Former Soviet Union: That Summer: Altai mountains, Russia, 1995: Siberi a, where even bears have bad breath We'd planned a trip to the mountains and Lake Teletskoye - but we hadn' t bargained on getting so close to the wildlife.

"PHOO, MISHA, phoo!" The usual Russian response to irksomeanimals wasn't working: Misha, a three-month-old bear, and looking ascuddly as any self-respecting roly-poly brown cub should (but with abad case of halitosis), kept trying to play and her cute paws hidsome sharp claws. When Svetlana had suggested organising aback-to-nature journey to the Altai mountains in lieu of payment fortranslation work with her science journal, I hadn't bargained ongetting quite so close to Russia's wildlife.

Misha notwithstanding, the trip to the Altai was one of thehighlights of a two-year stay in Siberia. Our initial two soon grewto a convivial six, as everyone in the Novosibirsk-based editing teamdecided that this was too good an opportunity to pass up. We werepromised basic, free accommodation at a research station by LakeTeletskoye.

Tatyana cooked enough food to last her husband and childrenthrough a siege, Natasha pleaded with her daughter not to give birthfor another couple of weeks, Denis brought along his wife and,leaving the cares of the city behind us, we headed off, bumping alongon the floor of an ex- army truck now used as a mobile laboratory.

The journey took the better part of a day: three and a half hourssouth to Barnaul, then a few more hours through Biysk and upwardsinto the Gorno Altai Autonomous Republic. It wasn't far from theborder to our destination, the village of Artybash, but the roadsurface was dreadful, and it was dark when we arrived.

We woke to blazing sunshine and the shimmering surface of LakeTeletskoye, shaped rather like an upside-down Italy. A group ofBelgian geologists were also at the base, examining rock formationsalong the shoreline: two of them had cadged a lift in our truck fromNovosibirsk and returned the favour by letting us join them on a two-day trip.

Such co-operation would once have been impossible in this remotecorner, where the Russian, Kazakhstan, Chinese and Mongolian bordersmeet, but times had changed.

The lake is fed from mountain streams and remains virtuallyunpolluted (I was surprised at first to see the scientists happilybrushing their teeth in it). We stopped off several times while thegeologists took rock samples and we explored sights such as Korbawaterfall. In the evening the men camped near the mouth of theChulyshman river, providing the local mosquitoes with rich pickings,while we women tried to find refuge on the boat. After a fire-sidepicnic on the first night, Katya and Svetlana sang Russian songs, thegeologists responded with Jacques Brel, and it fell to me to showwhat Scotland could come up with (an off-key rendition of "The SkyeBoat Song" and "Flower of Scotland").

The next day we came across three game wardens who had just spent40 days walking and riding through the huge nature reserve along theeastern shore of the lake, on the lookout for poachers. After thefirst few days they had survived on what they could find or trap but,apart from ravenous hunger (I've never seen a tin of condensed milkgo down quite so fast), they seemed none the worse for wear.

Back at the base, we were reminded of the need for such men whensomeone brought in a bear cub, left behind when poachers had killedits mother for her skin.

Misha was being temporarily fed and sheltered by the scientists,but unless they could find her a new home in a zoo or circus, shewould have to be shot; she would soon be too dangerous to keep at thebase, but incapable of surviving in the wild.

We stayed for another week in Artybash, watching hundreds of whiteand purple butterflies startle up from the ground as we passed,swimming in mountain streams and enjoying some rest. The men carriedwater up from the lake so that we could use the banya (the Russiansauna) and we cooked and ate in the open air, and drank toasts toeverybody and everything imaginable.

On our return journey, we spent a night sleeping outside by thepowerful Katun river, mosquito-free; our first rainy afternoon,wandering through Gorno-Altaysk waiting for the truck to be repaired;and enjoying hospitality with friends of Svetlana in Biysk: all toosoon, we were back outside the publisher's office, and I left forMoscow two days later.

I returned to Novosibirsk last month. Sadly there was no time totravel to the Altai, but we sat round Svetlana's table and tookstock: finances for the English-language journal have dried up, butSvetlana finally has a suitable flat and Katya is married to anAustralian she met through the Internet. Natasha has a four-year-oldgrandson, Denis is an awestruck father - and Misha has found a homein Novosibirsk's recently upgraded zoo.