With the sale of elephant tusks under close scrutiny, “ethical ivory” from the extinct woolly mammoth is now feeding an insatiable market in China. This rush on mammoth ivory is luring a fresh breed of miner – the tusker – into the Russian wilderness and creating dollar millionaires in some of the poorest villages of Siberia.
On condition that he not reveal names or exact locations, RFE/RL photographer Amos Chapple gained exclusive access to one site where between bouts of vodka-fueled chaos and days spent evading police patrols, teams of men are using illegal new methods in the hunt for what remains of Siberia's lost giants.
PART ONE
The Method
The treasure hunt began a few years ago when word spread of the fantastic sums paid for mammoth tusks by visiting "agents."
It's five hours by boat from the nearest town to this bend in a river where fishermen first spotted strange bones curling out of the ground.
THE MAMMOTH STEPPE
The "Mammoth Steppe" was the woolly mammoth's natural habitat between 12,000 and 100,000 years ago, during the so-called glacial maximum.
Source: NASA, Joshua L. Hood
PART TWO
The Money
This 65-kilogram tusk, photographed a moment after it was plucked from the permafrost, was sold for $34,000. The two men who found it unearthed three more in just over a week, including one weighing 72 kilograms.
The triumphant tuskers, one flashing the "cash" gesture. Both avoided revealing exact amounts, but they likely earned around $100,000 cash in eight days.
In their hometown, where the average salary is less than $500 per month, elusive “agents” pay cash for fresh tusks. This derelict building was gutted by fire the day we left for the expedition.
In status-mad China, mammoth ivory appears to be subject to an economic phenomenon whereby high prices drive increased demand, thus further raising prices. Once sculpted by a master carver, tusks like this pair on display in Hong Kong regularly sell for more than $1 million each. Photo: Alex Hofford (epa)
In addition to the mammoth, another fantastical beast promises a fortune to a lucky few. This skull, helping to prop up a kettle, belongs to the long-extinct woolly rhinoceros.
Another rhino skull, feeling the sun on its snout for the first time in at least 11,000 years. The man who found it says that “when you find a skull, the horn is usually 15 or 20 meters away.”
PART THREE
The Life
Most men here will spend the entire summer away from home and family.
In the gloom of their tents, the tuskers relax with card games or share a phone to watch short viral videos or porn.
This tusker penned letters to his wife that he passed on to men heading back to the town. He wrote on whatever he could find, in this case a toilet-paper wrapper.
This joint of reindeer is a rare treat. Most meals are canned beef and noodles. Two of the tuskers spoke of eating dog “when we have to.... The flavor is like bacon."
Mosquitoes are a near constant plague. Only the coldest mornings offer an hour or two of relief.
On warm days, some of the men wear clothes more suited to beekeeping than hard labor.
And when the alcohol comes out, all hell breaks loose. Returning from a resupply run to town, these tuskers have made it halfway back to camp staggering drunk. But soon after this picture was taken, the trip took a turn for the worse.
Near a spot where two prospectors drowned last year, the men crashed their boat at speed. A 3 a.m. rescue mission (the sun never sets during summers here) found them passed out in a boat full of waterlogged equipment.
Both men were swarmed by mosquitoes; one was desperate for a cigarette lighter.
The following day the drinking continues apace. Boozy camaraderie is quickly exhausted and the atmosphere turns ugly. One tusker picks up a metal bar and slams it onto a woodpile before turning on me. He pauses for a moment before swiping it above my head. As I back out of the camp, he collapses onto a bench, calling, “Where’s the dog?!”
PART FOUR
The Damage
Ravaged landscape is the obvious result of the tusk hunters’ methods, but the impact on Yakutia’s waterways is far-reaching.
At the end of the valley, this stream, thick with runoff from the tuskers' hoses, runs straight into the river. In a region famed for its fish, the men working this site now don’t bother to take fishing rods.
As rumor spreads of an imminent “greenie” patrol -- a boat with environmental-protection officers accompanied by police -- the valley falls silent and the men melt into the bush. This watchman, on a clifftop above the river, is speaking into a walkie-talkie as he tracks an unidentified boat passing the site.
Fines for illegal tusk hunting are only $45. But after a tusker is caught three times, serious charges can be laid.
A DESTRUCTIVE PROCESS
Tuskers siphon water from nearby rivers and blast it into the permafrost, boring their way to riches.
