Complex and highly difficult preparation for wintering in the taiga

Day: 70-72

Sunrise:
07:19/07:22

Sunset:
18:57/18:53

Total kilometers:
777

Soil condition:
Dust/gravel

Temperature – Day (maximum):
22°C

Temperature – day (minimum):
20°C

Temperature – Night:
minus 4°

Latitude:
49°38’671”

Longitude:
100°11’496”

Maximum height:
1220 m above sea level

Ulzii comes back to collect his salary. We gave the money to Saraa. She should hand it over to him. We also decided not to pay him a bonus. It was intended for particularly good performance. To Saraa’s great delight, we donated 50,000 Tugrik (28.57 €) to the NGO’s orphans’ project. Saraa talks to Ulzii in a friendly manner about trust, responsibility, reliability and his promise to accompany us to Tsagaan Nuur. She gives him a second chance with a couple of tourists from France who want to go on a horse trip and need a translator. He realizes his mistake and apologizes to her several times.

Just as I leave the yurt, I meet him in the courtyard. “How are you?” he asks. “Good and you?” “Is that your breakfast?” “No, my lunch,” I reply because it’s already 2 p.m. in the afternoon. “Have a nice trip then,” he wishes me. “I hope you have a great time too.” Thanks to Sara’s conversation and the brief communication, the resentment has evaporated.

In the evening, Saraa brings a deel to our yurt. The heavy new coat is lined with thick sheepskin. “Nowadays it’s not easy to get a Deel like this. Most people buy one that was produced in China,” she explains. “Deels from China? That’s a bit like Bavaria importing lederhosen from America,” Tanja replies in surprise. “Young people are increasingly buying modern clothing from China. The craftsmanship of making such coats is being lost more and more. My mother still knows how to sew a deel. Deels like this one, new ones at that, are a real rarity. It will get you through the winter”, Saraa says to me. “How much should it cost?” I ask. “280,000 tugrik.” (160,- €) “A proud price,” I think. “At least six to seven sheepskins are incorporated. Then there’s the fabric and the working time,” explains Saraa. Since Bilgee was able to sell our sheepskin from the slaughtered sheep on the Selenge River yesterday for 17,000 Tugrik (9.71 €), the price is really put into perspective. “We’ll show the Deel Bilgee. Let’s see what he says. We’ll decide in the next few days whether to take it,” I decide.

As the conversation progresses, we learn about the pain in her back, legs and knees. The doctor prescribed Saraa a lot of medication even though she was breastfeeding her baby. “The doctors here almost killed me. My baby weighed 4.8 kilograms. I was a month overdue and the baby was not delivered by caesarean section. That’s why some vertebrae shifted during the birth, which I thought I wouldn’t survive. A doctor says they are broken and I should go to U.B. for an examination,” we hear and are shocked. Tanja and I look at each other and agree. It is a blessing to have been born in Germany.

