Dim Dimych and his "dinosaur relatives"
How a Khabarovsk village teacher got children involved in saving Far Eastern turtles, searching for endangered mollusks, and observing the Pacific eagle.
In the Khabarovsk Krai, there's a small village called Innokentyevka. It has only about 500 residents, but everyone here probably knows Dmitry Krishkevich, a teacher at the local environmental club. For several years, he's been educating children about preserving the Chinese tortoise and other local fauna. NeMoskva attended one of his lessons and learned about the Chinese softshell turtle and why the former head of the village is encouraging children to help preserve it.
Saving life in a dying village
The village of Innokentyevka is located 169 kilometers from Khabarovsk. It's a long drive: about four hours to the turnoff on the Lidoga-Vanino highway, then another half-hour on gravel. According to our guide, who agreed to meet us at a semi-abandoned roadside diner, everyone complains about the road: from ordinary drivers to the vendors who bring food to the village. "At least they used to grade it, but now they've completely abandoned it," he laments, driving around the frequent potholes.
A local resident, Evgeny, agreed to drive us back to the highway after meeting with the teacher. He used to teach physical education at a school, but now he's got a job at a copper and gold quarry under construction in the area. He tells me that Innokentyevka is becoming "overgrown"—the village roads are kept clear of the courtyards, but the surrounding forest is encroaching.
According to Evgeny, Dim Dimych—that's what Dmitry Krishkevich's children call him—worked in the police for a while, but "didn't fit in with their ways; he's too fond of justice." Then, in 2016, he became the head of the village for four years. When they wanted to nominate him for a second term, he refused. A teacher by training, he wanted to work in a school, but the path was blocked—the district head allegedly ordered him not to be allowed in "out of spite." He only found employment at the Extracurricular Activities Center (EAC) in the neighboring village of Troitskoye.
Dmitry Krishkevich is 52 years old. He doesn't want to talk about his work in the police or as village head, only briefly: "It's a murky story." But he can talk endlessly about his club, his research, and, of course, turtles.
Together with Krishkevich and his group—ten kids today—we're heading to the banks of the Amur River. The children are here observing leatherback turtles, also known as Chinese trionyx. This reptile, which, as the teacher emphasizes, outlived the dinosaurs, nests right here on the bank near the village—it's literally a five-minute walk away. This is essential for proper work.
"We can't be there every day [if the turtle nests are far from the village]—it's a real challenge to get a whole group of them out. And if we don't show up for three or four days, the foxes will steal everything. It'll be a scam, a fake job. We only stay away from them during nesting season, so we don't disturb the turtles."
Animals—both wild and hunting dogs—are a real scourge for turtles. To protect the nests, Dim Dimych and his students built an artificial mound at the nesting site and fenced it off with a chain-link fence and a few planks (the children remember to report that they were the ones who painted the fence a bright color).
"We had a bear and a fox here. We don't know how many eggs are left, but she definitely ate some. The water was rising and washed away some of the large rocks at the base, so she crawled in from the side and ate a bit. And she even remembered the place—it's like a dining hall! We came for lunch today, and a fox cub greeted us," Krishkevich says.
There are large bear tracks on the shore. Nearby are smaller ones, those of a cub. Wild animals are frequent visitors to the village. One of the boys once couldn't get home: he hid in the neighboring yard, waiting for a tiger to pass by. Three days ago, a bear was wandering through the village.
"It's normal here, it's the forest," the teacher shrugs, then reassures, "People who know understand that an animal won't just attack a person. We're standing here right now, downwind. And the bear can smell us, hear us. He definitely won't come here now."
One day, one of the boys wrote an essay about how they supposedly hid from a bear in the trees. Krishkevich was later summoned to the prosecutor's office—they asked, "What's going on there?" They managed to explain that the boy had a good imagination.
Turtles begin laying eggs en masse in July. This year, several females buried their eggs right on the embankment built by Dim Dimych's charges. They moved other nests, which were lower down, themselves. This is necessary to protect them, among other things, from water—if the nesting area is flooded and buried in silt when the river rises, the eggs will be deprived of air and die.
