Further on to the Selenge River

Day: 389

Sunrise:
06:08

Sunset:
20:30

As the crow flies:
29,91

Daily kilometers:
40

Total kilometers:
2187

Soil condition:
Grass

Temperature – Day (maximum):
18°C

Temperature – day (minimum):
14 °C

Temperature – Night:
12 °C

Latitude:
49°22’220”

Longitude:
101°07’482”

Maximum height:
1800 m above sea level

Time of departure:
12:30 p.m.

Arrival time:
7:00 p.m.

With stiff limbs, we get up early, do the repairs to the saddles and leave the camp around midday. Mogi limps alarmingly for the first few meters. However, we are relieved to see that he settles in after a few minutes and runs alongside me without any problems. After just five kilometers, we spot a solitary yurt in the valley. Next to it is a small house that resembles the pump house in Renzindorj. “Is there water there?” Tanja ponders aloud. “I don’t think so.” “You should go and ask.” “Okay,” I say reluctantly because the yurt is a kilometer away from the direction of travel. Two hundred meters from the hut, two dogs chase towards us again. Yesterday’s game is repeated. The yurt dweller gets her guard dogs under control for a short time. “Do they have water? Our horses haven’t had any since yesterday,” I ask. “Tijmee. We have a pump but my men aren’t here. If you can leave it on, you’ll get water,” she says kindly.

I immediately fetch Tanja and the packhorses. We tie the horses to the posts provided. Then the talkative woman leads me into the pump house. A new diesel engine smiles promisingly at me. I look for the fuel tap, turn it on, flip a switch to on and pull the starter cord. No reaction. After 10 minutes I give up. “When are your men coming back?” “I don’t know. They’re in the mountains cutting wood. Come to the yurt and rest. Then we’ll see,” she invites us. We discuss for a while whether it makes sense to unload all the horses and wait for the men. “We’re not going to get anywhere like this,” I say. “But our horses need water,” Tanja replies. “Yes, of course. But the woman also said that the Selenge River is only 10 kilometers from here. If we trot, we’ll be there in 1 ½ hours. If we wait here, it could take forever and our horses won’t have anything to drink,” I point out. After some back and forth, we decide to wait. As soon as we have unloaded our luggage, the hospitable woman invites us into her yurt, which is only 200 meters away from the dirt road that connects Erdenet and Mörön. A car, a motorcycle and a large truck are parked in front of it. The satellite dish provides a worldwide television program. Inside, we are greeted by the usual furnishings. Only that everything is a little more modern than usual. A new battery powers the latest version of a flat screen, which the lady of the house immediately switches on. In an instant, razor-sharp images fly against the window like flies. Trophies hang from the roof poles of the yurt. “Your sons took part in the Naadam?” I ask, pointing at the medals. “Oh yes. You’ve won many times,” she says with pride in her voice, slicing up fresh bread and serving us hot salted milk tea. “Delicious,” we praise as the sound of an engine can be heard. Her husband and son get out of a van. We are greeted courteously. Our hostess quickly tells us where we are coming from, where we are going, how long we have been on the road and that we need water for the horses. The men laugh, start the engine in the pump house and help water the horses. “Our water is pumped from a depth of 100 meters. Engineers from Erdenet were there to drill the well,” we are told.

After the horses have been loaded again, we take a farewell photo to the delight of everyone present. “Can you send it to us. We have an email connection in our house in Erdenet,” asks the lady of the house. Tanja gives us the address, then we say goodbye and ride off. Not following the dusty road, but taking a detour up the mountains. “Anything but engine noise and dust,” I say, spurring the horses on. The path over the hilly landscape is worthwhile. The land spreads out picturesquely at our feet. At the top of a pass, I attach Sharga’s load to the saddle frame with two straps. From this point on, his load sits perfectly and I wonder why I didn’t think of it earlier.

After we have crossed the mountain range, the approaching ridges force us into the valley where countless vehicle tracks line up. The many tire tracks have literally ploughed up the valley. The horses’ hooves whirl fine dust into the air which I inhale incessantly as a driver. A cough plagues me. “Where is the Selenge River? We should have reached its bed a long time ago?” wonders Tanja. “It was a good suggestion of yours to water the horses at the lovely woman’s,” I reply as we have covered 25 kilometers since then. “There, at the foot of the mountain range, must be the Selenge!” I shout. “Where the green ribbon runs along?” “Right there. If it’s not there, there’s something wrong with the GPS,” I say. Another hour later, we make a five-minute stop on a small plateau. I scan the horizon line ahead of us with binoculars to see where the pontoon bridge crosses the river. “So, can you see them?” asks Tanja. “No. Just trees.” Then I turn off a bus that whirls up a huge fountain of dust behind it. It suddenly disappears into the green. Another car follows him only to be swallowed up by the bushes as well. “It must be there. Cars just disappear between the greenery,” I say and drive the horses on with renewed confidence. A threatening storm front is building up behind us. The wind blows increasingly hard at our backs. “Haaack! Haaack! Haaack!” I shout to keep the horses trotting. “I’m tired!” exclaims Tanja. “I know, but we should reach the bridge before the storm,” I reply.

