Cape Krillon on the map. Sakhalin region Cape Crillon. Motorboat route "Cape Crillon"

Day one: south again

In mid-September we had free days: now we’ll definitely go to Cape Crillon! But a friend persuaded me to go to Mount Spamberg instead. We spent four days on the slopes of this thousand-meter mountain, but were unable to conquer the peak due to the fierce resistance of bamboo and dwarf cedar.

We returned to the city on Friday, and on Sunday, having packed my backpack, at 14:20 I took a regular bus to Aniva - my hike to the Crillon Peninsula was finally beginning. Outside the city, I stopped the jeep and reached the village of Taranai. Beyond Taranai, things didn’t go well with hitchhiking - no one picked me up, and from Taranai itself to Cape Crillon I walked.

Having walked a couple of kilometers along the road, I decided to go to the seashore, since the road further went through hills.

The coast of the Crillon Peninsula stretched far to the south, and on the other side of the bay there were barely visible, as if illusory, islands of the Tonino-Aniva Peninsula.

The Crillon Peninsula is named after the cape where it ends, and the cape, in turn, was named by the French navigator Jean-François La Perouse in honor of the legendary French warrior Louis de Crillon. The history of the peninsula is rich: wars and international trade in the Middle Ages, colonization of the Karafuto period, spy passions in the post-war period, etc.

A month ago I walked along that coast of the bay to Cape Aniva - the extreme southeastern point of Sakhalin. On this trip, I pursued the goal of visiting the southernmost point of the island. These trips were part of the concept of visiting all five extreme points of Sakhalin. The end of the earth is the end of the earth to beckon with its transcendence and mystery. The desire to go to the ends of the earth, according to one good man, may have its roots in the cult of ancient hunters.

The concept of autonomous existence and free movement has occupied me for a long time: a tent, a sleeping bag, a sleeping mat, food, matches, a gas burner with a gas cylinder, a headlamp, a change of clothes - all this allows for free movement in space and weighs only 12-15 kg. Of course, such a way of life presupposes certain hardships and deprivations, but still no ideological propaganda calling for “taking everything from life” can compare with it.

Aniva Bay... Long-suffering, there’s so much that’s not flooded in it: according to unofficial data, there are so many RTGs alone that Fukushima is nervously smoking on the sidelines. There is no longer any need to talk about a bunch of sunken ships with fuel oil and all sorts of chemicals.

There are a lot of jeeps and other cars on the coast. Ordinary people are relaxing, fishermen are casting nets, children are playing in the sand, dogs are running along the shore. The coast is littered.

I'm in a hurry to get through the bustle of people. They're calling out to me. A boy of about twenty-five to eight years old, with a collective-farm-like appearance, is politely interested in my person. We're talking. He politely admires my journey. He shakes hands goodbye.

After walking a few hundred meters, I hear a shout: from an inflatable boat not far from the shore, a fisherman is offering fish.

For free! - he adds.

I refuse with a smile, citing the lack of space in my backpack (and I have no time to cook), but the mood is excellent: our people are good-natured!

Dusk fell. We need to set up camp. The abundance of wood washed ashore is encouraging - there will be no problems with a fire.

I stop at a deep river. I put up a tent and light a fire.

On the side of the river there is a fishing camp. From there, two bodies in orange fishing jackets are heading towards me. One of them, approaching the water's edge, shouts to me "Hey!" and waves his hand. I'm approaching.

If I see that you are setting up a network!.. - a cheeky thieves’ threatening tirade is heard.

I'm making it clear that he's wrong about the network.

The man gives up his position and adds a note of apology to his speech:

Forgive me, of course, for using such a tone, but recently two people spent the night here. In the morning I saw that they had set a net and caught two of them. And we have a RUZ here, waiting for the fish to come in.

Changing the subject:

Is the water in the river drinkable?

And to the affirmative answer I ask a new question:

Will you give me some sugar tomorrow morning, otherwise I forgot to take it at home in a hurry?

The fisherman turned out to be trouble-free.

Another feature of this area that struck me was the presence of vicious mosquitoes. It’s strange, there weren’t any of them on the slopes of Spamberg, in the taiga, but here they are going on a rampage! What kind of anomaly?! Despite the autumn cold, they are as active as in summer.

An orange, damaged moon emerged from behind the mountains on the opposite bank. The lights of that coast, bright stars in the sky, the Milky Way... The firewood is burning merrily. The taiga firewood of Mount Spamberg didn’t really want to burn, but these guys are just enjoying life.

I'm calling off.

Day two: complete freedom, sea tides and an aura of legend around the Kartavykh surname

Get up at 6:50. Very cold. I haven’t been able to sleep since three o’clock in the morning: the cold coming from the depths of the earth and penetrating through the tent, sleeping mat and sleeping bag was breaking everything - it was mid-September, after all. At dawn it became more cheerful: the mountains and the expanse of the bay became clearer, the lights of ships and settlements shone.

The first thing I did was make a fire - I needed to warm myself up. The most amazing thing is, despite everything, I got enough sleep: uncomfortable conditions keep the body (and soul) in good shape.

The firewood on the coast is good: it ignites in one fell swoop, giving precious warmth. At this time of day and at this time of year, the environment is saturated with indescribable colors.

Having finished getting ready, I ford the river and go out to the camp. Fishermen are sitting on the rubble, among them is my interlocutor yesterday. As promised, he gave me more sugar, even more than half a kilo. The fishermen perk up: the appearance of a traveler brings at least some movement into their monotonous reality (waiting for the fish to come in all day long!). As usual, they gave us a lot of advice on the road.

I walk along the coast illuminated by the morning sun. "Absolute freedom!" - sang Romych Neumoev from “Instructions for Survival”. What could be better than free, unlimited movement in space?.. With all that, this is not just aimless wandering around the world, but entire scientific journeys. Hitchhiking ideologist Anton Krotov calls such adventures scientific trips. Travel is always about expanding the horizons of knowledge: new lands, new people, new impressions, and most importantly, new experiences.

I approach the liquidated village of Kirillovo. Until recently, there was a border outpost here, there was a cordon that controlled passage to the territory of the reserve (the Crillon Peninsula is a nature reserve). The outpost was disbanded, and all and sundry poured in here in a free stream, and now there is a passage yard.

I am greeted by a rusty all-terrain vehicle, or better yet, its frame. Monument to the former power of the Soviet Army.

A tower rises lonely in the distance. There is nothing left to protect. Sakhalin is no longer a border territory, but a zone of free action. There’s nothing to be done, now the world is ruled by other concepts: instead of industrialization - non-ferrous metal, instead of a sound state ideology - jingoism. I had to see quite a lot of plundered military units around the country.

I ford the wide Uryum River. The rivers of the eastern coast of Crillon, as I have seen from my own experience, are quite deep.

