I think my ankle is splintered

Day: 404

Sunrise:
06:21

Sunset:
19:54

As the crow flies:
20,78

Daily kilometers:
29

Total kilometers:
2402

Soil condition:
Grass

Temperature – Day (maximum):
10 °C

Temperature – day (minimum):
8 °C

Temperature – Night:
minus 5 °C

Latitude:
48°57’793”

Longitude:
103°04’503”

Maximum height:
1680 m above sea level

Time of departure:
12:45

Arrival time:
17:30

In the morning, everything is covered in ice. The frost grips the land with its bony fingers as early as the first of September. A layer of ice has formed on the inside of our tent due to the breath and ground moisture, which is now being thawed by the sun’s rays and dripping down on us. “Can you ride?” asks Tanja anxiously. “Not thinking about it,” I reply, still running like Jango, trying to cause as little friction as possible. After a monotonous breakfast, however, I decide to set off. “Every day we stay here longer, we end up paying for it with the cold. After the long winter, I don’t fancy that either. I’d rather have my bottom burning in the saddle,” I say, finding my sense of humor again. “Well, I’ll get the horses while you take down the tent,” says Tanja.

I’m just rolling up the tent when Tanja calls. “Hold Sar!” I turn around in amazement and watch as Sar walks away from Tanja without his leg restraints. Meanwhile, Tanja kneels on the grass. “What’s going on?” “Hold Sar and Naraa!” she replies, not answering my question. I can hear pain in her voice. “What on earth is going on?” I shout, rushing to the horses as quickly as my condition allows. “My foot!” “What’s wrong with your foot?” “I fell on my ankle really badly!” “What? Oh no!” I shout and hurry to her after putting the leg cuffs on Sar and Naraa. Tanja’s face is white as a sheet. The pain almost takes her voice away. Startled, I kneel down to her. “What happened?” “I rode Sar across the stream. I had Naraa following me on the lead rope. She suddenly stopped. I slipped off Sar’s back and hit my ankle brutally on a mound of earth or a stone. I think my ankle is splintered,” her shaky explanation is a shock to my limbs. Not letting my shock show, I say; “Can you take your shoe off?” “I’ll try.” She carefully opens the laces of the riding boot. “The sock has to come off too. It’s best if you do it yourself. I don’t want to hurt you any more,” I say. As I’m not sure what to do next, I put her already swollen foot on my leg. “Can you move it?” I ask, to which Tanja carefully tilts her foot up and down. “Definitely not broken,” I diagnose, although I’m definitely not sure. “Ow, ow, ow, that hurts. I’m so sick with pain.” I sit there in a daze and can’t believe that 120 kilometers before our destination Tanja has seriously injured herself. My thoughts are racing, even racing. Although I’m not the one who is out of action, I get hot and cold. If the ankle is not broken, it is most likely that the ligaments have come off. In the best case scenario, it goes through my head. “It’s good if you hold your foot.” “Hm.” “You mean the ankle isn’t broken?” “No.” “The pain is easing a little.” “That’s good.” “I should see if I can walk.” “Don’t you want to rest a little longer?” “I don’t know. I want to know if I can walk.” “Do you want me to support you?” “No, but you can help me up.” “Okay.” “Oooo!”, it rolls over her lips. Tanja hobbles carefully up and down. “So, can you put weight on it?” “Only a little,” she says and I wonder whether it’s a good idea to put any weight on the ankle during the shock phase. “I’ll set up the tent again. Tomorrow we’ll know whether you’re still fit for duty or not.” “No, I want to continue.” “You mean that’s possible?” “I’ll give it a try. I don’t have to walk.” “Hm.” “It’ll be fine. The pain will continue to ease.” “Okay. I don’t know if that’s a good decision, but if you’re sure?” “I’m sure,” says Tanja. We assemble the rest of the camp in a subdued mood. I stow everything in the duffel bags and courier bags. Then Batbold, a shepherd who came to visit us yesterday to help me tie up the sacks and load the horses, arrives as if on cue. As Tanja’s right ankle is affected, she cannot push herself off the ground when getting on the horse. “I’ll help you. Wait!” I shout after I see her struggling. “And hop!” I say, whereupon Tanja sits in the saddle of her horse. “So, do you think it will work?”

