A Maiden in Mongolia: Remembering a Solo Horse Trek Across the Steppe
In 2012 my boyfriend at the time Mike and I set off to solo horse trek the Mongolian Steppe. I recently found the email I sent to family and friends afterwards, in the spirit of nostalgia, here it is.
A peek into what could be considered an expression of my 35-36 emotional channel in Human Design and who I was as a 24 year-old maiden adventurer.
Enjoy!
Greetings friends and family,
After a week recuperating in Ulaanbataar [Mongolia’s capital], we’ve finally mustered up the energy to recount the five weeks that were: no showers, surreal vastness, navigational hiccups, tempestuous horses, robberies, cloudless-blue-sky-days, tears and triumphs.
THE PLAN: To travel from from our ger camp, (Steppe Riders) just outside the capital to Terelj National Park.
[Steppe Riders has since blown up some, they have a legit website now! You can check them out here]
We stayed at the ger camp (Steppe Riders) for the better part of two weeks horse riding, hanging out, meeting some incredible people from America, Canada, Australia, Germany and of course Mongolia and munching on mutton and fried flat breads.
We expected more regimented training from Steppe Riders in preparation for our solo horse trek; I would say I received greater training in drinking fermented horse milk without grimacing.
My “riding-a-semi-wild-Mongolian-horse” lesson came in the form of our friend Zack turning into a proper cowboy one afternoon on a group horse ride. He initiated an epic jolt through the valley with his horse and before I could get a secure grip on the reins, my horse followed suit. There we were galloping and “yeeha-ing” through the valley. I was riding a horse named Spotty. He had spots. He might have been on the little side (even for a Mongolian horse), but he was a dynamo. I had to direct him up a mountain to have him slow into a canter so I could calm my nervous system.
While both Mike and I have had little experience horse-riding in the past, I felt the riding component came relatively naturally to us. During our training, neither of us fell or sustained any horse-related injuries. After a day in the saddle, however, I definitely felt my sore bum!
Evenings of chocolate and vodka kept us warm and lightened our frustrations with Mongolian time - a phenomenon whereby the proposed time in which something is to happen (the time you planned to go into the city to buy saddles, the time you planned to be picked up, the time you expected to leave on a trek etc) is irrelevant. On average, from our experience, Mongolia is about three hours late... for everything.
Time time to leave on our trek grew near. After a freezing, snowy day and last minute horse-handling crash course with our friend Yvonne, the Horse Man [the patriarch of the Steppe Rider community] helped Mike to saddle up the pack horse and then we proceeded to saddle up the other two horses and suddenly we were off. I rode Tiger, the grey horse with a stripy mane and pulled Miles, the pack-horse by his reins. Miles was chunky, slow and ate every chance he got as we traversed the steppe. Mike navigated and rode Elvis, the red horse with a gentle gait and slick mane.
On day one of out journey, we successfully made it to Bogd Khan National Park, the UNESCO site home to “The Monastery.” We encountered rain, hail and shine during that 25km journey. Our camping location was stunning - a small flat and open patch of grass encircled by pine trees. A rare treat amidst the bald, undulating terrain of the Steppe.
All was rosy. All was dandy. We cooked, we sunbaked, we made fires and drank copious amounts of tea. We washed our clothes that we’d worn day in day out for the previous 2 weeks in the river. Mike helped me wash my hair which involved wearing my rain jacket, and him pouring a saucepan of icy river water onto my hair. Ooof! The brain freeze was intense! Mike decided to test the theory about hair self-cleaning after some period of time.
Most days were sunny and warm (mid to low 20s celsius) and nights were cold, usually freezing or just above.
After a couple of days camping here, we journeyed onward, most days we put in about 25-30km on horseback. It was slow and steady for us novice nomads.
The map that we used to navigate was this archaic looking thing. It was all Greek to me but Mike, capable as he was, successfully directed us to beautiful sites with water and wood, everything we needed. The landmarks on the map were completely incongruent to those we saw in real-life and even then, Mike led the way with confidence.
I sustained a variety of horse-related injuries along the way. I was thrown off Tiger after he became spooked by some birds in a bush. Landing with a thud on the ground, it knocked the wind out of me. Another time my foot got stomped on by a heavy hoof - it’s still blue and bruised.
The days wore on, we arrived at a sweet camp spot with a babbling creek which happened to be close to a little town where we could re-provision for the next leg of out journey. We were breaking down camp and preparing for our leg to Terelj National Park - Mike had tied Miles, our pack horse to a loose log. Miles spooked and bolted around the valley with the pack hanging precariously onto the saddle and the log dragging behind, spooking him further. Miles’ reaction frightened the other two horses and all three began to run away. Miles seemed to be somewhat traumatized from this experience and we had great difficulty packing him up thereafter. We decided to let the horses settle and instead leave for Terelj the next day. That afternoon we were robbed.
