Page 41 - RADC 2016

moraine and leading up to the glacier. Wind shear from the mountain manifests itself as a constant icy blast that funnels down the valley hitting our campsite. At night, the cold peaks of Tsambagarav shine a ghostly white as they re ect the light of the moon.
The next day we leave at sunrise to
climb up to the snowline of Tsambagarav cataloguing alpine ora in this zone. Byamba is collecting data on the general trend of alpine plant life to migrate to higher altitudes – a function of year on year increases to global temperatures.
We’re on horseback and the route is steep and crosses several scree elds. Once again, the horses show exceptional sure footedness as they carefully pick their way through this dif cult terrain. Eventually we reach a point where we are faced with one giant scree eld – a tumbled mass of rocks and boulders leading all the way up to the snowline. We decide to dismount and travel the rest of the way on foot. Denby, our horseman, (whom I strongly suspect indulged in signi cant quantities of Genghis Khan’s nest at the wedding yesterday) is quite happy to stay with the horses. He promptly ties them all to a rock, lies down and falls asleep.
Tsambagarav
needs an extraction and so I get to work extracting his abscessed tooth.
It’s a busy afternoon clinic and it’s evening by the time we’re nished.
We spend several days in the beautiful Namarjin Valley. On one of the days I decide to join the archaeology group and we ride down valley to view some Neolithic burial mounds. One of the expedition members gives me a lesson on the mysterious practice of “dowsing” – the use of metal divination rods to nd underlying items and
the Mongolians – they have their own language, are followers of Islam (the majority of Mongolians are Buddhist) and the style
of their gers is quite different. Like the Mongolian families that we visited previously, they show us enormous hospitality and invite us into their gers. They also entertain us with the husband playing a Mongolian horse- headed ddle whilst his wife sings.
It’s now time to part company with our horses. They’ve all had their saddles taken off them and are wondering around free now. I eventually spot my horse, walk over to him, give him a rub on his neck and then let him go. I watch him as he heads back
up the valley along with the rest of the herd. As a group, we’re saddened to be leaving our steeds – they’ve done a wonderful job in carrying us through the rugged terrain and have shown real personality.
The last few days are spent in Khustain National Park in central Mongolia. We’re camped in a valley which one of the members of our group has rather poetically named the “Valley of Flowers”. During
our time here, we visit the ancient “Ongot Stones”, see some herds of the famous wild Przewalski Horses and climb up to have a look at a vulture and some eagle chicks in their nests.
It’s evening in the Valley of Flowers on the nal day of the expedition. Col John has organised for us to have a Burns Supper (a long held tradition on the completion of one of his expeditions). We improvise some Scottish Dress.
The evening starts with a wonderful rendition of “Address to the Haggis” and throughout the dinner we’re entertained by individual performances of poetry (including “Address to the Toothache” by yours truly) and a witty “Toast to the Lassies and “The Lassies Reply”. We nish the evening and the expedition with a spot of Ceilidh dancing and singing into the wee hours of the night...
As we continue on up the mountain, I
look down at the glacier in the valley. Like
all glaciers in the world it’s clear that this one’s in retreat. We start to photograph and record the size of the
plants on the way up –
yellow poppies, purple
gentians, spongy
cushion plants, green
mosses and bright
orange lichens... One
member of our group
has an altimeter and
keeps a check on what
altitude we’re at. After an hour or so we stop at 3750m and have lunch on some rocks slightly above the snow line with a view to the snow-capped summit of Tsambagarav shimmering in the sunshine.
I head back down the mountain and arrive back for our clinic. There’s already a sizeable crowd of prospective patients smiling at me expectantly.
The locals queue up patiently and the rst taker of the day is a spritely old Mongolian gentleman who when he smiles displays
a mouthful of rotten grey teeth. I sit him down and have a limited consultation in Mongolian.
“Sain Bainu.. Ushtay (pain)?” The old man nods vigorously. “Angai (open)” the old man points to a rotten upper molar with a large swelling on the side of the gum. In typical dentist fashion I start banging this tooth with the metal end of the dental mirror – “Ushtay?”
“Tijmee! Tijmee! (yes! yes!)” comes his frantic reply.
The interpreter explains to him that he
structures in the ground.
We also visit a “Naadam” horse- racing festival. The horse races are epic – 30 km in length and the contestants are typically young lads (some as young as 6
or 7) who ride without saddles. It’s mid- morning and I’m feeling hungry so wander around the stalls looking for a packet of crisps. Every stall is laid out with brightly coloured packets of sweets and sugary biscuits – not a savoury snack in sight. It’s no wonder that the locals in this area have such a problem with dental decay. In the end I nd a ger serving some real food. Inside it’s dark and smoky and they’re cooking some delicious mutton lled at breads drizzled in chilli sauce.
Eventually it’s time to leave Namarjin.
For the last part of the expedition we travel towards a lake called Dorroo Nuur. Our journey continues on horseback through the magni cent landscape, over high mountain passes, fording cold clear fast running rivers and through wide valleys carpeted in a beautiful array of owers.
Over the coming days we visit a number of Neolithic sites (some of which have never been recorded previously in western literature). We also visit a Kazak family. Ethnically, they are quite separate from
It’s a busy afternoon clinic and it’s evening by the time we’re nished.
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