Krishkevich began the project to conserve the Amur turtle back in 2018, purely as an experiment. Initially, he set up an incubator at home. He collected eggs from several turtle clutches. When the turtles hatched, they were raised and fed, and closer to wintering—precisely in October—they were released into the wild. In the last two years, the methodology has changed: they decided to try a new technology, closer to nature.
To build a bank embankment, they took a wheelbarrow and hauled 10 tons of soil and boulders. They built a "wall" out of large stones, then placed smaller stones inside, then filled it with pebbles. "My hands were bleeding!" recalls Krishkevich.
"Just be careful, walk along the edges. They're practically everywhere here, about 20 clutches!" the instructor warns. He carefully digs up one of the clutches with his hands and shows the eggs. "Here they are, look. The white eggs are good. Sometimes eggs die. This one is darker, a death color; a baby turtle has already died here. We've even had up to 50% of the eggs remain dead and unfertilized..."
A turtle hatchling weighs between two and seven grams, so the eggs are tiny, no more than four centimeters in diameter. Each one is counted and weighed.
To avoid damaging the turtle nests, Krishkevich advises walking carefully along the shore. A nest is easy to spot—it'll be obvious that someone has been digging there, and the soil above is darker than the pebbles. Sometimes, a turtle will hide its eggs under a larger rock, as if under a roof. These nests are safer.
While Dim Dimych shows us the turtle nests, the group strolls along the shore. Some climb trees. But mischief is not encouraged.
"Get your asses on! Eva, you're going to fall out of that tree! Pimenov, you're excused from going on expeditions for a month! Next time, you're not going on the boat, I've got it all on file!" Dim Dimych shouts at the students.
The threat is effective, discipline is being restored. Some are drinking tea heated over the fire, others are eating chicken soup prepared for them by fifth-grader Kristina. "They can do anything with me now!" Krishkevich says proudly.
Proven technology
Besides this mound, there's another one behind the cliff. It contained approximately three and a half hundred eggs.
"A couple of days ago, we checked everything there and noticed that they had all hatched and gone into the Amur River," says Maxim, a senior in his senior year. He started participating in the club in elementary school, then dropped out due to his increased academic workload, and then returned again.
The difference between the two nesting sites is due to temperature: behind the cliff, it's 5-6 degrees warmer, and there's less wind. So next year, the nesting mound will be built only there. The current hatchlings, however, will still have to be transferred to an incubator and then to the basement for the winter.
"The frosts are coming soon, these ones won't hatch..." Dim Dimych explains. "They overwinter well in the basement. The main thing is not to feed them, so as not to disrupt their natural rhythms. Otherwise, if a turtle with a worm in its stomach goes into suspended animation, the food will start to rot, and the animal will die."
On the shore, the children discovered a baby turtle—one of those that apparently hatched behind the cliff. For some reason, it didn't go into the river. One of the boys, Artem, says he "met" the baby on a rock. Krishkevich explains that the baby hasn't adapted yet; in the Amur, it might not have enough air and nutrition, and in warm weather, it comes out to warm up.
The children brought the foundling—no more than five centimeters long—to a makeshift camp near a nearby embankment in a plastic cup, intending to release it together. At first, the animal hid in the sand. This is normal behavior for turtles, explains Krishkevich. This is how they hunt: they hide, and when prey approaches, they quickly stretch out their neck.
Far Eastern turtles lead a secretive lifestyle; no one has counted their numbers, and spotting them in the wild is a rare occurrence. That's why there's so much excitement around the baby turtle. Everyone wants to see it. Children are very careful—they only handle the sides of the shell, examining its unusually long nose.
"Hold tight, make sure he doesn't fall!" the teacher observes the process.
- Can he jump?
- No, but it runs very fast!
"Has he grown that much already? His balls are so small," someone asks in surprise.