Mike and I had gone for a walk up the mountain near our camp site to collect wood to make a fire only to witness a van and three men go into our tent and scavenge whatever they could. We were too far away to get back in time to intervene and perhaps it’s best we didn’t. Most of our belongings and money was taken. It was extremely inconvenient. All of our technical gear, outer layers, backpacks, kindles, a camera and my journal that I had written in every day during this trip and my previous year living in Cambodia. All of our food was gone except for a few packets of instant soup. Luckily, our passports were hidden in a little side pocket of the tent, still we felt violated and heart-broken.
We felt weary and at a loss, things just weren’t working out as we had hoped. To our chagrin, the journey to Terelj couldn’t go on, not in this state. We decided to head back to the Steppe Riders ger camp. We fasted most of the way except at night we would share some of the packet soups left over from the robbery.
Heading back became nightmarish. One morning after breaking down camp and heading onward for about 10km, we hopped off and Mike attempted to tighten Elvis’ girth strap. We couldn’t do it. Elvis was kicking and bucking at Mike - his angry eyes protruding and ears pinned back in fury. We ended up walking him. I decided to walk Elvis, in a way it felt easier than riding at this point. Mike rode Tiger. We traversed the terrain for another 20km or so - our destination becoming tantalizingly close about one more day of traveling away. We were filled with hope until Elvis snapped.
Seemingly inexplicably, Elvis charged at me, bit my back and knocked me over. The shock and intensity of being bulldozed left me breathless, tears welled in my eyes and I realised I could hardly walk. Mike was left to hobble three angry horses on his own.
We were surely exhausted by what felt like a string of misfortunate events, making getting home feel almost impossible. And then, our horses ran away and we had run out of water. It felt like a moment that asked for immediate action and so, with an injured back I decided to embark on a what was surely going to be an awkward one hour walk to the closest ger to see if I could fill up our water canisters and call our English speaking friend from Steppe Riders, Mendee and see if he would be able to help us.
Mike had already left to retrieve the horses and I began walking in the opposite direction toward the ger. About half way there, I see a herd of wild horses walking towards me. I continued on. They picked up the paces and began to trot, forming a line with one horse next to the other with what appeared to be a male in the middle with a blond name. He might as well have been named Fabio with the bravado he was carrying. They stopped and I felt like they were barring me. They were probably about 50 metres away from me. I began to tremble and fear took over. Tears were falling down my cheeks. I’d just been charged my our horse and was now terrified I was about to be stampeded by a herd. I whispered between sniffling tears telling the horses I mean no harm, that I just want to get some water. I walked backwards away from them yet continued to acknowledge their majesty and presence. I have no idea how long the moment lasted but. eventually they turned and cantered off in another direction.
I made it to the ger and as is customary in Mongolia, a visitor enters and sits to the left while the family sits to the right. The centre of the ger is considered sacred - the centre of their universe. In the centre of the ger, the woman was stirring a pot of fermenting horse milk. Her husband offered me horse milk cheese which had been moulded in the bottom of a coke bottle making a flower shape. I gratefully accepted, but could hardly stomach the rancid flavour. The man filled my water canisters and they allowed me to use their flip phone to call Mendee.
Mendee said he would come for us soon. It was about midday at this point. I was hopeful we’d be back at the camp at Steppe Riders by the afternoon.
We waited nine hours for Mendee, unsure as to whether he’d arrive. We’d picthed the tent on the side of a small hill which was not in any way ideal but offered us shelter. We began to worry that Mendee had forgotten about us.
At about 9pm Mendee arrived in a 4WD with two young horsemen. The horsemen battled with our angry horses before riding off into the blackness of the valleys, guided by the light of a full moon. Mendee drove us back. We were just 20km away. We almost made it back.
In the end, I think it was the pervasiveness of wild flowers that got me through those hard days. At each new campsite, Mike would present me with a bunch he’d picked and this always made me smile.
The countryside was bewitching, especially in the golden light of dusk. Never have we seen such vastness. 30 kilometers of uninterrupted views surrounded us. The mountains and valleys were scattered with dozens of goats; white ones, brown ones, big ones and baby ones. Wild horses would roam, and nomadic families would peer at us through their binoculars as we trekked throughout the Steppe. Ger-people are the most hospital; they showered us with bread, cheese, tea and airag (fermented horse milk). Mike loved riding with a belly full of airag; the mild intoxication made him warm and act like a cowboy.
Mike and I remain friends and partners despite the tumult of this trip. In fact, I think we’re closer now. We were a great team, and we always pulled together especially when things became dicey.
The novelty of having a shower and a bed has not yet worn off.
Love,
Nikki
