Risky cross-country ride – Eerie-looking taiga

Day: 248

Sunrise:
07:06

Sunset:
19:49

As the crow flies:
23

Daily kilometers:
30

Total kilometers:
1341

Soil condition:
Ice, snow

Temperature – Day (maximum):
minus 5°C

Temperature – day (minimum):
minus 15°C

Temperature – Night:
minus 22°C

Latitude:
51°33’337”

Longitude:
099°15’341”

Maximum height:
1981 m above sea level

“How far is it to the Tuwa camp?” asks Bilgee the morning after he has brought the horses to Ayush’s log cabin. “23 kilometers as the crow flies. The riding distance is probably 30 kilometers,” I reply. “If we really don’t take any cargo with us, we’ll make the journey today.” “Can the animals hold out?” “I think so,” Bilgee replies confidently. “Tsaya just called. She’ll be here in 30 minutes. We can load everything into the jeep and ride light. In the meantime, let’s carry the boxes and duffel bags to the front of the house,” I suggest.

An hour later, there is still no car in sight. “Where are you?” Tanja calls into her cell phone because of the wind whistling around the log cabin. “The Jeep was confiscated by the police. The vehicle was not registered. I’m currently trying to get another car. But I think I’ll be with you in five minutes,” she explains. We wait another hour. By now it is already 13:00 and if we want to reach the camp before dark, we are running out of time to set off. Then Tsaya, the driver, his wife and Ultsan finally arrive. “Oh, that’s a lot of luggage. We won’t be able to fit it all in,” says Tsaya, as if we had never talked about having to transport all our food for the next two months plus tents, clothes and equipment to camp. “We had agreed to share the jeep with you. You said you didn’t have much luggage and that you were traveling alone.” “That has changed. There are now nine 25 kg. Flour sacks that some Tuwa have given me. Saintsetseg and Ovogdorj also want to come along. We met them on the way to you. “Six men and nine sacks of flour are supposed to fit in the car?” I wonder. “Ultsan won’t be going with us. He’s riding back the horses he used to look for Jade. You’ll meet him on the way. So there’s still a little room. If you like, I will take a small part of the equipment with me.” “That doesn’t make sense, because now we’re forced to hire a jeep for ourselves,” Tanja replies. “Okay, then ask the driver if he wants to do the route to the camp again today,” says Tsaya. “Can you help us with the translation?” I ask. “Okay, but you’ll have to negotiate for yourself.” After a few minutes, the price has settled at 55,000 tugrik (€31). “Oh yes, there’s something else. I’m not taking a goat after all. I only have 20,000 tugrik left,” (€11.23) Tsaya presents us with another fait accompli. “If we had known this beforehand, we wouldn’t have bought a whole goat,” says Tanja in a voice in which I can hear a note of annoyance. “All right then, take a quarter of the goat,” she offers moments later. “Oh, that’s nice of you. Gladly,” says Tsaya, turning on her heel and getting into the jeep. “See you tonight then! Send me a text when you arrive!” she calls to us. “A text message? You know how bad the reception is in the taiga!” replies Tanja.

When the four-wheel drive vehicle has disappeared, we carry our boxes back into the hut. Tsendmaa will hand over our belongings to the driver when he returns and give him the money. Due to Tsaya’s constantly changing statements, we are now forced to entrust a stranger with our valuable equipment, especially our technology. Because we weren’t sure whether it would be stolen while we were away in the yurt, we transported it from the Tuwa camp to Tsagaan Nuur. Now a large part has to go back. “It will be fine,” I hope.

Then we saddle our horses. Tseden-ish, Ayush and Tsendmaa also come outside the log cabin to see us off. We are relieved. Surprisingly, Ayush kept to the agreement we had recently made. Because we paid him 80,000 tugrik (€45) for the second truckload of wood last year and were unable to use the wood due to the move to the taiga, he promised to let us stay in his log cabin for a few days free of charge in return. Of course, it would have been fair of him to simply pay us back the money, but Ayush is sitting on the money like a hen on eggs. The deal is also disproportionate as the log cabin only costs 1,000 Tugrik (€0.56) per day. However, we have heard that Ayush has recently started charging tourists the price of 10,000 Tugrik (€5.61) per person per night. Well, you can twist and turn it however you like. We are glad that we were not asked to pay at the end of our short stay.

