The greatest hunter of all time despite the muzzle

Day: 320

Sunrise:
05:06

Sunset:
21:36

As the crow flies:
12

Daily kilometers:
17

Total kilometers:
1395

Soil condition:
Grass

Temperature – Day (maximum):
28 °C

Temperature – day (minimum):
22 °C

Temperature – Night:
minus 4 °C

Latitude:
51°27’326”

Longitude:
099°17’514”

Maximum height:
1595 m above sea level

After a restful night, the menisci have calmed down. The open blisters are taped up with plasters so that I can walk round again. Because Bilgee will be leaving us in Tsgaan Nuur and has so far taken care of tying up the load, he shows me the special knotting technique before we set off today. At 12:00 noon we are ready to leave our camp site. The path is still very bad, but improves as soon as we pass the former Tuwa winter camp. We reach open country and leave the taiga behind us. Yurts and a few scattered log cabins appear. From this point on, we find ourselves back in Mongolian civilization. It is a strange and liberating feeling at the same time. After almost four hours of walking, Bilgee calls for a break for the horses. We lift the heavy duffel bags and messenger bags off their backs and spread out the large felt mat, which was once the base for our Wandan, on the brown, dry lawn. Exhausted, we settle down on it, drink hot tea and eat the last slices of my baked bread.

Shortly before we reach a beautiful campsite in a shady gorge, Mogi discovers another herd of sheep. As expected, he shoots off to snatch one of the lovely little animals. Fortunately, he wears a muzzle, which he can’t get off despite all his efforts. We don’t bother with our dog and leave the plain to follow a narrow path into the gorge. Once we reach the bottom, we are greeted by a small river whose banks are lined with lush greenery. “A beautiful place,” I say, looking forward to the camp. “Denis! Mogi is over there!” Tanja calls out. “Yes, he seems to be cooling off in the water,” I reply calmly. “Can’t you see that he’s driven a sheep into it?” Tanja’s question sticks in my craw. “What, a sheep?” I ask excitedly, looking in the direction the barking is coming from. In fact, I now also discover the sheep. “Take this!” I say excitedly, hand Tanja the leash from Sar and storm off. As I approach, I recognize Mogi lying with his body on the woolly animal to drown it. Without taking the time to take off my shoes, I jump into the water and throw a branch I had previously picked up on the bank in his direction. As soon as Mogi sees me approaching, he lets go of the sheep and storms off through the water. In an adrenaline rush, I grab the ball of wool, dripping with wetness, and heave it onto the bank. As soon as the animal is safe, I storm back to our camp, hoping not to have been seen by the shepherd. A few days ago Bilgee told us that Mogi will also be shot if he disperses the herds of sheep and goats. It doesn’t matter whether he wears a muzzle or not. Nervously, we look up to the rocky edge of the gorge to see if a shepherd is coming to take revenge on our four-legged friend. “Maybe no one saw it?” I say. “Maybe we’ll be spared the shepherd’s revenge this time,” says Tanja, also hopeful. As the biggest hunter of all time runs towards us, dripping with wetness, I chase him away screaming. Confused, he sits down in the grass a hundred meters away from us and waits until I have calmed down again. “From tomorrow, you have to put him on a lead again,” says Tanja. “What, on the lead? It’s enough if I have to walk and lead my horse behind me,” I reply angrily. “If we want to prevent another disaster, it’s better to lead Mogi too. It’s only for 300 kilometers. From Mörön onwards, we’ll have our horse-drawn cart to which we can tie him again,” says Tanja conciliatory. “Only 300 kilometers!” I shout in Mogi’s direction, who then keeps a safe distance.

Another hour passes. Still no shepherd has turned up. We sit right next to the riverbank by the campfire and talk about whether or not we want to continue traveling without a horseman in the future. As I am able to use good maps and a GPS computer to determine our position, tie up the load myself and we know our horses by now, we don’t need a third person to adjust again. On the other hand, we are constantly warned about horse thieves and robberies. “The three of us are stronger and can look after our horses better,” I point out, as Tanja pleads for us to continue alone. “If we get a man who is affordable and likeable during the tourist season, we’ll take him with us, if not we’ll go on alone and hope to get through the thieves’ territory unmolested,” I suggest. “You really need a new horseman. Horses are not camels and need water every day,” is Bilgee’s idiosyncratic argument, as if we were letting our animals die of thirst. ‘We know that Bilgee,’ I reply calmly. “But you don’t know where there’s water and grass,” he replies. “Rivers and lakes are on the maps and grass is apparently not good everywhere at the moment. Mongolia urgently needs rain. A new horseman can’t change that,” I say. Bilgee is visibly uncomfortable at the thought that we could go on alone. He obviously feels more responsible for us than we thought. He has also grown fond of the horses and Tuya. In the many conversations we had, we realized that he also sees this trip as his own personal journey. “I’m definitely coming back to Mörön on July 20. I’ll bring my children and two horses. That’s a promise. I would like to move on to Mörön with you, but my children want to see me and I have an important job to do. I’ve already told you that. I therefore urge you to listen to my advice and hire a new man in my absence,” he says, repeating himself.

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