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Crossing the Kharkiraa with Three Horses and a Camel
Article courtesy of Tim Cope – www.timcopejourneys.com
Reintroduction to the Wild
I arrived in the village of Tarialan at 7am just as the sun was peeking over the mountains above. Taralian was about 40km from Ulaangom at the foot of the Kharkiraa range. The houses in the village were typically Mongolian- constructed with anything and everything available. Oil drum lids, bits of wood, rusty pieces of wrecked cars, stones from the river bed, and pieces of throw-away gers were standard building materials. Some homes were just normal gers barricaded with a fence made of this instead.
I made our way to the home of a man who had promised to drive us to Ulaangom airport- the 2km patch of dirt just south of the town. It was all over in a flash. Unsaddled, I lugged my backpack in the back of the beaten up old van, and jumped in. The driver cranked the engine over and rushed to the steering wheel. I watched the van putt away and was soon left with an empty third horse and three locals staring on in curiosity. My plan was to find a local guide named Dashnim and with the aid of a camel cross the Kharkiraa mountain range. I had been gazing up to its glacier-encrusted peaks for days and felt drawn to the mountain air and the hidden valleys that were so removed from the flats near Uvs lake. It felt like a new chapter of my journey was beginning.
Dashnim had worked for Tseren- my Mongolian friend who had supported me so much from Ulaan Baatar. With the help of a local I found his ger a little way up the Kharkiraa river, parked on a patch of green between several shallow channels. Only after some tea and ‘borzog’ (dough dipped in animal fat) did we begin to talk. I liked Dashnim at once. He had a grin on his face that betrayed a sense of simpleness and curiosity. His eyes were large, his cheeks round and polished by the wind. The lines on his face, and thick, callused fingers told a tale of a hard physical life. He was the kind of man I thought who would work extremely hard and expect little. His ger was very poor. He had a dirt floor and just a couple of beds. All of his children’s clothes were stowed away in old shopping bags. I watched as one little girl came in and opened her bag with the care that one would normally only afford a nice expensive set of drawers. As a herder he was one of the poorest I had met. He owned 17 goats in total and one old horse. His pride and joy was a rusty Belarussian tractor that was probably handed out after the collapse of the soviet union’s collective farm system. For a herder with few animals cash was required to survive. This unexpected arrival of an Australian was a welcome surprise. He was excited by my plan.
Photo DASHNIM HERE
‘When do you want to leave? Today? Tomorrow? I need to fetch a camel.’
We looked over my map and agreed that seven days would be required to reach the far side of the mountains. He helped me unpack and set up my tent and then we wandered into the village. I felt at ease around him- he may have been amazed by my saddle and equipment but had not so much as touched it, let alone asked for it. As Tseren had told me, he was a listener.
It was the first day of school in this village and as we made our way to the shop we passed children dressed up like dolls. The girls wore black dresses and white pretty decorations in their hair, the boys little suits and ties. After buying goods, he sent me back with a note for his wife to bake some bread for our journey. He trotted off on his horse to find a camel.
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