Transcript
Tim Harford (0:00)
Foreign.
Ben Walter (0:09)
The Unshakables Podcast is kicking off season two with an episode you won't want to miss. Join host Ben Walter, CEO of Chase for Business as he welcomes a very special guest, Chairman and CEO of JP Morgan Chase, Jamie Dimon. Hear about the challenges facing small businesses and some of the oh moments Jamie has overcome. Listen wherever you get your podcasts. Chase Mobile app is available for select mobile devices. Message and data rates may apply. J.P. morgan Chase Bank NA Member FDIC Copyright 2025 J.P. morgan Chase & Co.
Narrator (0:46)
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Tim Harford (1:51)
Trust is at the center of so many cautionary tales. I've told you about the people who trusted a man in uniform and allowed him to steal from the city coffers, and the woman who drove into the desert because she trusted the sat nav ahead of her instincts. Then there was the celebrity author who trusted photographs of fairies as proof of their existence. We've had people who trusted in technology when they shouldn't, and those who didn't trust it when they should. And that's before we get to the doctors, business leaders and scammers who abused the trust put in them. I'm fascinated by questions of trust, and given that you're a loyal listener to cautionary tales, I'm guessing you're quite interested in them too. And that's why I've invited Rachel Botsman to join me for a special edition of Cautionary Questions. Rachel is the author of the new audiobook how to Trust and Be Trusted. So who better to answer your trust questions? Maybe you'd like to know why we naturally trust some people but recoil from others. Maybe you're curious about why so many people are taken in by particular historical figures. There might be an episode of cautionary tales that makes you tear your hair out at the gullibility of those involved. Are we right to be suspicious whenever a politician says, trust me? Can being too distrustful be as dangerous as being too trusting? Whatever your query, you can trust Rachel to have the answers. So send them to Talesushkin FM. That's T A L E S Pushushushkin FM. To Soviet officials, it was simply height wide 1079. But the indigenous people of the Urals knew the peak by a different name. The Mansi called it Holat Seacal Dead Mountain. There's an equally bleak Mansi name for a ridge just to the north. Mount Ortan Ortorten means don't go there. But engineering student Igor Dyatlov was going there, and in the freezing depths of winter, no less. He was cheerfully planning to ski across 200 miles of Mansi territory, taking a route that, even in January 1959, no Russian had likely traversed before. He wouldn't be going alone, of course. To accompany him on the 16 day trek, Dyatlov recruited friends from the Ural Polytechnic Institute. Both current students and recent graduates, they were a gleeful bunch. The joker of the pack was Georgy Krivonishenko. Newly employed at a top secret nuclear facility, his real love was to sing and play his mandolin en route to the mountains. His exuberance nearly landed him in a police cell. He'd burst into raucous song at a train station. Street performers, it turns out, were not welcome. Sinaida Kolmogorova might have been glad of a cheery song, for she was nursing a broken heart. We're not even talking, she explained, not saying hello to each other. He's already going everywhere with another girl. The object of her spurned affections was Yuri Doroshenko, and he had signed up for the trek, too. Her plan was to stay as far from her former lover as possible. No small feat in the cramped train carriages, remote cabins, and the single tent that would be their home for the duration of the trip. Zinaida was resigned to arguments flaring, though not necessarily stemming from affairs of the heart. We will quarrel, she predicted. After all, Kolevatov is with us. Quarrelsome? Alexander Kolevatov was a nuclear physicist who'd just landed a plum job in faraway Moscow. Maybe it was this good fortune that caused him to lord it over his university friends. He'd have found it hard to pick a fight with Rustem Slobodin. Of course, Rustem was a long distance runner and perhaps the epitome of that lonely pursuit. He was a man of so few words that he'd even forgotten to bid farewell to his family before heading off to the wilderness. Nicolai Thibaut Brignol was more outgoing in nature, often adopting the role of mentor. On previous trips he'd taken younger adventurers under his wing, teaching them to light fires and allowing them glimpses of his copy of a titillating but educational tome, the Sexual Question. The expedition members were all achingly young, but at 20, Lyudmila Dubninja was the baby of the group. And while she may have looked like a child, she certainly had an inner steel. She had been accidentally shot on a recent hike and yet had hobbled home