Primal Scream

Day: 211

Sunrise:
08:28

Sunset:
18:45

Total kilometers:
1281

Soil condition:
Ice, snow

Temperature – Day (maximum):
minus 15°C

Temperature – day (minimum):
minus 28°C

Temperature – Night:
minus 35°C

Latitude:
51°33’336”

Longitude:
099°15’341”

Maximum height:
1981 m above sea level

The pale disk of the sun is just moving over the grey silhouette of the mountains surrounding us. Their pale, still cold rays reach into the countless frozen bare trunks of the larches. As I couldn’t get back to sleep because of the night’s action, I scurry outside to fetch firewood from our woodpile in front of the yurt. I discover the club in the snow that the nocturnal troublemaker has obviously been banging on our door with. I immediately let it disappear into the yurt and then scorch it.

Shivering from the cold, I now place the logs in the crook of my left arm as a terrible, almost indescribable scream shatters the morning silence. I almost drop my wood again in shock. “What was that?” I ask, slowly straightening up. There again. “Uuuuuaaaaaiiiiihhhh! Ihhhhhjjjjjööööööhhh!” it roars as if a prehistoric beast is about to rush through the pale forest and devour me with skin and hair. I listen to analyze the horrible primal sound. There he is again. He undoubtedly comes from Saintsetseg’s teepee. It is the scream of a man, a heavily drunk man. It contains pain, despair, suffering and madness. I have never heard a person roar so horribly. Obviously the result of enormous vodka consumption.

I quickly bring my wood into the yurt and throw it into the metal tray provided. Then I hear voices. I open the yurt door and peek outside. Gamba has just staggered out of his log cabin. He supports his wife Purvee, who is unable to stand on her feet. The shaman brings her to the front of the hut and staggers back while Purvee slumps down and lies like a heap of misery on the icy cold snow. I watch the scene in bewilderment. Then I hear and see her throwing up. After that, she doesn’t move again. A classic case of how you can get severe frostbite or even freeze to death. I hold the yurt door ajar, spellbound, and continue to watch Purvee. An icy draught blows through the crack in the door and into my face. “Five more minutes, then I have to rush to her aid,” I whisper. Suddenly a movement twitches through the previously motionless bundle of cloth crouching on the snow. Purvee seems to mobilize all her strength and crawls on all fours towards the log cabin. She crawls over the packed snow with her bare hands. She reached the stairs of the hut and somehow managed to climb them. I groan with relief as she disappears inside the safe house and the wooden door slams into the frame with a clunk. Loud screaming and shouting now reaches my ears through the thick beams. Maybe she’s making a scene for Gambar? If that’s the case, I can understand them. He had simply dumped his wife in front of the hut like a superfluous ballast. And that at minus 28 °C.

I quickly light a fire in our cannon stove. When the fire is burning, I go outside again to empty the ash container. The nagging can still be heard but the terrible primal screams have thankfully stopped. I use the early hour to pick up everything that can be used as a club to beat against our door and chop it up into kindling. Then I go back into our den and lock the door with the apron bar.

When Tanja wakes up, it is already warm in our tent. We talk about what happened during the night and don’t see it as so threatening now that it’s daylight. “I’ll prepare the door a little more. That will make it even more difficult to break open. Otherwise, we’ll lock it at dusk and keep quiet,” I think. “You’re right. Leaving for Tsagaan Nuur would be a hasty decision. We will certainly get through the rest of the holidays without any further incidents,” she says optimistically.

In the afternoon, Tsaya calls our cell phone. “I get an antibiotic injection every eight hours. It looks like we have to stay for another three days.” “It’s a shame that you can’t be here, but it’s important that you recover properly before you go back to the taiga,” Tanja replies. “What’s it like at camp? Do the men drink a lot?” “Yes, they drink and party more or less non-stop,” says Tanja and as there is no point in worrying Tsaya any further, she doesn’t mention anything about the night-time incident. “Stay away from them. Do you understand?” Tsaya warns again. “Let’s do the best we can.” “And don’t take any photos. Otherwise one of the men might snatch the camera out of your hands and destroy it.” “Yes, we won’t take any photos,” Tanja replies. “Is our house okay? Has anyone been inside?” “Yes, there was someone in the house. The door was open. I threw out the dogs that had made themselves comfortable on your beds.” “Did they steal anything?” Tsaya now asks, a little agitated. “I don’t know. “Well, I won’t miss anything,” she says, wishes us a good time and ends the conversation.

In the evening, we lock the door I reinforced with the apron bar again. “We should store all the cameras in the aluminum boxes,” Tanja suggests. “Why?” “Well, if one of the men breaks into the yurt tonight, we can escape. That means we leave everything behind for that moment and he can’t destroy anything. I think that’s better than dealing with the human.” “Hm, sounds a bit unrealistic.” “Why?” “Well, you have to get past the human first when he pushes his way through the small door,” I point out. “Never mind, I’d feel better if the cameras were safely stowed away,” she replies, to which we lock everything of value in the aluminum boxes.

While the party is in full swing outside and loud roaring from the various tipis echoes into the taiga night sky, we lie wide awake on our wallans. The threatening feeling of last night wafts through our felt dwelling once again. “Is it just my imagination?” I wonder. “Have you got the pepper gas to hand?” I ask Tanja. “I did,” she whispers softly. “I’m sure no one will come today,” I try to scatter a little confidence in the darkness.

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