I come across the camp. The dog barks. A tall, bearded man of about fifty comes out. I asked him for bread. He gave me some crackers - also not bad, even better: they won’t get moldy. My new friend's name is Vadim. He is from Krasnoyarsk. I came here in my car for fishing, but there was very little fish (in 2013): Vadim sadly estimates how much money he will need to return home. He says he misses his little granddaughter. It turns out that Vadim is a truck driver and has traveled all over the country. And now, on the shore of a distant island, far from federal highways, the eternal brotherhood of hitchhikers and truckers was discovered.

Vadim and the dog walked me around for a bit.

I pass an interesting coastline.

The high bank is formed by sandstone. The slope “melted” the mutant’s face out of itself.

After lunch I go to the mouth of the Maksimovka River. There is a large camp here. A man came out, about fifty years old, in a leather jacket, wearing cologne (there are people who look elegant in any circumstances). Introduced himself as Sasha. It guards the camp until spring. This has been working for several years now. He likes it here, and when he is at home in Chekhov, he is drawn here. It’s especially good here in winter, he adds.

Not far from him is another camp, which is guarded by a young boy. They go to visit each other.

Recently I left him in the evening. It was dark, I used a flashlight to light a candle. I saw a bear following me, I screamed and drove him away, but he kept following me all the way to the house, until he turned into the thickets.

Sasha gave me tea and fed me huge delicious pancakes, prepared with coffee powder. He gave me crackers, pancakes and anti-mosquito ointment for the journey. Once again, I came to the conclusion that they will not let us go to ruin in our lost world: they will feed us, give us something to drink, and give us everything we need.

While we were having tea, Sasha said that there was no poutine this year. Personally, he earned only... 650 rubles (!) at the fish factory in Aniva for the entire season.

Sasha accompanied me along with the young playful cat Sima.

She, like a dog, walks along the coast with me.

The Ulyanovka River flows nearby. This is where my constant struggle with the elements and adventures on this wayward peninsula began.

The river itself is quite large, and then the sea tide began to rise, the waves go straight into the river. I started to wade, but the depth did not allow me to cross the river. A little further upstream there is a Japanese bridge, but it was destroyed.

I found a way out of the situation as follows: with the help of a pole, I felt for a spit in the sea, where it was possible to cross waist-deep in water (the shallowest depth), and, putting the backpack on my shoulders, making a detour into the sea, I slowly walked.

The sun, leaning towards the west, set behind the high bank, and a shadow moved onto the coast.

The tide is pressing. I’m walking along the stones: a line of small boulders has begun.

A broken TV was perched on the logs. Original: in remote places there is such an echo of civilization. It was as if someone (either fishermen or bears) was sitting on logs, watching TV and, having broken the screen with stones, went home.

Here is the refrigerator. On the western coast of the Tonino-Aniva Peninsula a month ago, I quite came across household garbage.

I walk to each next cape with bated breath: what will open up behind it?..

Another water obstacle is the Kura River. I cross this river up to my neck in water and with a backpack on my head. However, this is high tide; at low tide you can probably walk waist-deep.

I came out to the opposite bank on the spit. About three hundred meters away is a fishing camp. The boy who met me said that a little further away a certain Uncle Sasha and Oleg Kartavykh were located. Burrs?! Familiar surname!

Having walked two kilometers - it was already starting to get dark - I see: a camp is not a camp, but some gazebos, houses, etc. At the mouth of the river (Kolkhoznaya River) in an artificial dam there are butchered seal carcasses. Alarmed.

There's a jeep nearby. Two people came forward.

Yeah, here he is the son of a famous father. However, the presence of seal carcasses in the reservoir does not allow me to completely trust:

I saw cut up seals here, aren’t you poachers?

The owner changed his face slightly, but without taking his eyes off me, he immediately found a suitable biting answer:

No, we just catch travelers, butcher them and bury them,” and he added with feigned passion, “what kind of poachers are we to you?!” The reserve is here, everything is legal. I would shoot these poachers myself. Come in and spend the night with us. Let's have dinner now.

Oleg Kartavykh is a St. John's wort, the son of Fyodor Leontyevich Kartavykh, the famous game warden, senior huntsman of Crillon, who at one time oversaw the peninsula. His grave is located on the Nayche River. His wife is buried there, next to him. I read about Fyodor Leontyevich in a story by a Sakhalin writer shortly before this campaign.

After dad, there was no one to take his place. And when the outpost in Kirillovo was removed in 2006, anarchy set in at Crillon,” Oleg stated a sad fact.

This border post, it seems, protected the border zone not so much from spies, saboteurs and foreign invasion, but from local barbarians.

There’s a border guard sitting there, he sees you coming: if he wanted, he let you in, if he didn’t want to, he sent you to hell.

Over dinner, Oleg told a lot of interesting things about his father. Fyodor Leontyevich, among other things, became famous for eliminating a huge cannibal bear on the peninsula, which was devouring its own kind. The monstrous bear chose a place where the river makes a turn: it lay over a three-meter cliff and waited for its victim. He hears footsteps on the water and jumps in front of the dumbfounded bear. He knocks him down, hides the carcass and lies down again.

And here this cannibal bear lies in his ambush, says Oleg, and hears footsteps. He jumps from a cliff, and in front of him is not a bear, but... Fyodor Leontievich!

Oleg continues with a feeling of natural pride in his father:

The gutted carcass of this giant weighed 520 kg! At VDNH, his skull took first place. And when they wanted to send it to Europe (European competition), a snag arose: our intelligence discovered that the skull of Ceausescu’s trophy bear was smaller. It was decided not to humiliate Ceausescu - the trophy of some Fyodor Leontievich, you see, is greater than the trophy of Ceausescu! - and thus not spoil relations with Romania, and Dad’s bear was not exhibited in Europe. This is all politics, let it be empty!

Sitting next to me at the table was Oleg’s taciturn partner, Sanya. They treated us to soup and pelengas.

Eat everything, we've already eaten enough during this time.

When the cannibal bear was killed, five or six bears he had killed were found buried in his place,” Oleg briskly continued the topic.

“I don’t like it when they boast,” he developed the idea, “that they killed a bear from three hundred meters, etc. They would try to deal closely with bears, like Fyodor Leontyevich.

Yes, our ancestors went after bears not only with a gun, but with a spear, and often won in a fair fight. Nowadays, hunting prowess is lowering its bar as small arms improve. Everything is relative.

And aren’t you afraid to walk alone among bears like this? - St. John's wort looks at me with a little irony.

“Yes, somehow there is no fear, it’s a common thing,” I answer.

Have you been attacked by a bear at least once? No? But he attacked me... You would have said it differently.

It seems that the bear is a calm creature. I even heard that he is afraid of people. You just need to not provoke him...

