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ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Richard
Hughes is an author, gemologist, and ex-webmaster
of Pala International, Fallbrook, California. He
also has his own personal web site: www.ruby-sapphire.com
Nicolai
Kuznetsov is president
of Stoneflower, a Moscow-based
company specializing
in Russian gems, minerals,
and fossils. © 2000 Richard
W. Hughes
This article originally appeared
in GemKey Magazine , Vol. 3, No. 1, pp. 58–66.
Abstract: Up
until recently, gem-quality imperial jadeite was
found only in Upper Burma. But starting in the
early 1970’s, jadeite was found at Itmurundy
in Kazakhstan. A few years later, fine jadeite
was found in the Polar Urals at Pusyerka, and in
1992, in Khakassia, about 100 km. outside of the
capital of Abakan.
This
article is the first extensive description ever published
in English on the Russian jadeite deposits and is
based upon visits by Nickolai Kuznetsov to these
deposits in the early 1990’s and both authors’ visit
to the Polar Urals and Khakassia mines in August,
2000.
IT IS AN OLD AXIOM that precious stones are rarely
found in good places and nowhere is that more true
than with jade. Burma, the world’s premier source
features mines located in a miserable piece of SE Asian
shrubbery that would have even George of the Jungle
screaming for Agent Orange. Thus when I learned that
top-grade jadeite had been discovered in Russia, I
quickly made plans to expect the worst. Topped up my
life insurance, said my last goodbyes to relatives
and friends, gave away my collection of Velvet Underground
records and canceled my lifetime subscription to the Watchtower.
That last one really hurt.
My
companion and guide for my Russian sojourn was Nickolai
Kuznetsov, a Kazakhstan-born Russian whose love of
gems and minerals is matched only by his prodigious
consumption of vodka.
Our
journey to the Russian jade
mines began in the capital
of Moscow, a citywide case
of schizophrenia caught somewhere
between Tzarist excess, a
Joseph Stalin commie habit
and a burgeoning case of
youthful freedom. Moscow
is a beguiling collection
of contradictions.
The
first stop in Moscow was
Stoneflower, Nickolai’s
mineral and gem company,
housed in Andreievsky Monastery,
which dates to the 16th century.
It was here that I viewed
my first Russian jade, and
also here that I drank my
first Russian vodka. Both
events would be repeated
many times during my three
weeks in the country.
Two
days later, we set off
for Salekhard, from Sheremetevo
#2, one of Moscow’s
six airports. At some point
in the Soviet period, it
was decided that an airport
was needed for each point
on the compass — a
sweet thought, but one
that makes for pure hell
when flying into Moscow
with the idea of changing
planes and departing in
a different direction.
Polar!
At Salekhard,
we are met by Sergei Mikheev,
one of the discoverers
of the Polar Urals jade
deposits. From Salekhard,
a short ferry ride across
the River Ob brings us
to Labutnangyi, but not
without incident. Our captain
ripped a rail off another
ferry leaving the dock.
No doubt he had been hitting
the vodka. A one-hour drive
brings us to Kharp, at
the base of the Ural mountains,
where we will spend the
night. One thing about
the roads up here is that
you don’t need to
worry about driving at
night, because during the
summer, there isn’t
any — night, that
is. August in the Arctic
Circle is the time of “white
nights.” When the
sun does dip below the
horizon, it is for just
a brief period, before
coming back just two or
three hours later.
Kharp
is quite frankly, depressing,
a monochrome mixture of rust
and concrete, a gray gulag
of a town, whose major industries
are cement and prisons. Even
the sky displays a leaden,
industrial quality. Not even
the slightest attempt is
made at gaiety or beautification,
as if even the thought is
too much work under these
harsh conditions.
This
is the land of permafrost. While no snow is visible,
only the first few feet of earth are thawed; below
that all is frozen. To beat the cold, All the houses
are built above the ground and insulated pipes also
run above ground. At times, one sees telephone poles
sticking out at crazy angles, evidence of the yearly
cycle of freezing and thawing that makes it impossible
to anchor anything into the soil.
We
arrive at the Kharp “Sheraton,” our night
stop, a dimly lit above-ground cellar. Take a cheap
Indian brothel, reduce the size of the windows and
paint everything gray and you’ll get the picture.