When we reach the grassy strip at the foot of the mountain range, my suspicions are confirmed. We come directly to a dirt road that leads us to the pontoon bridge. “Bingo!” I cheer. The first raindrops are lashing down from the sky as we arrive at the floating steel structure. Two buses, a few cars and lots of people bustle around a few yurts. In the middle of the solitude, there is suddenly a lot of activity. Those present look up in amazement as five heavily laden horses trot towards the bridge. A barrier sign and a chain stop our ride. “Is the bridge closed?” we ask, startled. Brown-colored floodwater roars at high speed under the groaning iron frame. “We’re waiting for the cashier,” someone replies. A little boy hits Tuya on the butt with a stick. “Stop that!” I scold him, to which the boy laughs. Then he stands behind our nervous Tenger and hits him with his stick as well. Tenger sees red, storms towards the chain, jumps over it while one of the duffel bags bangs against an iron post. “Are you crazy!” I shout at the boy who is laughing like a lunatic. Fortunately, Tenger was not so frightened that he threw his load into the raging waters.

A woman comes, opens the chain and invites us through. “How much does the passage cost?” asks Tanja. “Nothing for you,” we hear. “Oh, thank you very much,” Tanja replies and leads Naraa onto the floating bridge groaning in the current. Tuya follows his mother without difficulty. Sar and Sharga also cause no problems. Only Bor and Tenger resist taking a single step towards the croaking monster. A young man helps us. He takes Tenger by the lead rope, whereupon he actually ventures forward hoof by hoof. Bor follows him, which is why we are now all together on the pontoons. “Please don’t have an incident,” I pray quietly. The raging tide literally roars between the individual floats. “Clack, clack, clack”, the horses’ hooves clatter over the smooth iron. The rain is getting heavier at this moment. “Please don’t have an incident,” I repeat my prayer, knowing how jumpy our Tenger is. Even Bor and the others can go through with a sudden loud noise and throw their cargo into the gurgling river or sink themselves. And before we know it, we’ve made it. “Great!” I shout triumphantly. “Fantastic!” Tanja replies with a laugh. We immediately get back on our saddles and follow the path. “Just one more kilometer. Then we’ll have reached last year’s dream camp,” I say. We ride over another hill. On the other side, our faithful animals make their way through waist-high, lush grass. We quickly wind our way through a dense row of bushes and find ourselves in a beautiful clearing. The unforgettable clearing where we took a break for several days 11 months ago. “Do you think someone has seen us?” asks Tanja. “Who is it? No one’s here,” I reply in a good mood. As soon as the horses are unloaded, we hear the rattling of a moped. Mogi behaves like crazy. “Will it come to us?” I ask as the vehicle and its riders appear. Two men descend and tell us they want to cut grass here. “Sain bajtsgaana uu. (Good afternoon) We were here last year. It’s a nice place,” Tanja chats, to which the men suddenly laugh. They exchange a few words with us and then disappear again. “Where did they come from?” I wonder. “When we were on the hilltop, I could make out a log cabin and two yurts down by the river. I think the men live there,” explains Tanja. “Okay. It was almost a miracle to discover us when we crossed the hilltop for less than a minute,” I reply. “Do you think we can stay here?” Tanja is unsure. “Certainly. The entire bank of the Selenge is full of fresh, tall grass. You can mow here for weeks if you want to,” I say with conviction.

Again, we covered 40 kilometers today, which means that we have covered 100 kilometers in the past three days of our trip. A very good performance, making us twice as fast as last year. Tanja is ready to go. I can also feel the strenuous ride. We decide to stay here for a few days and enjoy the autumnal time by the rushing Selenge River.

Before I can retire to my sleeping bag, I type my short notes into the laptop and, as always, feed in the pictures of the day. It’s 10:30 p.m. when I close the laptop and stow it in the waterproof bag. Tanja is already fast asleep. Although she is on watch shift today, I let her rest and take over for her. I look up at the sky until my eyes become heavy. Rain clouds pass over us quickly. From time to time, the foggy formations tear apart to reveal the fascinatingly radiant Milky Way.

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