Preface
The following (excluding this preface, the postscript and the headings) is the text of my diary of my Altai trip of July 2002. I have tried to edit it a little for clarity, but it’s mostly just a transcript of my scribbling during my month in the wilderness. The original got wet and is almost destroyed so I decided to type this up while I could. Dots replace an illegible sentence.
We travelled from Moscow to Novosibersk on the Trans-Siberian Railway. It took about fifty hours. Then we went over night to Beesk in Altaisky Kray. We were supposed to then catch a bus to the starting point of our hike, the town of Chibit in the south of Altai Republic, but we missed it and had to take a taxi. We then walked for twenty-four days through the mountains until we arrived back to the road, 60 km north of Chibit. I travelled with Valeria (Lera), my girlfriend, two of our friends from Moscow State University Geography Department, Lesha and Sveta, and their two friends, Vit and Aleona.
On the train to Novosibersk…
2-07-02
Said the Pole "How is it to Jump in Russia?"
"What?!" said the blank faced Irishman.
"To Jump? Jump! Jump Jump Jump Jump Jump?" Repeated madly the Pole. The Irish man's face blankened further. He was wondering if the man wanted to jump of the train. Then it dawned on the dim Paddy
"Do you mean: How do you say jump in Russian???"
"Yes!" replied the excited pole. "I haven't clue!" Said the Irishman happily.
My five Russian companions are playing cards. My experience of Russian card playing is such that I immediately refused when they asked me to join. Russian card games are impossibly complicated, but the objective is not primarily to play but to .............
The first time I met a Russian card game was in Oxana's dacha in ‘00. It was September and we were celebrating her birthday. We made salads, chopped wood, played darts, Mafia, and ate sunflower seeds burnt by fire. But then a horror arose: Preference. The cards came out. The table was cleared. "How do you play?" I asked eagerly. I would never again be so foolishly brave. "It's simple" Lied Sveta "You must try to beat my cards" "Ok, How do I do that?" "You must have cards with greater value than mine" "Ok, Which cards have a higher value?" She explained in circles for two hours before I stormed off in frustration to chop wood again.
July 3rd.
We are now leaving Perm and it is furiously hot! Thirty-five degrees in the train; maybe twenty-five on the street. None of the windows open. They are sealed in winter and are so old and the frames so rotten that when the family who sleep below me tried to open ours, they cracked it. Just now the family below got the kettle-guard to come along with a big key to try and open it. We huffed and we puffed, we even broke away the frame, but we couldn't open it. I suspect it may be sealed from the outside in some way.
I’m looking out at the villages. Some of the wooden houses are painted with bright murals of flowers. They farm their gardens and the long acre but huge fields are left fallow. They even farm unfenced land next to the train track.
9pm-ish
I’m striped to my underwear on a train - first time for that - in a room with forty-seven others in various states of undress. I've never wanted a shower so much. About thirty hours into our journey now and we are in Asia. The view hasn't changed. I'm a little lonely. My friends are playing cards again, laughing and joking. I'm here on Val's [My girlfriend] bunk (mine is a table during the day) writing this and reading Dev [The book I brought: my granny’s Biography of Eamon De Valera.] I can’t follow their conversation - I don't even know what they are talking about but they are enjoying it. Val won’t tell me - when I ask she seems to think I'm insulting them in some way. She says, "They are not intellectuals" I am an idiot. I should try and explain myself better. I’m constantly falling into conversational quicksand with her lately. Not good.
(Writing in the pitch darkness)
by thinking a lot on my (actual Val's) bunk I’m beginning to understand Russians a little more. They have short memories - at least in contrast to Irish thousand-year begrudgery - not ten or fifteen years ago their government was inflicting most incredible crimes on themselves and their neighbours yet now things are relatively quiet so they forget.
10am Moscow time 1pm Siberian 4th July.
Lesha is a most unfortunate creature. His chronic skin allergies have caused his arms and neck to be horribly scared. He stands over 2m tall and so is constantly - once and hour or so - banging his head off the bunk. He has spent the two days here sewing a bag to keep his camera, so constant pinpricked yelps are coming from him. Yesterday he was cutting cheese, and himself, twice - "Oi! Churt!" In March he broke his nose in four places while taking a shower. After our Halloween party last year he spent 4 days in hospital. He'd forgotten he was allergic to face paint. He will lead our climb.
We are in Altai Kray in south-western Siberia. It is beautiful. Thousands of little houses, wooden villages surround the train line. Earlier we passed the Ob’ Sea. It looked extraordinarily like Lake Geneva; lined by beautiful villages and dotted by small sailing boats and yachts, even this late at 10pm. Novosibersk struck me as a vast rich city. I must investigate on the way back. The underpasses of the enormous chandeliered train station were tiled with marble. Distinctly less shabby than St Petersburg. It was only 17C, granted it was 9pm but all today, after the Urals was pleasantly not hot. This seems like a lovely place. Surprising! I expected something fairly awful. It's Siberia after all!
