und Botanical Garden), Martin-Luther-Universität, Halle, Germany, special thanks for his stellar help with Steller on several fronts. He graciously shared his botanical expertise and donated an enormous amount of time to hunting down the current scientific names of the some 155 plants Steller mentioned, who sometimes described the plant in detail, more often with just a few characteristics, occasionally with just one word. This identification process alone was a huge undertaking, especially considering how DNA analysis is changing how some plants are classified. It is one we could never have done ourselves. Unasked, Professor Jäger also edited our translation for accuracy, comparing our English with Steller’s German, aided us in the transliteration of the Russian, drew and labeled the maps of Steller’s journey, and reviewed the galley proofs for late-minute changes in classification. Finally, he described Steller’s place in the history of botany. We are immeasurably thankful for his contribution, including for his and his wife’s hospitality during our stays in Germany.
It is to Dr. O. W. (Jack) Frost, Professor Emeritus of Alaska Pacific University, Anchorage, AK, that we owe our involvement with Steller in the first place. Thirty-five years ago he asked for help in a new translation of Steller’s Sea voyage, beginning with unpublished Steller manuscripts found in the Smithsonian. Frost’s passion for all things Steller, culminating in his book, Bering: The Russian Discovery of America, started us on our own Steller journey.
We gratefully acknowledge the pictorial contributions of Ann Arnold, artist and writer, who graciously allowed us to use illustrations from her book Sea Cows, Shamans, and Scurvy; of Ilya Vyuev, Russian sculptor, and his wife, Inna Lipilina, who provided a photo of his Steller statue to use as frontispiece; of Drs. Irina Tunkina and Larissa Bondar, of the Russian Academy of Sciences, St, Petersburg branch, who located and gave us permission to use the sample of Steller’s handwriting; and of Wikimedia Commons, which provided the other two illustrations.
While we relied primarily on Hintzsche’s notes and Jäger’s expertise in dealing with Steller’s unorthodox use of the Russian language, local Russian teachers Delynne Chambers and Leonid Kokaurov; the late Dr. Roman R. Tchaikovski (Professor Emeritus of German and English, Northern International University, Magadan, Russia), and Professor Dr. Swetlana Mengel (Martin-Luther-Universität Halle-Wittenberg, Seminar für Slavistik) helped us solve particular vocabulary puzzles.
For answers to other, primarily scientific, questions we turned for help to Dr. Robin A. Beebee, hydrologist for the US Geological Survey in Anchorage, who answered our questions about the accuracy of some of Steller’s topographical descriptions; to Archpriest Michael J. Oleksa, Dean of St. Michael’s Cathedral, Sitka, AK, who untangled the names of the Russian Orthodox churches Steller describes in Irkutsk and explained the religious terminology; to the late Heinrich Springer, a well-known Alaskan ornithologist, who happily identified the birds Steller mentions; and to Dr. Richard VanderHoek, archeologist for the Department of Natural Resources, State of Alaska, who helped with identifying the sheets of ice Steller describes, particularly those now known as ice patches. We thank them all for their help. We also gratefully acknowledge the posthumous assistance of the late Dr. Carl E. Bond, Professor Emeritus, Department of Fisheries and Wildlife, Oregon State University, who had identified the fish Steller mentions and describes in his Kamchatka manuscript, some of which we have used in this translation.
Last but not least we express our sincere appreciation for the assistance rendered by the Indiana University Press team who shepherded our work through the publication process, especially Jennika Baines, Acquisitions Editor, who enthusiastically recommended it for publication; Darja Malcolm-Clarke, Editorial Project Manager, who coordinated the publication process; Pete Feely, Amnet’s Project Manager, who made sure we did not get hopelessly tangled up in the copyediting process; and Lizzie Troyer, the copyeditor, who managed to remove all our inconsistencies.
Not to be forgotten, we offer a huge thank-you to our families for goodhumoredly tolerating our years-long preoccupation with Georg Wilhelm Steller and for patiently and wholeheartedly supporting us.
EASTBOUND THROUGH SIBERIA
WHAT COMES TO MIND WHEN AMERICANS HEAR THE name Steller depends on whether they live in Alaska, have an interest in the natural world, or are challenged spellers who think it is an adjective. Correctly spelled, his name has been affixed to a noisy jay, a huge sea eagle, a northern eider duck, a bellowing sea lion, an icy mountain rising from the Bering Glacier, a cove on Alaska’s westernmost island, the largest chiton, the extinct northern sea cow, and many plants, such as the slender rockbrake. Apart from the natural world, a street and a high school in Anchorage are also named after him. Yet he is still not well known, his reputation still primarily defined by the journal of the voyage with Bering that landed him on Kayak Island in July of 1741.
What compelled us, after spending fifteen years on the translation of Steller’s book about Kamchatka, to embark on the current translation project was both the fascinating subject matter and the desire to acquaint a larger audience with this extraordinary scientist, explorer, and human being. For almost a century, readers have been gaining the impression from the Journal of the Sea Voyage that he was ill-tempered and rather intolerant, sympathetic portrayals in the popular literature notwithstanding (see the bibliography). In the texts here translated, a much more nuanced image of a more likable man emerges. The journal in particular reveals his humanity, his strength of character, his intense dedication to scientific discovery, and his wry sense of humor. The stamina with which he endured both awkward and perilous situations and met the burdensome challenges he faced as a member of this expedition is extraordinary. The history of the colonization of Siberia can be found in many sources, so we have included here only enough historical context to help understand Steller’s writing. By the time he arrived in St. Petersburg in 1734, Russia had, starting in the late sixteenth century, expanded its influence eastward across the Ural Mountains to the Pacific Ocean, bringing some ten million square kilometers of inhospitable territory, rich in natural resources and inhabited by various indigenous peoples, under Moscow’s control.
Fig. Intro.1. Sweetvetch (Wikipedia, Hedysarum hedysaroides).
Though the Russian government tried to control settlement, administration, trade, and economic growth, it was the people who came and who were already there that shaped Siberian development. The first men (and they were almost exclusively men) to open up the region to settlement were the freebooting Cossacks and the independent Russian promyshlenniks who hunted and trapped fur-bearing animals.1 They were followed by peasant settlers, dissident religious communities, and involuntary settlers—that is, convicts, political exiles, and prisoners of war dispatched to the region for “safekeeping” by the central authorities. There were the sluzhivs—state employees who encompassed both civil administrative officials and military personnel sent to protect Russia’s vital interests. And since the czar was the nominal head of the Russian Orthodox Church, every ostrog2 had either a chapel or a church that was supported by the government, as were the ecclesiastical personnel. The relationship between the natives and the invaders was one of conflict and coexistence. Some natives served voluntarily as guides and interpreters, and socializing and marriage took place between Russians and non-Russians, but much of this contact was unwelcome and painful for the indigenous people. As Hartley summarizes, “The opening up of Siberia in the seventeenth century and the expeditions of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries were extraordinary feats of courage and endurance, but at the same time they were violent and traumatic, both for the participants and for the indigenous people with whom they came in contact” (xviii).
In theory, the czar wielded absolute authority over Siberia; in practice, the conquest, exploitation, administration, and defense of Siberia were supervised by two intertwined bureaucracies. One was centered in Moscow—the Siberian Office,3 emerging slowly and haphazardly with no grand master plan. These officials were collectively in charge of the daily operations—they supervised appointments and the activities