We leave Tsagaan Nuur with only enough food for one day. Our hosts wave to us. “Sain jawaaraj!” (“Have a good trip!”) they call after us happily. “Did you see that? Ayush was smiling,” says Tanja. “I’m sure he was pleased with the good deal,” I reply cheerfully, sitting back on my horse’s back. At the edge of Tsagaan Nuur, we ride over the meter-thick ice of the lake. We follow the tire tracks left by the vehicles. In my memory I know of two tracks that lead across the lake and I am not sure if we are on the right one. “What do you think? Should we have crossed the Tsagaan Nuur further back?” I ask Tanja, a little uncertain. “What does your GPS mean?” (satellites of the GPS Global Positioning System), she asks. “It only shows me the line of sight to the Tuwa camp. We could cross the ice anywhere,” I reply and decide to continue following the first track. As we reach the shore, the tire tracks wind their way up a hill. Due to the strong sunlight, the snow has completely melted away in many places. The road, which forks not far ahead of us, is therefore difficult to make out.

“We should ride to the camp as the crow flies. That’s much shorter,” suggests Bilgee. I ponder for a while whether it is wise to follow his advice. I let my gaze glide over the mountainous landscape. We find ourselves in an extensive high valley which is lined with some very rugged mountains. If we follow the valley, we will deviate 90 degrees from the indicated air line on my GPS. That would be a massive detour. In my years of experience, however, supposed shortcuts are decidedly longer. Unforeseen barriers and obstacles such as rivers, cliff edges, forests and much more can turn such shortcuts into a nightmare in the worst case. I still remember vividly last year when we were literally held captive by a labyrinth of lakes just a few kilometers from Tsagaan Nuur because of following the air line, as the load-bearing capacity of the ice cover was still deceptive at that time of year. It was therefore impossible to follow a straight line. Only with great effort, detours and the extremely risky crossing of half-frozen lakes and rivers did we reach our destination.

“What are you thinking Denis?” asks Tanja. “I’m not sure whether we should attempt the cross-country trek. On the other hand, I don’t know which of the vehicle tracks leads to the Tuwa camp. If we follow the wrong one, we will be forced to turn back and look for another track. We would lose a lot of time that we don’t have. We haven’t loaded a tent or any other warm clothing to survive a night in the open without damage in these temperatures,” I say, hoping I haven’t made the wrong decision to travel so lightly. “Asuudal bisch” (“No problem”) says Bilgee confidently, as he often does, whereupon I decide to leave the path and follow the GPS as the crow flies. After just a few hundred meters, another lake or an offshoot of the Tsagaan Nuur lies ahead of us. We ride down the steep embankment and traverse the hopefully consistently stable ice cover. As I was told about places in the lake that never really freeze over, I am slightly nervous. A layer of snow about five to ten centimeters thick has buried the ice. This makes it impossible to detect deceptive areas at an early stage. Sar slowly puts one hoof in front of the other. Tanja and Bilgee follow. They drive the horses Naraa, Bor and Sharga in front of them. Once we reach the opposite side of the lake, a vertical slope blocks the way. We follow the embankment until I find a suitable passage.

We leave the lake without incident and lead our horses over a gently rising ridge flanked by high mountains to the left and right. Shortly before we reach the ridge, Mogi discovers a herd of goats peacefully and unsuspectingly eating the winter-browned grass. Like an arrow released from a bow, it shoots towards the animals. I follow the spectacle spellbound as he divides the herd and then separates one of the bucks. On the stage from Mörön to Tsagaan Nuur, my heart would have slipped into my pocket by now at the latest. Now, however, I take a relatively relaxed view of the spectacle. Thanks to Rufus’ legacy, the muzzle made of steel and leather straps, the sheep killer Mogi is no longer able to seriously tackle the grass eaters. It doesn’t take long for our dog to give up the chase. He sprints back to us, panting, not without incessantly throwing himself snout first into the islands of snow left by the sun. “You just won’t give up what?” I ask him because that’s how he tries to get rid of the bite inhibitor.

Once we reach the ridge, we are greeted by an Ovol. As custom dictates, we circle it three times which, according to Mongolian belief, guarantees us a happy journey. “I have to change my shoes,” Tanja says loudly to drown out the bitterly cold wind hissing over the mountain range. “Do you have cold feet?” I ask. “Very cold. It was a good decision to take the felt shoes with me,” she says. Bilgee also slips into his warm Mongolian felt shoes. I, on the other hand, left my warm winter shoes in Ajush’s log cabin for weight reasons. “You’re not cold?” Tanja wonders. “No, so far my Canadian winter boots are keeping me warm,” I reply and look down from up here into the high valley behind us. In the distance, I can see a narrow ribbon winding through the snow around a rocky mountain range. “This must be the way to the Tuwa camp,” I say thoughtfully. “Then the shortcut was worth it,” says Tanja as the slope is many kilometers away from us. “Without a doubt. If there are no obstacles in our way on the rest of the route, it was a very good decision.” “How much further is it?” “About 11 kilometers,” I answer, reading the number from the navigation computer. “Oh, so we’ll be at the Tuwa camp by 7 p.m. at the latest?” “Maybe,” I reply, looking at another mountain range that lies directly in front of us.