"Do you know how he lies there? You can see a small wrinkle on his belly right now—that's because he lies like that in the egg, curled up. When the time comes, he starts to move his paws and unfurls. That's how he hatches," the teacher explains.
Meanwhile, the baby is in Kristina's arms. The group always goes to the shore near her yard, and at one point she asked, "Can I come with you?" and joined in.
"How do we release it? Into the water?" the girl asks.
“No, he knows the way home himself, put him on the bank,” Dim Dimych commands.
The baby turtle is lowered onto the rocks. He's having trouble moving, but the teacher cautions: "No need to help, he'll do it himself!" After struggling with large pebbles and sharp rocks, the little creature reaches the river. In the water, he hooks his paws onto a rock and freezes, as if resting. A few more seconds, and he's swimming through the deep water, his long snout quickly disappearing from view.
One last look at the baby turtle. The bump in the water is his nose.
Not far from the shore there are two large muddy holes, 6-8 meters deep. The baby turtle will hide there for the winter.
"The mother didn't choose this spot by chance. The pebbles are good here, and she knows for sure that the turtle hatchlings will have a place to overwinter; they'll be able to go into the water and find mud. That's why we didn't move the eggs to other places. Nature has a better plan than us."
A lot could still happen to the baby turtle. If he comes ashore to bask, a fox might snatch him; in the water, a seagull might attack. But Dim Dimych's group did everything in their power. Besides, while some are being hunted, others have a chance to reach the water.
It was previously believed that Chinese softshell turtles didn't nest near Innokentyevka at all, and that they lived in Lake Gassi—farther south, closer to Khabarovsk. But in recent years, the shores there have become swampy and overgrown with sedge due to flooding, and the turtle population is declining. Researchers suspect the turtles are migrating north, says Dim Dimych. However, in cooler temperatures—for example, near Komsomolsk-on-Amur—they're unlikely to hatch without volunteer supervision and incubation.
Based on the number of clutches, Krishkevich estimated that there are three dozen females in Innokentyevka. Last year, there were the same number, meaning the population is not declining.
"Our goal is simple: to get them to settle here and live here, rather than heading north, where conditions aren't ideal even for adults. The area here is good," the teacher explains.
Rural sensations
The children in the study group aren't just studying turtles. They're also studying the salamander (a small lizard), the Far Eastern toad, and the Pacific sea eagle. The latter was thought to be completely absent from the area, but Dim Dimych and his students spotted the birds and then found nests. Now they'll be monitoring them, filming them, conducting field research, and installing camera traps in the nests.
"In short, we'll do a full description of the biotope, because no one has described them here; it was thought they were passing through, not nesting," explains Dim Dimych. "Golden eagles have also appeared; we found a nest with two chicks. We have a rough idea why this is happening: after the 'phenolic' years." (China dumped in the early 2000s phenol in the Amur, it is believed that it was because of him that the fish shortage began in those years - editor's note.) The river is recovering, and there's plenty of fish for the birds. But the situation at sea isn't so great; if they're moving here, that means things are better here. We'll describe the food supply, too.
Last year, ecologists from Innokentyevsky discovered a rare mollusk listed in the Red Book in the mud. They first saw it pulled out in fishermen's nets, then decided to check it out themselves. They are now studying it as well.
"That's how it works for us—we find something, notice it, and start working on it. This year, we were asked by the Institute of Northern Problems in Magadan to observe the black-spotted frog and find its wintering site. And we found it, because before that, we didn't know where it wintered. We're working with Amur snakes—science says they're up to 1,8 meters long, and we've already found ones that are 2,5 meters long! We donated [the skin] of one snake to Moscow State University—and what's more, we have 100 of them in storage at the center, we're not sorry. We found some endangered Lausolaria—a mollusk with a long shell. We have a lot of Corbicula. This is the second year we've been collecting data on these shells—no one has ever recorded them here before our children, sensational material!" Krishkevich rejoices at the success and immediately turns to the children: "Go find a Corbicula, there are lots of them lying around here!"