and, undeterred, signed up to go out again. I say they were all young, but just before they departed their university, the Ural Polytechnic Institute insisted on a late addition. At 37, Semyon Zolotaryov was far older than Igor Dyatlov and the rest, and for many years had served in the Soviet Army. Now a civilian, he was odd man out in the Fresh Faced Party, a moustachioed interloper who threatened group cohesion and might challenge Dyatlov's leadership. At first no one wanted him in the group because he's a complete stranger, wrote Lyudmila in her diary. But then we got over it and he's coming. We couldn't just refuse to take him. So the party set off with this stranger in tow. After the sleeper train, they took a bus, then a truck, and finally piled onto a horse drawn sleigh. Each leg of the journey, past grim prison gulags, abandoned mines and remote logging camps, took them further from civilization and closer to Dead Mountain. They promised the Polytechnic Institute they'd send a telegram the moment they completed their trek and reached safety on the other side. Of course, no telegram ever arrived. I'm Tim Harford and you're listening to another cautionary tale. When search parties reached Holat Siakho, tracks in the snow led them to a tent just short of the summit. Mikhail Sharavin was among the student volunteers who'd been sent to find the Dyatlov expedition. Part of the canvas was poking out, Mikhail said, but the rest was covered in snow. They used an ice pick lying nearby to uncover the entrance. Everything inside was neat and orderly. The skier's boots were lined up, wood was stacked for the Stove. And Mikhail saw that a plate of pipes, pork fat, a calorific treat, had been prepared. It was sliced up as if they were getting ready to have supper, he said. But what of the diners? Worryingly, there was a great slash in the canvas shelter outside. Footprints stretched out, then disappeared. The prints showed that one of Dyatlov's party had pulled on a single boot, but the others had fled in just their socks or, more horrifyingly, barefoot. Frostbite in such temperatures would have taken hold in mere minutes. It dawned on the student volunteers that they were unlikely to find their comrades alive. The first bodies spotted belonged to mandolin playing joker Georgi and Zinaida's ex boyfriend, Yuri. They lay in their underwear under a cedar tree on the edge of a forest. Beside them was a burned out campfire. The trunk of the tree told a piteous story. Branches a dozen or so feet from the ground had been torn away and the bark was dotted with shreds of clothing and human skin. The dead bodies bore the marks of multiple injuries and burns. A hunk of flesh was discovered in Georgy's mouth. It was part of his own hand. The expedition leader, Igor Dyatlov was found next, struck down, making his way from the cedar tree to back up towards their tent. With him on this climb was Yuri's jilted girlfriend, Zinaida. These bodies were semi clad and pocked with injuries. Rescuer Mikhail Sharavin later told the BBC he thought the bruises resembled the results of a beating. The long distance runner, Rustem, had made it closer to the tent before he'd died. He was more warmly dressed than his compatriots, wearing a sweater, two pairs of pants and several layers of socks. But another detail was more striking to the volunteers. Rustem had a fractured skull. Of the remaining four skiers, there was no trace. Though young, the adventurers were no novices in the mountains, no snow, strangers to the hazards. They would have known that venturing out of their tent, especially barefoot and in their underwear, would prove fatal. So what could have prompted them to flee warmth and safety for the dark sub zero hell outside? And did they flee by choice? Or were they driven from the shelter? Had a violent internal dispute broken out amongst the group? Or were intruders to blame? Such foul play could not be ruled out. So the corpses were gathered up and their belongings were packed into a helicopter and flown to a police station for careful examination. In spring, Hollaet Siarko gave up the last of its dead. A Mansi hunter and his dog made the grisly find. Receding snow revealed scraps of clothing, torn pants and half a sweater. It was the entrance to a den dug into a snowdrift. Inside were the four missing skiers. Nikolai, the owner of the risque sex guide, had had his head stoved in. Bits of bone were driven into his brain. The others too were smashed and battered. There were broken ribs and awful internal injuries. Semyon, the army veteran and last minute addition to the party, was there. And so was Lyudmila, the young woman who'd been so opposed to his inclusion on the trip. Chillingly, the eye sockets of Semyon's corpse were empty. Lyudmila's eyes were missing too, as was her tongue. Something had removed them. Something or someone? Cautionary tales will return in a moment.
