A deep, primal growl causes my head to snap upwards. I am caught off guard by the angry purple shadow, which has suddenly materialised above me. The roar reverberates, bouncing from giant sand mounds to the grey ocean swell and the tall, green pines in the distance. Seconds later, a white flash cuts through my periphery. Out in the open and exposed to the elements, I think that this is a less than ideal time for a thunderstorm.
Ahead, a wooden signpost informs me I have reached ‘Death Valley’. My phone, which lost reception shortly after I left my lagoon-side hostel in Nida, buzzes to life with a double beep text tone. It is my service provider welcoming me to Russia. I am more lost than I thought.
I’m scaling the back of the mighty Parnadis sand dune on the Curonian Spit; a sandy, wooded land mass and UNESCO heritage site nestled in the shallows of the Baltic Sea. The Spit stretches for 98km long and, at just 3.8km wide at its thickest, forms a narrow strip running parallel to the coastline of mainland Lithuania. The southern part belongs to Russia’s westernmost region, Kaliningrad, now isolated amongst the independent states of Eastern Europe.
Long before this game of thrones began, the Spit was shaped by sea and wind. But there is another origin story; an oral history past down generations of fisherfolk. It is said the Parnadis dune was forged by Neringa, a kind and beautiful giantess who lived by the shores of the Lithuanian coast. When an evil dragon demanded her hand in marriage and was refused, he unleashed violent storms upon the fishermen. Neringa responded by building the sandy spit between sea and lagoon, protecting the land and its people.
Parnidis, the largest dune at 52 metres high, has posed the greatest threat to local communities in more recent history. Nida, now a sought-after holiday village of colourful wooden houses, was forced to relocate in 1732 after its original settlement was buried beneath shifting sand. Since then, efforts have been made to prevent Parnadis from encroaching on the lagoon towns.
In the 18th century, local forester, Gottlieb Dovydas Kuvertas, and his son, Georgas Kuvertas, fought nature with nature by planting trees, creating the beautiful mountain pine forests that now blanket the spit. They also introduced branch barriers to slow the sand dune in its tracks. The vegetation atop the Parnadis suggest this was a success. When dunes come to rest, they begin to green over and sprout yellow petals like downy newborn hair.
From the shelter of the pinewoods, I look out across the vast sea of sand and imagine Neringa shaping the moonscape of mounds with cupped palms, as unknowing as a child building a fort.
