As if a vampire had sucked in my life energy

Day: 347

Sunrise:
05:18

Sunset:
21:29

As the crow flies:
29,62

Daily kilometers:
38

Total kilometers:
1704

Soil condition:
Grass

Temperature – Day (maximum):
21°C

Temperature – day (minimum):
17 °C

Temperature – Night:
8 °C

Latitude:
49°50’003”

Longitude:
100°09’180”

Maximum height:
1950 m above sea level

Time of departure:
11:30

Arrival time:
19:45

With a heavy heart, we leave our beautiful hideaway on the small river island of the Egyin Gol. I drive the packhorses from the island through the floods of the river. Everything goes well until Tenger’s duffel bags slip backwards as he trudges up the steep slope. He gets nervous, stumbles against Bor’s load and suddenly goes off like a rocket. It only takes a fraction of a second for one eye to blink and the entire load flies into the water in a high arc. Tenger now shoots into a large circle without a load until he stops next to Naraa, prancing back and forth excitedly. I jump out of the saddle, put the shackles on Sar and sprint to the riverbank. Thank goodness the water here is only half a meter deep so that the current didn’t carry our expensive equipment away with it. Tanja and I lift the waterproof bags, dripping with moisture, out of the river. It takes a lot of patience to convince Tenger that his burden is harmless. “Quiet. They’re just lifeless duffel bags. Quiet Tenger,” says Tanja in a soothing tone. After Tenger is loaded, we also have to re-tie Bor’s courier bags.

“Okay, we’re ready to go,” I say after half an hour. I climb into my saddle, which slides almost completely to the side. “The sleeping mat is too slippery. The saddle won’t hold,” I explain to Tanja, a little irritated at the difficulties she has had this morning. In order to protect Sars and Naraa’s backs, we had placed a sleeping mat under the saddle felt of each horse before setting off. I was sure that I had successfully counteracted the saddle pressure points. Now my idea is proving to be a failure. I tie the sleeping mat to Sharga’s load. Then we finally set off.

Due to the many bends and the partly boulder-strewn banks of the Egyin Gol, progress is slow. Then we have to leave the river and ride over passes up to 2,000 meters high. From here on there are hardly any trees. Endless expanse surrounds us. It’s tropically warm again because of the thunderstorms. After the lunch break, which we spend lying exhausted in the grass, we also have to remove the sleeping mat from under Naraa’s saddle. Tanja’s saddle also began to slip. “I’ll start walking tomorrow. We can’t put Naraa through my weight any more,” Tanja decides.

Because there is no stream or river in this area, we are again forced to ride longer than we wanted. The horses deliver top performance. We watered the thirsty horses at a foul-smelling, shallow area of water where hundreds of cattle, horses, sheep and goats were urinating. “I hope they can handle this broth without getting sick,” I express my concerns. But as there is a herd of horses grazing just a hundred meters from the waterhole, we are convinced that they also come here to drink. “Shouldn’t be a problem,” says Tanja, pointing to the herd.

In the golden evening light, we ask at a yurt where there is water in this valley. “At our place,” the yurt dwellers reply, pointing to a well. “Can we set up camp here for the night and water the horses?” asks Tanja wearily. “Gladly,” the friendly shepherds reply.

When we unsaddle Naraa, we are startled. Her wound has worsened. Whether we can even use them again on this trip is questionable. Sar’s pressure point is also swollen. Bor’s saddle doesn’t fit either because his pressure point is also broken despite the light luggage. When Tanja and Bilgee rode from the Tuwa spring camp to Tsagaan Nuur, Bor didn’t want to get on the ferry. Bilgee’s nerves got the better of him, which is why, as I later learned from Tanja, he hit him on the hip with a thin tree trunk. Surely Bilgee did not hurt Bor on purpose, but it was still unforgivable behavior. Bor can walk again, albeit a little unevenly it seems to us, but his hip is clearly misaligned.

I have to admit, this situation saddens me deeply. “How can we go on?” a thought crosses my mind. Whether we ride or walk, we will reach Mörön tomorrow. From here it is no more than approx. 27 kilometers. But what do we do then? Tanja is also depressed. We already noticed pressure points on the horses last year. But this year they are much worse. “Have the horses become more sensitive at the saddle contact points?” asks Tanja. “I don’t know. The fact is, the German saddles don’t fit,” I reply, examining them closely in the hope of being able to modify them.

As there is no firewood in this valley and our stove is stored in the shed at Saraa, I search the pasture for wood left over by the nomads. I find discarded remains of yurts, saddles and old wooden posts in the garbage left behind by some yurt camps. After half an hour, the crook of my arm is full. “Enough for hot water,” I say and, with great effort, light the wet wood while Tanja takes the horses to the well to water them.

An uneasy, heavy feeling spreads through me like rising steam. A feeling of listlessness, powerlessness, sullenness. I feel completely physically and mentally exhausted. As if a vampire had sucked all my life energy into itself. It is either due to exhaustion, the tension of the last few days and weeks, the unreliability of our previous Mongolian companions or simply the fact that we have been forced to solve almost unsolvable tasks for almost a year. At the edge of my consciousness, I understand the highs and lows of our psyche. However, in my current state, I don’t even feel a spark of energy to analyze my despondency in order to draw strength from the resulting clarity.

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