Forest fires – lost passes – Alone

Day: 305

Sunrise:
05:17

Sunset:
21:21

Total kilometers:
1361

Soil condition:
Ice, snow

Temperature – Day (maximum):
15°C

Temperature – day (minimum):
5°C

Temperature – Night:
minus 9°C

Latitude:
51°39’155”

Longitude:
099°21’977”

Maximum height:
1858 m above sea level

On the evening Bilgee was supposed to come from his satellite camp so that he and Tanja could ride to Tsagaan Nuur the following morning as agreed, he didn’t show up. “He does what he wants,” said Tanja. “That’s right, but I think he’ll be here tomorrow,” I replied. Although something unforeseen always crosses our plans in this country, there was always the possibility that something had happened to our Bilgee or that the horses had run away from him. “I really hope that nothing has happened,” said Tanja after the sun had already set. “Have you ever asked Purvee about our border permit? I have a bad feeling about it and I wouldn’t put it off,” I changed the subject. “No, I’ll go and find her tepee in a minute,” she said and set off.

Days ago, Tsaya and Ultsan rode to the supply point to take a jeep from there to Tsagaan Nuur. They needed some food and Tsaya needed a check-up for her heart. I took the opportunity to give them our expiring border permits so that they could possibly extend them for us at the border troops. When they came back, I immediately asked, “And did it work?” “No. All the soldiers in the post are in the taiga, fighting the big fire,” she replied. “What fire?” I asked, startled. “Can’t you see the smoke hanging over our valley?” “Yes, it’s been very hazy for a few days,” I agreed with her. “It’s not haze but smoke. A terrible fire is raging near Tsagaan Nuur. All the soldiers and many civilians are in the woods to prevent the fires from spreading. However, I have been told that things are not looking good. Hundreds of fires are raging in Mongolia at the moment. One of the worst in years is near Tsagaan Nuur. Helicopters have been requested from Ulan Bator for support. That’s why we couldn’t extend your permit.” “I’ve heard that Mongolia hardly has a functioning helicopter?” I objected. “I have no idea.” “Do you think the fire can also reach this valley?” I then asked a little nervously. “This fire can spread pretty quickly. We’re only 32 kilometers from Tsagaan Nuur as the crow flies. That’s no distance for a fire like this,” she replied, furrowing her brow. “Well, let’s hope for the best. The tall, dry grass in this valley burns like tinder,” I replied. “That’s right,” she confirms, nodding. “And what did you do with our permits? Did you bring them back with you?” I wanted to know. “No, I left them with Tsendmaa. She will give the permits to someone when she has renewed them.” “Good, a very good decision,” I praised her.

Two days later, Gamba arrived at the camp with one of Tsagaan Nuur’s small Chinese Mopes. He was there for some meeting that for some reason didn’t take place. He brought our permits and gave them to his wife. We found out about it by chance.

Lost passes

10 minutes after Tanja left, she returned to the tipi. “The point goes to you,” she said. “How?” “Well, your hunch was right again. She can’t find our papers,” her reply sends me reeling. “What, Purvee can’t find the papers? How can that be? Surely a tipi isn’t so big that you can misplace such important documents?” I said. “Apparently she does. But she’ll find them. She was visibly uncomfortable. She searched everywhere in my presence and in the end handed me the passports of herself and her children.” “She what?” “She gave me her family’s passports.” “Why would she do that? Does she have bad eyesight?” “Could be. Who knows?” “I don’t believe it. You ask these people for a favor and then they misplace our identity papers. If they disappear, it could cost us a small fortune,” I said indignantly, thinking about the trouble and expense such a loss would cause. “I know,” Tanja replied. “Man oh man, can’t something ever go completely smoothly? Something always has to go wrong. The best nerves can’t stand that. Can you still remember the tourist we met here a few years ago? He had lost his passport? They just locked him up,” I snorted. “But the case was different,” Tanja replied. “It doesn’t matter. If you don’t have papers in this country, you’re in trouble. The distance from here to Ulan Bator alone is enormous. I think it’s a good 1,500 kilometers. If the papers are gone, we’ll have to stop here and go there. And if Bilgee leaves, who will look after the horses during this time? Oh no! Did they drink again yesterday?” I asked, soon beside myself and feeling that my anger would burst through my skull at any moment. “No idea. It’s possible that Gamba brought a bottle from Tsagaan Nuur,” Tanja replied. “A bottle? That makes me laugh. They must have been drinking again and forgotten where they put our permits and identity cards,” I cursed indignantly. “I’ll go to Tsaya and tell her what happened,” I grumbled and pulled on my jacket. “What’s the point?” “What do I know? I need to clear my head,” I replied. “Denis?” Tanja called out. “Yes?” “Try to stay relaxed. Trouble won’t get us anywhere,” she admonished me. “It’s all right. I’m easy,” I replied and trudged like a gale force wind to Tsayas and Ultsan’s tipi. “Tsya and Ultsan are getting water,” said Hoo when I didn’t find them. “Okay,” I replied, wringing a smile from myself and trudging back to our teepee. Tsaya and Ultsan had stopped by by chance on their way back from the stream and were sitting in the tipi.