My friends are singing old ballads. The cabin is dark but as we are still on Moscow time we are awake. I tried to teach them the Fields of Athenry but their interest lasted about the length of the chorus. Outside the countryside chugs and clunks past - swaying our home slightly from time to time. In Novosibersk station there was a telegraph center! I was dying to send one; 20 roubles only, but it’s only to Russia and Denis [My Dad] has decamped to Bishkek [In Kyrgizstan] by now.
The 5 are accepting the 6th oddling a little more today. I think. Val energetically tries to include me in everything, the sweet. Lesha enthusiastically practices his English. Vit warms.
Fri 5th 6:45am Altai Kray.
I imagine we must have the lowest priority on this journey. Every twenty minutes we seem to stop for twenty to let a cargo train pass. Still an hour to go, if we are on time. Then we narrowly, fifteen minutes window, catch a bus to Gorny-Altaisk. Then another to Chibit - our base camp. It’s another 400km from Beesk.
The land outside is rolling grassland and clumps of forest. The people are up and active even this early. They walk their cattle along the long acre. I saw a man on horseback refuelling at a grassy verge. A woman bent over, fat arse in the air, picking weeds from the veggies in her haggart. It could be any century.
In the Taxi to Chibit...
5th Friday.
On the road now from Gorny-Altaisk. Altai is so incredibly different to what I expected. It’s rich! - A Switzerland. We are now on the Chosky Trakt, not a name which inspires confidence, especially since from the map it winds through gorges and across rivers into the western tip of Mongolia. But the track is a fine road, paved and signposted, a dual carriageway in places. Every few miles a cafe. All the villages have power, TV aerials and telephone wires. Even Moscow Ob'last cannot boast this. The terrain is like the low Alps, east France or south Germany. Maybe rolling but steep grassy hills, some completely covered in larches others, too steep, have a thin ribbon of trees along the ridge. We are driving upstream along the ever-narrowing Chyerga, tributary of the mighty Ob. The river flows wildly ten meters below dark and stormy. Small cows graze by its bank. The people, who are almost entirely Russian, live in beautiful wooden chalets. In the markets the prices are largely above Moscow levels, but playstation games and CDs are cheaper. Trade with Mongolia, only ten years old, is making this place rich. You couldn't count the BMWs.
Later - 3pm Altai - 12pm Moscow - 9am Ireland -
The trees now stand only on the crest of hills. They surround the rim of the valley staring down on us travellers below, like an army ready to attack. The local people breed Marol deer and cut the horns when young to extract Pentacreen - an aphrodisiac. "The deer lose horns but the men get them" There was another ancient people ‘Tudey’ who lived very shortly before the white people. They decided to kill themselves when the white larch began to grow - it signified a white king was coming. They buried themselves alive under rocks.
The weather is temperate and wet, just as Lesha promised. Some legends form the driver: A people 3m tall came from here and travelled west to become Europeans (I heard this theory before, in the hermitage where I saw the tomb of the three thousand year old Ice Queen.) Gengus Khan's funeral was held here. Hundreds feasted and drank in commemoration and then were slaughtered and buried with him. The locals, because they have no cinema apparently, amuse themselves by tying a horse to the tent of sleeping tourists and setting him off to drag the tent till it tears and the tourists fall out shocked to see a dozen Altais falling about laughing.
These people's graveyards are by the side of the road like in Kyrgizstan. Also they have old yurths called ‘A-yul’ here which are used as kitchens now. I saw a patch of trees with white ribbons tied to the lower branches. They surrounded a soviet war monument. We took an expedition onto a hill while the taximan was fixing a tyre. It was like walking on an alien planet. 'Po-ling' like Kalmykia, when you stepped a bunch of one-inch grasshoppers jumped then spread a pair of purple wings from under their legs and flew away a few meters with a clicking sound. We discovered a possibly very old three-part wall system that zigzagged down from one platform to another. It seemed to be for water but the land is very dry here. Maybe it is different in spring when the snow melts.
6-pm.
We stopped in an Altai town to buy bread. All the men were drunk and had bruised faces. Like many Asian races they lack a gene for alcohol detoxification. Our driver is very fond of his van. He talks of nothing else. Lesha who sits up front is getting sick of him. The rest of us sit in the back and take turns sticking our heads out the sunroof while the car goes over a hill. It’s like a roller coaster. Altai means gold in Turkic. Apparently the rivers are full of the stuff. We are now madly trying to see 'suslik', a little kangaroo the size of a rabbit that lives in holes but often hop across the road.
We begin walking...
6th Sat Morning.
