The comradely glow of this fire exudes both from combustion and the fellowship of making a long, hard haul together. Under a full moon, fire accompanied by hot dinner has beat back the chills. During camp set up, my down parka, which generally stiff arms all negative temps, failed to fight off the shivers. This is night-camp on the eastern shore of the Island of Olkhon in March. All two hundred eighty square miles of Olkhon is a sacred island in the Sacred Sea, Baikal.