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Just how tall is Dodreg you ask?…

It’s hard to have fun when you’re cold.

– Val

The weather had truly turned crummy.

Mongolia is often called the land of the eternal blue sky. But after more than a week on the trail, we’d seen little of that. A scattered patch of azure here and there, throwing gold light on the undulating hills, often near the end of the day, was about it. Otherwise, we started and ended most days dressed in every layer of closthing we had, grateful for both them and the $8 poly-fill comforters we’d bought at the Tsetserleg market just before leaving town. As the days of scattered rain and sleet and the morngings of frost continued, it became difficult to rev ourselves up each morning for the long day in the saddle ahead.

The land, at least, did its part to compensate for the sky. As we continued to ride alongside and up the Iloyd Tamir Gol River, its valley narrowed and its mountainous sides became steeper, occassionally carpeted with pine and larch forest. On some hills in the distance, white snow gleamed. On others, rich autumn tones of amber and scarlet prevailed.

Buttercup munched happily on assorted thistles, shrubberies and wild wheat, but ignored the brilliant red fireweed that grew so profusely and reminded Janine so much of our beloved Yukon. We forded streams that, eventhough we were in cattle country, looked clear and pure enough to drink unfiltered. Every rise and fall in the landscape seemed to bring  some wonderful new Mongolian vista. It was a great, rugged landscape, empty but for a the occasional herd of yaks or horses, wandering near a couple of gers or a coral made of rough timbers.

The word “epic” kept coming to mind. But so too did the words, “windy” and “freezing”.  Val put it best one morning, shivering over her cup of mitten-cradled coffee. “It’s hard to have fun when you’re cold.”

And so that night, huddled over the fire and the remains of a pasta stew filled with chunks of freshly caught grayling, we had a team meeting to discuss our future. We were 2 days from Blue Lake, the bottom corner of our big triangular trip across the Arkhangai province. From our current campsite, we’d have to climb constantly and steadily to reach our objective. The heights ahead looked colder and more snow bound than ever. We could ride on from this camp and take three more days to visit and return from the Lake. Or, we could turn from here now and head for the final corner of the triangle at White Lake, which Gaaj told us would be warm and snow free (though given his growing desire to get home and start preparing for winter, I took his suggestion that we cut the trip short with a large grain of salt).

We hemmed and hawed, but went to bed leaning towards leaving Blue Lake unseen.

Maybe the sky gods heard us and felt a little jerkish about their behaviour.

***

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The next morning, I emerged from our tent at dawn to find our riverside camp covered in another light frost. From the door of the guides’ little blue tent, the feet of Gaaj, Tenjin and Torgu stuck out in a haphazard, sleepy row. 

At the firepit, Dodreg cradled a handful of white-rimed  grass in his hand together with a lit match. Somehow, patiently, he managed to coax the little bundle to burn. Adding it to a carefully selected batch of kindling, he soon had a fire blazing. This achieved he turned to me with a big smile. We each placed a kettle over the flickering flames and then sat back, contented.

From the folds of his robe, Dodreg took out the guides’ battered copy of a Lonely Planet Mongolian-English phrasebook, thumbed through it until he found the “Family” section and then showed me the words for “wife” and “daughter”, pointing to each word and then back to himself with a grin. He showed me 1 finger to represent the age of his little girl and then held his hand about 2 and a half feet off the ground. I mimed the action of walking with two of my fingers and his grin widened even further as he nodded.

I wasn’t entirely sure how I felt about this convincing proof of Dodreg’s humanity, but couldn’t help but grin back at him and say “Good!” thinking that it was good, somehow, that the Dark Knight had a wife and a baby back at the Bat Ger. Dodreg nodded contentedly at my smile and then went back to staring at the fire and thumbing through the phrasebook.

I took in the sky. Despite the cold, it wasn’t entirely disheartening. Ragged patches of blue already showed through the clouds. Over breakfast, we again discussed our options as a group. Blue Lake was so close and we’d worked so hard to reach this point that it seemed like a shame to let it go now.  After another intense examination of the sky, we decided that (a) the bad weather would probably be just as bad at White Lake and (b) it had to change for the better at some point anyway, right?

We decided to ride for Blue Lake.

***

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On approach to Blue Lake 

We set out upcountry. The hills ahead of us were still blanketed in white from the past days’ precipitation. As we went, small herds of horses ran out to inspect us, long-maned stallions in front, all colours of the earth spectrum from white to grey to brown to black. The weather improved steadily through the day, and by the time we stopped for lunch we’d started to shed layers and apply sunscreen beneath the increasingly warm sun.

After eating, the guides staged an impromptu wrestling competition for us. Tenjin and Torgu grappled to a pants-tearing draw amidst whoops of encouragement from Gaaj and Dodreg and the purring of Janine’s and Dave’s cameras. Gaaj, despite a dislocated finger courtesy of one of Throwy’s outbursts, could not resist joining in and even one-handed was able to hold his own against the two younger men. Dodreg observed all, smilling and occasionally catcalling, puffing on a cigarette. Dave and I each tried to goad the other into taking him on, since we were the only men present even remotely close to his size. But, neither one of us feeling particularly stupid that afternoon, we each refused the bait.

We passed an isolated ger. Here, a wrinkled woman replenished our ailing supplies of sugar and plied us with hot milk tea and assorted cheeses, some soft, some crumbling, some the consistency of granite. Inside the ger, hunks of drying dairy dangled from the ceiling and an old man lay on a creaking bed with his back to us, coughing wetly . Outside, a captured young eagle was being bred for hunting, one leg crippled. The usual assortment of growling dogs patrolled the area.

The afternoon grew old as we pushed higher up into the hills. For the first time in a week, we left the Illoyd Tamir Gol River. The tops of the rounded mountains seemed closer than ever. We passed a large herd of horses and an even larger herd of yaks before finally settling down between a pine forest and a rocky riverbed for the night. We’d base camp it here for two nights, making a day trip to the lake tomorrow.

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The air was crisp, but delightfully dry and without hint of rain, sleet or snow. As evening fell, we saw the stars clearly for the first time in days and slept beneath a gleaming milky way knowing we’d made the right call in deciding to push on.

***

In some countries, Blue Lake might not be remakable. A couple of km long and wide, it’s the shape of  a kidney bean, nestled into bare, round-topped mountains. But to us, after 9 days of travel through river valleys, its sapphire waters rippling gently under a breezy blue sky were magical and other-worldly. We posed for pictures on the shore, drank a celebratory shot of vodka with the guides and napped contentedly on an embankment of green grass overlooking the water while the horses grazed nearby. Before leaving, Gaaj gestured that we should build a cairn on the beach. Dodreg started the process with a stone only slightly smaller than Roy Hellbeast and with Dave, Gaaj and I helping, we soon had a respectable pile built up.

As we rode away a little while later, I looked back at the cairn wistfully. We’d been thrown, kicked, bolted and rained upon in a fairly continuous stream over the past few days. But still we’d managed to have a good time and to become thoroughly infatuated with the land and its people. Now, the weather seemed to be on the mend and a whole second half of the journey awaited. We liked our guides, we liked each others’ company, and I had even come to like (one of) these half-crazy Mongolian horses. The whole land and our simple trek across it had the feel of something truly adventurous – a raw, exhilerating, probably unsafe feeling that I’d experienced in few other places. It made my guts swirl  sometimes but I still loved it.

Passing a log and stone ovoo overlooking the valley in which we were camped, I smiled and kicked Buttercup into a trot towards the next half of our journey.

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Cairn on Blue Lake

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