But our room does have an attached kitchen. This
is a common feature in Russian hotels, for the concept
of restaurants and dining out is a new one in the
former Soviet Union. Even today, years after the
fall of communism, less than one percent of the population
of Russia takes more than one restaurant meal per
year. Yes, per year.
Tanked
up
Transport to the mines,
some 160 km from Kharp, was via a Russian armored
personnel carrier (APC). After climbing aboard in
a vacant lot in the middle of Kharp,
our driver turned over the engine and the roar called out: “Are you ready
to RUMMBBBBLLE?” Verily. Banking quickly out of the lot, one city block
later we encountered a river. Whoosh, our vehicle splits the water like
Moses parting the Red Sea. Then it was up onto the opposite bank and thus began
one helluva ride. I felt simultaneously like a can of paint in a shaker and Rommel
in a blitzkrieg on the Russian steppes. Tree in the way. No problem — drive
right over the sucker. Rivers? We crossed several that were close to two meters
deep. Over hill, dale, mound, rock, and every other manner of obstruction. Mud,
rocks, trees — nothing could stop us. After my 1996–97 visits to Burma’s
jade mines, I thought I knew what a bad road looked like, but these polar paths
were their equal to the nth degree. The difference was our vehicle, which
made mincemeat out of every type of terrain thrown at it.
After
an hour of white knuckling across tundra, river and forest, I
turned to Nicky and asked about just how far away these mines
were. With a sly smile he replied: “Only nine more hours.” “Nice,” I
thought as I chewed on my tongue. If I ever do get down off this
tundra tank, my butt cleavage will make Dolly Parton look flat-chested.
| Here
come the Komis |
|
Imagine this. After
close to six hours of bouncing across
the Polar tundra, we cross a rise and
encounter a scene straight out of the
old American plains. Teepees dot the
landscape, surrounded by sleds, with
reindeer grazing peacefully nearby.
As we rumble closer, white-skinned
people dressed in red tribal outfits
emerge from the tents and it hits me — I’ve
just discovered the summer home of
Santa Claus.
What
we had found was an encampment of Izhma
Komi (yes, pronounced like ‘commie’).
While there are over 500,000 Komi in
Russia, the Izhma Komi number but a
few thousand. These are the tundra
Komi and unlike the other groups have
reindeer herding as a main source of
income.
In
addition to the Komi, another
tribal group, the Khant,
are also found in the Polar
Urals. But in contrast
to the Komi, who have white
skin and blue eyes, the
Khant are more Mongolian
in appearance.
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Timeless
Scenery along the way
was just beyond spectacular. Treeline this far
north is probably less
than 500 meters above sea level, with
the highest peaks in the
Polar Urals topping just over 1000 meters. But it is hard to be a tourist
amidst the roar and bounce of this Russian Taiga
tank. Occasionally we would pass
a small settlement, but otherwise there
was little sign of human activity. Only
wave upon endless wave of forest, green hills and tundra. After three hours
of
bone-jarring action, we crossed a small rise and came to a river. Standing
along the bank was a wizened old man
with what looked like all his worldly possessions
on a small wheeled luggage cart. Obviously waiting for the next bus to Nowheresibirsk.
He flags us over and blurts out something in Russian. Translation: “What
day is it?”
Mine
at last
Nine
hours into our journey and I’ve made an important
decision. Upon my return to Moscow, I will register
a complaint with the Russian highway department,
and then go right into the pearl business, because I cannot take these jade
roads
anymore.
The KGB had no need for
torture. All that was necessary was to bring a prisoner
up here. Ten hours of this road and anyone would
give up state secrets. How did I come to be here?
How did John Hinkley come to shoot Ronald Reagan.
I don’t know. I have no fixation with Jodie
Foster, I have no answers, but am obviously just
as nuts as Hinkley.Eventually
we arrived at the mine site, Pusyerka, also known
as Lot 88. A few ramshackle mine buildings showed
evidence of past mining activity. How anyone ever
discovered a gem up here is beyond belief. The
country just oozes emptiness. It would be beautiful,
were it not for the thought that, in a day or two,
we will have to make this same journey back down
the road.
