A GLORIOUS MORNING DAWNS - ALTAI TAVAN BOGD NATIONAL PARK

We woke to a perfect, crystal clear morning in the magnificent surrounds of the Altai Tavan Bogd National Park. Blinking in the brilliant sunshine beaming through our little red tent, we looked out onto one of the most spectacular mountainous vistas we could ever imagine. Verdant grasslands and a snow fed gushing stream encapsulated our tiny three tent camp site; flanked by the commanding snow covered mountains of the Altai ranges. The raw, naked beauty of this imposing yet splendid scenery was simply breath taking. 

Altai Tavan Bogd National Park is one of the main attractions of western Mongolia. Encompassing part of the Altai mountain (Mongolian meaning "Gold Mountain") range which extends from Central Asia through Russia, Mongolia and down to China, it is blessed with stunning snow fed rivers, glaciers, high grassy valleys, alpine lakes and the highest peaks in Mongolia.The massive 630,000 hectare park is also home to a diverse array of wild life and alpine vegetation. Altai Tavan Bogd is named for the five peaks ("The Five Saints"), the highest the Khuiten or "Cold Peak" at an altitude of 4,370 meters. At the base of Khuiten, lies the 14 kilometer Pontaniin Glacier, the largest glacier in Mongolia. The glorious mountains are understandably regarded as sacred to the local Tuvan and Kazakh people.    

It had been an uncomfortable evening, with neither of us getting much sleep. Living at absolute sea level in our home village, our sleeping patterns are always affected by any increase in altitude. Even though our camp site would have been located at less than 2,500 meters, we really noticed our more laboured breathing and my exacerbated cough. And despite the best of tents, air beds and luxuriant sleeping bags, we had spent a cold and restless night, each of us having to stumble out on several occasions into the wilderness to find a suitable spot to relieve ourselves. Whether this was an age, altitude or vodka related issue, it didn't really matter. There were no trees but thankfully, there were a good array of large rocks under which to shelter and hopefully find some privacy. Although we had several torches, it was difficult avoiding the yak poo and the ever present tent pegs - and of course I managed to fall over them every time I left the tent; I reasoned some people are just slow learners and we were of course real "wusses" of the camping world.... 

Our difficulties with the more serious needs for toilet facilities, were partly cultural - we were always worried about the issue of privacy and especially for me, downright attacks of "stage fright", even though there were only five of us in the huge wilderness of our camp site. For Alan, his difficulties were mostly physical. At 78 years of age and over two meters in height, with his stiffening joints and significant height, he had great difficulties just getting out of our little tent - which Sabit laughingly told us would sleep up to four "normal" people! And without wanting to be too descriptive about personal issues, squatting was almost impossible for him. As he said, he was terrified he would either topple over backwards or not be able to get up at all! Sabit was entirely sympathetic. As he said, Mongolian people were taught to squat when they were babies and had done so all their lives - and of course it was very natural for them to maintain their balance and use their knees to support themselves. He told us of a recent situation when an older American tourist got into really great difficulties and they had to build a type of support system for him around the long drop toilet. Quite frankly, I was pleased there were no formal toilets. I abhor using such facilities but then again, I didn't have poor Alan's difficulties.

And talking of age, I was still concerned about our thirty kilometer return horse trek that day to the Altai Tavan Bogd base camp. While I had handled and ridden horses all my life, Alan had not ridden a horse for some 50 years. God, I thought - dragging us both into Taliban infested Pakistan for the fourth time was one thing, but I really hope I am not going to be responsible for killing him - or both of us on a frigg'n horse trek...."

While Nurka whipped up a breakfast of omelettes, bread and coffee, Sabit and Tosca organised the camping gear into a number of heavy duty plastic chaff bags for our pack camel. Sabit seemed concerned about us staying at the base camp for the evening. Located at an altitude around 3,100 meters at the foot of the Potaniin Glacier, it would of course be far colder than where we were. Looking unusually serious, he explained that if was too cold then we would return to our present camp site that evening. He also added that five tourists had died on the glacier last year. They were young, inexperienced and apparently foolhardy but we got the gist that it could be dangerous if you didn't know what you were doing. Tosca would stay with his vehicle at our original camp site while we trekked by horse to the base camp, and returning the next evening. In the Tavan Bogd National Park, all vehicles are prohibited from this point - and after our trek we could well understand why.