I’m getting pretty pissed off with these two Russian lads. They are absolute flatlanders with a half notion of mountains. Lesha keeps changing plans. I find out when the deed is done. He got the taxi to leave us off in a different place to plan because he remembered seeing a bridge on a map on the Internet. We ended up carrying our bags ............ shopping bags of food over rocky outcrops with a raging river below. When I complained that this was all fucking ridiculously dangerous the two Russian lads decided I was too weak to carry my bag. I've had to fight them off from recapping my bag behind my back. Today Lesha was trying to explain to me what close parallel lines on a map meant. He wouldn't take "Fuck off you arrogant wanker!" for an answer. [I didn’t really say that] Now we (me and Lera) are heading for a bridge. We leave Lesha fixing Sveta's bag. Its so heavy it makes her arms go numb.
12:30am.
Lera and myself have reached the bridge, the others have not arrived even though we walk slowly and Val stopped to photo everything. Its very beautiful here. I think like the Canadian Rockys more than the Alps, form what I've seen on TV anyway. Untouched. Yet the trails are well defined, well worn. I’m surprised. The photos will give a better description than I can or want to spend the time trying to give.
Sun 7th
............. sitting alone by a fire I built by a grey glacial river in an incredible valley on the Mongolian border. The white peaks of the Altai soar above me. Height 2000m+ highest point I can see 4100m+. I'm exhausted!
Yesterday, we dragged our five or six stone [35kg] bags up another two hundred meters and about three kilometers to an old refuge house. Lesha made three packages of our extra food and hid them in a hole in the roof with a note. At 6:30 we set off (I was ok until then) and by 9:30 we collapsed. Near the house was a plaque to three Moscow MGGU students who died in Altai in 1990. The Russians among the group were really upset and shaken, as if they didn't believe this could happen. Lera actually cried! For all their murdering, Russians don't have much of a stomach for losing their own. [murdering because I had just read a few books on the Stalin era] Last night Lera and me slept under the stars and left the tent to the others. It was cool, but I was too tired to enjoy it. Then I got paranoid about insects and tied myself completely inside the sleeping bag. Then at about four O’clock I woke up in a panic, haven forgotten what I'd done, and desperately fought with the bag until I woke up properly. We both felt rotten in the morning, headaches, and it was our turn to cook breakfast.
Today ............... to a beautiful lake and a little beyond it. It was very slow and tiring. I staggered into camp twenty minutes after the rest because when we got down to a flat place I sat on my bag and announced I wasn't moving for at least half an hour. The other five decided to go walking on to the glacier. They left bags in camp and headed off. About two hours later they returned defeated, the glacier was too far away, they hadn't believed the map. Sheila, I suppose is heading for London today. I hope they have a good time and I wish I could send an SMS.
--Vit just ..................... for this trip - This journey is surprisingly important to them.
Thursday 11th.
I don't think I've written since the 7th. What a lot has happened! On Monday we set off to cross the pass and reach the lake, A journey of sixteen kilometers over mountains. On the flat we usually walk six kilometers. Nobody but myself seemed to have any problems with this plan. We walked for two and a half hours (11 O’clock start) and reached the glacier, passing a wonderful campsite with a table, we stopped and had some cheese and some salted toast chunks. Then we climbed up a moraine to a wonderful green lake. Then up to a beautiful alpine meadow. I was beginning to think we were nearly at the pass. Then we started up another moraine. This one was terrible, huge rocks that slide when you step on them. Four hours of that and still no sign of the pass. I was very tired and very pissed off with everybody and everything. People were exhausted and taking ever less care where they stepped. Someone was going to brake an ankle. I was trying to get them to camp but no one was listening. Eventually they said they would look for a site "we have one and a half hours before dark" someone said. I was livid, imagining making splints with my tin whistle. Vit found a place, a patch of cleared stones with a stack of wood for emergencies. We threw our bags. I collected all the empty water bottles and set off to a patch of water I had seen earlier. Vit said he would melt snow for dinner.
When I got back Valerie started shouting at me saying I hadn't said where I was going (I had) and the others said they were moving again to a place with a lake a half hour away over the rocks. Vit had already left so I couldn't argue. I told Lesha "I'm very fucking pissed off" And I complained loudly the whole thirty minutes to the lake. It was raining by the time we got there. Lesha set up the tent. I complained to Val until she cried. That snapped me out of asshole mode and I apologised. Not to Lesha though. I didn't want to then and I still haven't. It started to snow as Vit cooked. I convinced them it was safe to bring the little gas stove into the tent. He cooked up something, we ate a whole sausage and some chocolate, and Lesha produced some Cognac we began to joke about the situation. Someone suggested that if the snow covered up the gap between the outer tent wall and the ground we would suffocate. They seemed to take it seriously, but maybe they were taking the piss. Next day I got up late. I hadn't slept much as I was imagining avalanches sweeping us away. The snow covered the whole area. We ate something and slowly, slowly packed up and left at about 2pm. It snowed on and off and visibility was low. I imagined we were all but over the pass and it was down to the lake from here. Lesha said that he had walked alone to the pass (across 500m of glacier, alone, unroped, ice-axe-less) that morning. He said it was about two hours to the pass with the bags. Anyhow, in for a penny in for a pound, we reached the ice over some kilometre of loose rocks covered in snow. We roped up but Lesha refused, he walked alone again, he set off and we followed his footprints. Dozens of times we sank waist deep in snow but no crevasses. Sveta complained several times about the inconvenience of the rope. I politely told her she could disconnect if she liked, her safety was not my responsibility. She stopped complaining after that to me about the rope.