Exploration
for jade in the Polar
Urals was begun by a
Russian geologist named
Yevgeny Kuznetsov (not
related to Nickolai).
In 1979, geologists mapping
the area discovered rocks
favorable for the formation
of jadeite. Sergei Mikheev
joined the yearly expeditions
in 1985. Patiently they
explored, during the
three months per year
when the snow and ice
yielded to the sun. In
the summer of 1989, Sergei
reached down and picked
up a stone that would
change his life. Incredibly
enough, after ten years
of looking, he had found
his first piece of jadeite.
And it was no ordinary
jadeite, but imperial
jade, of a quality that compared favorably with
the fine material from
Burma.
Sergei
took that first piece
to Hong Kong, where he
showed it to one local
jade trader. Only a trace
of imperial green was
visible at the surface.
When Sergei voiced his
belief that the green
vein would continue throughout,
he met only skepticism.
So Sergei made the Chinese
an offer. The stone would
be sawn open. If the
green continued throughout,
Sergei would receive
his asking price. And
if the green disappeared,
the Chinese would pay
his much lower offer.
As the saw blade parted
the boulder, the tension
was palpable. When it
reached the end, each
half of the boulder tumbled
away, revealing a fine
emerald-green color within.
Sergei’s belief
in his stone was vindicated.
And the Chinaman became
a believer. He later
invested heavily in the
mining, but alas, could
not wring enough profit
out of it to continue.
88
different outcrops of
jadeite have been identified
in the Polar Urals. At
Lot 88, we could see
remnants of the mining
activity. Everywhere
along the ground lay
pieces of white jadeite,
riddled here and there
with veins of intense
green. The jadeite in
this area occurs in dikes
within a serpentine matrix,
with actinolite and phlogopite
and from all appearances
much material remains.
But there is that old
bugaboo, the weather.
Today, the mine lies
fallow, awaiting another
visionary investor, someone
who can see the promise
in the green stone. And
Sergei continues in his
belief that if the right
investor can be found,
the icy green stone from
the Polar Urals will
take its place alongside
Burma in the pantheon
of imperial jade.
Good
Clean Fun
Forty lashes and chest pains? Here’s to your health at the
banya… |
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Russia
offers a
unique blend
of customs,
and there
is certainly
nothing more
unusual than
that of the banya, or
sauna.
I
normally consider myself a
level-headed, sober individual,
and dislike those who rejoice
in the idea of “getting
crazy,” “walking
on the wild side” and “letting
it all hang out.” Thus
when my friend Nickolai suggested
that we visit a Russian banya,
where we would get naked in
a room just slightly below
the melting point of Satan’s
trident, beat each other across
the back and neck and shoulders
with branches, and then plunge
into a pool of ice-cold water,
my reply was simple: “Yeah,
baby, let’s do it!”
According
to the Russians,
you cannot consider
yourself truly
clean until you
have gone through
the ritual purification
of the banya. The
first step is to
obtain bundles
of birch branches
(the bundle I selected
was particularly
nice). Then it’s
off to the banya.
These are sex-segregated locker room-cum-bath houses where one strips naked for a quick shower before moving on to the warm-up room. Finally the main event, a wooden hot box where naked Russian sadists continually splash water onto hot rocks, sending up pillars of scalding steam which increase the temperature to solar levels. Being a novice in the banya scene, my friend Nickolai suggested I go first. He asked me to lay face down upon a wood bench and proceeded to beat me senseless with the birch branches. This lasted about 10 seconds — the time it took for me to arise screaming from the third degree burns on my… hmm… let’s just call him Peter.
After applying the same to Nickolai, we fled the hot room, plunging into a pool of ice water. This is said to increase blood flow. I suppose it works — at least for those whose heart continues to beat after the shock. According to Nickolai, some Russians actually build their banyas near a lake so in winter they can go directly from Hell to a hole in the ice.
A brief shower and several skin grafts later, Nickolai said it was time to do it again — and so we did, repeating the process over and over. Finally, the banya ritual was finished off with massages by two hefty Russian bears. During the massage, I began to consider making a permanent move to Moscow. My skin literally glowed, and as we glided out of the banya house I felt cleaner than I had ever been in my life. Banya? Yeah, baby, let’s do it!