Children scatter along the shore, looking for shells.
"What are you talking about? That's a gastropod shell, and we need a bivalve!" Krishkevich comments on the initial finds. The group disperses along the shore again.
Krishkevich dedicates his field research to scientists. For example, Valentina Tagirova, a retired professor at the Pacific National University and a doctor of biological sciences, co-authored one of Dim Dimych's scientific papers on turtles and helped publish it. She herself studied at Innokentyevka, studied turtles at Lake Gassi, and published the only paper to date. book about them.
Rimma Andronova, head of the research department at the Federal State Budgetary Institution "Zapovednoye Priamurye," co-wrote the book about turtles with Tagirova. With her help, they've been able to secure grant support, for example, to purchase camera traps. Local ecologists also have soil temperature measuring devices and a marine drone for capturing underwater life. Parents of students are also contributing to the purchase of these equipment.
"We have a lot of things, and that's good. It's not like measuring everything with a ruler—that gives more meaningful results," the teacher believes.
В "Protected Amur Region" They also help with paperwork with Rosprirodnadzor—so that, for example, turtle eggs can be transferred to incubators. This is strictly monitored here, says Krishkevich.
Not all institutes are willing to collaborate with field researchers from Innokentyevka, Krishkevich says, frustratingly. He once sent his data on gastropods to one of the specialized research centers. He sent photos, a description of the locations where they were found, and coordinates. But they refused to consider his research, asking him to simply send them a unique shell specimen—also significantly larger than any previously described.
"I suggested this: come over, we'll work together. Or we'll give you all the field data and descriptions, and let them count the numbers and double-check everything. But they wouldn't do it. Then I thought: wow – we gave them all the coordinates! The guys and I went and dug up some more specimens... They'll never find anything now, even if they went there themselves," the teacher says, offended.
"That's not the point."
In mid-October, Dmitry Krishkevich will once again present his work at a regional seminar on supplementary education. He will discuss modern approaches and the use of digital technology in teaching. He is preparing to describe in a research paper a method for constructing nesting mounds. He dreams of creating a turtle sanctuary. He says he and his children have already found a spot on the islands, written an article about it, and presented the idea at several events, most recently at a seminar. herpetologistsBut things haven't moved any further yet.
"Damn, we left around 12, and it's already almost 19!" one of the boys suddenly remembers. "Mom's probably going to lose it!"
The kids are packing up camp. Everyone has their own backpack and belongings. There's no need to rush anyone.
"Give the chicken bones to the fox, over there, under the bush, let him eat them instead of digging around among the turtles," Krishkevich instructs.
The fire is out, the mess tins are packed, and Lenya starts up the ATV—his father died in the war, so his mother bought him one, the teacher explains—and heads home with his friend. The others set off on foot. They discuss pressing matters: someone's mother will "kill" them for dirty sneakers, someone has finally found that one Corbicula.
Dim Dimych's only frustration is that there are no older students in his club—the local village school only has students up to 9th grade. Currently, there are only 78 students.
"We could even do archaeology here; there was an ancient settlement here. We've found all sorts of things after heavy rains and floods. But my kids probably won't master the theoretical foundation yet," the teacher laments.
Although he conducts his work thoroughly—with scientific articles, speeches, and reports—he sees the essence of it in something else.
"You know, I could have taken two children, or just my own. I could have done everything myself. But that's not the point. Of course, it's hard to organize them; discipline, as you can see, is sometimes lacking; even organizing a boat trip means getting permission, doing this and that. But the main thing, I think, is that the children develop a hunger for knowledge. They already see their village and the world around them differently. That's what's most important."
In 2024, Krishkevich managed to get a job at a school as a geography teacher. But he didn't abandon his club and was willing to accept anyone into it.
— Sometimes people tell me: why are you working with this and that, they're behaving badly! And I say: how else can I make them better? That's what pedagogy is, isn't it?