LIVING HISTORY—A kind of impromptu cultural exchange in the weeks following the coup in the Soviet Union made the historic and present day links between Sonoma County and the Soviet Union even stronger. Above, History Professor Nikolai lvanovich Rokitiansky from De Anza College and Archbishop Anthony of the Russian Orthodox Church in San Francisco exchange interpretations of the events at Fort Ross.
By Maureen Hurley
WHEN 160 Soviet scientists, scholars, historians, geographers, businessmen, artists and crew joined the historic 250th anniversary voyage commemorating Vitus Bering and Alexei Chirikov's exploration of Russian America, little did they know that the Soviet Union they left behind on July 10, 1991, would cease to exist. News of the failed Soviet coup d'état, which kept most of us glued to CNN news and had mapmakers scrambling for updated versions of political boundaries, was celebrated with cheers by the Soviet entourage aboard the research vessel, the Akademik Shirshov, docked just hours later at San Francisco's Pier 32.
Soviets and Americans celebrated the culmination of a week's tumultuous political changes that swept the Soviet Union onto the shores of democracy during a visit to Fort Ross, where, with open arms and hearts, they feasted most sumptuously on borscht, caviar, and salmon—dancing and singing again under the flag of the Russian American Fur Trading Company that once flew over Fort Ross from 1812 to 1941.
According to crew member Yevgeny Shlei, a photo-journalist from Novosibirsk, during the seven decades of communism, the name and location of Fort Ross (Ross is an ancient Slavic name for Russia) was concealed from history and geography books and maps. To many Soviets, he says, Fort Ross is a symbol, a mythical place, a piece of old Russia—surrounded by California redwoods. He asked me why—even during the height of the Cold War—Americans didn't also conceal or change the name of the fort or the name of the Russian River.
Yevgeny Shlei elaborated: "Russia is finally coming back into the lap of depoliticized existence, while her children who once had to leave their country, have finally found that haven of human souls that could be substituted for their motherland. Fort Ross has become such a haven. Will Russia itself ever moor to it?"
When I queried Yevgeny Shlei about the coup, the breakup of the USSR, and the pending freedom of ten Soviet republics, he stoically said, "Russia is still Russia. That will never change." Another ex-Soviet added, "But you cannot again make a slave out of a man who stands up for his rights."
In 1728, Bering discovered the gulf between Asia and America. Searching for "de Gamma land," on July 16, he, like Columbus, discovered America, but didn't know it, as he had lost his way in the thick fog. Chirikov, who searched for Bering aboard the sister vessel, the St. Peter, had passed him up in the fog, so Chirikov also co-discovered America. But it wasn't official until Russian exploration of the "unoccupied" coast of the Pacific Northwest began in 1741 with the second Bering Expedition and the colonization of Sitka, Alaska, the first Russian-American colony.
Attracted by an abundance of prized otter and seals and a fertile coastline blessed with clement weather, Ivan Kuskov of the Russian-American Fur Trading Company, anchored in Roumiantzov Bay (Bodega Bay) in 1809 to scout out a possible settlement site; he returned with 25 Russians and 85 kayak-bearing Aleutians on the Chirikov in June of' 1812 to establish the colony of Fort Ross, Russia's southernmost colony. Russians, Aleutians, and Kashaya Pomo Indians lived together in rare tri-cultural harmony. (See "Digging the Past at Fort Ross" page 14.)
From the northern reaches of Alaska to the southernmost Channel Islands, the Russians and Aleuts had harvested the sea otter to the brink of extinction within a decade. By 1821 the fur trading business was over, the bottom had fallen out and the otter population decimated. And in 1841, the fort, considered a massive financial loss, was sold to Swiss immigrant settler Captain John Sutter for the sum of $30,000. The Russians packed up, lock stock, and, well, leaving behind the barrels and cannons—they sailed for home.
But the Russian Front returned to Fort Ross 150 years later, this August 24, to reestablish cordial relations. In addition to the festivities coordinated by the Fort Ross Living History interpreters, a rock opera staged by the Leningrad Rock Opera, "Juno and Avos"—a love story based on the historic romance and engagement of Presidio commandant's daughter, Maria de la Conceptíon Arguello, or Conchita, and Count Nikolai Rezanov, was staged in the reconstructed Fort Ross barracks.
