pelts in particular were so valuable in Europe and Asia that they were called 'soft gold'. Detachments of Cossacks – semi-autonomous warrior-settlers – moved ever farther east, following rivers through dense forests and across endless plains in search of new lands and new sources of tribute. The model was simple. When the Cossacks reached a new territory, they would build a small fortified outpost, declare the local tribes subjects of the tsar, and demand yasak – an annual tax in furs. Resistance was met with violence. Most of the indigenous groups they encountered were fragmented, lightly armed, and poorly equipped to fight organized Russian units. This rapid advance gave the Cossacks a sense of inevitability. They had pushed across Siberia in a matter of decades, subduing one people after another, and now only the tundra of the Far Northeast remained. Rumors whispered that beyond the Chukchi Peninsula lay even richer lands, perhaps even a route to America. But as the Cossacks crossed the Kolyma River and approached Chukchi territory, they were entering a world unlike any they had faced before. Here the distances were immense, the climate unforgiving, and the people both armed and ready. The Chukchi would not be intimidated by shows of force, nor would they be persuaded by gifts or treaties. What followed was not the swift conquest the Russians had come to expect, but a drawn-out war in the tundra – one that would test both sides to their limits. The first Russian expeditions into Chukchi territory began cautiously. In 1642, the Cossack Dmitry Zyryan encountered a group of Chukchi while traveling with their neighbors, the Yukaghirs. The meeting ended in blood. The Cossacks, armed with iron weapons and coveted goods, were ambushed. Several Russians were badly wounded, and a number of Chukchi were killed. It was a small skirmish, but it set the tone: this would not be an easy land to tame. In 1648, seven small sailing ships known as koches pushed off from the mouth of the Kolyma River, led by the merchant Fedot Popov and the legendary Cossack Semen Dezhnev. The journey was catastrophic. Storms scattered the flotilla; two vessels were wrecked on the rocks, two others vanished at sea, and only a handful of survivors made it ashore. Dezhnev, against all odds, reached the mouth of the Anadyr River by land, built a makeshift fort, and declared the surrounding peoples subjects of the tsar. But Russian footholds in the region remained fragile. When the officer Kurbat Ivanov replaced Dezhnev, the Chukchi began attacking Cossack hunters and patrols near Anadyr. Their arrows and sling stones turned daily tasks such as fishing into life-or-death gambles. Through the late 17th century, expedition after expedition met the same fate. Small Cossack detachments would march into the tundra to collect yasak or punish raiders, only to be picked off and disappear. The Chukchi had no forts to besiege, no villages to burn, and no central leader to capture. They fought on their own terms – striking quickly, vanishing into the vast emptiness, and forcing the Russians to spread themselves thin. Even hostages yielded little leverage. Over time, a grim system of exchanges developed: if the Chukchi captured Russians, they would trade them for their own kin, but rarely for anything else. And while they began acquiring captured firearms, they never relied on them; muskets were scarce and ammunition hard to come by. By the early 18th century, frustration in St. Petersburg was mounting. The Chukchi were not only resisting imperial control, but also terrorizing Russia's tributary tribes – the Koryaks and the Yukaghirs – seizing reindeer and land in a cycle of raids and counter-raids. Afanasiy Shestakov, head of the Yakut Cossacks, petitioned the imperial Senate for a major campaign to 'pacify the unruly Chukchi.' In 1730, Shestakov personally led a small mixed force of Cossacks, Koryaks, and Tungus deep into Chukchi territory. Outnumbered by hundreds of Chukchi warriors, his detachment was overwhelmed; Shestakov was struck by an arrow and speared as he tried to flee by sled. Only half of his men survived. Shestakov's death galvanized the empire, and soon a new figure arrived who would change the course of the war: Captain Dmitry Pavlutskiy of the Tobolsk regiment. Unlike most who had served on the frontier, Pavlutskiy was a regular army officer – trained, disciplined, and ambitious. He quickly became a near-mythical figure. To the Koryaks and Yukaghirs, long harassed by Chukchi raids, Pavlutskiy was a savior. Songs celebrated him as a northern Sir Lancelot, a fearless protector who avenged decades of violence. To the Chukchi, he was something entirely different. They whispered about him as a demon in human form – relentless, cunning, and merciless. Entire camps fled at the rumor of his approach; others chose suicide over capture, unwilling to face the shame and suffering they believed would follow. Pavlutskiy understood the scale of the challenge and brought unprecedented force: more than 500 Russians and allied tribesmen, supported by 700 reindeer sleds laden with supplies. He drove his men deep into the tundra, covering