We reached some rocks where Lesha was sitting. Sveta cut her finger deeply on a sharp stone as we climbed up to Lesha. I bandaged it, but badly. I stupidly put a piece of cotton wool on the cut and then bandaged it up. It was awkward and she took it off later. Lesha told us the pass lay ahead through the snow. It was a steep icy pass, deep snow with rocky fingers, not impossible. Vit had decided that the rope was unnecessary but I convinced him otherwise and he turned back roped up (with everyone except Lesha) and we set off. Vit, with our one ice axe led. Me at the end of the rope giving ignored advice (‘Don't step on the rope’, ‘keep the rope taut’) Vit did an excellent job and we reached the top. Almost at the top Lesha asked me seriously "can we go down by this way if this is the wrong pass?" I said "Well, We'll fucking have to won't we!" "Dangerous?" "Yes, very"
"Ah Bollox!" is what I said when I reached the top. The other side was much steeper and far higher. It looked impossible. I switched places with Vit and took his axe. There was a line of rocks about one hundred meters away going about half way to the valley. I tried to reach it. The snow reached my waist so I turned back, fearing the snow might slide. There was another much smaller finger of stones below us, the matching one to the one we climbed up on the other side. I zigzagged down to it. Sveta was a few meters behind on the rope, Aleona behind then Lera. Vit didn't have to move from the top. I fell many times, only the ice axe stopping me. [None of us had crampons, there should have been no snow in summer] There was a smooth layer of ice under the fresh snow that my boots couldn't grip. It had been gravel on the other side. I slipped and fell down to the end of the finger. All the time shouting instructions to Sveta and the others "Stop, move back, stop, Sveta is that rock stable? Then throw the rope over it." People were listening to me now and everything was done. From the end of the finger I could see it was hopeless. The steep, steep snow disappeared down into the fog, nothing to grip. I shouted that I was coming back up and I got them all to move back one by one so that no two were moving at once. When we were all at the top I began arguing that we should retreat. The resistance was slight, they had already decided. Sveta, however, declared she would rather die than return. Vit suggested that he alone at the end of the rope, with us simply holding the other end, would try to reach a distant rocky finger. I shot him down by pointing out it was more than 50m away. The idea was dropped because Aleona was in hysterics. We turned back. I asked Lesha (now very worried looking) if now he would like to join the rope. He agreed eagerly. I tied him on between me and Sveta. I, the last on the top, said a little prayer to the god of the mountain for our safety and then I followed down. It worked. We got back safely (except that Lesha cut his leg deeply on a rock) and we camped this time at the first place with the wood. We were all in very high spirits, happy to be alive I suppose. It was my turn to cook and I managed to destroy a canister of gas and damage the tent’s zip in the space of three minutes. We ate at about 12:30 and slept soundly. Early, at 7:00, we set off down and camped that night in the place with the table. I was totally exhausted. Lera said she had a temperature but felt better after she ate.
Today, Thursday 11th, we had a day off! I washed! Myself, my clothes! I feel wonderful! Vit produced a juniper and we played climbing a tree with it. I feel like a new man. And the best thing is I’m going to sleep now for a full night! Yippee!
Sunday 14th.
An interesting day at last. On Friday last we made a huge journey down the valley and up another to visit our seventh lake. The next day it rained and, as it was my turn to cook, I spent most of the day fighting with the fire. Saturday evening we decamped and went and hour down hill to a nicer place, so we woke up there this morning. First thing, myself and Lera walked up the hill to see "The best view so far"(Sveta). It was pretty good. The meeting of two valleys spread out below us like a map and we could see as far as lake number eight which later turned out to be inhabited. So we decamped and went down to the bridge near the food house and then ditched our bags, literally in a ditch to hide them, and then marched up a horribly steep hill up up up to a ...meadow! With a lovely flat lake and a dirt road around it. We walked to the lake past a huge herd of cattle to a tiny wooden house where a young Altai man came out to greet us. Lesha asked if we could buy some milk, cheese, bread or milk. The man asked if we have anything (vodka) to exchange. Lesha answered 'only money' so the man said he had only milk. He sold us a letre and a half for thirty roubles [about one Euro] but said the next farm a km away might have more. They did. In the next place we were met by a half European Altai of about eighteen years in the door of his wooden kitchen (‘A-yul’). Lesha asked the same bread/cheese/milk question and the young lad offered milk again. Then the head of the family rode up impressively. He first gave us each a bowl of fish soup. Then sold us some meat, some cheese stuff, and baked us two loaves of bread. All for 200p. [€6.50] Three of their many dogs followed us back to our camp. They now sleep in a circle guarding us. The women of the Altai family are Russians. We saw one, the others moved to Chibit out of boredom. That family doesn’t drink, according to the man.
