Long ride

Day: 388

Sunrise:
06:08

Sunset:
20:34

As the crow flies:
31,36

Daily kilometers:
40

Total kilometers:
2147

Soil condition:
Grass

Temperature – Day (maximum):
18°C

Temperature – day (minimum):
14 °C

Temperature – Night:
8 °C

Latitude:
49°30’113”

Longitude:
100°45’901”

Maximum height:
1800 m above sea level

Time of departure:
12:00 p.m.

Arrival time:
6:30 pm

It rained a lot during the night. It was cool and uncomfortable. Actually, I would have liked to stay a day to have more time to shorten the saddle straps and to investigate more closely why the load slipped so terribly yesterday. “We’d better keep riding. We’ll find out what the problem is. I’d like to get a few kilometers behind us,” said Tanja, which is why we got up at 7:00 a.m., had breakfast, shortened the saddle straps and loaded the horses.

Today, 1 ½ hours faster than yesterday, we leave the camp with all the goats behind us. We are making good progress although the load is still slipping. Shara’s saddle straps are still too long. As the horses could really eat themselves up in the last six weeks, I had made all the saddle straps too long. Now, during the trip, they lose girth. It seems to us that our horses have inflated balloon bellies. Due to the incessant movement, they now often have to fart, which is why they lose a lot of air and return to normal shape. After the hard winter and the constant fear that our four-legged friends could drop dead at any moment from lack of food, we are happy to see them healthy and well-fed again. “At least half of your horses won’t survive the winter,” said our Tuwa friend Ultsan. Well, they all survived. Our former concerns are gone with the wind. The pressure points also healed almost completely. We are curious to see whether it was worth building four new saddles. That will become clear in the coming days.

It is raining cats and dogs as we ride up a steep pass. The load rocks back and forth on the horse’s back in a steady rhythm. Thick-bellied clouds drift lazily over the mountainous landscape, incessantly throwing their contents down on us. Not a soul to be seen. We are alone in the field. Our rainwear protects you from the unpleasant wet. Without a doubt. It’s fall in Mongolia. We cross a second pass and wonder how we were able to manage these gradients last year with the horse-drawn carts. “Much better without a horse and cart!” Tanja calls out to me. “Much better!” I reply. We descend from the heights at a walking pace. A gusty wind hits us in the face. Dark mountain peaks shrouded in wispy clouds seem to look down on us with sinister grimaces. Rivulets accompany us into a long valley. When I reach the bottom, I drive the horses. Tanja on her Naraa leads the small troop. “Haack! Haack! Haack!”, I shout to keep the horses trotting. As soon as one of the boys breaks off to the side, I react immediately, trot after him and bring him back. “I’m tired!” exclaims Tanja after almost 30 kilometers. “We need water for the horses. Only then can we move into camp,” I reply. “Maybe there’s water over there by the yurt?” answers Tanja, pointing in a southerly direction. “I don’t think so, but we can give it a try.” Without further ado, we steer our horses to the left.

Just two hundred meters from the yurt, two yapping decoys race towards us. “Get lost you fucking animals!” I shout angrily as they attack Mogi. Since Mogi wears a muzzle and I keep him on a leash next to Sar, he doesn’t have the slightest chance to defend himself. As always, I ride a tight circle to run behind the attackers. Frightened at suddenly being the ones being pursued, they usually rush a few meters away. But this time it’s different. The dogs split up, go around us and attack even more aggressively than before. The bigger of the two bites Mogi. The sparks fly. Mogi howls pathetically. That’s not enough for the dogs. They want the intruder dead and bite Mogi’s right front foot. Mogi buckles. I rein in the horse and jump out of the saddle despite the danger. I quickly bend down for a stone and hurl it at the beast that has just injured our dog. Hits. Howling, he races into an arc. His partner doesn’t seem to mind. He attacks again. Stones fly again, whereupon he also retreats a little. “Stop the dogs!” I shout to the yurt dwellers. They look at us suspiciously and shout something to their pack. They don’t even listen, but wait for a suitable opportunity to strike again. Arriving at the yurt, we ask if there is water here. “Ügüj, us baihgui” (No, no water), they reply. “Where can we find water?” asks Tanja, exhausted. “In about 10 kilometers,” we hear. Strangely, despite all the rain, the stream in the valley doesn’t carry a drop of water and our horses urgently need water after a long day of riding, so we have to keep going. As soon as we trot off, these crazy dogs follow us. Once again I drive Sar into a tight circle. Mogi limps along as best he can. As a precaution, I put a few stones in my pocket earlier. The heavy thing leaves my fist and smashes into the ground next to the taller of the two. He yelps and tucks his tail. I take the opportunity of the surprise and gallop off.

We continue at a trot. Mogi lags behind, but fortunately can keep up. So nothing is broken, I realize with relief. For many hours now, the dull grassy landscape with its wet hills has been passing us by in this way. “Haack! Haack! Haack!”, I urge the horses on. “The two-boy camp where we were surprised by the snow last year is 10 kilometers away. There was water at the foot of the mountain,” I shout to Tanja. She responds with silence. “There’s a yurt settlement up ahead. Maybe we can ask the people if they have water?” says Tanja a little later. “Looks more like a road construction camp!” I reply, squinting my eyes to see better. As we get closer, it is actually a kind of construction camp. Probably the base of the road workers who want to turn the dust road from Erdenet to Mörön into an asphalt strip. Our instinct warns us to ask the people there for water, which is why we ride on. Large puddles of water have formed on the dirt track in front of us due to the rain. “Let’s water the horses to be on the safe side. Who knows if there’s actually still water in the old camp,” I suggest.