Wielding a spoon, Oleg grinned and glanced at me:

And who knows what's on his mind. Here we are sitting here with you, eating, and you suddenly take a knife and chop us all up. Who knows you?! So is the bear.

Sitting in the gazebo against the backdrop of the twilight bay and distant high shores, we started talking with Oleg about life.

In the gathering darkness we went to bed. It’s a little unusual: there is no electric light, and you have to go to bed early.

According to Oleg Kartavykh, from the barrier of the village of Kirillovo to his camp is 27 kilometers. Thus, I did about 30 km in a day.

Day three: hospitable fishing camps, Sakhalin jungle and Cape Anastasia

We woke up at seven in the morning from a loud voice:

Sanya! Get up!

It was Oleg who woke up his partner.

Get up, get up! We need to pack our things.

Today they are folding up and leaving the camp. At noon the tide begins, and you need to have time to collect your belongings, dismantle the houses and ride the low tide to the north.

The sky was frowning. However, the forecast promised as much: rain on Tuesday in the first half of the day.

The motto of Fyodor Leontievich Kartavykh was: “If you can’t fulfill it, don’t promise, if you swing, hit.”

With such parting words, Oleg and Sanya saw me off on the road. At parting, Oleg gave me his mobile number.

It was 8:30 am. It was raining. After a while it began to drip more insistently, and heavy rain began, instantly soaking me to the skin.

Soon buildings appeared: after walking about 8 km, I came to the banks of the Naichi River (this is where the grave of F.L. Kartavykh and his wife is located). On the northern bank of the river there is a camp. As I was told the day before, a certain Petrovich lives here.

The camp is huge. I knock on the door. A chubby fellow came out, calling himself Sergei. Petrovich himself ended up in the trailer. After some time, the three of us were already having breakfast in the camp’s dining room. Petrovich is a seasoned, bearded man of advanced years; he has lived in these parts since 1989. Everyone on the east coast of Crillon knows him. In turn, he was personally acquainted with F.L. Kartavykh.

While treating me to smoked duck with rice, Petrovich told me how three years ago two young Englishwomen spent the night at this camp, sailing in a canoe to Japan. I recognized them immediately: one of them was Sarah Outen. She went around the world and moved through Sakhalin to Japan: from Crillon to Wakkanai through the La Perouse Strait. I then worked in certain structures and dealt with her issue.

In the evening, I see a kayak docking. Two girls got out of it and were pitching a tent on the shore,” recalls Petrovich, “I told them: there are bears roaming here, I don’t go to the toilet without a gun.” In short, he invited them to spend the night inside.

According to Petrovich, in this place there was a Japanese village with a school. No wonder, under the Japanese, all of Southern Sakhalin was built up and populated. In the foothills of Mount Spamberg we came across many fields of considerable size - the hardworking Japanese were doing their best to expand their doomed empire.

After breakfast, I crossed the full-flowing Naicha, carrying its waters almost under the windows of the dining room, in the swamps that Petrovich lent me, and, leaving them under a snag on the other bank, as agreed, I moved on. In the distance, near the hills, horses were grazing. The Crillon Peninsula is famous for them.

After almost 8 kilometers of travel, under streams of rain, I notice an Orthodox cross in the hills, crowning a chapel hidden behind wet trees - I came to the mouth of the Moguchi River, on the banks of which another camp was located.

Cows and sheep graze on the territory of the camp. The dog is running. I notice a woman quickly entering the house. I hurry after her and knock on the door. The door opens, and a woman who just came inside and an oriental man with a bandana on his head look at me. The phrase with which I was greeted spoke volumes:

You are my dear person!

It was Olga, the mistress of the house, who expressed sympathy for my completely soaked condition. Alik immediately suggested changing clothes. After visiting the chapel on the hill, I devoured three cups of hot borscht while listening to the story of these kind people. Olga came from the Altai Territory; she has been working here as a cook for four years now. There is a husband and five children at home. A year or two ago I went to visit my family and since then I haven’t been able to go out again - there wasn’t enough money. Moreover, this year there were almost no fish. Alika’s life was also leaving him, and he has been here for three years without leaving (!).

Here, in fact, is not only a camp, but also a recreation center. During the warm season, every weekend there are parties for wealthy people: music, barbecues, etc.

Olga shows me on her digital camera photographs of local life: fishing, livestock, everyday work. It was like some kind of déjà vu: in July of the same year, when I was making my way along the road from Cape Pogibi to the east, crossing Sakhalin, in a pipe fitters’ hut in the remote taiga, the same hospitable hostess showed me photographs on her laptop during a meal. Apparently, a whole type of such women has developed.

I draw your attention to the presence of mosquitoes during this rather cold time of year. Alik says, citing the exact data of his observations, that they appeared on the coast on September 6, and Olga explains the reason: the summer was dry, hot, up to 30 degrees in the shade, so the mosquitoes were supposedly waiting for a favorable time.

Having eaten borscht, drunk hot coffee and warmed up, I, despite Alik’s insistent offers to stay overnight (even though it’s still day outside), move on. Having hugged goodbye to the owners who accompanied me to the river, I wade (while the tide is low) Moguchi and continue my way to the south.

I look with hope at the gloomy sky from which water is rapidly falling: a wet traveler craves the sun more than ever.

The most difficult stage of the journey lies ahead - crossing along the top, along the ridge, bypassing the Hirano rocks and Cape Konabeevka. I was prepared for the fact that it would be very difficult, but I didn’t even imagine that it would be almost deadly.

There is a passage through these rocky places from below, but from the memoirs of travelers I read and the advice I heard from experienced people, it turned out that along the edge of the sea you can only walk lightly. My friend and hiking partner on Spamberg Mountain, Maxim, said that Cape Konabeevka got its name because horses crashed here (there was a horse trail built by the Japanese).

Having about 12 kg of belongings behind me, I decide to go to the top.

I reach the skeleton of a small rusty ship indicated by Alik. There is a hollow in which the old Japanese road leading up to the ridge is hidden. But first I decide to go to the nearest rocky toe and see what’s behind it. Having made my way over the huge rocks for the first tens of meters, I climb onto the toe and see piles of boulders and blade-like rocks everywhere. I understand that it’s not worth going further with a heavy backpack - it’s risky.

I change my shoes: I hide slippers, which are good only in seashore conditions, in my backpack, put on sneakers and go into the valley.

At first, the path seems to be visible, but soon it is lost in the thickets. Waving your hand - come what may! - I turn onto the slope and climb straight up. The bamboo, painfully familiar from Spamberg, bristles hostilely. A week ago he didn’t let us go to the top of the mountain, now he’s preventing us from going around Crillon!