distances of nearly 2,000km. His campaign was devastating. In the first ten months alone, he killed more than 1,500 Chukchi – over 10% of their entire population – and took another 150 captive. But even Pavlutskiy could not secure a decisive victory. The Chukchi melted away into the wilderness, resurfacing to strike at isolated settlements and tributary tribes. Pavlutskiy's columns could annihilate Chukchi bands they managed to corner, but they could not occupy the land or break the people's will. In 1747, Pavlutskiy made what would be his final march. Pursuing a Chukchi raiding party with just 100 men, he suddenly found himself outnumbered by 500 warriors. One of his aides urged him to build a defensive ring of sleds, but Pavlutskiy refused, choosing open battle instead. The Chukchi defied their usual tactics of harassing from a distance and charged head-on. Pavlutskiy fought like a berserker, cutting down attackers with sword and musket, until lassos dragged him from his horse and spears pierced his armor. His death sent shockwaves through both sides. St. Petersburg mourned a commander who had become the embodiment of Russia's struggle in the Far Northeast. The Koryaks and Yukaghirs grieved the loss of a protector. The Chukchi, by contrast, celebrated. Legends sprouted almost immediately: Some said Pavlutskiy was roasted after his death; others claimed he fought to the last breath, 'like a tiger cornered in the snow.' Whatever the version, all agreed on one point: He had been their fiercest adversary. The war had ground into stalemate. Maintaining remote garrisons drained imperial coffers, and every expedition consumed lives and resources. The tundra devoured armies as surely as the cold devoured the unprepared. By the 1750s, the Russian Empire was exhausted by the Chukchi war. Expedition after expedition had drained the treasury, and garrisons in the remote Anadyr fortress were costly to maintain and constantly under threat. The Senate in St. Petersburg began to rethink its approach. If the Chukchi could not be subdued by force, perhaps they could be persuaded by profit. The Anadyr fortress was dismantled in 1764, its church bells hauled away to other settlements. But this withdrawal was not a surrender. Imperial officials, encouraged by Catherine the Great, began pursuing a new policy: negotiating directly with Chukchi leaders and offering trade as an incentive for peace. By this point, the Chukchi themselves had changed. Years of warfare and the constant need to guard their herds had created a clearer hierarchy among umiliks, the camp chiefs. Weaker leaders had perished, and the survivors understood that raiding could no longer secure their status or wealth. Trade offered an Russians organized fairs at small fortified posts along the Anuy River. There, merchants exchanged tea, tobacco, metal tools, and textiles for fox and sable pelts, beaver skins, and walrus ivory. These goods were precious in the tundra, and commerce flourished. What Cossack muskets and imperial decrees could not achieve, merchants accomplished quietly. The Chukchi acknowledged the sovereignty of the Russian Empire, not as a conquered people but as partners in trade. In return, they gained access to valuable goods and the right to live as they always had – on their own terms, without the threat of military campaigns hanging over them. Chukchi mythology even adapted to this new reality. In their stories, there were only two true peoples in the world: themselves and the Russians. Everyone else was little more than useful fauna, like reindeer or walruses. Russians, they said, existed for a specific purpose: to produce tea, tobacco, sugar, salt, and metal items, and to trade them with the Chukchi. By the late 18th century, open warfare on the Chukchi Peninsula had ended. Russians and Chukchi had moved beyond raids and punitive campaigns, forging a relationship built on trade and mutual respect. This understanding laid the foundation for something far more lasting: a shared life in one country. Over the centuries that followed, the Chukchi became part of the Russian Empire, then the Soviet Union, and now the Russian Federation. Yet they have retained their traditions, language, and way of life in one of the harshest environments on Earth. Reindeer herding, fishing, and seasonal migrations remain central to Chukchi culture, and their spiritual beliefs and legends are still passed down from generation to generation. Today, the Chukchi enjoy their own federal subject – Chukotka Autonomous Okrug – a reflection of the unique place they hold within Russia. Regional and federal authorities support the preservation of Chukchi culture, ensuring that the nomadic camps, ancient rituals, and language of this small Arctic nation are not lost to time. What began centuries ago as one of the most protracted and difficult conflicts in Russia's eastward expansion ultimately gave way to coexistence. The Chukchi and the Russians, once bitter adversaries, now share not just a land but a future. Their story is a reminder that even in the most inhospitable of places, people can find a way to live side by side – without losing who they are.