“She’ll find the papers again,” Tsaya reassured me. “I hope so,” I replied as kindly as a pressure cooker whose lid is about to blow off, as my resilience had reached a breaking point with this action. “What about Bilgee? Didn’t he want to come today?” Tsaya changed the subject. I was sure that she didn’t deliberately ask this question at such an inopportune moment. Nevertheless, I snorted. “You can’t rely on anything here. We are in Mongolia.” Tanja gave me a warning look and I got myself under control again. I ask about Tsaya’s condition as if nothing had ever happened. “Quite good. I think the medicine is helping. I feel fit,” she replied. Then they left us again.

Purvee appeared in our tipi at around 9:30 pm. Laughing and apologizing several times, she handed Tanja our papers. “Phew, that’s a relief. I was really worried about that,” I said honestly and laughed with relief. “Uutschlal, uutschlal”, (“Sorry, sorry”) she replied again. It was undoubtedly visible how uncomfortable she was. “No problem. The main thing is that the permits have reappeared,” I said in a reassuring tone.

During the night, temperatures dropped again to a remarkable minus 17 °C. After using our extreme sleeping bag only as a blanket for the last few nights, we were now forced to slip back into it. We will soon be at the end of the merry month of May. But at these latitudes, it hardly gives us any bliss but rather extreme temperature fluctuations. Days of long snowfall, rain, sunshine and T-shirt weather, strong winds, squalls and massive night frosts characterize the fifth month of the year.

The next morning, almost all the men set off on a long hunting trip. Shouldering their weapons, they rode past our tepee one after the other. I raised my hand in greeting and wished them every success. They returned my greeting cheerfully and disappeared into the tall undergrowth of the valley.

Then Bilgee appeared. He greeted us as if nothing had happened. Then he explained; “I was on my way to you yesterday afternoon. Suddenly the horses remembered what good food there was in the outer camp. They all just galloped back. I followed them and when I reached them we were back where we left two hours before. I decided to spend the night there and ride back to Tuwa Camp today.” “And why didn’t you bring Bor, Naraa and Tuya with you?” I want to know. “Herding horses is my job. Isn’t it?” “Yes, that’s what you get paid for,” I replied. “I thought about taking all the horses with me to Tsagaan Nuur. If I leave Naraa, her foal and old Bor with you, it may well happen that they suddenly decide to gallop off to the outer camp. Then you would be rid of the horses and have a problem,” he explained. “Right, then I would indeed have a problem,” I agreed with him. “Well, that’s why I like to take them all with me. While Tanja does her errands in the village, I ride into the mountains and look after the horses. There in Tsgaaan Nuur there is already lush fresh grass at this time of year. That will give them strength. So we’ve killed two birds with one stone,” he said. I thought about his suggestion for a while and came to the conclusion that Bilgee had once again made a wise decision. “Good, that’s how we’ll do it,” I replied.

That very afternoon Tanja and Bilgee set off with two riders and two packhorses. “Don’t worry about it. Everything will be fine. I’ll let you know about our friend Heinz,” she said and climbed into the saddle. Heinz is our only contact with the outside world and Germany during the entire expedition. He is in contact with us via our satellite phone. Since calling is very expensive, we decided in this case that Tanja would text him as soon as she got cell phone reception again. Heinz will then forward the message to me via the satellite phone as Emmail in the Tuwa Valley. A somewhat cumbersome but functional method of staying in contact with Tanja.

Alone

So now I’m alone again in the Tuwa valley. To pass the time, I wash all the pots first. Then I scrub the frying pan so clean that you could almost sell it as new. I fetch water from the nearby stream, which sometimes runs dry and sometimes flows gently. Depending on how cold it is in the mountains, there is enough or little water. During heavy night frost, for example, the meltwater is frozen. When it thaws out during the day, it ripples again. I feed Mogi, who is now my only remaining companion, cut the last of the dried meat into pieces and soak it in a pot of water for a few hours. Then I repair our cheap plastic floor that we took with us from the yurt so that we don’t have to live on muddy or dusty ground. I chop wood, stoke the oven, boil water and prepare the fresh grain porridge for tomorrow, which is already coming out my ears. So I’m busy with housework, or rather tipi work.

The Tuwa don’t visit me. I don’t want to blame it on the fact that I no longer have any coffee or milk tea to offer. They are doing quite well here at the spring camp. Their reindeer cows give plenty of milk and as the vacations have begun, there are new families and especially children in the camp. Until then, I don’t mind my loneliness. I’m talking to my dog, who is still on a lead because he’s so keen to hunt. I would love to let it run again. But because of the skittish baby reindeer, that would be too much of a risk even with a muzzle. Tsaya said they could have a heart attack or something like that from all the excitement if they were very frightened. I don’t want to risk that. No matter what they die of. Should one fall over for any reason and Mogi is spotted in its vicinity, it is obvious who is to blame. So that’s not a good idea. Hence the chain or leash.

Since yesterday evening he has also been allowed in the tepee. There are no horses that he has to look after. So he can keep me company too. I think that gives him pleasure. My elbow is feeling better again. Despite this, or perhaps because of it, I got into the habit of chopping wood with my left hand. It was a bit unusual at first, but as we humans know, we can get used to a lot of things.

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