Commanded home by the tsar in 1806, Rezanov set sail on the Juno. While traveling across Siberia, Rezanov was killed by a fall from a horse. Hearing no news of his death, Conchita waited faithfully for years before becoming California's first Carmelite nun. It was an interesting reality tweak to see this particular rock opera, replete with orchestration from the original iron bell cast in St. Petersburg, performed at the fort.
According to Fred Ptucha of Santa Rosa, the visit, a brainstorm of Fort Ross Interpretive Association President John Middleton of Monterey, began as a fluke—an idea conceived on a few sheets of Fort Ross stationery. Later, at Dutch Harbor, Alaska, when the Russian-American 250 Committee was under house-arrest, and the ship impounded by US Customs for not having official documents, they waved Middleton's letter, declaring they had an official letter of invitation.
The US bureaucrats backed down, and the expedition continued. But having received no reply from the Soviets, Middleton assumed the idea had met an early end—until some one happened to spot an article about the voyage, already underway, in the June issue of Soviet Life magazine. News that the Russians were indeed coming had several Americans hastily scrambling to organize a welcome committee for the delegation in Alaska, Washington, and California.
The California leg of the voyage was nearly aborted when news of the Soviet coup (putscht) reached the ship, but after the failure of the scheme, the Akademik Shirshov continued on its journey and headed for San Francisco. (Fort Ross harbor—such as it is—is far too small to accommodate the 400-foot scientific weather research vessel.)
With little warning and little time to prepare for the visitors, Sonoma County volunteers, headed up by Ptucha and Barbara Leger of Santa Rosa, rallied to the cause in true American fashion. With less than two days' notice, Santa Rosa-Cherkassy Sister City USSR arranged transportation, a tour of the Wine Country, a concert, and impromptu homestay for 52 stranded Soviet guests.
From the beginning of their epic journey, the crew of the Akademik Shirshov, which embarked on a goodwill journey from the Siberian military port of Vladivostok, in the extreme southeastern portion of the Soviet Far East, has been plagued with troubles. Rough seas, clashes with U.S. Customs, ten defections during the height of the coup scare, illness, and an aborted journey to Los Angeles were all part of the excursion in the United States.
But it was the theft of the ship's payroll-which ultimately left the crew and passengers stranded, broke, and without food or fuel, and docked for more than a week at San Francisco's Pier 32 that made headline news and brought offers of help from all directions. Russian American Yuri Shavanov donated $4000; An owner of an Oregon inn flew down from Portland to give the crew $100 each. Harbor master Jules Hall arranged docking fees, and $3000 worth of food. Countless others offered gifts of food and money to help the travelers return home.
Vladimir Baturin, deputy chairman of the Soviet expedition, said the aim of the expedition, which includes seven vessels (the Pallada, a 352-foot square rigger, and the 44-foot Baikal, arrive this week in San Francisco), is "a voyage of friendship to bring our two nations closer together, to build bridges across the ocean."
When the A. Shirshov finally departed, Americans (including many families from Sonoma County) and Soviets alike shed tears for their new-found friends. Americans threw cans of beer, toys, teddy bears, and candy aboard; Soviets returned the gesture with posters, flags, and fresh loaves of galley baked Russian bread.
Crew members say that had the attempted Soviet coup succeeded, defections would have increased dramatically. Only four Soviets in Seattle elected not to return home. However, there was another form of defection—consorting and fraternizing with the enemy. Before the ship was officially closed by customs officials, groggy Americans and Soviets emerged from cabins and berths, more than just a little bleary-eyed from necking the vodka bottle during the previous evening's festivities. In the true Russian-American tradition of Glasnost, more than one love match was spawned at every port—a guarantee the goodwill voyages will continue in another form.
Fighting heavy Labor Day traffic, I drove to a pre-designated spot at the Marin Headlands—I was a modern-day Conchita waving my impromptu flag-red pants—as the Akademik Shirshov emerged from beneath the Golden Gate Bridge. The ship returned my salute with two blasts from her horn. The new Russians waved back wildly as she headed out to sea; a white ship brilliant as an idea merged with the fog on its final voyage home and a return to an uncertain future.
From pages 1 & 14, The West Sonoma County Paper, Vol. 13, issue 7, September 5-18, 1991.