Time of India
15-06-2025
- Lifestyle
- Time of India
From sled dogs to urban pets: The journey of Huskies in Indian homes
Pune: Originally bred by Chukchi people of Siberia for sled pulling and companionship, Huskies have made their way from the Arctic into the homes and hearts of dog lovers across the world. After the breed was introduced to the United States in 1908 and recognised by the American Kennel Club 22 years later, there's no reliable data on how huskies were brought to tropical countries like India. Over the years, movies, series and books such as The Game of Thrones, Twilight and others have contributed towards a rise in demand for Huskies as pets in the country. While the popular opinion is that this breed should not be kept as pets in India due to the hot climate, several breeders have kept breeding them over four-five generations. There have been no studies to document whether this has resulted in Huskies bred in India to acclimatize to the tropical climate. Their thick double coats, genetically designed to protect them from harsh cold, can cause problems to maintain homeothermy (ability of an organism to maintain internal body temperature), but pet parents make efforts to ensure a cool environment for them. Sanchayita Mahadik, the parent of an eight-and-a-half-year-old Husky by the name of Zeus, recalled how he was brought into her family as a surprise gift from her husband. "Balanced food for right nutrition, adequate exercise and provision of a cool environment is very important. Zeus' favourite spot in our apartment is under the fan, but we also have the AC on to maintain a temperature of 20-23 degrees C. During early mornings and late evenings, we take him to a netted area in our society after his walk and play fetch till he gets tired," said Mahadik. Being high energy dogs, huskies need ample physical exercises as well as mental stimulation to keep them from developing illness and destructive behavioural issues. Shalaka Mundada, a dog trainer, pointed out that instead of 20-minute energy bursts in Labrador and Golden Retrievers and other large breeds, huskies require 90-minute high endurance exercise sessions in the morning and evening. "When you bring home a husky, you need to commit time for their daily exercise -- go for long jogs, difficult treks, swimming and other high intensity activities. These dogs are endurance oriented, long distance runners. Grooming cost is another important aspect to consider. Huskies can develop skin issues that worsen into bigger medical issues if not groomed well. Good cleansing products to maintain lustre, de-shedding rakes, and so on need to be used," said Mundada. Priyanka and Amol Chaudhauri, residents of Wanowrie, have two huskies that are popular on Instagram as the Sahyadri Husky for travelling across Maharashtra with their family. "Togo (5) is an angel, Nymeria (4) is quite the diva. We started going on treks with them after the pandemic. They make sure we get enough exercise," said Priyanka. "Grooming is important not only to keep the house tidy, but also to provide them with some comfort as the undercoat sheds during hot months. We brush them daily but give them a bath once a month. Both are extremely friendly with other people and dogs, so much so that we regularly feed meals to over 30 strays they've made friends with," said Priyanka. She pointed out that their howling is minimal, that is when they want to be chatty and need belly rubs. Monthly expenses of a Husky starts from Rs 15,000. This has led to these breeds being cruelly abandoned on roads in the city. Over the last two months, there have been posts on social media about a young female Husky tied to a cart and left in the relentless heat, another one dumped in the garbage, some male huskies have been put up for adoption as their parents have shifted abroad or to another city. Chinar Tekchandani, a veterinarian from Saahas Foundation, said, "We have a husky at the NGO that was abandoned on the highway, it breaks my heart to say that such instances are not uncommon. Apart from financial constraints, many people also find it difficult to calm them down when they howl, especially at night. They are more susceptible to heat stroke and skin infection due to their thick coats. However, a popular mistake pet parents make is to trim their fur and give them a zero-cut during the summer thinking it will help them cool down. Instead, this gives them sunburns. The fur of any dog helps in temperature regulation, be it keeping cool or keeping warm. Huskies don't grow their fur back as fast as other breeds. Even when we do sonographies or surgical procedures, we trim the fur instead of shaving it off completely for huskies because it takes a very long time for it to grow back."