Thursday 18th.
Another rest day. I just stood up (its 4:30) I was lying down on the ground against some rocks for about two hours. Val kindly forced a mat under me about an hour ago. I’m depressed, although I’m letting Val believe I’m sick. Its a combination of hunger, tiredness (I barely slept last night) and feeling like a complete fucking waste of skin. (Val doesn't let me strain the rice in case I spill it. It took me two hours this morning to boil a pot of porridge, Lesha took pity on me and just touched the fire and it boiled for him.) And also the pressing fact that I've have two more weeks here and we have just run out of soap. Anyway I forced myself up and I'll muddle on until the end. We are camping at lake number ten ‘Shavla’. Its lovely, I’d say a good 8.45% lovelier than the best of the other nine lakes. It once hung as a poster on Val's wall as a child - so she was very disappointed to get here and find she is without film. The waste of skin couldn't help but Lesha produced a fresh film and made her happy.
On Monday we climbed up onto the plateau opposite the Karakul plateau. We were shadowed the whole way by a huge group from Krasniarsk who were travelling in style, by truck and horseback up to this lake. Tonnes of food and beer. We passed a house where Lesha bought kifir, smetana, milk and araqi - a weak local vodka. This necessitated dumping all our water, even though the nearest source was about six hours away in the extreme heat and 30kg+ bags. I was cross. We anyway survived and camped in a lovely valley. Lera and me cooked a final meal for Vit and Aleona. We toasted with araki and they left early the next day.
Tuesday was fun. We, four of us now, had to cross a wide river twice. I for once was a little use as I strung the rope across and helped everyone across. Sveta said I deserved a little extra pasta that night. It absolutely poured rain that evening, thunder lightning, we arrived into a suitable campsite about 8:30, threw up the tent and quickly, got in and changed clothes. We ate some sala and I fell asleep. At about 11:30 Lesha woke us up with food and tea. It had stopped raining and he had gotten up and made it then. I was very impressed and thankful. In the morning Sveta made some wonderful porridge and I ate four bowls of it. We then walked the ten kilometers up hill to here. We discovered that the big serving spoon was forgotten. Tomorrow we plan to cross a pass. I would be surprised if we make it. I will force a retreat at the slightest danger. 13 days left in July.
Saturday 20th 7:40pm
Sitting on a knoll watching the sun set on a new, albeit pathless and haggerty, valley. We did cross the pass but it took two days instead of one and we still haven't reached our destination as described by Friday’s plan. We can see it and Lesha was mad keen to reach it today but Sveta had a tantrum and so we camp here. I'm happy, very tired, and some odd white lumps have appeared on my feet, very sore. I'm mostly over my own tantrum of Thursday. I went to bed early that night and slept properly. I felt better Friday morning but still pretty depressed and fed up. Lesha has cut rations by a third cos he reckons we wont have enough to last. Friday started badly. I was fed up and Lera gave out to me. I cheered up as the day went on. We crossed three rivers by rope and log, then fought our way up to the banks of a lake (no. 11) which was mucky brown. Lesha, wisely, called a halt there. It was about three or four O'clock in the afternoon.
His plan was to go up himself without bags and check out the pass. I insisted on going with him. It was a walk up, so easy without the bags! But it was quite long and took five hours to get up and down. We had said three [hours] to the girls and they were worried. Lera had made dinner and we ate the minute we got back. Lesha had found some small wild onions. I ate one whole against everyone's warnings and it almost killed me! Like an extremely hot pepper. He had also found some more blackcurrant leaves that he made beautiful tea with. I got up at seven to make breakfast as Lera had made dinner. I told her to sleep but she got up around 7:30 anyway and helped. The porridge was too thin and salty and it tasted remarkably like snot. I was depressed again. On the climb up Lera was cool, forging her own way she was the first up although in slightly the wrong place so she had to cross over to the pass where she arrived to see me puffing and panting to the top. She was delighted with the place and the achievement. About half an hour later, as if to show contrast, Lesha arrived dragging a distraught, crying horrified Sveta, obviously not a born Alpanist! We lay down on the mats at the top and sunbathed for an hour, had lunch of salami and toast. Lesha shared a bar of chocolate and then we headed down the other side. Lera was down in a flash, I more slowly. It was much easier than the other side with small not slipping stones, like walking down a sand dune. Lesha and Sveta arrived much later to find me on a rock and Lera trying from five meters away to hit me with a snowball.
Well, we sit here watching Lesha, who refuses help, prepare dinner and Sveta lying on the grass in her sleeping bag refusing to talk or do anything. Nothing, so far as I know, except a five or six day hike lies between us and Belukha, and thus home. I’m Happy.