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Fortune strikes
Shortly after returning
from the Polar Urals, Nickolai and I found ourselves
shooting a game of pool in a Moscow taproom when fortune smiled upon us. We were
approached by Mikhail “Misha” Khronlenko, a manic man sporting a perpetual
cat-that-ate-the-canary grin. An old friend of Nickolai’s, Misha also happened
to be Russia’s biggest jade miner and exporter. After much banter and vodka
during dinner the next evening, Misha told us he would be leaving soon for his
jade mines in Khakassia and invited us along. As Misha explained it, “every
dog gets his day.” If we would come with him to Khakassia, he promised “a
fantastic day.”
Not
so fast. With the experience of the ten-hour Polar ass-cracker
fresh in my mind, I needed to know more. Just where were these
mines? Misha smiled and replied that they were just two hours outside
the capital on a good road. Oh, real-lah? How could we refuse?
A day later we found ourselves on a plane bound for Abakan, capital
of Khakassia.
Let
me say this from the outset.
Air Abakan is not the Concorde.
Not even the Konkordski.
No sleep at all. I spent
most of the flight obsessing
that if the seat in front
of me moved back even one
more centimeter, the air
hostess would have to remove
me with a decal scraper.
Over six hours after deplaning,
the Air Abakan bird logo
from the seatback in front
of me was still plainly visible
on my crushed nose. Which
wasn’t necessarily a
bad thing, considering that
my blocked nasal passages
hindered entry of the airline’s
unique aroma.
The
Republic of Khakassia lies
in Siberia, just north of
Altay and Tuva, near the
border with Mongolia. Indeed,
a walk through the market
in Abakan shows a strong
Mongolian influence, with
perhaps 10–20% of the
population being of Mongolian
origin. But ethnic mixtures
abound. I’ll never forget
seeing one family walking
down the street. Both mother
and father displayed prominent
Mongolian features, with
round faces, black hair and
narrow eyes that would have
been entirely in place in
Beijing. Their child had
identical features, except
for one — blond hair — testament
to the fact that Khakassia
has been a crossroads of
conquerors for centuries.
The
capital, Abakan, means “bear’s
blood,” a reference
to a local legend of its
founding. It was founded
in 1693. Today the population
is 160,000. According to
legend, in the early days
a large bear took a liking
to the local ladies, particularly
those who were young and
beautiful. This bear ate
so many young virgins that
the Hun declared that any
man who could slay the bear
could marry his daughter.
In the ensuing fight, one
man stabbed the bear over
and over. The bear’s
blood flowed out, clearing
the valley and forming the
river. Thus the name, Abakan,
which means “bear’s
blood.” If this isn’t
enough, Ghengis Khan is said
to have buried his treasure
somewhere in Khakassia. It
was never found.
The
jade mines in Khakassia are
situated near the banks of
the Yenisey River, near Sayano-Shushenskaya,
one of Russia’s largest
hydroelectric dams. A two-hour
drive from Abakan brought
us to the lake created by
the dam. From here, the mine
lay some one-and-a-half hours
across the lake by boat.
Forest is everywhere. After
Moscow, the air up here almost
chokes you with its clarity.
Thirty-six hours without
sleep and I am exhausted.
But eventually I move beyond
exhaustion, where an epiphany
is reached and I realize
just why I travel. Here I
am, out on a lake in the
middle of Siberia, and all
is well, all is peace, all
is right in the world. Russia
is such a land of contrasts — amazing!
Truckin’
Arriving at the mining camp,
we were greeted by Misha’s brother and father
and were pleasantly surprised at the comfortable Siberian accommodations, complete
with banya. The mine employs some twenty people and the climate allows mining
over seven months per year. To get to the mines, we hopped in a truck and took
off on one of those incredibly steep, muddy tracks that seem to be found only
on the way to a jade mine. We could have walked, but I guess when you are drinking
a liter of vodka a day, walking is not really an option.
There
is something about a jade mine that seems to bring out
the worst in roads. An intense five-minute drive later,
we arrived at the mine. Amidst a hillside open cut stood
what is probably the single biggest jadeite boulder I
have ever laid eyes on. Workers crawled across its surface
like ants, sticking their jackhammer stingers in to pry
away small bits, which were loaded onto waiting trucks.