“We should talk about the rest of your journey,” she changes the subject. “Good idea,” I reply, as we’ve been thinking a lot about this over the last few days. There are now several variants and considerations. One of them is to load everything from here into four-wheel drive vehicles and take them to the Tsaatans’ winter camp. “Unfortunately, that’s not possible,” Saraa scares us. “Why not?” “Because you have to cross the Shishged.” “Over the Shishged?” I ask. “It’s a big river that flows from Mongolia to Russia. In summer and fall, you can cross it on a ferry. It was built by a man who earns his money with it. It is pulled by hand on a wire rope stretched across the river. The ferryman is no longer there at this time of year. That wouldn’t be a problem because the drivers can take their cars across the river on the ferry boat themselves. But the river is quite raging in late fall. So it is dangerous. You have to wait until the river is frozen over. Nobody knows when that will be because every winter is different. I would suggest we bring your equipment to the village of Tsagaan Nuur. It’s about 30 km from the reindeer nomad winter camp”. “So it’s not an easy undertaking,” I think. “No, it’s not. No European has ever spent an entire winter with the Tsaatans. You are the first. The question is also how you can set up a yurt there? The Tsaatans have their campsite in the forest. Tipis just fit in there, but not yurts. They are too big in terms of floor space. My friend Shagai is a Tsaatan. He is a good horseman and speaks some English. He would help you. He said he would try to find a place for a yurt.” “That would be great. The only question is how to get the equipment from the village of Tsaagan Nuur to the winter camp?” “My cousin lives in Tsaagan Nuur. He’s 82 years old but still fit. He used to be the mayor of the village and knows his way around. His son has a Russian truck. It could be used to transport everything to the winter storage facility. The prerequisite is that the river is frozen. Please don’t take this lightly. A mayor of the village drowned a few years ago when she drove her car across the Shishged. The ice broke and as the water is very deep, the current swept the vehicle down.” “I think it would be a good idea to set up the yurt in Tsaagan Nuur for the time being and wait until the ice cover is thick enough. How long can that take?” I ask. “Maybe until the end of December. As I said, it depends on the winter. If it’s a very cold winter, it will soon freeze over. But so far it’s still surprisingly warm, far too warm for the time of year. So it could take a while.” Tanja and I look at each other again. We did not expect such an effort. But we are in a country where unpredictability is part of everyday life. Because of the early cold snap a few days ago, we had considered driving the route from Mörön to Tsagaan Nuur by jeep. However, as we have been spoiled by pleasant temperatures for many days now, we don’t want to miss out on riding our horses to this year’s stage destination. That is also what I originally planned. The only question is whether our horses can survive a winter in the taiga? “That can be tricky. I’ll call Shagai in a minute. Can I have your cell phone, please?” asks Saraa. “Sure,” answers Tanja. “Shagai? It’s me again. My friends are asking if it is possible to winter their six horses in the taiga?” “Oh, that’s very difficult. There is little fodder here this year. It’s been a dry summer. Besides, I don’t know if the horses from your area can tolerate the extreme cold. They could get homesick and die of sadness or simply freeze to death. Then there is the biggest problem. We have a lot of wolves in this area. Protecting the horses from them will be almost impossible. Some shepherds have already lost some of their animals to wolves. They even come to the village of Tagaan Nuur to hunt prey. We would have to build a wooden fence and a shelter for the horses. It might already be feasible. Call me again in a few days. In the meantime, I’ll see if we have a chance of getting the animals through the winter in one piece,” he says and hangs up. “Wow, that doesn’t sound good,” I groan. “And what do we do now?” Tanja ponders aloud. “I don’t know. Maybe we should ask Bilgee if he wants to stay up there with us for the winter? If the horses are to spend the winter with us in the taiga, that’s not possible for the two of us. In that case, we would have to keep watch around the clock and protect them from the wolves. And from the sound of it, that’s not feasible,” I ponder. “Maybe Bilgee can ride the horses back from Tsagaan Nuur? We’d have to ask him if he’d be willing,” Tanja remembers. “Hm, maybe. It’s a long way. But I wouldn’t put it past a man like him,” I reply. Saraa nods in confirmation. “How many kilometers can you cover in a day in this mountainous landscape?” I ask. “40 to 50 km if everything goes smoothly. When I was guiding tours with tourists, we sometimes had to cover distances like this,” says Saraa. “That would mean we could reach Tsagaan Nuur in eight to ten days?” “Yes.” “That would be it. We’ll leave our horse-drawn cart with you and ride from here to Tsagaan Nuur with light equipment. The heavy equipment and food for about seven months would have to be brought by a Russian four-wheel-drive bus. Bilgee will rest up there for a few days and can be back in Mörön in the same time. Unless there’s an extreme onset of winter, that would be the plan,” I say. “Not a bad plan,” says Saraa. “However, we still need to clarify where Bilgee will keep the horses for six months, what and how much they need to eat and how much all the fun will cost?” “Yes, you should discuss these issues with him while you’re still here.” “Okay, we will. We have to make a huge effort to resolve all the outstanding issues and organize the missing equipment and food for seven months within the next ten days. Then we just need to find out whether all our belongings will fit into one or two buses,” Tanja considers. “It’s all a matter of finances. I hope it’s on a bus,” I reply. “But there’s another challenge,” Saraa interjects. “And that would be?” I ask, sweating not only because of the roaring cannon stove, but also because of the overheating of my thought center. “We need a reliable, honest driver. It happens again and again that the goods do not arrive where they are supposed to. There are countless reasons for this. Sometimes the car breaks down, sometimes it gets stuck in one of the many river crossings. It is not uncommon for the drivers themselves to enrich themselves with the goods. I no longer trust anyone but myself. My tiredness has been abused too often in recent years,” is Saraa’s answer, which makes us frown again. “Wow, wow, what a project. I hope we have the strength to organize this effort of wintering,” I blow out with a groan. “We can manage that,” says Tanja confidently. “I think we can do it. But we have to be very focused,” I reply, stretching out on the carpet of our yurt.