Eerie-looking taiga

Following the directional arrow of my system, I ride ahead again. If I come across an obstacle in the landscape, I can ride towards Tanja and Bilgee and lead them in a different direction. This saves you the detour. At the top of the mountain, a dense forest rises up in front of us. Crossing it seems impossible. I ride back to inform Tanja and Bilge. After a brief consultation, we decide to follow the edge of the taiga southwards until a lane opens up to the west. I keep my eyes focused on the edge of the forest. Then I think I have found what I was looking for. I follow the clearing that divides the dense forest in front of us. Always hoping to be able to cross it that way. The open pastureland abruptly disappears into dense branches. Does the seemingly impenetrable larch forest force us to turn back? And if so, in which direction should we bypass it? This is not the first time I have cursed myself on this trip. Believing that I would easily find the way to the Tuwa camp, I left the maps behind. So I don’t know how big the forest area is that has grown in our way. Then I discover a lorry track that has pressed itself into the hard-frozen, uneven ground and leads into the depths of the forest. I immediately decide to follow her. A kind of Ovol opens up in front of me. Thick logs are wrapped in blue, yellow, green, white and red strips of fabric. I take a photo, turn in the saddle to see if Tanja and Bilgee are following me and ride on into the gloom of the copse.

Mogi, who has nothing to hunt here, follows me at a short distance. Tanja and Bilgee are out of sight and earshot because of the many arches in which the path winds. To the left and right of the large tire tracks, which wind their way further and further into the forest, lie fallen, thick tree trunks. Many of them were cut with chainsaws. With an uneasy feeling, I follow the predetermined track. Always hoping she will come out on the other side of the coniferous forest. The compass needle reveals a strong directional deviation. But as long as the direction is only roughly correct, I’m not too worried. Suddenly I hear a heavy crack to my right. Startled, I gaze into the impenetrability of the taiga. “Was it a bear that woke up from its hibernation?” I suddenly wonder. “They’re particularly dangerous at this time of year, aren’t they?” With a shudder, Ultsan’s hunting story races through my brain as if I were experiencing it myself. “It’s strange what thoughts go through your head in such a dark forest. If a hungry bear actually crossed our path, we wouldn’t have the slightest chance of escaping unscathed on our tired horses. Sar would probably just throw me off and gallop off in a wild panic,” I continue to think and watch my dog to see if he is behaving strangely. But Mogi trots after me, more or less bored. “No, a bear couldn’t have made that noise,” I reassure myself.

At this moment, I realize more than ever where we are. “Taiga”, I let the word pass my lips and feel its depth, feel its meaning, its greatness. Our small travel group is located far away from any human civilization in the largest contiguous coniferous forest area on earth, which stretches from Scandinavia to Siberia and North America. This type of forest grows in the temperate and northern latitudes and thus belongs to the extra-tropical forests of our planet, which together cover around 14 million square kilometers of land. The extratropical forests mainly thrive in Russia, North America and Europe, but larger areas are also found in Australia, New Zealand, Chile, Argentina, North Africa and the coastal regions of South Africa. In contrast to the tropical rainforests, the taiga is characterized by a low species diversity and consists largely of birch forests, spruce, pine, larch and fir.

Just like on our bike trip through the endless Siberian taiga, I can smell the rich, rustic, clear scent of the giant trees, some of which are up to 800 years old. Dead trees stretch their bare, moss-covered trunks into the snowy clouds. It’s fascinating to think that the taiga is still completely undeveloped in parts. All of a sudden, the sheer massive presence of these probably oldest, largest and tallest creatures on our planet inspires me and I let my gaze wander over the green creatures without ceasing. For me, these creatures are undoubtedly powerful and enduring symbols of life. If each and every one of us were truly aware that the forest is a huge source of energy for our ecosystem, we would certainly treat it with more care. Trees need sunlight, carbon dioxide and water to survive. If we humans realized in the depths of our consciousness that trees produce important food for humans and animals and the highly important oxygen, we would certainly treat the sustainer of our lives differently. Who would voluntarily strangle themselves and then suffocate? What a terrible death. And yet we continue to cut down virgin forests for our wonderful wooden decking, chopping boards, fine steering wheels and dashboards in our cars. At the very least, we allow deforestation and then consciously or unconsciously buy death or that of our children, or are partly responsible for the fact that future generations will no longer have enough air to breathe. “What madness,” it goes through my head. “How can we stop such a sick development? How can we humans be made to understand that trees filter carbon dioxide from the air and thus renew the composition of our earth’s atmosphere? How can we explain to people that trees provide us with fresh air, which we all need every second to survive, whether rich or poor? What can we do to realize in time that trees are probably the oldest, largest and tallest living beings on our planet?”