Clothes that were already dry are soaked to the skin. There are birches and other deciduous trees and a few conifers all around. Clinging to tree trunks, I fight with bamboo. I suppress the fear of the unknown in these abandoned places, watered by rain and surrounded by bears. There is no turning back. True, Alik and Olga are still not far away, and you can return at any time, but returning to them would be capitulation. I remember Maxim said that compared to the Tonino-Aniva Peninsula, Crillon is children's toys. You're kidding, buddy, the hike to Cape Aniva was a fun promenade, but here it's a struggle for every meter.

I break through to the crest of the ridge. Behind the lush vegetation, only the surface of the sea and the endless expanses of the peninsula are visible.

On the crest of the ridge the bamboo is not so tall - it is easier to walk. I walk along the ridge further south. I’m not walking, I’m swimming, literally and figuratively. Literally - because everything is wet from the rain; figuratively - because you have to work with your hands, as when swimming. I don’t even remember about the vaunted old Japanese road - it completely disappeared into the thickets. I go by intuition. Periodically, under your feet you come across some ditches cutting through the ridge. In some places they are deep, and in order to overcome them you have to descend into them. All this - bamboo, and ditches, and rain - cannot but cause a sad mood. But it’s madness to be depressed in such places: beautiful landscapes in such conditions are much better than in dry and warm conditions - the wall of the house opposite, where the personal lives of hundreds of people are displayed in the evening windows. Cape Konabeevka appeared below. Truly unearthly beauty!

I notice that the ridge gradually begins to descend towards the coast. In a fit of joy, I decide to get off the ridge and start descending early, and that was a big mistake. I “fall” to the left and make my way through the bamboo. And on the slopes, as we already know, it is much more violent than on the ridge. I make my way to the bed of the stream and freely walk down it in the hope that it will lead me to the seashore. However, the slope abruptly drops down, and, seeing sea waves crashing against the rocks far below, I understand that I am just on a high cliff. Hastened, oh, hastened with the descent!

With annoyance, I climb up the riverbed and take a left onto the slope of the spur, straight into a thicket of bamboo. The fact is that it is easier to go down a slope overgrown with bamboo or dwarf cedar, since you go in the direction of its spread, that is, “with the grain,” but you have to climb “against the grain.” I, in fact, decided to go around the Krillon peninsula from Taranay precisely because, according to an experienced comrade, the bamboo on the ridge above Konabeevka spreads in the direction of the south, which simplifies the movement, since it “follows the wool.”

With difficulty I cross the slope and begin to descend along the spur. Creepers are mixed in with the bamboo. They intertwine and cling to the backpack or simply hang across the path: it is impossible to step over them or tear them apart. It is very difficult to move forward, to the point of nausea; nausea is a sign of overwork. The situation that took place many years ago in the mountain jungles of Laos is being repeated. To the Laotian vines and other lush vegetation were added some beetles that bit my hands, leaving a previously unfamiliar, twisting pain. Then I had neither food nor drink with me, and a deep river flowed below, less than a kilometer from me, and teased me with its freshness. And in exactly the same way I then made my way through the jungle and came out to rocky cliffs. But then I was light and could somehow climb down the rocky wall and trees.

The Sakhalin jungle is not inferior to the jungle of Indochina. On the slopes of Mount Spamberg, making my way through the bamboo, I expressed my desire to have a machete, but Maxim said that in this case the machete would not help. Now I was simply eager to hold a machete in my hand and cut my way to the sea. Cut everything around, from the shoulder! - the wild flora was so exhausting. There will be salvation from this deadly beauty on the coast! There are rocks and sand, there are streams and waves, there you can lie down on a flat surface and take a breath. Here you have to be in constant tension: physically and mentally. In order to somehow move forward, I make a desperate somersault jump forward and throw myself and my backpack over the tangle of branches. And so three times.

The stream flows again and again it falls down the cliff.

Again I climb through the stubble of the Sakhalin jungle, again I cross the spur. And here, finally, is the third stream, the bed of which leads to the sea!

Coming out to the coast, I look back at the Konabeevka arch, left behind, in the north, and turn my gaze upward. Truly a killer beauty: you can stay forever in these thickets.

I’m so exhausted that I’ve lost the desire to go to the arch and see what’s behind it (I regret it now). But everything that does not kill us makes us stronger, said one radical.

There were some losses: a pocket on his pants was torn and his hands were scratched. Then, in Laos, my pants turned into shorts, and my legs and back into striped flesh. Native places are more lenient.

It's six o'clock in the evening.

...I’m going to Cape Anastasia. There was once a village called Atlasovo. Petrovich said that from there to them - to the camp on Naich - one man walked through the thickets above Konabeevka in two hours (!) to call for help: something had stalled there. I spent more than three hours just walking around Konabeevka alone.

I pass a waterfall, a lighthouse on a hill, and reach Cape Anastasia.

It is a sharp protrusion in the sea and consists of two rocks: the large one looks like a loaf and, apparently, an extrusion (magmatic body), the second is smaller and is a kekur. In the south, across Morges Bay, Cape Crillon is visible with buildings on it. Higher up on the hill are white air defense balls.

There is a camp located on Cape Anastasia itself, the fishermen have already left, there is no one at the camp. There are buildings all around. The infrastructure remained from the time of Karafuto: a pier, vats for salting fish, etc.

It's getting dark. With a backpack on my head, I cross the Anastasia River, up to my neck in the raging high water (the tide is beginning).

I light a fire (sea wood, even damp from the rain, burns well!), hastily dry my things at dusk, prepare dinner and hang up. In a damp tent, I replay a busy day in my memory. Through the open entrance of the tent I contemplate the distant lights of Cape Crillon and the reflections of the lighthouse: with a certain frequency it cuts through the southern part of the night sky with a swift flash. Beautiful and monumental. There is no one nearby, and the distant presence of people warms the soul: in Morges Bay, about half the distance from me to Cape Crillon, a boat dropped anchor.

To the cape - 12-15 kilometers. We need to be there by lunchtime tomorrow.

Day four: Cape Crillon, Japan and the west coast

In the morning I woke up early: at six-thirty. Drying the wet clothes took a long time, and I didn’t set out until half past ten.

In the process of drying clothes, I regretfully discovered that the small book of stories by Akutagawa Ryunosuke was once again wet and now completely fell apart (paper items should be stored in a plastic bag!). The repeatedly glued book could no longer be repaired, so I decided to burn it. A worthy departure for a travel book is to be honorably consigned to the flames at the end of the world. The book of this great Japanese writer, which accompanied me during my travels around the country and Sakhalin, triumphantly disappeared in the flames of a fire on Cape Anastasia.

I'm walking along the shore of Morges Bay. The sea is without waves, which is quite unusual. Vodka bottles are scattered on the shore and the same household items are found: a refrigerator and two televisions. In the distance, ships ply the expanse of the bay. There is some kind of rumble over the water area.

For some time I was accompanied by a curious seal, swimming parallel to my progress about ten meters from the shore. I am following the huge fresh footprints of the clubfoot. The tracks turn to the right into the hills and immediately appear again.