While we talked with Sabit, an American tourist being led on a pony by her Kazakh guide, called out to us. The first of any tourists we had seen, she had undertaken the Altai Tavan Bogd base camp trek by horse the day before and loved it. When she found out we were from Australia, she drawled "Now caaan you belieeeeve it? There were a number of Aussies walking the Potaniin Glacier in thongs yesterday!" Sabit just looked at us. Yes, there were some very foolhardy tourists out there.....  

A GLORIOUS AND UNFORGETTABLE TREK TO THE BASE CAMP

A nomad herder whose summer home was based about ten kilometers from our camp site, had been contracted to supply the horses and a camel for our trek. Tomorbaatar, a young Tuvan man who lived near Tsengel in the winter months, moved each year with all his family and livestock to Altai Tavan Bogd National Park for the summer months. As we found out, he had only made the move the week before - and the horses had been brought in from their winter spell just the previous day. It was probably a good thing we didn't know about the recently spelled ponies, but it did explain a bit about their occasional erratic behaviour.

The graceful sight Tomorbaatar and his string of horses and elegant pack camel emerged over the undulating hills above the Tsaagangol Gol (White River) like something out of Lawrence of Arabia; his wind burnt sons jogging confidently beside him, each leading a couple of horses and accompanied by a chestnut yearling who looked quite comically like he had decided to come along 'just for the ride". I guessed however, it was serious stuff and all part of his training as a future tourist horse.

While we basked in the now warming morning sun, Sabit and Tomorbaatar checked our gear and loaded up our camel. I looked carefully at the ponies. All were of the typical Mongolian pony breed; no other horse could survive these harsh climates. Short and stocky in build, they are well known for their hardiness and great strength. Makeshift rope bridles, and saddles with homemade rope surcingles caused me some concern - but thankfully the ponies looked relaxed enough, grazing contentedly and treading on their reins while their tether ropes dragged along behind them. I recalled my own flighty and neurotic English Thoroughbred Tulo who would have had a seizure if he had trodden on his reins. Hopefully these ponies were going to be very quiet... and mostly, they really were.

At the time we also noticed that Tomorbaatar and Sabit were having a long discussion, shaking their heads and laughing. Later, Sabit told us that our Tuvan man could not believe how old we were - apparently we were his oldest tourists ever. Funny, Bold had said the same thing....



During my many email conversations with Doogii before our trip, I had stressed the importance of having a large and well behaved horse for Alan. As usual, she assured me that she totally understood our concerns and would make sure Alan would be provided with a suitable mount. Thankfully Alan was very fortunate in being given Tomorbaatar's own horse - it was either quite an honour or a statement as to how concerned he and Sabit were!

We were finally ready to go. I know Alan with his stiff hips was concerned about mounting his horse, but to my acute embarrassment I think I had more difficulty than he did! Fortunately, my pony was very accommodating and finally I managed to heave myself into the saddle. Of course, it was the very short stirrups, I told myself.... 

As we set out in single file across the lush green alpine meadows dotted with newly opened wild flowers, and rocks painted with lichens of brilliant yellows, red, greens and blacks, I felt like I was in seventh heaven. To our left was the snow fed Tsaagan Gol River and beyond were the stunning snow covered peaks of the Altai Tavan Bogd. An Altai Eagle soared gloriously above us; a welcome to his territory or was he just checking us out? Alan's horse was led by one of Tomorbaatar's sons riding a little brown pony, and I was relieved to see that he was being so well looked after by the young boy who gave him his utmost attention. Sabit led the camel chatting seriously with Tomorbaatar, who was riding an impish little chestnut pony which apparently had just been broken in, while Nurka and I rode peacefully alone. I called out to Sabit that I would like to be a Kazakh guide and he and Tomorbaatar laughed. Bliss....