After 40 kilometers of riding, two passes and constant rain, we actually reach our old camp at 18:30, where we were surprised by snow on September 26, almost 11 months ago. Because Bilgee and Ulzii had taken care of the horses back then, we don’t know where the waterhole is and we ride up the hill to a few poor wooden huts in front of which some men are mowing hay for the winter with their sickles. “Sain bajtsgaana uu”, we greet the men. “Sain bajtsgaana uu”, they reply in a friendly manner. “Is there water here?” I ask. “Tijmee,” answers one of them. While Tanja talks to the men, I ride further uphill in search of the spring, but am unsuccessful. One of the men then accompanies me on his horse. He sits on the animal without a saddle. Nevertheless, he moves safely. The spring turns out to be a hole about seven meters deep, surrounded by crumbling concrete rings. The man tests the water level with a long tree trunk. “Muu” (bad), he says as only about 20 centimeters of water appears at the bottom. “Is there a bucket?” I ask. “Ügüj,” he denies. After we have given away our buckets, we can’t get to the water. It was good that Tanja loaded enough drinking water for us and we were able to water our horses in a puddle half an hour ago. You should therefore hardly feel thirsty.

The three men leave their work and help us unload the horses. When we lift Bor’s saddle off his back, we discover a nasty graze. “Oh no. Now we’ve done everything we can and now this,’ I say. “How can that happen? The new saddle fits like a glove?” wonders Tanja. “It’s an old injury from when he was still being used as a cart horse. The area is sensitive. But as the saddle doesn’t even rest on his neck, it must be the saddlecloths that are putting pressure on it. I will cut out the heavy felt rugs tomorrow. Then the area will be completely free. That should solve the problem,” I think after a few minutes’ thought. “That would be great. Our horses mustn’t suffer under any circumstances. Then I wouldn’t enjoy the whole trip any more,” Tanja replies. “You’ll see. If I cut it out, there won’t be any more problems,” I say confidently.

“There are no horse thieves here,” say the men after they sit in our awning later and drink a cup of tea. “But occasionally problems with drunks coming up from the construction crew down there,” says one of them, pointing to the collection of containers and a few yurts in the valley. “Do you live here?” I ask. “Ügüj. Our yurts are two kilometers from here on the other side of the mountain. If you want, you can spend the night with us. We have fresh yoghurt, cheese and meat,” he offers. “Thanks, but it’s too much work to load the horses again and ride another two kilometers. We’ll stay,” we decide.

As dusk falls, the nice men disappear, which is why we are suddenly alone. As darkness falls, the construction team’s lights become brighter. They shine up at us like little fireflies. “I’m sure no one will come up there. It’s far too far,” I reassure us. “Oh, I’m exhausted. I seriously have to ask myself why I put myself through such hardship. I think I should give up my job as an adventurer. You have to be crazy to beat yourself up like this all the time,” says Tanja. “If you like, I’ll take the watch shift for you today.” “Aren’t you tired?” “Yes, but not broken. I don’t mind lying in the awning again tonight.” “That’s very kind of you. I’ll gladly take you up on your offer,” says Tanja with relief, stretching out in her sleeping bag.

23:00 Drizzle. I’m lying under the canopy. The wind whips raindrops onto the foot of my sleeping bag. I take my poncho and slip into it with my sleeping bag and the lower part of my sleeping mat. This way, everything stays dry unless the rain gets heavier. Tired, I look at the horses, which we have staked in a semicircle in front of our tent as usual. The grass here is about 30 centimeters high and extremely lush. They eat and eat. “Can horses burst?” I wonder. But they’ve had a busy day and it’s certainly good to be served whipped cream and cake here. Mogi barks. Startled, I get up, switch on my headlamp and let the glaringly bright beam glide from horse to horse. Nothing. False alarm. Relieved, I sink back onto my mat. Then a pale light hits the canvas. Mogi barks immediately. Adrenaline shoots through my veins. I sit straight as a candle in my sleeping bag and stare into the darkness. Where did this light come from in the middle of the wilderness? Thieves? People who want to do us harm? Drunks from the construction camp? “Oh man, this is exciting,” I moan quietly and also ask myself whether it doesn’t make sense to pursue a normal life. There. The strange light again. I look in the direction it came from and see nothing but blackness. The blackness of a dark rainy night at the foot of a high mountain range. Then I notice a moped rattling through the valley. The headlight swivels back and forth. From time to time, its cone of light flies up to us and grazes the tent. “Phew. Always this uncertain fear,” I scold myself and put my body down again.

“What is that? A toothache? Oh no. No toothache, please. Not in the wilderness,” it jolts through my brain only a little later. In the camp where the horse thieves haunted us, I felt this pulling pain for the first time. Apart from a few minor sensations, I have had peace and quiet for the last few weeks. Now, however, this canine tooth is making itself known with an intensity that makes it impossible to ignore. I immediately get up for the umpteenth time that night and brush my teeth. Not that I missed it today, but maybe it will help. The biter actually calms down. Hoping that it will hold out for the next two or three months, I lie down again and gaze thoughtfully into the night.

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