I round three rocky capes. I come across the skeleton of an all-terrain vehicle: all that remains of the combat vehicle is the chassis and pistons. You can already feel the closeness of the military.

I pass the last rocky cape - Cape Kostroma - and reach the finish line - to Cape Crillon.

A dirt road, torn up by the Ural, leads from the coast to the hill where the buildings are located.

Around four o'clock in the afternoon I was already at the southernmost point of Sakhalin.

On Crillon there is a border post, near which there is a helicopter (it flew back and forth a couple of times while I was walking along the coast), an ancient functioning lighthouse, next to it there is a weather station, and destroyed buildings everywhere.

I walk along a dirt road, in places it turns into vigorous mud.

The helicopter began to take off again. The woman who watched him take off greeted me. A guy rode along on an ant motorcycle, carrying in the back, if my memory serves me right, parts of a diesel engine.

To my surprise, none of the military asked me for documents: they, the military, were practically invisible in this border zone.

On the edge of the cape, above the cliff, is the grave of Soviet soldiers who liberated South Sakhalin in August 1945. Jeepers come here every year on May 9 to lay wreaths. Seeing the monument here was quite unexpected for me. However, this arrangement must have more of a symbolic meaning.

I'm sitting on a cliff, on the very edge of Sakhalin. A strip of Japan appears blue in the distance. It is about forty kilometers to Wakkanai. On that - Japanese - shore you can see a white tower. Mount Rishiri rises in the southwest, representing the island of the same name. Japan, as they say, is just a stone's throw away, and at the same time it is far away. It’s far - bureaucratically (the visa to Japan still won’t be cancelled), but it’s just a stone’s throw because the Japanese traveler Sekino Yoshiharu and his friend got there in a kayak in 13 hours about ten years ago.

Once, at the end of the Union, one French windsurfer baron Arnaud de Ronay, a record holder of the Guinness Book of Records, did not wait for a Soviet visa (at the consulate in Sapporo they fed him breakfast) in order to legally cross the La Perouse Strait, on one of the days of his training, having caught a passing the wind voluntarily went surfing to Sakhalin. On the shore of the border cape Crillon, Arnaud did not meet anyone who could record his record. Our fishermen caught him in his sad thoughts and handed the world-famous navigator over to the border guards. The matter was resolved quite successfully: Arno was well known in Moscow.

And only a limited circle of people knows how many spies from Japan landed in this area!

I walk back towards the lighthouse. I ask a recent woman who is now sawing wood where the weather station is: I have something to do there. The weather station is located on the territory of the lighthouse, to which you only need to climb a little.

Chickens are running around in the yard and a dog is tearing apart. Standing at the entrance, smiling slightly, is the pretty girl Olya, whom I have been looking for for more than a year, and looks at me with interest. Complete romance.

Hello! Olya? Greetings from Egor from Tomsk.

I checked in with Yegor for an overnight stay in Tomsk while hitchhiking around Russia. Egor is a frostbitten hitchhiker and bicycle adventurer. Having arrived in Kholmsk a couple of years ago by ferry and finding himself on Sakhalin for the first time, he immediately went to Krillon (after that he got all the way to Okha). Here he met Olya, who came from Barnaul here, to the end of the world. Egor told me about her and asked me to say hello on occasion.

She remembered Yegor, thanked him for his greetings and offered to drink tea, although only in an hour, when her shift ended. But I didn’t have time - I had to set up camp before sunset, and I was forced to bow out. Whether I did the right thing or not in refusing, I don’t know; maybe it was worth sacrificing time and finding out what made this girl leave civilization and live on the edge of the earth?..

And so, having rounded Cape Crillon, I am now going north, towards home. I consume overripe, delicious rose hips. Mount Rishiri was transformed in the rays of the setting sun. In the northwest, the island of Moneron is blue. The hills of the Tatar coast of the Crillon Peninsula are devoid of forest due to strong sea winds. This makes the local terrain similar to Transbaikalia, with the only difference being that impassable bamboo grows on the local hills, and soft fragrant grasses grow in the steppes of Transbaikalia.

Another feature of the West Krillon coast is the lack of adequate firewood: it is impossible to light a normal fire. The shore is full of seaweed, into which you fall ankle-deep.

I go out to Cape Maidel.

On the coastal hills, something similar to a monument turned white. From a distance, against the backdrop of bare relief, it resembles a Buryat ritual structure in the steppes.

A little further away, near the forest, there is a concrete pipe.

I climb up the military road into the hills and approach a monument made in a characteristic Japanese style. The grave of a noble samurai? At the base there is a red plate, on the sides of which there are two huge cartridges with red stars. The sign says that a Soviet soldier died here in 1990 (as a result of an accident). Is this entire complex really dedicated to the deceased?..

In fact, my intuition did not let me down: the pedestal is indeed Japanese. After the described hike, I discovered in the “Bulletin of the Sakhalin Museum” (No. 18 for 2011) an article about the Japanese post of Shiranusi, which was located here, on Cape Maidel, in the 18th-19th centuries. It was also reported that in October 1930, the mayor's office of the Japanese city of Honto (now Nevelsk) erected a monument on the site of the post, which in Japanese sounds like Kaijima Kinento, in honor of the Japanese explorers Karafuto. In addition, according to the stories of local residents, there was a Soviet military unit nearby, whose tanks are supposedly still hidden in the hills and are ready to deploy at any moment to conduct military operations.

Soon the massifs of capes Zamirailov Golov and Kuznetsov appeared.

At sunset I reached the remains of the Liberty ship, which ran aground during an incredible storm in 1945. The ship fell apart into three unequal parts.

At sunset, all this symbolizes the transience of human civilization against the backdrop of the beauty of the universe.

The colorful evening sky performed a silent symphony, solemn and unearthly.

At 19:45 I spotted a place near the river where I could pitch a tent on the grass. It was clear from the fire pit and the remains of firewood that someone had already camped here. In the deepening twilight, when I was building a tent, I heard the distant noise of a car, and soon a fishing boat “Niva” stopped nearby on the shore, two people got out of it and began casting a seine into the sea. I approached them. We met: Dima and Andrey from the village of Pravda. About five kilometers to the north was their camp, where their comrades remained.

In the morning, Dima and his father came for me and offered to give me a lift to Nevelsk, since it was difficult to go along the shore around Cape Kuznetsov, and along the taiga bypass road it was dirty and dangerous due to bears. And Cape Kuznetsov itself - these rocky shores - are under the jurisdiction of one monopolist bear, who supposedly really doesn’t like strangers on his territory (reminds me of nothing?). It was inappropriate to refuse, and in three cars we moved north. I was traveling with Ivan and his hunting dog Persik (Persik), who whined sadly every time he saw a duck fluttering through the window. Thank you, friends, for not abandoning the traveler!