 
About ten kilometers into our trek we came across a lonely nomad's ger camp, and then past Tomorbaatar's own camp housing several gers, and what seemed a heap of little children as well as his young wife. Surrounding the camp was a large herd of goats and sheep, tended by more young boys. During the trek and for a while after, we thought a lot about Tomorbaatar's life and his enormous responsibilities as a young nomad parent and herdsman in the wilds of Altai Tavan Bogd. It was an incredibly tough existence. A tough, lean athletic man, with a hardened wind battered face, Tomorbaatar looked far older than his youthful 31 years of age. There were no communications at all where he lived in the summer months. What happened if a child fell seriously ill? How did the children get their education? How did he organise for his contracting work with Sabit? They were many such questions we talked with Sabit about during the next few days.  
 
From where I was riding behind, Alan seemed to be handling the trek well. While the first two thirds of the trip was climbing up a slow relaxed grassy gradient, the next part of our journey was much more challenging, with a number of glacial fed gushing streams crossing our paths, finally forming high waterfalls of some hundreds of meters, and spilling into the now rapidly flowing Tsaagon Gol. Crossing streams was through steep ravines with loose rocky bottoms; at times the ponies were up to their muzzles in water but thankfully everyone crossed safely. Sabit and Tomorbaatar had stopped chatting, now totally focused on the safety of their team. Their eyes never left us. Tufty grassy slopes gave way to deep, boggy alpine marshes. Sabit constantly called to Nurka and myself to keep to higher ground.


 
My little bay pony was extremely sure footed, picking out his own path through the clumping grassy growth, avoiding rocks and boggy areas. He was well behaved but obviously unused to the sound of a slippery Gortex-like jacket material, I had to be really careful to stay as still in the saddle as I could - which was remarkably difficult while blowing my nose, coughing and taking photos.... I looked down at my pony's matted man and muddy sides, thinking how much I would have liked to give him a really good wash and groom. How typical of me.... And how useless a thought....

The long trek gave me plenty of time out to think about how powerful an effect it can be to totally remove yourself from your normal environment - and strangely how often this experience can allow you a total clarity of thought. I pondered over our values and ways of life, and how they differed so vastly from those of young nomads like Tomorbaatar. For him, it must have been a huge achievement to raise a family, eke out a reasonable living and even to survive this wild and extreme environment. I questioned how totally caught up we were in the importance of our houses and gardens, nice cars, clothes, and so on. Unlike the nomads, we have wonderful electronic devices and communications - and as individuals we don''t even have to consider our climate to survive. That ever present factor of survival in this harsh country reared its disturbing head, as it would again and again during our travels in Mongolia. 

A low horse groan and a call of anguish from Nurka shook me back to reality. Her little pony, obviously in some discomfort had decided to lie down. On the second occasion she swapped with one of the boy's ponies but it did concern me as to what the problem was. The tight surcingles could well have been the reason.
 
The last part of our trek became more than uncomfortable for me and apparently agonising for Alan. We were riding with very short stirrups which caused my shins and ankles to ache badly, but for Alan's very long legs, it must have been unbearable. As a dressage rider, I was always used to riding with very long stirrups and felt quite unstable with what felt like having my legs around my ears. I was amazed at the style of riding of the Tuvan guys, bobbing on top of their ponies more like jockeys. There balance was incredible. It was just a different style of riding - but completely foreign to me. 

The higher we climbed, the colder it became and the sicker I felt. I was now coughing uncontrollably, choking and finding great difficulty in getting my breath. By then Alan was also looking unwell and it was with great relief that we finally made our way to the base camp where we could dismount, stretch our legs and just relax.

Despite how we both felt, the base camp was simply fantastic - and today I am still completely taken away by the memory of its solitude and breathtaking beauty. "Were we really sitting on the very apex of Russia, China, Kazakhstan and Mongolia?" we asked. We certainly were. Sabit pointed in the various directions of the very close borders of each of the neighbouring countries, explaining that from Khuiten Peak you could actually see views of Kazakhstan, just thirty kilometers from the Mongolian-China border. In front of us was the glorious wedge tail of the huge Potaniin Glacier. 