As I marveled at the scene, Misha was
beaming. “What do you think?” he asked. “It’s
incredible,” I gushed. “Yes,” Misha answered,
laughing that manic laugh: “Every dog gets his day.”
Kidnapped
The next day it was back down to Abakan, where we proceeded to consume copious
quantities of vodka as Misha regaled us with stories of jade and life in
Siberia. Early the next morning, we rushed to the airport, only to find
that the Air Abakan flight was full.
After
missing our plane, I expected a couple restful days in
Abakan, but Misha had other plans. The previous night’s
vodka fest had left each of us with little sleep and far
fewer brain cells, but that did nothing to stop our dynamo
guide, Misha. We paid a visit to a gold miner in a nearby
town, and then it was off to a dacha in the countryside.
Two-and-a-half hours drive later, I was beginning to understand
how Patty Hearst must have felt. Eventually, we arrived
at a lake. I was in miserable condition, with too little
sleep and too many miles on my body, thinking to myself, “Why
am I here?” I really am too old for this jade mines
stuff.
The
next day, recovering,
I climbed a mountain
above the lake. While
dark clouds swirling
above my head and a
hawk traced lazy circles
off the cliff at my
feet, the answer appeared.
Looking out upon the
hills, the sheer vastness
of the land finally
beats open the doors
to my consciousness.
These hills and steppes
stretched on unbroken
for thousands of miles
in every direction,
the largest wilderness
left on the planet.
It had a calming effect.
Even as the rains forced
me down off the mountaintop,
the sun was shining
in my mind and heart.
In Dreams
Down
below, we had a
final meal before
departing for Abakan
and I had an opportunity
to speak with Misha
about his dream.
He was born in
Khakassia and has
a deep love of
his homeland and
its peoples. His
family was once
rich and powerful,
but when a brother
married an American
student in Moscow
and immigrated
to the USA, they
were ostracized
from Soviet society.
Misha went through
a number of different
businesses, everything
from truck driver
to vodka maker
before being told
one day of the
jade that had been
found in his homeland.
He was immediately
smitten, deciding
then and there
to make it his
life’s work.
Misha’s
decision seemed ever more right when his wife read to him an encyclopedia
entry on jade, which stated that, next to colored diamonds, jade
was the most precious of all stones. And so he set out to learn
all he could about the subject, visiting Hong Kong, studying up
on this gem that he hoped would become his life’s work. “I
have looked at all the jade deposits in Russia and Kazakhstan,” Misha
told me. “The Polar deposits have fine material, but the conditions
are too severe, while the quality of material from Kazakhstan is
not good enough. But here in Khakassia, we have the perfect combination — an
accessible deposit with good material. I know it is not as good
as the best from Burma, but it is quite nice and I am positive
that with hard work, we can be successful.”
As
we packed our bags to leave,
one building next to the
lake caught my eye. It sported
a window, but where the glass
should be, the frame was
filled with bricks. Above,
clouds clashed in the sky.
This seemed to symbolize
all that is Russia today.
Looking outward, but after
80 years of communism, somehow
afraid of what she might
find. Mother Russia moving,
like the clouds, simultaneously
in two opposite directions.
We
hit the road as the sun’s final glow began to fade. A more
beautiful sunset I have never seen. Stopping the car, Misha and
I look each other in the eye, smiling, then take in the vast
Siberian expanse that lies before us. He tells me: “Khakassia — this
is a big, big country. We are small.” Just then, a rainbow
shoots down through the clouds. As we embrace I tell him, “Now
I understand why you brought me here.” I think to myself
that I've discovered that lost treasure of Ghengis Khan. “Yes,” he
nods knowingly. “Every dog gets his day. Every dog gets
his fantastic day.”
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What is Jade? |
Over 2500 years ago, Gautama
Buddha recognized that much of life involves pain
and suffering. So few of us here on Earth have been
provided with a glimpse of heaven. Instead, we mostly
dwell in hell. But for the Chinese, there is a terrestrial
bridge between heaven and hell — jade.
