A "Strong, Dark, and Terrible" Place

From atop the bluffs overlooking the mouth of Balaklava's harbor, I watched
the crew of a small, green fishing boat guide their slow craft into the
channel. They took their time, yet soon they were past the marker buoys and
making a course toward the company of more colorful little boats bobbing
listlessly in the gentle water along the quayside.

Already very warm in April, Balaklava exudes much of the charm of a small
Mediterranean fishing village. Fishermen, dock workers, naval personnel, and
cafes dot the waterfront. And the surrounding countryside--nearby Aya Point
jutting deeply into the clear waters of the Black Sea, the ruins of a 15th
Century Genoan castle sprawled out across the green hills above the harbor,
the stucco-covered block dwellings joined by narrow village
streets--reminded me more of scenes from an Italian holiday brochure than of
one of the most closely-guarded secrets of the Former Soviet Empire.

Just beyond that point where the village's fishing fleet turn east to make
for their homes in the harbor is the seaward entrance of Balaklava's
once-secret underground submarine facility, a massive complex of dry-docks
and workshops built under the surrounding hills. The mouth of the
subterranean channel is plainly visible from the bluffs overlooking the
harbor. Upon entering the channel, Soviet submarines would be coupled to a
mechanical mule which pulled them through the narrow, eight-meter-deep
channel to the dry-docks deep within the bowels of the hillside. During
Soviet times, I would probably have been shot just for having seen it. Now,
however, this once-formidable place is just a relic of the Cold War.
Stripped down to its very bones by countless looters and souvenir hunters,
it is only a reminder of the Soviet Union's "strong, dark, and terrible"
past.

Access to the interior of the facility is gained from the harbor side,
though a side entrance marked, "To Safety". From here, I progressed forward
in near total darkness, holding onto the arm of my guide who was leading the
way with a severely underpowered flashlight, twisting and turning my way
through a maze of passageways, and ever mindful of open man holes and other
potentially fatal hazards, until we emerged along a catwalk allowing us to
proceed along the side of the channel. At the end of the catwalk, squeezing
through a heavy and thickly-rusted hatch I emerged into the light.

Green sea water, the home to schools of small fish and jellies, lapped
rotting masonry and rusting metal at the seaward entrance to the channel.
There, seemingly crushed by its own weight, rests a giant concrete and
reinforced steel door which, at one time, was proposed to be capable of
withstanding an atomic blast. It is doubtful that it will ever move again.

I hung around for a little while, just to take it all in. Then, retracing my
steps, I made my way back through the darkness toward the harbor. When I
stopped to relieve myself on the way, my guide joked, "The largest toilet in
the Soviet Union!" I guessed that summed it up.

In an open air dry-dock in Balaklava Harbor languishes Ukraine's one and
only submarine. I was told that when the old Soviet Navy divided her fleet
among the former partners, Russia retained the modern vessels, leaving
this--which appeared to be an antiquated diesel-electric boat--to Ukraine.
"The submarine is broken," commented a local man. "It won't run."

There are reports that Turkish businessmen have offered to purchase the old
submarine facility with the idea of transforming it into a luxury hotel and
resort. Ukraine, however, has not warmed to the idea. But, with the
submarine facility in the state it's in, and without even one seaworthy
submarine in their fleet, perhaps Ukrainian officials should not be so hasty
in turning down the Turkish offer. Perhaps they could capitalize on
Balaklava's inherent charm and turn this once-dark outpost of the Cold War
into a hot tourist attraction.

Captions for the Balaklava piece:

Top; left to right:

1) A Soviet submariner's first view of Balaklava's submarine harbor. Flanked
by concrete catwalks, the eight-meter-deep channel leads deep under the
mountain to the subterranean dry-dock and work shops. Though now under a
solid inch of dust and scattered debris, the harbor is nevertheless a
haunting and impressive place.

2) Black Sea water at the seaward entrance of the Balaklava's submarine
harbor, made brilliant green by Crimea's warm sun, laps at rotting concrete
and rusting steel. Where the atomic blast door once would once have sealed
the harbor's mouth, concrete slabs now have been placed to close the
channel.


3) Balaklava's quiet harbor, refurbished by the British after its occupation
by German forces during World War II, is formed in the shape of an "S",
virtually eliminating waves. Now more a home for the towns commercial
fishing boats than the once-fearsome Soviet submarine fleet, the harbor-side
mouth of the subterranean channel serves a background for a local fisherman.

4) Surrounded by the stoic masonry walls of Soviet-era Balaklava, Ukraine's
one-and-only Submarine rests apathetically in a harbor dry-dock, fingers of
rust spreading across her hull. A few miles away, bustling Sevastopol harbor
is the new home for the modern-Russian submarine fleet in Crimea.

Kirk Ross

115 Elm Street

Chestertown, MD 21620

(410) 810-0603 at work

dhf@dmv.com

Kirk Ross

115 Elm Street

Chestertown, MD 21620

Day (410) 810-0603, Evening (410) 778-2605

dhf@dmv.com