Thursday 25th Evening.
Lera Just brought me soup and coffee into the tent so I’m feeling much better and warm again. I’m not having the best of times although things are definitely better today than yesterday. Lera now is reading my notes so I don't know exactly where I last wrote. I think it was on a treey knoll after the pass. The next day we marched along the stones of the river down to the path along the larger 'Young-Gur'. The way was very long and slow and hard but uneventful except for meeting a deep cliffed canyon at the end in which Lesha had to build three bridges for us to cross the river over and back as the river meandered from one canyon wall to the other. I fell into the river at one crossing up to my waist and my boots have yet to dry. On the way myself and Lera fought about who trusts who and Lera burst into tears for about twenty minutes. We camped at a stony place next to a tributary of the 'Young-Gur'. Myself and Lera made dinner. Lera complained about my serving skills, apparently my spoons weren't heaped enough. That evening we sang songs around the camp fire. I really enjoyed it.
The next morning it began to rain. It rained on and off all the next day as we walked along the 'Young-Gur' along a terrible appearing-disappearing trail. We eventually camped on a high place above a wide crossing point above the river. The next day we needed to cross it on our way to Belukha. In the fog and mist and rain we decided we had reached the fording point mentioned on the map. While Lesha cooked I took the axe and went down to the river to cut logs for a bridge we would build in the morning. I didn't really care if it didn't work. It simply gave me something active to do that evening in the rain. That morning I had cut down a small half-dead tree and made a bridge. It had been fun. The next morning I put back on my wet clothes of the day before and set off with Lesha to build a bridge. Lesha was unimpressed by the place I had chosen. He thought rightly that the logs would be underwater at the highest watermark and that this would be dangerous, but he couldn't find a more promising place on the wide/shallow place on the river.
We walked about a kilometer west to a very narrow (ten meters) fast and deep place and decided to cut down a tall tree that was leaning into the river. We took turns with the axe and the poor tree fell after about half an hour, but it didn't reach the other side and it was immediately swept away down stream by the powerful current. We could do nothing but try again. I am the guilty one for picking a tall elegant and perfectly healthy pine. The trunk was about fifty centimeters or more and it took the two of us about an hour and a half to fell the ancient beauty.
Again we took turns chopping. We ate semi-ripe blackcurrants and gooseberries that grew nearby. But the proud giant defied its murderers. It fell diagonally, reaching the opposite bank all right but the water spilled over the trunk at the other end because the tree bowed beneath the current. We tried bridging the gap with other logs but eventually gave up, as it seemed too dangerous. The two girls arrived about this time. We were only supposed to have been gone for an hour or two. It was now after four O'clock, obviously we would be camping there again. The girls had tried to cook soup for lunch but couldn't light the fire in the rain. We planned and discussed for about an hour but eventually wandered back to the tent indecisively. It was decided that Lesha and Sveta would walk that evening up over the cliffs and try to find a better crossing point. They were gone until well after dark. While they were gone Lera got very upset when we failed again to light the fire in the rain. We were very hungry so I shared a piece of sausage I had squirreled away by eating only two-thirds of my daily ration. It didn't go far. When Lesha and Sveta returned, Lesha had the executive power to allow half a sausage to be eaten by four along with biscuit. They had found out that we were not as far as we had thought. The bridging point was further and looked promising. I was very disappointed. I felt we needed a definite answer. Either we could go on or we had to return. Our food was running out.
The next day we again put on our wet things (it was getting harder to do this everyday) and we marched along the path the two had found the previous day. The river had swollen over night and was now a muddy brown colour. Even our beautiful huge tree had been partly swept down stream and was now covered except for the tops of the branches. The crossing was impossible after all, the river was a raging monster. And so we switched to plan B: To follow the path over the mountains back to Shavla River. We set off climbing in the rain, up and up and up. It was incredibly exhausting. I thought I wouldn't make it, but the path was clear for the most part. We only got lost once when we mistakenly thought the path went over some steep jagged rocks, but we got to the top and eventually down to a stream about nine O’clock where we camped. We were all incredibly exhausted.
I made diner on the camping stove with the last of the fuel and I put half the nine-hundred gram packet of oats to soak in cold water for breakfast. The tent roof was leaking and during the night cold water was dripping into my face. Lera had bad cramps and once suddenly had to run out and crap outside. In the morning we again put on our wet clothes and ate our 110g of cold porridge and stepped outside. But it wasn't raining! The sun peeped out from behind the clouds from time to time and the sky was a patchwork of white and blue. It took me about two hours of climbing over the second pass to be convinced it was a sunny day and to take off my waterproofs and hang my socks from the back of my bag to dry. [That sun on my back felt better than winning a thousand lottos.]
