Packing for departure
N 51°33'337'' E 099°15'341''
Day: 269
Sunrise:
06:19
Sunset:
20:24
Total kilometers:
1341
Soil condition:
Ice, snow
Temperature – Day (maximum):
10°C
Temperature – day (minimum):
minus 5°C
Temperature – Night:
minus 20°C
Latitude:
51°33’337”
Longitude:
099°15’341”
Maximum height:
1981 m above sea level
“And what does it look like? Are we leaving today?” I ask Tsaya first thing in the morning. “Sansar and Hoo haven’t returned from fetching the horses yet. But they should be arriving any minute. But we’ll be leaving by 13:00 at the latest. In any case. You can get ready now,” she explains. “Good, we’ve let Bilgee know. He’ll be there with the horses at 11 a.m.,” I say and go back into the tipi to continue packing.
In the light sunshine and at around minus 10°C, I get duffel bag after duffel bag in front of the tipi. “A good day’s travel,” I say to Tanja in a good mood, who has her hands full organizing and stowing away the food for the next six weeks.
Shortly after 11:00 a.m., Mogi comes panting into camp. “Where’s his muzzle?” asks Tanja in amazement. “Bilgee won’t let him walk around without a muzzle, will he?” I ask. “Never. He knows that Mogi might attack young reindeer,” says Tanja. “Then why isn’t he wearing one?” I reply, tying the dog to his old spot in front of his doghouse for the time being. “I hope he hasn’t lost it, has he?” “Well, that would be a disaster. Then I’d have to keep him on a lead all the time again. Bilgee may not have fastened the muzzle properly,” I reply, startled. Then our horseman turns up with the six horses. “Where’s the muzzle?” I ask excitedly before greeting him properly. “Gone,” he replies with a serious expression. His answer hits me like a punch. So now I actually have to keep our sheep and goat killer on a leash for 1,500 kilometers. For me, this means absolute lack of freedom when riding and photographing. “Oh no! That can’t be true!” I shout angrily because Tanja wanted to run to the bilge camp this morning to fetch Mogi. “I’m sure he doesn’t know what technique you use to attach the muzzle,” she said, to which I threw caution to the wind and said, “I’m sure he’s doing it right.” And now we have the salad. Bilgee gets off the horse and declares that he has tied the biting handle correctly to Mogi’s neck. “He slipped them off somewhere,” he explains. “What a bloody mess. We’ll never find it again,” I reply as Bilgee pulls the thing out of his deel with a mischievous smile. “I rode back. Followed his tracks and found him again.” “Gosh Bilgee! You can really scare someone,” I reply with a relieved and liberated laugh. “A little prankster, our Bilgee,” Tanja laughs hilariously.
While Bilgee saddles the horses, I make a great effort to stuff blankets, felt mats and other small items into the still empty spaces of the large, waterproof and extremely hard-wearing duffel bags. The plan now is to ride the main part of the equipment to the spring camp with Bilgee. Bilgee will ride back the next day and come back with Tanja and the rest of the equipment. This way we should be able to transport all the equipment without loading our pregnant Naraa. Even Bor, who is still very weak, will not weigh more than 50 kg. have to carry. “A good plan,” says Tanja with satisfaction. “When do you want to start?” she asks. I look at my watch and reply; “Actually, now. I’d best ask again.” “The horses still haven’t arrived. I don’t know what’s going on. They’re probably hard to catch after the long winter. They’ll come,” says Tsaya.
At 2 p.m. there is still nothing happening with our neighbors. At 3 p.m. Bilgee runs to Baishin to find out whether we are still leaving today. Shaking his head, he slips back through the low entrance opening of our tipi. “Hikhock! Hikhock! Hikhock!”, he imitates the call of a marmot that is just slipping into its burrow. “Ha, ha, ha! Hi, hi, hi!” Tanja and I laugh hilariously at his joke. “A real joker, our Bilgee,” says Tanja again. “And what did they say?” I want to know. “The horses aren’t here yet. So we won’t be setting off today,” he replies. “I can’t believe it. So now I have to unpack everything again? Oh no. What a bloody mess,’ I curse at the merciless waste of time and energy.
While I pull what I have just carefully stowed out of the duffel bags to set up camp for the night, Tanja and Bilgee ride to the outdoor camp to set up Bilgee’s tent and tie Mogi to an even thicker log than before. Later, we sit in our tipi again. I boil water for my hot water bottle, which has now become my best friend. “I don’t want to sleep another night without this great thing. At least not in a country that’s as fucking cold as Mongolia,” I say, pouring the steaming wetness into the warmer. As we lie in our tent and listen to the snow rustling on our tent wall, Tanja says. “If it keeps snowing like this, they won’t set off again tomorrow.” “I’m beginning to not care. It starts when it starts. The main thing is that I don’t have to keep packing and unpacking,” I reply. “You Denis?” “Yes?” “The constant snowfall has one advantage.” “And what’s that?” “We have enough water.” “Hm, at least a little.” “Imagine it wasn’t snowing. Just a few days ago, we had to scrape the snow off the mountain sides. That was a lot of work.” “Hm, okay. A nice advantage. Still, I’d be happy if the constant back and forth came to an end and we were finally at this spring camp.” “You just said you don’t care when it starts.” “Did I?” I reply, listening to the reindeer that are tethered right next to our tent and whose call sounds like an old woman coughing loudly. “You’d think she had a cold,” I say quietly. “Who has a cold?” “Well, that doe. Sounds like a bad cough. Or like someone’s beating a tin drum really badly.” “It’s definitely not a hind.” “Well, what else is it?” “A stag. Only a stag can cough like that, but not a hind,” she replies, to which we both giggle quietly.