We ride slowly until Tanja has got used to the new situation and is able to cope with her injured foot. Then we trot. “Is it okay?” “Yes, it hurts but I can do it!” “Okay. Then we hope you have a good journey and a safe arrival!” “I really hope so!”

We reach the tarred road which leads in the direction of Erdenet. Riding along the meadow, we follow the wide belt on which a car or truck occasionally passes. We tie up our horses at the top of the pass, which is almost 1,700 meters high. In a simple rest stop I buy six boiled eggs, Mongolian cookies and a few bars of chocolate. Tanja is allowed to use the phone. She tries to reach Shuree, whom we had met by chance a few weeks ago. Shuree is a tour guide and had said that he wanted to buy our horses when we got close to the village of Bulgan. As she says she loves horses and doesn’t take them to the slaughterhouse because she needs well-trained mounts for her tourists, our horse family would be perfectly accommodated with her. The solution sounds too good to be true, but who knows? Maybe this woman wasn’t talking nonsense and really meant it. Sar, Naraa, Tuya, Tenger, Sharga and Bor deserve to live a good life on the land and not be slaughtered by us humans and then eaten.

“I’m really only interested in your Naraa and the foal. We won’t pay more than 400,000 Tugrik” (€242) is her sobering answer. We wonder where the sudden change of heart comes from. “Maybe she thought she could get a bargain with us foreigners? The price of the horses has risen by 200 percent in the past year and we already paid around 500,000 tugrik (€303) for Naraa last year. Surely she’s not trying to rip us off?” Tanja ponders. “Looks like it,” I say.

“But come to us first. You have to ride back down the pass. Our yurt camp is only 20 kilometers away from you. You can also rest a little with us,” Shuree suggests when Tanja contacts her again. As we don’t want to ride back under any circumstances, especially not with Tanja’s injury and the very bad offer, we discuss our next steps for a while. “If she only takes one horse, we cannot continue our journey and are forced to have the equipment brought to Erdenet somehow. It is also not clear what we will do with the other horses. Even if we were to sell Naraa for the low price, what do we do with the rest of the crew? Somehow Shuree’s suggestion seems like a dead end to me. I don’t have a good feeling about going to her. So I would suggest we continue our ride in the direction of Erdenet. If she’s really interested in our horses or in Naraa, she can get in her car and visit us tonight,” I muse. “I think you’re right. Apart from that, the ride via Bulgan would be a detour, wouldn’t it?” “About 80 kilometers.” “Eighty kilometers? I really don’t want to put my ankle through that.” “Every meter towards the finish is good meter. If she had bought all the horses at a fair price, the journey would have ended here. No problem. But like this?” “No question. We’ll ride on. I’ll call her again right away and suggest she comes to visit us at the camp tonight,” says Tanja. “You do that. If she doesn’t come, which I assume she won’t, she’s not interested in our horses either and I’m sure we’ll think of another solution,” I reply.

We slowly leave the top of the pass to set up camp a few hundred meters below at the place where we were surprised by the first snow last year on the seventh of September. As today is already the first of September, we have to expect snowfall at any time.

There is a yurt just 100 meters away from us. The couple are not long in coming and pay us a visit. They bring a bucket full of fresh yogurt, which Tanja is particularly happy about. In the course of the conversation, we talk about having camped in this valley a year ago with a horse-drawn cart and two Mongolian companions. “But yes, I remember it well. You borrowed a sieve from me for Boortsog,” says the shepherdess with a laugh. “Yes, that’s right, I did,” Tanja confirms. “What’s the situation here with horse thieves? Is that a problem in your valley?” I ask. “With us? Ügüj, there are no horse thieves here,” we are reassured by their reply.

As was to be expected, the day draws to a close without a visit from Shuree. “It was a good decision not to turn back,” says Tanja, who sits down on a horse blanket, groaning softly. “How’s your ankle?” I ask anxiously. “Not so great, but I can definitely continue riding tomorrow.” “Just in case the swelling doesn’t get so thick that your foot no longer fits in the shoe.” “It’s a lace-up shoe. It won’t swell up so much that it won’t fit into the boot.” “Definitely not,” I agree, hoping to overcome this new challenge.

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