Everyone was complaining of tiredness and when we reached the top of the small pass we disagreed about the easiest way down. Lera and me wanted to follow the map's path on a funny curl over a hill. Lesha and Sveta wanted to leave the path and go directly to the base of the third and final path cross-country. We split and planed to meet at the bottom of the climb to the path. There was soon little doubt over who had been right. It took me and Lera three hours and the way was just awful. Vanishing trails very steep traverses around a hill that turned out to be a mistake. Lera was having regular hysterical fits of "I can't go on!" and I was having regular bouts of diarrhoea.
We made it down to the meeting point and Lesha decided to camp. They had been waiting an hour. Sveta had stomach pain and I was dazed and exhausted and looking sick and Lera's foot was giving her terrible discomfort. Tomorrow we must ascend our (hopefully) last pass of the trip, then down the river to meet Shavla. Up Shavla for two days to the turn to Shavla lake and then perhaps two more days to Chibit and then home. Today is day 21. We are all exhausted, Lera and me fight more then talk. Although the anger is with the situation not each other, and we are all smiles and kisses between times. We are running low on food. Lesha is thin as a rake and getting weak. I'm the same but not as far gone as I still have what Lera calls "inner resources" [beer belly]. Lera's foot is very bad and getting more painful. My ankle is sore again [I had a paragliding accident two years ago] and worrying. My feet ache generally but one massive and fantastic stroke of luck: It's not raining today and our cloth are drying outside. Thank God for small miracles. And of cause we can eat because we can light a fire. The camping gas is all gone so when it rains we are hungry. In 5 days we will be in Chibit.
Sunday 28th Noon.
Well our situation has certainly changed and I realised that we will never now reach Chibit. On Friday we climbed our final pass. It was a beautiful sunny day and from the pass which was grassy like an Irish mountain we could see the snow-capped peaks of Belukha and her neighbours and on over the Kazakh border in to southern Altai. We were all delighted now . Only to continue down the next valley and into the Shavla valley then three or four days up to Chibit. Hopefully only three as our food would run out after that. We set off down the valley. It proved easy but a little steep. Path soon appeared covered in horse shit which is always a good sign. At 3.30 we stopped for a bit of sausage and, discussing the route, we decided we should be only two hours from Shavla and that we would have time to walk on some of the forty-five kilometers left from there to Chibit.
About an hour later we had been separated (Val and me, Lesha and Sveta) by the ever thickening undergrowth of a very steep forested hillside. Val and me were fighting through bushes high up the hill desperately searching for the trail that should lead down to the river but a cliff lay in the way. We could hear Sveta screaming Lesha's name far below possibly from the cliff itself. The only sense we could get from her was that they too were lost in the bushes. Shortly after, as I was arguing with Val about whether or not retreat and search for the trail, we heard Lesha scream for a second, then a silence punctuated by Sveta's panicked screams.
I got very worried. Sveta couldn't hear our calls so we fought our way back and down, eventually to a river. The map showed a trail following the other side of the river and after a few minutes we had found it. It started well but quickly got narrower and fainter going up and up. It was now getting late and darker. Val was worried we would have to sleep in the forest. We were both exhausted. I got more and more angry with the forest and I forced my way down breaking branches and virtually punching the trees. I was cursing and blinding "Fucking trees", "God damn motherfucking Altai, trying to fucking kill us". Val thought I was insulting her and she got offended.
After a while she went forward and led us quickly down to a path along by the river. It crossed to the other side and led out into a clearing with a tiny house, a pile of antlers out front, beside a small man and his son. [Real, Live People!] Lera greeted them, found out Shavla was only half an hour away and thankfully that two other tourists had passed an hour before. We went on but soon lost the path again. We returned to the man and asked for the path. He brought us about one hundred meters along the trail, which crossed the river again, and pointed us on. It led then without many problems to Shavla where Lesha and Sveta were sitting in front of a fire infront of Campus. [The name of our tent] I literally jumped for joy. I was after 9pm and they had been worried about us.
It turned out that the yell I had heard was Lesha falling. He said originally twenty meters, but later shrank to ten on retelling, and landed safely in bushes. They had found themselves stuck on a cliff face but had managed to descend (Lesha more quickly than Sveta!) to the river then continued along the stones for a while until they found a trail covered in horseshit that led eventually to Shavla. Myself and Lera were absolutely exhausted and I was disappointed that the day was gone and how we couldn't knock some of the forty-five kilometers off.
That night Lera found a tick on her belly. It was firmly stuck but using an oily cream and plenty of pulling and tugging we got it off at 1.30 am and put it into photofilm tin yoke so that we could get it tested back in civilisation. The next morning we discussed how we could eat launch of one tin of fish today and soup tomorrow but we could have no lunch the third day and no food at all after that should our journey take longer. The two other Russians discovered ticks on themselves. I still haven't been beaten. What a waste of vaccine!
