June 30,1908
8:17 a.m.
Tunguska, Siberia
Russia
VASILY RYCHENKOV, HIS wife, Akulina, and their son Pedrov lived on a small farm in the pastureland on the Tungus. As their Evenki ancestors before them, their home was a simple wood and mud cabin. Vasily trapped small animals. They also had a herd of reindeer, which were grazing in the mountains. A few chickens scratched around a small fenced in pen. They lived a simple life, away from the political turmoil of Moscow. They didn’t have to worry about the Czar’s soldiers. Though most of the surrounding land was swamp and boreal forest, not good for farming, here in the rich valley they lived quite well. Besides the crops they grew like carrots, cabbages, peas and rye, game was abundant and there were edible plants and roots. The trading post was three days away and when they had gathered enough furs, they would go and get the supplies they needed.
It was a cool morning. Vasily could hear the birds chirping. But there was something else, a roaring sound like the rushing of a strong wind. Vasily got up and ambled to the cabin door and peeked out. There was something bright and silvery with a blazing tail streaking across the morning sky. It glowed with a bluish-white light. And it seemed to be coming in his direction. He turned and went to wake his wife and son. But it was too late.
It had started out as any typical day in the small trading post and village of Vanavara located on the Stony Tunguska River in the central Siberian Plateau of Russia. A bright summer's morning one heard birds chirping. Lush meadows, swampy areas and pine forests peppered the surrounding land. The villagers were going about their early morning affairs feeding livestock, tending to the few crops they could grow such as rye, peas, carrots, and the like. Men were ready to go out into the forest to trap, hunt, fish and cut firewood. It was a typical day like any other, or so the people thought. But they were wrong. The morning calm was destroyed at that precise moment.
Stephanik Semenov was taking a break from working on his cabin. Stephanik, a thirty-five-year-old trapper, was sitting on his front porch having a cup of tea. His dark almond-shaped eyes turned skyward as he heard a roaring sound. He looked up to the northwest and saw a strange silver cylindrical object turn and arch in the sky. And then he went blind. A huge fireball lit up the morning sky stronger than ten suns. Scant seconds later a hot wind of hurricane force blew through the village His shirt seemed to disintegrate off him as he was lifted and flung about like a piece of kindling. The ground shook like a thousand giants marching through. His hut exploded hurling spears of wood and debris in a million different directions.
Popkov Kosolapov was at the trading post trying to find some nails. Not finding any the length he required, he went out into the yard and found some boards with nails in them. He took a pair of tongs from his back pocket and bent over to retrieve them. Suddenly a wave of heat seemed to burn his ears. He dropped the tongs and put his hands over them. And then there was a clap like one hundred thunderbolts and Kosolapov felt himself lifted up and hurled over the yard. He crashed through the fence and all went black.
Three hundred and seventy miles southwest, in the railway town of Kansk, hurricane winds rattled homes. Two minutes later strong tremors upset rafts on the river, dumping its fishermen in the water. Animals ran in panic.
People travelling on the Trans-Siberian Express were shaken and thrown from their seats. The Engineer saw the rails shake and jammed on the brakes to halt the train. He looked out to the north and saw a giant mushroom pillar of cloud take out the sky.
And then silence reigned, though tremors from the explosion would be felt throughout Europe.