...We passed Mount Kovrizhka. I had heard before that this mountain was used by the Ainu as an impregnable military fortress. There was once a war on the island between the Nivkhs and Ainu, so this hypothesis cannot be discarded. Dima once climbed Kovrizhka. The fact that there is a way to the flat top is indicated by a rope hanging from above. I looked with regret at Kovrizhka, which we were leaving behind. Looks like I'll have to climb up next time.

We got to Shebunino, and the asphalt began.

After the bombing of Shebunino and Gornozavodsk, Nevelsk became a metropolis. They even have their own “Rublyovka”: cottages along the federal highway. Civilization began, framed by colorful autumn hills.

And so... station - minibus - Yuzhno-Sakhalinsk. We've arrived.

When working on the material, information was used from the books “Hoppo ruto. Sakharin no tabi”, author Sekino Yoshihara (Tokyo, 2006), “Without the stamp “SECRET”, author-compiler N.V. Vishnevsky (Yuzhno-Sakhalinsk, 2012).

Day 1.

All participants meet at the railway station. We get on the bus and go to the Aniva region to the mouth of the Uryum River. We will ford the river, the depth is knee-deep, in some places waist-deep. For the crossing, we change into the shoes we took for water crossings. After the crossing, we change our shoes and walk along a forest dirt road. After which we go to the coast in Kirillovo. Further our path passes along the sand and pebble coast.

We will stop at the Tambovka River for lunch.

After Tambovka, focusing on the low tide, we pass the pressures. At low tide, the shore opens near the rocks and you can walk without getting wet.

We set up camp at the mouth of the Maksimkin River. The attendants prepare a delicious dinner. Near the fire we will get to know each other.

Daily mileage: 21 km.

Day 2.

In the morning, the attendants prepare breakfast according to the layout and duty schedule. After breakfast we pack up and hit the road. On the way we will go into a chalk canyon, where an 8-meter waterfall falls. And the nests of swifts were located in the rocks.

We will stop at the Kura River for lunch. There is a farm at the mouth of the river and horses can be seen grazing on the seashore.

After lunch we will go to the Moguchi River. Walking along the sand and pebble beach. Sometimes walking near the rocks along a stone path, as if the rock had flowed onto the ground, forming a path. You will meet an interesting rock along the way, popularly called the Dragon. Multi-colored rocks are shaped like a dragon's face, with an open mouth and sockets for eyes.

Another ford across the Naicha River. A few more kilometers on the sand and we set up camp on the Moguchi River. Hot dinner. Overnight.

Daily mileage: 22 km

Day 3.

After breakfast we pack up camp and hit the road. Today the transition will be difficult. You will have to go around m. Kanabeev on bamboo. Traffic will be very difficult. Walking 5 km will take 4 hours.

Cape Kanabeev is very beautiful. On the cape itself there is a stone arch, to which a meter-wide rock terrace leads. We'll definitely stop by for an inspection and photos. An understanding of security is required because... The depth of the sea near the cape immediately reaches 5 meters.

Today will end at the abandoned camp of Cape Anastasia (non-residential village of Atlasovo). In the sea opposite the cape there are two rocks surrounded by an old destroyed Japanese pier. On the largest rock, the Japanese once installed a torii, a Shinto sacred gate to the temple, facing east, towards the rising sun.

The Anastasia River flows near the overnight stay. You can arrange laundry and washing.

200 meters from the camp, a beautiful 20-meter waterfall falls on the coast.

Hot dinner. Overnight.

Mileage of the day: 12 km.

Day 4.

The day is intended for rest after the transition. Wash things, dry them, take a bath and just relax. Relax on Cape Anastasia with soft sunrises and fiery sunsets.

Day 5.

In the morning, after breakfast, we pack up camp and head out. Today we are heading all the way to Cape Crillon.

The path is beautiful, but has several boulder crossings. When crossing such pressures, you should be careful, take your time and help the participants. In some places, you may need help carrying backpacks first, and then the participants walk lightly. The boys are active and offer a helping hand. Along the way we will also find many waterfalls, from small to large, from dry to a thin trickle to powerful water streams. For lunch we will stand on a house near the waterfall.

After lunch, a few kilometers remain and we are finally in Cape Crillon Bay! We set up camp and prepare dinner. We also collect passports and the instructor goes to mark the group with the border guards.

Attention! Cellular communications in Crillon are Japanese and eat up your entire balance before you even have time to dial a number.

Tomorrow we will have a day and excursion trips around the cape, to places of glory and military fortifications, a lighthouse and a monument, underground passages and cannons.

Daily mileage: 19 km.

Day 6.

Day. The day is dedicated to getting to know the history of the extreme point of Sakhalin Island. The whole day is planned for radial excursions in order to cover as many historical sights associated with the period of the Russian-Japanese War as possible.

We're in no hurry today. We sleep to our heart's content. After late breakfast, we will prepare a lunch snack and go for a walk and sightseeing in Crillon.

We’ll start our tour with a monument to the soldiers who died during the liberation of Sakhalin and the Southern Kuril Islands. 7 paratroopers are buried in this mass grave. Next, let's go to inspect the now uninhabited buildings that were built by the Japanese and then by the Russians, everything was mixed up on a small piece of land. Let's crawl around, take a look, and hurry to the fortified area. After all, Cape Crillon is one large fortified area where you can walk for weeks in search of military pillboxes, underground passages, trenches, and cannons. Along the road we will climb to a large plateau overgrown with bamboo, where the cannons are hidden in the thick tall grass. A little further away you can see the canopy of the command post, now we are already inside.

The walls and steps were lined with natural stone by the Japanese; the masonry is still preserved, like new.

Let's go up and the entire La Perouse Strait is in front of us, at a glance. Let's move on, there is a whole cannon in an underground shelter, all the levers are still in working order.

Below you can see a hole that goes underground, let's go down and a whole underground world will open up before us. Lots of rooms and crawl spaces. Transitions, stairs and we are again at the top already at the other end of the peninsula, again we go down, again up and again at the other end, along the road there are empty boxes from shells, old beds, on the walls there are various devices, sensors, counters, yesssss, exactly You can walk here for weeks to look at everything and find all the loopholes. We crawl out into the white light and return to camp. We’ll have a snack at the camp and go out again for another walk around the cape. In good weather, you can see Japan from Crillon. And we go to the edge of the cape, and maybe we’ll get lucky and see Japan. First, the island of Rebun will open before your eyes, and then the island of Hokkaido. If you have binoculars, you can see windmills that glow with multi-colored lights.

We return to camp to prepare dinner. And while discussing today, we enjoy hot food and delicious tea with bagels.

Daily mileage of radial exits: 6 km.

Day 7.