A while later when we had the tent packed up and were set to go the hunter man and son arrived on horseback. We greeted them and asked advice about the way up Shavla. The man was appalled. He said it would take a week on foot as the trail was bad and often crossed the river were there were no bridges. He suggested we go straight north over the mountains to the road two days away. We would never have thought of this as our maps were folded to give a view of Shavla and Chibit. What’s more, the only bridge for miles was right next to us just behind a clump of trees. He led us across and over to the trail that went through a narrow mountain pass. We set out up, thanking the man profusely. We set out happily and hopefully. The trail, different to all others, started small and indistinct and got bigger and more promising. It wound up zigzagging stony and covered in horseshit. Then came our second piece of good luck. We found a patch of red currants. Ripe or almost. We threw off the rucksacks and gorged ourselves. Eating fistfuls of the beautiful berries. We collected a cup full for later.
Hours later we met traffic! A party of besaddled armed hunters wearing military costume. One called questions to me and soon realised I was foreign. He called out "Do you speak English?" The next man asked where I was from and responded to 'Irelandia' with the usual 'ah?' A while after they had passed another man rode quickly passed trying to catch up he asked if the party of Bin Laden had passed. He also told us there was a house up ahead where we could buy tea. We found the house but discovered the tea was only for the hunters. Outside the house stood our first view of civilisation for weeks - a truck at the end of a dirt road. A real road! It led all the way to the nearest town on the Chusky Trakt forty kilometers north. We ate lunch and walked up along the road to the pass. From there we could see back to all the passes and ridges of the past weeks. We could also see a car approaching! Lesha went to meet it. It contained five border control guys who promptly invited us to lunch! We went to the camp and they fed us. Soup, tea, smitana, 4 loaves of bread! Honey! Cakes! Tinned meat and ketchup! I ate and ate while the others talked. The guys seemed pretty relaxed about their work, a pile of empty vodka bottles lay under a tree. They told stories of all the nutty tourists that had passed that way, many of whom had died. They were amazed we had walked from Young-Gur. They go only by helicopter. We left after a while when the guys said they had to go back to work. I felt so full and happy!
We walked down the road towards a little group of houses shown on the map. When we arrived it was about to rain, Lesha went ahead and got the offer of a shed to sleep in, more bread! The use of a kitchen! And the use of a TV! If we wanted, and shortly after - a lift into town! It was over! That night, last night, we cooked up the last of our food and ate it all. I was so full I felt sick. Fantastic! The next day, this morning, after a very uncomfortable night in the shed with Lera complaining of sickness and cold (thus waking me up every twenty minutes) the man of the house woke us to say he would only drive us if "The Irishman gave his rope to tie up a horse". Bollox to that! It cost seven-hundred roubles[€23]. That would get all of us to Gorny-Altaisk on the bus, never mind thirty kilometers to town. I refused (I think I pissed off Lesha, who had told the man I had the rope) but the man relented. He was going to town anyway and we were anyway going to pay the petrol. So after a bumpy ride we are here! On the Chusky Trakt outside the cafe! Where we absolutely gorged ourselves. Three of everything! So good! We have missed the bus to Gorny-Altaisk so we sit in the sun waiting for a local bus or a lift somewhere maybe. Who cares! Happy!
Postscript
We got a lift a few hours later which brought us to Gorny-Altaisk that night. We stayed in a crap hotel (the only one in town) which had no shower but did have a phone. So I rang Sheila - she wasn't home - so I rang Karen and talked to her for three whole minutes. It was great. She and everyone were fine. Sheila had enjoyed her trip to Venice with Alla. Denis had been mountain biking in the Alps. Emer was in Irish College. Mamalla was fine. All was well.
Lesha and Sveta were planning to go to Televetsk Lake the next day and me and Val were planning to begin the journey home by bus to Borniool so we headed out on the town to a restaurant to toast our goodbyes. The only place we could find was shite but it was ok. We were recked anyway. The next day Sveta was ill so they didn't go. But we set off anyway at three, after I had bought an unusual present for Sheila. [Marol Blood with Penticreen] We arrived in Borniool and stayed in a great (with shower) hotel. Bliss! Next day we wandered around town, met a man named Sergey - a character and a half - who was a former mountain guide who gave up the job after all his friends were killed in an accident on Everest. And then took the sleeper to Novosibersk, arriving at five in the morning. We got an onward ticket to Moscow for later that day - so we spent about ten hours wandering about there too. The train back to Moscow was fantastic. We had bought about ten kilogrammes of sweets cheese and sausages, and having nothing else to do, we sat eating for two days. Wonderful. I felt like Homer Simpson.
Val's mum and aunt met us in the station and I'm now typing this on Val's computer. I just had breakfast, and I’m about to have lunch. Couldn't be better.
The end.
Author: mark.sugrue @ gmail.com
Take a look at: Vit's Homepage (in
Russian or
English)
Most of the Photos here, and all of the good ones!, by Lesha.
Music by Nohon.