While our ponies and the camel grazed, the Tuvan guys lay comotose on their stomachs in the grass. Alan and I just sat, mega stiff and sore from our long ride, but amazed and delighted we had actually made the trek. Meanwhile, poor Nurka and Sabit unpacked some of the kitchen gear from the camel and prepared a hot lunch. 

Sadly, I could not eat. My coughing became so intense that even the Tuvan crew woke, looking alarmed. Choking and feeling faint, I had to move away where I was violently sick in the grass.



A snow storm was brewing ominously over the mountains. Sabit, certain it was going to storm suggested that we make our tents up as soon as we could. Perhaps we could trek around the glacier when the storm was over?

A RELUCTANT RETURN TO THE RANGER'S CAMP

It was with great reluctance, I finally decided that Alan and I should turn back for our camp site near the Ranger's Camp. Even today, I still feel really guilty about this choice but the way I felt, I considered it would be crazy spending a night in the freezing cold of the base camp. Sabit didn't hesitate or even look surprised. Maybe he was relieved too.... Although it was still early in the afternoon, he insisted that Alan and I begin to walk back straight away while they re-packed the kitchenware and saddled the horses. They would follow us and pick us up quickly on our way back to the camp. Thank goodness they hadn't unpacked the camel.

Our walking trek back wasn't quite as easy as I would have thought. Even though we were descending, the long clumping tussocks made for hard walking and with the frequent marshy grounds, it was difficult to find firm footing. All the while, the snow storm loomed behind us; the wind beginning to howl and the temperature falling rapidly. Several times Alan tripped, making me wonder about just how sensible my decision was.

We must have walked for around five kilometers before Sabit, Nurka and the Tuvan team finally caught up with us. Sabit, surprised at how far we had walked admitted that he was becoming really worried. I could well understand why. It would be easy to get lost if the weather deteriorated and you veered too much off the main route.

Our trek "home" was long, tiring and bitterly cold. My little pony had become really freaky about the noise of my jacket, any slight movement from me causing him to shy violently. Tomorbaatar looking concerned, decided Alan and I should both be accompanied by one of the Tuvan gang. God, I thought - I am really making life difficult for these guys.....

What we had not considered (or known at that time), was that the depth of the glacier fed streams heightens dramatically in the afternoons following increased glacial melt. At one stage Tomorbaatar, spent ages trying to find a way to forge a particularly fast flowing ravine. He didn't speak any English but it was very obvious it was not easy going and that he was very concerned for all of us. After crossing the worst of the ravines, I looked back with great relief to see Alan and the rest of the team with Sabit leading the camel cross safely. Another factor we had not considered was that it would have been impossible for us to cross the fast flowing streams without being mounted on the ponies.

Arriving at our camp site near the Rangers Camp, Alan had great difficulty in dismounting, and when he did his shins and ankles were so sore he had great trouble even walking. I was not faring much better. We thanked Tomorbaatar and his sons profusely for the trek. They had been wonderfully attentive and we could not have asked for better care. Tomorbaatar appeared embarrassed and looked away. We guessed it was culturally difficult for him but hopefully he understood how grateful we were. We also wondered what he would tell his wife that evening....

We must have both looked terrible when we arrived back. Even Tosca looked worried, hurrying us off and into his car where he turned the engine and heater on, while we sat shivering and shaking from the cold.

Sabit and Nurka took great care of us that evening, cooking a hot meal of meat, vegetables and pasta for us to eat in the warmth of our tent. Sabit even found us two additional "arctic quality" sleeping bags for extra warmth. While we greatly appreciated the food and the sleeping bags, we had to apologise; neither of us able being to touch the food. We must have been ill - we didn't even have a vodka.... But we did have a very warm and comfortable night.

It was a great pity to end in this way a trek that was really a most wonderful journey. Sabit, and Nurka, and Tomorbaatar and his team had been simply fantastic in looking after us. I don't think that either of us will ever forget this amazing day. 

It certainly for us was - a journey of a life time!