In the morning, after breakfast, we collect our things, put on our backpacks and again set off along the road to explore the underground passages and “study” military equipment. We came out to a huge cannon, and three Soviet tanks hid in the bamboo. We will examine new manholes and trenches and find Japanese washbasins that have been preserved in excellent condition.

Further along the road we’ll stop by to look at the remains of the Shiranusi post. The post was founded by the Japanese Matsumae clan from the island of Hokkaido, presumably in the 1750s; in the 1850s, the post's importance began to decline and the post in Shiranushi was abolished, and the history of the post ended. There is information that in 1925, 150 people lived in the village of Siranusi and there were 36 houses. Now at the site of the post you can find many objects from different times, belonging to both the Japanese and the Russians, a pedestal from the Kaijima Kinento monument, platforms from the building of the Japanese post, earthen ramparts that were most likely defensive in nature, concrete structures, firing points of the 2nd world war.

Above the post there are the ruins of a crab factory and coastal batteries from IS-3 tanks. By the way, the tanks are preserved and are in excellent condition.

And then a “ghost ship” appears on the horizon from the fog. Handsome, or rather all that's left of him. The ship is torn into three pieces. This is the bulk carrier "Luga", which has been lying here on the sandbank for more than 65 years. Seagulls and cormorants took a liking to the remains of the ship and set up a bird market on it.

By the fall of 1947, the dry cargo ship Luga was prepared for towing to Vladivostok, and then further for major repairs to Shanghai. The steamship Pyotr Tchaikovsky was assigned to tow the Luga, but they missed time and began towing at the end of October. "Pyotr Tchaikovsky" and "Luga" were caught by a fierce typhoon near the La Perouse Strait. The tug broke and the Luga was thrown onto the Crillon Peninsula between Cape Maidel and Zamirailov Head. The damage to “Luga” was so great that repairs were impractical and no attempt was made to remove it from the sandbank, which is how it became a home for gulls and cormorants

Lunch stop and photo for memory. And again on the road.

Many bear tracks will accompany us along the way. Previously, there was a nature reserve on the peninsula; hunting and fishing were prohibited in these areas, so the bears multiplied here. We take out our pipes and blow them, indicating that we are coming here.

We stop for the night on the Zamirailovka River. Hot dinner.

Daily mileage: 14 km.

Day 8.

In the morning after breakfast, we pack up the camp, put on our already lightweight backpacks and hit the road. Today the path partially passes through the pass, going around Cape Kuznetsov, as there are no passages there. The road through the pass is in good condition and will not pose any difficulties to cross.

Cape Kuznetsov is one of the natural monuments of the island. Sakhalin, received its name in honor of captain 1st rank D.I. Kuznetsov, who commanded the first detachment that sailed to the Far East in 1857 to protect the Russian borders.

We go out to the farm. We stop for lunch.

During lunch, we'll go and look at a Japanese post with hieroglyphs. There are many of these posts left around Sakhalin, and they indicate the altitude above sea level.

After lunch we continue to Cape Windies, where we will set up camp. Dinner. Overnight.

Daily mileage: 17 km.

Day 9.

In the morning, after breakfast, we go to Kovrizhka.

Mount Kovrizhka got its name because of its cake-shaped shape; it is located on Cape Windis. Translated from the Ainu language as “bad dwelling.” The cape is 35 km away. from the village Shebunino, Kovrizhka itself rises above sea level at an altitude of about 78 m, has an almost perfect round shape with a diameter of more than 100 m. The absolutely flat top of Kovrizhka is known for the fact that archaeological sites of ancient people were found on it. There are versions that this natural structure was used by the Sakhalin aborigines as a fortress, where they fled from the invasion of strangers, which may be why it got the name “bad dwelling.”

The climb to Kovrizhka is very steep; you can only get there by walking on a rope, which was pulled by kind people. Overcoming fear, let's go up and a dizzying view will open before us! Almost the entire South Kamyshevy Range is visible on one side, and Cape Kuznetsov on the other.

Lunch and dinner at the camp. Overnight.

Day 10

In the morning after breakfast, we pack up the camp, put on our backpacks and hit the road.

Today we will walk through an old abandoned village. Which impresses with its preserved houses on the seashore in the wilderness, where there are no communications.

Along the way is another ford of the Pereputka River. During rains, the water level rises greatly, which can create an obstacle. But we have already passed many rivers and streams, and this river is not an obstacle to us!

We will have lunch on the river and continue our journey to the Brusnichka river. The path runs along a sandy beach.

We set up camp at the mouth of the Brusnichka River. Dinner. Overnight.

Daily mileage: 16 km

Day 11

Breakfast. Packing for the trip. Day of departure from the hike. The last push. It's a pity to lose the beauty of Crillon. We are left behind many untrodden and unexplored places. Which means there is a reason to come back!

A bus will be waiting in Shebunino to take us to Yuzhno-Sakhalinsk.

Daily mileage: 22 km.

Day 12.

Spare day. In case of bad weather, tides and fatigue of participants. If the pace of the route is good, it will be used as an additional day or as an additional day to distribute the mileage according to the strengths of the participants.

Cape Crillon is the southernmost part of the island. In my understanding, it is the end of the earth, although it is further from Hokkaido and the Kuril Islands, but Sakhalin ends at Crillon.
Cape Crillon on the map.


12 thousand years ago, the islands of Sakhalin and Hokkaido were one and possibly connected to each other through Crillon. Now they are separated by 40 km of the La Perouse Strait, named after the brigadier of the French army, Count Jean Francois Galot de la La Perouse. The La Perouse expedition started from France, crossed the Atlantic and Pacific oceans, reached the Korean Peninsula and along the Strait of Japan reached Sakhalin, along the Tatar Strait rose north, then turned around, passed along the strait between Sakhalin and Hokkaido, through the Kuril Islands again entered the Pacific Ocean and died in the southwestern part of it.

A lighthouse was built at Cape Crillon in 1883 for the safety of navigation. In 1896, a new lighthouse was built, equipped with a lighting device from the French company Barbier et Bernad.

About the most important thing. Where did the name "Crillon" come from? La Perouse named the cape in honor of Colonel General of the French army Louis de Balbes de Berton de Crillon (Crillon), famous for his proverbial bravery (pends-toi, brave Crillon, on a vaincn sans toi).

The white balls in the distance are an aircraft detection and aviation guidance station, as well as a radar station of the 39th Radio Engineering Regiment of Air Surveillance, Warning and Communications. The same ones can be seen in.

Every year Sakhalin jeepers organize a race on Krillon.

A very interesting story from these places can be read from last djedai .

vnedorog:
Eugene! Are you already sitting on your backpack?
I meet you, in Yuzhny we take a person, fly to Kholmsk, overload, start the Boeing and move to the starting point - on the morning of the 7th the start is off-road

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golovach:
Sergey - I am duplicating the flight.
YUZHNO SAKHALINSK, EArrival at 13:20 Thu.

vnedorog:
Okay Evgeniy...
I'm keeping an eye on it. I'll meet you myself...

