happy face

Bakhta has nothing to do with our world. It's a place without roads and trains, and boats can only get there when the Yenisei melts in summer. Bakhta is small. Either way, the Bakhta is so insignificant that it is hardly an integral part of our world. But this does not prevent the rivers here from continuing to flow, nor does it prevent the Siberian hunters from continuing to breathe peacefully on this marginal continent.

Hunters do not hunt in spring. They picked straight trees, carefully split the wood in the direction of the grain growth, and made skis with near-primitive tools. Hunters do not hunt in summer. The river melts, and they do it uniquely, picking wood that's resilient and tough to make canoes, baked in the sun to make the season's most important transport. Hunters do not hunt in the fall. They got into canoes, brought hounds, dry food, tools and snow sleds, and made their way into the depths of the taiga with difficulty.

Winter is coming, and hunters are waiting for the opportunity. They picked and trained their own hounds, learned from their father how to build and hunt boats, and rowed hard on the unfrozen Yenisei River. They confidently walked into their own territory alone, facing their own destiny with absolute integrity.

Many hunters came here by helicopter to hunt for the country during the Soviet planned farm period. At first, they thought they were seasoned hunters. The hunter never imagined how helpless he would be when he needed a person to face the unfamiliar coniferous forest of 1,500 square kilometers. He barely survived because of the expectation that he would be picked up by a helicopter in one Christmas.

Of course, he did not expect that the Christmas helicopter did not come, and the long winter came. The vast forest is covered with snow, and between the sky and the earth, there is nothing but hunters abandoned by the state in the endless taiga.

If you're like me, accustomed to being brainwashed by rose-colored filters, then you're likely to find the hunter's life lonely and tragic, so we're not Herzog just yet. The old man will immediately change the conversation: at this moment, when the winter hunters are only themselves, they finally get their wish and become what they are: happy people.

Because, the taiga in winter is the freest place in the world! In the forest, hunters just need to survive according to their own philosophy and codes. There are no rules here! No tax! No government! There is no law! No bureaucracy! no phone! No radio! This pleasure is very luxurious. Only those who have firmly established their own position in the huge unknown can obtain this kind of happiness.

The hunters are firmly committed to their philosophies of existence and live by these tenets. Greed is absolute evil, so in spring when all things are still budding, a good hunter of integrity will never hunt. Bought skis won't lift your feet for 15km, but homemade skis can go on without worries, so snowmobiles are the only modern tool they use, and they spend three seasons crafting everything they need to survive. Dogs are the most important partners when hunting, but a good dog will lose its ability to survive in the wild forever if it is locked for 6 months, so no matter how good a hunter is, no matter how much he loves dogs, he will not let the dog enter the warm hunting room in winter. Dogs will not be fed more than their minimum needs. Hunters hunt sables, so they never touch a bear unless it poses a threat to its life.

The elements of happiness are nothing but a man, a dog, and a coniferous forest. In addition, everyone relies on their own abilities, absolutely fair, and never owes anything. Living to this extent, there will be no more questions and no need for any answers.

The beginning of the movie impressed me a lot. It looks like winter, but spring has actually come. The broken ice in the center of the river roughly squeezed the ice blocks that had not yet melted on the river bank, and the sewage mixed with the residual snow roared and pushed forward, like thunder. I never thought that the melting of the rejuvenating river, which is often romanticized, is so cold and realistic, but why can't the cold and the reality be a face of happiness?

Christmas in Russia is January 5th. Before Christmas, the hunters returned happily with their winter harvest. The Yenisei River has all frozen at this time, and the journey is no longer difficult. The hunters rode skilfully on snowmobiles, galloping faithfully behind their partners, never getting into the car. They galloped on the ice for a day and a night, and when they saw the lights in the distance, they knew it was home. They will keep going until a warm door opens for them.

Then the hunters will walk into the forest again and spend the rest of the winter happily.