The path, which winds along like a giant snake, is covered by strong branches. It seems to be getting darker and darker. As he soon turns 180 degrees away from our destination, I realize my mistake in following him. “One more bend, then I’ll have to wait for Tanja and Bilgee to make another decision,” I think as the thicket lifts and the forest narrows. More and more light squeezes in between the mostly bare trees. To my great relief, the wood suddenly releases me and the mostly overgrown or snow-covered path leads to a plateau overgrown with meter-high shrubs.

A cold wind blows across the open land and makes me shiver. I get out of the saddle to pee in the snow and stretch my stiff limbs. Who would have thought that after 4 ½ months of living in a yurt without any training we would have to take a violent step? At minus 18°C, I wipe the wind-chilled sweat from my forehead and don’t take my eyes off the spot where this path emerges from the eerie forest. After what seems like an eternity, I finally spot Tanja, Bilgee and the horses. I wait until they have caught up and then ride ahead again across the huge field of shrubs. It is now just before 8pm. The sun has been hiding behind the high mountains for some time now, making its way to the other side of the hemisphere. According to our planning, we should be in camp by now, but the GPS still shows six kilometers to the finish.

The substrate on which the plant spreads is provided with deep holes. The horses find it difficult not to stumble. Her weakness is now becoming more and more noticeable. Under normal conditions, we would have pitched a tent here at the latest and rested. However, the conditions are not normal. We are forced to ride on and I hope we reach our yurt before it is pitch dark. In the middle of the shrubbery, a half-ruined hut stretches its rotten beams into the gray evening sky. To be on the safe side, I mark the spot on the GPS. If another natural barrier blocks our path shortly before our destination, we can return to this hut to spend the night if necessary. There we would be protected from the wind and have the opportunity to light a warming fire.

Our legs and the horses’ bodies brush past the hard plants. We only make progress at around two kilometers per hour. As we ride over a small hill, we recognize another strip of forest. “Oh no!” I shout. As I had been taking long walks around the camp with Mogi every day for the last few months, the landscape should look familiar to me here at the latest. However, every mountain and hill is completely foreign to me. My nervousness increases by the minute. “Is the GPS not working properly?” I am struck by a thought that makes me shudder. Ahead of us on the left is a large, elongated ridge that seems somehow familiar. I study its forest cover and am almost certain that I have spotted it several times just a few kilometers east of the camp. Perhaps we are approaching the Tuwa camp from the wrong side? I don’t know and I’m confused. Has the path through the eerie forest led us astray?

We have now reached the edge of the forest strip. The handheld computer promises 2 ½ kilometers to the finish. Because we have hardly any other chance, we try to cross the forest as the crow flies. The thin larch trees and the catastrophic ground only allow us to make one kilometer of progress per hour. “Denis! Where are you?” I suddenly hear Tanja’s voice. I turn in the saddle and see nothing but dense forest behind me. In the twilight of dusk, the tree trunks begin to merge with the approaching blackness of the night. “Here I am! Hiiieeer!” I reply so that they can orient themselves to my call. It is a great challenge for Tanja and Bilgee to drive the horses through the woods. I breathe a sigh of relief as I recognize the shadowy movements of horses behind me. Suddenly Sar stumbles and breaks into one of the holes with his front feet. His hind legs buckle before I am thrown forwards out of the saddle. The poor animal squats like a sitting camel in a snowdrift in which my knees are now also stuck. I’m just trying to get out of the saddle when he gets up again. As if nothing had happened, we trudge on ahead to show my wife and my Mongolian friend the way.

To find a passage through the tangle of bushes and trunks, I get off my horse and continue up the mountain on foot. Only now do I realize how dangerous this floor really is. Under small islands of snow lie sharp-edged rocks, holes up to ½ meter deep and countless humps of earth covered in lichen. As the shadows of night descend, I stumble from hump to hump and slide like a drunk into crevices and holes until I twist my knee. “Ahh!” I shout. “Is something wrong?” I hear Tanja’s question come to me from the now complete blackness. “What a load of crap! We should have taken the road! These damn shortcuts!” I curse loudly and indignantly. Our headlamps have been showing us the way through the maze of trees for half an hour. Some are very close and force us to turn back. We fight our way through the branches in serpentine lines with great effort. “Keep your nerve. Keep your nerve. Keep your nerve,” I tell myself, still not sure if I’m going in the right direction. Because horses walk more safely on four legs than a human on two, I get back in the saddle.