All eight hours, the plane was flying somewhere straight....

Cape Krillon is the southernmost point of the Krillon Peninsula and the entire Sakhalin Island. The name was given in honor of the French military leader Louis-Balbes de Crillon by the great French navigator Jean-François de La Perouse.

In the north it is connected by a narrow, but high and steep isthmus with the Krillon Peninsula, in the west it is washed by the Sea of ​​Japan, in the east - by Aniva Bay of the Sea of ​​Okhotsk. From the south is the La Perouse Strait, separating the islands of Sakhalin and Hokkaido.

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On the road from Yuzhno-Sakhalinsk to Kholmsk it was very windy, but not cold. The wind was so strong that you could sit on it =)

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Having gathered part of the crews, we set out on the route to Cape Crillon.

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The road along the seashore, it is different... The air is salty and smells sharply of the ocean with a clear hint of iodine.

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The entire coastline is cut through by small rivers, this one is called the Sixth.

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To overcome water obstacles, a navigator is posted along the entire length. Otherwise, the risk of falling into a ravine, or bumping into a stone or tree trunk is very high. And the current is very strong.

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Here begin the fields of seaweed washed ashore.

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Sea kale is a very smelly and slippery substance.

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Driving along it is extremely difficult. The stems wrap around the bridges and the car literally gets stuck in it.

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It is impossible to go through here alone.

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Teamwork and winch anchors help out.

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Very slippery...

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And then the road begins, along which you can drive for hours. To the left are hills, to the right is the ocean.

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Highway! =) It was getting dark, it was decided to set up camp.

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We walked several kilometers along the “beaches” and stopped to gather the group near the Liberty transport ship.

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The ship sank in 1944. It has been lying here ever since.

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People began to arrive. There was a pass and a valley ahead. Raspadok is a place between two hills. The height is different and the technique of overcoming is also different.

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Turnout to the pass.

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Nature is rapidly beginning to change, and the ambient temperature is rising.

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The fastest ones turned out to be “Jimnik-Suzuki-Samurai”, they go everywhere, except that they don’t know how to jump! All the roads here were built by the Japanese during the occupation of the island.

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The most unpleasant thing is to fall into a ravine. The depth of the puddle can be up to 2 meters!

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Raspadok.

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This is bamboo, yes yes - bamboo. This plant is a nightmare for local jeepers. Very strong, flexible and sharp. Tearing off the steering bipod is a no-brainer, puncturing a tire is easy.

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Everything is big on Sakhalin! There was no ice age on the island and therefore all the plants are huge compared to exactly the same ones, for example, in the middle zone. If it's a burdock, then wow!

It so happened that we were the first to cross the pass and stopped at a small parking lot for a snack.

And I always wanted to eat there. This was facilitated by the fresh Pacific breeze and the crazy smell from the camp pots.

While the water was boiling, the men caught crabs.

There is a cunning fishing technology. The crab is big and angry.

And all around... Amazing freshness...

Streams with the purest water. With this water, ordinary dumplings acquire a divine taste!

-How are you, Moscow? =) The people always tried to feed me and took care of me in every possible way. Thank you guys!

We waited for low tide and walked along the ocean line. Enchanting action.

The diesel engine rumbles, something gurgles under the bottom, and you partly drive, partly swim...

The military unit at Cape Crillon appears ahead! We were not very lucky with the weather; the sun came out for 2 hours during the entire expedition. The landscape is very dull in color.

We are slowly approaching the end point.

The green house on the right is the border guards' dorm. Japan, across the "road".

We've arrived.

Remember the song?

And mail with transfersflies from the mainlandTo the farthestUnion HarborAnd I throw stonesfrom the steep bankDistantLa Perouse Strait...

In the photo below - pebbles and my hand =)

And so, these pebbles flew into the strait =)

A childhood dream has come true. When I was little, I often laid out a map on the floor and, crawling along it, would randomly come across Sakhalin and its “tails”. All the time I thought - How is it there? And I always really wanted to get there.

Cape Crillon.

On the cape itself, there is a lot of Japanese abandoned land left.

For example, an old boiler room (Japanese) which is more than 80 years old.

The extreme southern tip of Sakhalin Island - Cape Crillon, named after the French general. In fact, this is almost the real end of the earth. At least Sakhalin. Next is the island of Hokkaido and, interestingly, for a long time Cape Crillon was considered a continuation of this island, until La Perouse discovered the strait named after him. It was then that it became clear that the geography here was completely different. This place was very dangerous for ships to pass through. In 1887, the steamship Kostroma was shipwrecked here. In memory of him, a small chapel was built on the shore from the wreckage of the ship. Although by that time a lighthouse had already been built on Crillon for the safety of passing ships.

Therefore, in 1896 it was replaced with a more equipped and powerful one. Getting to Crillon by land is quite difficult. However, organizing an extreme rally here is the most favorite thing for jeepers. For example, on Victory Day they gather in teams to travel through these places on an extreme forced march. Off-road, to the very monument to the soldiers who died for the liberation of southern Sakhalin. They have been organizing such races, or rather races, since 2004. But a boat trip to Cape Crillon is much safer. The places here are incredibly beautiful: picturesque waterfalls, seals resting on the rocks.

You can enjoy the noise of the bird market, and, if you’re lucky, see a fishing bear. Some are drawn to the Cape's military history. It is a large fortified area with pillboxes, underground passages and other relevant fortifications - interesting. Tourists come here, although good weather rarely happens in these places. The fact is that near Cape Crillon two currents meet: cold Sea of ​​Okhotsk and warm Tatar Strait, which ensures windiness and raininess. But can this interfere with someone who decides to admire the waterfalls of Cape Zamirailov’s Head (the name alone is worth it)?

And the one who came on Crillon to bow to the mass grave located at the extreme point of the cape, where seven paratroopers who died during the Great Patriotic War at the hands of the Japanese are buried, and will not stop at all in any weather. This cape, which was of great importance for the defense of the southern borders of Sakhalin, is still demonstrating its power. Much of the credit for this goes to the building built for the lighthouse, which, although it was erected back in 1894, is still a fortress: bricks were brought here from Japan, Oregon pine from America.

True, in 1980 the original bell was replaced with a Japanese one, and the premises were transferred from residential to utility. But in general The lighthouse on Crillon also functions as before. There is also a weather station, and military and border guard units are stationed. There are quite worthy sights nearby. For example, Mount Kovrizhka, which looks like a cake, and the rocky island of Kamen. Some travelers, overwhelmed by emotions, write poems about the cape. About sharp winds, about thick fog, about the threatening ocean around. Romance. And, even if you have never gone hiking, you are drawn to look at Sakhalin.

Address: Sakhalin region, Sakhalin island

Cape Crillon (photo)