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Because in that winter the Arkhangelsk region maintained a stable frost of forty, forty-five degrees below zero, a thick fog hung at all times over the sorting basin. It was at the same time very wet, and very cold . . . the work was not very difficult, but after thirty to forty minutes your entire body was permeated and enveloped by damp, your chin, lips, and eyelashes were covered in frost, and the frost had penetrated to your very bones, through the pathetic camp clothing.²⁵

The worst winter jobs were in the forests. For not only was the taiga cold in winter, but it was also periodically swept by severe, unpredictable winter storms—called burany or purgai. Dmitri Bystroletov, a prisoner in Siblag, was caught in one:

In that instant, the wind began a wild and terrifying howl, forcing us down to the ground. The snow swirled up into the air, and everything disappeared—the lights of the camp, the stars, the aurora borealis—and we were left alone in a white fog. Opening our arms wide, clumsily slipping and stumbling, falling and supporting one another, we tried as quickly as possible to find the road back. Suddenly, a thunderclap burst above our heads. I scarcely managed to hang on to my fellow climber, when a violent stream of ice, snow, and rocks began gushing toward our faces. The swirling snow made it impossible to breathe, impossible to see . . . ²⁶

Janusz Bardach was caught in a buran in Kolyma as well, while working in a quarry. Along with their guards, he and his fellow prisoners made their way back to camp following the watchdogs, attached to one another by rope:

I couldn’t see anything beyond Yuri’s back and clung to the rope as though it were a life preserver . . . With the familiar landmarks gone, I had no idea how much further we had to go and was sure we’d never make it back. My foot fell upon something soft—a prisoner who had let go of the rope. “Stop!” I shouted. But there was no stopping. No one could hear my voice. I leaned down and pulled his arm towards the rope. “Here!” I tried to link his hand with the rope. “Hold on!” It was no use. The man’s arm fell to the ground when I let go. Yuri’s stern command to move on carried me forward . . .

When Bardach’s brigade returned to the camp, three prisoners were missing. Usually, “the bodies of prisoners who got lost weren’t found until springtime, often within one hundred meters of the zone.” ²⁷