It’s 9 p.m. when I spot the first reindeer tracks in the remaining patches of snow. The feeling of being on the right track to the Tuwa camp overwhelms me. At 9:30 pm we cross a narrow deer trail. Even if it leads slightly away from the destination again, I follow it. I am convinced that this trail will lead me to our home. More and more reindeer droppings cover the ground. Due to the altitude of now 2,000 meters, the snow cover is closed again. In the snow I discover a stirrup that the Tuwa use for their reindeer. Tired, I let myself slide out of the saddle, pick it up and ride on. The barking of dogs reaches our ears and gets louder with every meter. The first tipi appears in the beam of our headlamps. We are surprised to realize that we are approaching the camp from the opposite direction. “So the eerie forest has led us around the Tuwa tent settlement after all,” I say to Tanja, who is riding close behind me.

We are just tying our horses to the trees in front of our yurt when Tsaya comes out of her log cabin and invites us in for hot tea. We carry our saddlebags into the yurt, light a fire and hurry into log cabin number one. “Good that you made it to camp today,” says Tsaya. “You can say that again. We’re really relieved,” I reply. “What took you so long?” “We rode as the crow flies from Tsagaan Nuur. That meant we had to go through the woods and over a plateau with dense bushes,” I explain. “I’ve already seen you take the wrong path across the lake,” says Ultsan. “How did you see us?” I ask in surprise. “I was on a hill with my horses and recognized six horses, three riders and a dog. It could only have been you. By the way, it only took me four hours to get here,” he says. Tanja and I look at each other and can hardly believe what we’ve just heard. Silently we ask ourselves why he didn’t come riding down from his hill to show us the right way? I swallow my rising anger and ignore the bragging about having completed the route in half the time. “Well, as I said, we’re happy to be here,” I reply. “Riding through the woods at night can be hard on the eyes,” Tsaya continues the conversation. “Yes, we noticed that,” I reply, trying to swallow my renewed anger. “By the way, has the jeep with our equipment arrived?” I change the subject. “No. The driver didn’t get any fuel because the petrol station was closed. He will leave tomorrow,” explains Tsaya. “How could it be otherwise,” I mumble into my beard. “Is the man really trusting?” I ask. “What do you mean?” “Well, I mean whether he’s an honest man and whether all of our things will really get here?” “You can rely on him,” she reassures me.

Only a few minutes pass as the conversation turns to the fatal condition of our horses. “They were ridden all winter with one hundred percent certainty. I think the military used them for patrol rides and didn’t give them anything to eat,” Ultsan claims. “How can people do something like this?” asks Tanja, no longer able to control her tears. “Two or three of your animals won’t survive the spring,” Ultsan gives Tanja another blow that is definitely too much for her. “Why should they die now? The harsh winter is over,” I ask. The spring months are usually critical. The grass has died under the snow and, due to the altitude of the taiga, fresh grass only grows in June. Until then, the horses hardly have anything to eat,” he explains. After a tough ride of almost eight hours through a tough country, we would have liked to have heard a few words of comfort. Ultsan’s devastating statements are the last straw for us today.

We return to our yurt, exhausted and exhausted. “We built this bed especially for you,” I say to Bilgee, pointing to his sleeping area. “Oh, thank you very much. That turned out really well,” he says happily and immediately makes himself comfortable on it. As we satisfy our hunger with some freeze-dried food from the bag, he says: “Don’t worry too much about the horses. I was predicted to lose at least one if not two on the way here from Mörön due to their weakness. And? What is the reality? All six horses reached Tsagaan Nuur safe and sound. And now we’ve even made it to the taiga. I’m sure the horses will pull through. They can withstand more than they are said to. You’ll see.” “Thank you very much for your words of encouragement,” says Tanja, visibly relieved.

Then we slip onto our Wandan. Because Tanja is very cold and we can only cover ourselves with our deels today, she puts a large load of wood in our cannon stove. “Can’t we at least open the plastic of the roof edge? I can’t stand the heat any more,” I ask cautiously. “As you know, the driver didn’t bring our equipment. So I don’t have a sleeping bag. Do you want me to freeze again?” “No, absolutely not.” “But it’s crazy hot here. I don’t want to die of heatstroke,” I reply. To avoid upsetting Tanja any further, I move my sleeping place to the floor of the yurt. Instead of 34 °C, it’s only 20 °C there. At three o’clock at night, however, the ground temperatures drop to minus 10 °C. I wake up shivering from the cold and take my seat next to Tanja again.

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