I invite you into the Naval fortress of tsar Peter the Great. It is a defence line of tunnels near the northern shore of Estonia that was built in the beginning of the 20th century. Many of the tunnels were never connected and many stay unfinished, yet they offer thrilling opportunities for adventurous souls like myself.
The area is blocked with fences and monitored by motion detecting sensors and cameras:
I had to call a number that was on one of the many signs that inform visitors of the dangers that lurk underground and mostly the fact that bats sleep in the caves during the winter. The person on the phone told me that the area is private property and to enter, I have to pay 5 euros to some guy, who will the open the gates for me and allow me access to the underground. I agreed, and he told me to wait a few minutes.
As I waited, I changed into my adventure gear - hip high rubber boots, old, dirty jacket and headlamp. I had just finished, when a car pulled up and a middle-aged guy jumped out: "so you're the one who wants to go into the tunnels?" and, giving me a once-over, without waiting for an answer "you sure have the right gear, the tunnels are filled with water."
On a map, he explained to me where the entrances are and from his attitude I could tell he was (probably) ex-military.
On a map, he explained to me where the entrances are and from his attitude I could tell he was ex-military.
"It's 6:30," he said, "I will open the gates now and come back to close the gates at 9:00, make sure you are out of by then. Oh, and don't forget the money." Reluctantly, I handed him the 5 euros, thinking whether it was a hoax, and off he drove in his 4x4, to open the gates to the underworld.
I followed him shortly with my clumsy but trusty rubber boots that had accompanied me on many adventures and would hopefully continue to do so for many more. By the time I reached the entrance, the guy was already gone, but held up his end of the bargain - the gates were open, and the adventure began.
As I entered the cold, damp underground, I regretted not bringing gloves:
I put my hands into my jacket pockets for warmth and I couldn't believe it - gloves! They must have been in that jacket for years (I hadn't used it for a long time), waiting for this very moment since who knows when. Having activated my headlamp, I went forward, stepping in the ankle deep puddles and taking pictures of the "antechamber". I then came upon a staircase that led underground (so far, I had been in an overground bunker), except there were no stairs:
Instead, there was a rather slippery and muddy slope with some questionable ladders accompanied by a small metal chain for descending. I was really lucky to have the gloves - I needed them now more than ever, as I gripped the chain, descending into the abyss:
In this part, the water was up to my knees, it's pressure like a cold gripping paw of an unseeable entity. The reflection of my headlamp danced beautifully on the crude tunnel walls:
I was now completely underground, or so I thought. After a few photos, I walked to a T-junction and saw light from both ends:
As I explored, it turned out there were quite a few shafts to the outside from which daylight entered, making the whole ordeal much more bearable. Sometimes I had to crawl like Gollum, most of the time I could walk upright though:
I also found an old gas mask and some bones, which were begging to be made into an effigy:
I found some more bones, belonging to a cow, judging by the skull and was grateful the nasty meat had all rotten away.
Sometimes, I would get stuck in the mud and be grateful for my rubber boots:
In the end of the small tunnel labyrinth I found another exit, but it was blocked with a locked gate, so I had to go all the way back to the entrance. It was already 8:30 so just in case I decided to hurry:
Suddenly, in one of the inescapable shafts I noticed an unlikely companion - a flightless starling, who was apparently trapped in the 4m deep hole that was connected to the tunnels. There was no nest, Based on the amount of bird poop and the look of my new friend, he had been there for some time. It was clear what I had to do. I tucked my camera in my jacket, and after a few fruitless attempts I managed the catch the bird and calm him down:
At first he struggled soundlessly, but as I entered the dark tunnels with him in hand, he calmed down, as if realising I was trying to help him. I glimpsed at my watch - 10 minutes until 9. I started running, desperately trying not to fall into the murky waters or hurt the bird. The minutes flew by, but so did I. And soon, I saw the way up. I managed to climb it with one hand, the confused bird in the other:
Gasping for air, I reached the outside, then the gate with five minutes still to go. I looked at the now animated bird in my hand, and with a heavy heart, took a farewell picture.As I set him free, he brought forth a little tune, the first and last sound I ever heard my starling make, as if to say goodbye:
Close call:
I switched off my headlamp and drove home into the setting sun, knowing now, that even the darkest tunnel may hide the brightest light.