Bilgee returns with the horses at 22:00. Again they have full bellies. “Super Bilgee. Thank you very much,” we say happily, taking the horses from him and leading them into the yard. “Nice and warm,” says Bilgee with a laugh as he enters our home. A fish is frying in the pan on the cannon stove. “Fresh fish from Tsagaan Nuur. I bought it today from Sara’s neighbor. Her husband was fishing up there and only brought it back today,” I explain to Bilgee using sign language and the few words of Mongolian I have learned. When I then serve the fish fried in butter with potatoes and roasted onions to our horse man, he looks at me questioningly. “I don’t know how to eat it,” he says. “I see,” says Tanja and cuts the fish up for him. Bilgee laughs. “I have never eaten a dsagas (fish) from Tsagaan Nuur. Many people only talk about how good it is. For us, the lake is too far away,” he explains. “And did it taste as good as people say?” I ask eagerly after the meal, having gone to a lot of trouble to prepare today’s meal. “Ene ich sajhan amttaj bajlaa”, it tasted very good,” he replies, rubbing his stomach with satisfaction.

Then we show him the Deel that Saraa gave us and ask him if it’s any good. “This is a very nice Deel,” he praises the quality benevolently. “Put it on,” he asks me and I slip into the coat, which weighs around seven or eight kilograms. Bilgee shows me how to wear it properly. “Maybe it’s a bit too short,” he considers as my hands peek halfway out of my sleeves. The arms of his Sommerdeel are so long that his hands disappear completely. “I have good gloves. That’s not a problem,” I say with a laugh. “But it should also be a little longer at the knees,” he says, because the Mongolians pull up the deel with a colorful hip scarf so that it literally bulges outwards in front of the chest. “We use this bulge as a bag for food, binoculars and everything else we need,” explains Bilgee. As I’m going to wear the Deel differently to the locals and don’t need this hamster bag, it goes up to my calf. “It’s fine for me,” I laugh, to which he nods contentedly. With the help of Saraa we explain our new strategy and ask him if he will ride the horses back from Tsagaan Nuur. “No problem. I’ll be happy to do that. Shall I take the horses to Mörön or Erdenet?” “It’s twice as far to Erdenet. We’ll have to work out where the horses will go in winter? What and how much they need to eat and how much it costs?” I reply. “I would take them to relatives of mine. I don’t know how much the food will cost,” he replies. “We could also take your animals to the prison where my husband works,” Saraa has an idea. “To prison?” Tanja and I ask at the same time. “Yes, my husband works there as a warden. The prisoners could look after the horses in winter”. “Hm, an unconventional idea, but it would be plan B.” “It’s always good to have a second option,” Saraa agrees. “We would just have to talk to the prison warden to see if he would agree to it,” he concludes. “Yes, and will there be enough food for the animals?” I add.

Because of the many and long conversations, I only blow out the candle at 1:00 a.m. today. Thinking for a while about the intensive planning and the various possibilities, I lie there and watch the moon peeking in through the opening in the yurt roof. But then fatigue overcomes me and I fall into a deep sleep.

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