While
stones such as diamond are a
relatively recent entry into
Chinese culture, jade has a history
stretching back thousands of
years. In ancient China, jade
was already used for making tools,
weapons and ornaments. Jade’s
antiquity contributes an aura
of eternity to this gem. Confucius,
who wrote about its brilliance
and beauty, praised jade as a
symbol of righteousness and knowledge.
Part
of the Chinese’ love of jade is its beauty and
toughness. But they also ascribe mystical powers
to the stone. A circular piece of jade, such as a
bangle, is said to possess a protective function.
If the wearer is caught in an accident, the jade
will break, leaving its owner unharmed. Even more
popular is the belief that it is possible to predict
the stages of one’s life, depending on whether
a jade becomes more brilliant and transparent — meaning
enjoying good times and good fortune — or whether
it becomes dull — meaning there is bad luck
ahead.
Just
how does one classify a piece
of heaven? To the Chinese, jade
was defined by its “virtues,” namely
a compact, fine texture, tremendous
toughness and high hardness,
smooth and glossy luster, along
with high translucency and the
ability to take a high polish.
But the Occidental psyche, with
its propensity to pigeonhole,
does not sit well with such apparent
indifference to scientific definition.
Thus it was left for
the intruders from the West to
finally cross all the t’s
and dot the i’s
of this most arcane of gem substances.
In
1863, French mineralogist
Alexis Damour analyzed
bright green jades
from Burma. Finding
them different from
ordinary Chinese jade
(amphibole jade, or
nephrite), he named
the “new” jade,
jadeite. Today, gemologists
apply the term jade
only to amphibole jade
(essentially a nephrite
rock) and pyroxene
jade (essentially a
jadeite rock). Nephrite
is a tough fibrous
subspecies of the actinolite—tremolite
series, whereas jadeite
is a more granular,
compact species of
the sodium pyroxene
mineral group.
Depending
upon impurities, the
color of jadeite jade
encompasses variations
of white, through red-
and orange-brown, light
purple to violet (‘lavender’),
bluish gray and black,
to an extensive range
of greens. The “Imperial” (chrome)
green, which is not
found in nephrite,
is the most highly
valued.
A
love of jade was not
limited to the Chinese.
Wherever the stone
was found, it was held
in great esteem, from
the nephrite of New
Zealand’s
Maoris, to the jadeite
of Mesoamerica. Indeed,
as Cortez cut his swath
through the Aztec empire,
pillaging gold, silver
and emeralds, Montezuma
is said to have remarked
to his followers: “Thank
god they don’t
know about the jade.” Gold,
silver and precious
stones might capture
interest in the rest
of the world, but in
cultures familiar with
jade, they were simply
also-rans. In Chinese
athletic competitions,
ivory was given for
third place and gold
for second. Jade was
reserved solely for
the winners, including
high officials in the imperial
court.
Within
jade’s
verdant interior, the
Chinese, Maoris and
Aztecs saw all that
is good with humanity — virtue,
purity, justice, humanity,
and more. As the Chinese
saying goes: “Gold
has a price — but
jade is priceless.” And
today, many are beginning
to wake up to this
truth. As we enter
the new millennium,
jade is the world’s
most precious stone,
fetching prices higher
than anything except
the rarest colored
diamonds. Indeed, five
of the ten most expensive
jewelry lots sold worldwide
by Christie’s
in 1999 were jade,
including three of
the top five. |
|
Acknowledgments:
A journey such as this cannot be completed without
the help of many people. First and foremost, William
Larson, of Pala International, who gave me the time away
from work to follow my dream. And my Russian buddy, Nickolai
Kuznetsov, who allowed me to stumble in and out of trouble,
but was always there with a steady hand when needed. Our host
in the Polar Urals, Sergei Mikheev took the time to show us his
dream. Dzhano Akhvlediani from Georgia was a fine traveling companion,
always reminding us when our vodka glasses were empty. Sasha
Agafonov and the rest of the gang at Stoneflower in Moscow. And
finally, Misha Khronlenko and his brother, Sergei, and father,
Yakov Borisovich, who so willingly opened up their Khakassian
home and homeland to us.
For more on jade, see: Burmese
Jade: The Inscrutable Gem
|
Fallbrook, CA 92028 USA
