Sudden death of the reindeer

Day: 264-265

Sunrise:
06:30/06:28

Sunset:
20:16/20:17

Total kilometers:
1341

Soil condition:
Ice, snow

Temperature – Day (maximum):
6°C

Temperature – day (minimum):
0°C

Temperature – Night:
minus 10°C

Latitude:
51°33’337”

Longitude:
099°15’341”

Maximum height:
1981 m above sea level

Suddenly Tsaya and Ultsan come storming into our yurt. “We leave tomorrow. Gamba will drive to the spring camp in a jeep and take his luggage there,” says Tsaya. “Oh dear! Tomorrow already?” I say. “Yes. I told you it could be any day now.” “Yes, yes, but what do we do with the yurt? It has to go back to Tsgaan Nuur. How can we organize the transport from here?” I ask after Shagai hasn’t taken care of it and has been searching for jade for a few days. “We’ll try to find a truck for you,” she reassures us. “See you tomorrow?” I ask incredulously. “Why not? Ultsan’s brother-in-law Hohood will find someone. “And how will a jeep get to the spring camp? You said it was impossible to reach this place with a vehicle.” “As long as the ground is frozen, you can soon drive a jeep anywhere. But when the ground thaws, the vehicles sink into the mud up to their axles. Then nothing works anymore,” she explains. “All right, then we’ll have an exciting day tomorrow,” I say. “How are your reindeer?” Tanja changes the subject. “Good.” “When are they having their babies? Shouldn’t they be due soon?” “Around April 20th.” “So in five days. Then it really is time to leave the winter camp,” Tanja says. “Yes, it’s about time. Especially because the move didn’t happen in one day.” “Not in one day?” I ask. “No. Since the catastrophe from 1996 to 2000, we don’t have enough reindeer to transport all our belongings at once,” says Ultsan thoughtfully. “What disaster?” I ask in surprise. “In those years, our animals suddenly started limping. We were very shocked as we had never experienced anything like this before. I can remember exactly when in spring and summer all the deer and cows became weaker and weaker and died one after the other. Between 10 and 20 animals died every day. It stank terribly and we had to move our camp. It was incredibly sad and a disaster for us. Our entire livelihood was destroyed. The Tuwa of West and East Taiga lost well over 3,000 reindeer in those years. Allegedly the cause was tick fever (Lyme disease). At least that is what the vets who later came to investigate the incident claimed. There was also talk that we did not cross-breed our animals properly and that inbreeding weakened them. We pay very close attention to which bulls we lead to the females. We are not stupid. Later, the government toyed with the idea of importing reindeer semen from Norway to replenish our herd. The government then bought 20 reindeer from Russia and had them driven into our country by Mongolian herders. However, they had no idea about reindeer, which is why only half of them arrived in Khatgal. Despite their emaciated condition, they were used there as a tourist attraction, which meant that only four Tsgaan reached Nuur. These four were then given to the Tuwa from the western taiga, although each family owned 30 or 40 reindeer. They were not quite as badly affected by the disaster as we were. They are believed to be better at breeding. That is probably the reason why they got the reindeer and not us. Last year we had a visit from reindeer breeders from Norway. The Sami were surprised at the size of our animals. “Your deer and cows are much stronger and bigger than ours,” they said. So the problem is clearly not breeding but the evil wolf, which we cannot hunt due to its cunning.

In the meantime, our population of surviving reindeer has recovered slightly, which is why we once again have 250 reindeer. The Tuwa of the Western Taiga, on the other hand, have around 700 animals. In 1996, we owned a total of 4,000 reindeer. So you can see that we have to make the move twice with so few reindeer. On the first trip, we move the household goods, tents and other equipment into camp and on the second trip, the women ride into camp with the rest of the equipment. The young reindeer and pregnant cows are also driven to our new location. Unfortunately, the threat to wolves in this region is particularly great. Last year we lost all our newborns to wolf attacks,” the young hunter laments. “Through wolf attacks? And in spring? I thought wolves were only a problem in winter?” “No, it’s much bigger in spring and summer because the wolves have easy prey in the form of newborns. If we moved 80 kilometers further, we wouldn’t have this challenge.” “And why aren’t you moving on?” “Because we don’t have enough animals for the move. Imagine if we had to travel 100 kilometers with heavily loaded reindeer. And the whole thing twice. That would be 400 kilometers until we reach the spring camp. The animals wouldn’t make it. It’s a vicious circle. Because of the wolf attacks, we don’t have enough offspring and because we can’t breed enough offspring, we can’t reach a wolf-proof zone. We would need a fence. Then we could fence in our young animals. They could graze and grow up in peace and safety. But the government is talking about financing a car for us. What would we do with a car?” “You could sell it and use the proceeds to buy a fence,” I suggest. “We are 50 families in total. Everyone has a different way of looking at things. That would just cause chaos and resentment. We would never agree. Some of us like the idea of the car. No one thinks about what happens if the car breaks down. Or who would drive it? None of us have a driver’s license. It’s a cross with government subsidies. They are often headless. Every politician wants to realize himself. A car is more expensive than a fence. You can stake out more. By which I mean that someone can pocket something for themselves in the process. One of the proposals, you have to imagine, is to give us satellite phones.” “Satellite phones? I hope with call units?” I interject. “Oh no. They want to give us satellite phones because they sound good. We’ll have to pay for the units ourselves,” Ultsan snorts. “But they’re very expensive,” I say. “Priceless for us. We once got tarpaulins for our tipis from an aid organization. You need about 70 square meters for a tipi. On the way from Ulan Bator to Mörön, five square meters per tipi disappeared. So only 65 square meters arrived. From Mörön to Tsagaan Nuur, two square meters per tipi disappeared again. Tsagaan Nuur therefore only reached 63 square meters. In our camp it was then only 60 square meters. Everyone has their hand out here and enriches themselves. It is a thoroughly corrupt country. And if we complain, the mayor of Tsgaan Nuur distributes the donation to another family that doesn’t complain. It’s as simple as that.” “That’s bad. But it’s still nice to be considered by the government, which is obviously coordinating the aid projects,” I say, trying to find something positive to say. “Yes, but it’s still annoying to be robbed by greedy people. Someone always has their hands out.” “It’s certainly annoying,” I agree with him.

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