Day #1
Late yesterday evening, my friends Ekaterina and Sergey dropped me off at Novosibirsk Central Bus Station. We bid each other goodbye and agreed to meet after 5-6 days. I was just about to catch a bus to the Altai Republic, destined to carry out one of my most epic solitary trekking expeditions ever in the great Altai Mountains.
The Altai Mountain Range is situated in the very center of Asia, where Russia, China, Mongolia, and Kazakstan converge. It is the most distant from the sea place on earth, with an almost equal distance of 3,000 km separating it from the Indian, the Pacific, the Arctic, and the Caspian coasts.
The nomadic Altai people who inhabit the area take their name from these mountains, which name, in Turkic-Mongolic languages, means the Golden Mountains. The range is known for its wild beauty: the countless, ever-white, lofty peaks; the remote blue lakes lying secluded in the range’s high plateaus; the impetuous rivers streaming maniacally down its gorges; the vast deep forests and the green meadows… all of which are rarely witnessed by a human eye. The Altai Mountains are also home to a great diversity of peculiar flora and fauna. Large predators are represented by golden eagles, wolves, lynxes, snow leopards, and brown bears.
It was a long ride through the dark night. When, at dawn, I opened my eyes after a long, heavy, uncomfortable sleep, I was exhilarated to see an all-blue sky topping the endless green steppes of southern Siberia. Finally! On my 17th day in Russia, this was the first immaculately sunny day I got to enjoy. And I was done the favor on exactly the right day! When I would have wished for it the most!
And it wasn’t only sunny, but quite hot, too, I found out as I got off the bus, at around 6 am, in the bus station of Gorno-Altaisk city, and felt no urgency to put on a footer. A mini-bus soon appeared and stopped by the vacant platform. That was the vehicle that would carry me to Chibit village. On I hopped together with a mixed bunch of Russian and Mongol-kind of other passengers. That was another long ride, though not as long as I expected it to be. The road was much better than I imagined. So, by 1 am, I was dropped off on the main road by Chibit village. I shouldered my backpack, thanked my co-passengers for wishing me good luck – after I had them aware of my crazy intentions – and started striding down to the village.
The mountains, which first appeared shortly after Gorno-Altaisk and were becoming steadily higher as we proceeded deeper into the range, were now gigantic. The first snow-clad peak was already visible to the north of the village.
Amidst all those proud peaks, in the narrow green valley of Chibitka River, there lied the tiny village of Chibit. It was the exact kind of place the biblical prophets must have imagined when they talked about a paradise. Reciprocating with salutations the bewildered glances of the villagers throughout the way, I got onto the path moving southwards through the gorge of Chuya River. Being constantly attended by the horses on the sides of the path and the eagles above it, I advanced and left the village behind. The beauty my eyes were seeing was beyond description, utterly fantastic. I found it very peculiar that the right-bank slope was covered by densely apportioned tall trees, while the left one only by grass and nothing woody whatsoever.
Originally, as I’d made it there so early, I was intent on doing all the about 15 km until the confluence of Chuya and Maashey Rivers and spend the night there. However, my back, having spent 15 hours on the bus and carrying some 30 kg of provisions, wasn’t perfectly happy about it. Even worse, I soon ran out of water; the path was way up from the river and there weren’t any brooks there. The heat playing also a significant role in persuading me, I decided to head down to the riverbank and stop for the day way earlier than I originally intended.
I made my first try at the confluence with Oroy River. A bridge stands there which would allow me to seek some shade on the opposite bank. But shortly before the bridge, I encountered a sign prohibiting access – I’m not sure why. I thought about crossing anyway, but as I cannot totally trust that the Russian authorities wouldn’t throw me in the slammer for mere trespassing, I decided to rather not.
Instead, I came to a nice spot I found on the east bank. It lacks shade altogether. So, during the daytime, it wasn’t as pleasant as it could get. By now, though, the sun has long set behind the mountain ridge; a thin, melancholic crescent has taken its position on the sky; and a cool breeze blows through the gorge. I have plentily relaxed and eaten. And now I’m lying inside the tent, writing this and listening to the melodic roaring of the river beneath. I’m ready to surrender to a long, balmy sleep; hoping that no bear will interrupt it.
Day #2
It’s been quite a long and tiresome day. 5 pm now, I’m settled for the day at a beautiful, cozy spot in the gorge of Maashey River. A little, crystal-clear streamlet is running mellifluously nearby. I’m encircled by tall, pin-straight conifers, and grave, snow-capped peaks are visible between their foliages in the not-so-great distance. The sky is somber and there are good chances it might start raining at any moment now. As somber was it, too, when I woke up at 7 am this morning.
I had a good breakfast, packed everything up quickly, and started on the day’s journey. On the previous day, I didn’t encounter a single human soul after I left Chibit behind me. Today it was different. While slowly munching the distance to the bridge, I first crossed ways with two old fellows driving motorbikes. Then, while having a rest under a cedar tree amidst a broad meadow, a cyclist passed by, heading towards the same direction as me. As I got back on the way, I heard the noise of a vehicle approaching me from behind. Another motorbike, I thought, and moved to the side. After all, it was a truck whose driver offered to give me a ride.
He was driving two other trekkers to the bridge. They were a father and son group from the Urals, and they were to head to someplace in the same direction as me. They two, as well as the local driver, were quite surprised to meet up there someone from a so distant place as I. I, in my turn, was quite surprised that the Mongol driver immediately guessed my country of origin from the ‘os’ ending of my name; a thing that many Russians and Europeans cannot do.
After a little chat, we’d covered the few remaining kilometers of the road, and we were dropped off before the bridge. The driver requested me to pay ₽100 for bridge tolls. I heard an interesting story: Some years back, a landslide caused an entire lake up the mountains to spill out, and the resulting torrent washed away another bridge which previously stood there. The villagers, after the state had let them down, took the initiative to construct a new bridge by themselves. Hence they collect tolls for its maintenance.
So I crossed this bridge with the interesting story. I did not check the map right away, and soon, upon reaching a dead-end before the riverbank, I realized I’d taken the wrong trail. The guys from the Urals did the same mistake, I found out when they showed up from behind me. They turned back right away. I, instead, decided to give it a go to try to climb the steep cliff above the spot, on whose top the right track was situated. I made it almost all the way to the top, and I could easily have finished it… But then, as I was balancing in the middle of a slippery and unsound, vertical part of the cliff, just before I cross that limit which would render an eventual fall doubtlessly fatal, I decided to act prudently: descend and go around.
I took the right trail and headed southwest along with the gorge of Maashey River. Geodezicheskaya Mountain soon became visible at the end of the gorge, in all its grandeur, dressed in its massive glaciers. It was a very pleasant hike passing successively through deep conifer forest and green meadows full of colorful flowers. After I overtook the guys from the Urals at the beginning of the trail, I was left again alone in the wilderness. There was only one more encounter I ran into: Two Mongolic men rode towards me on horseback. They stopped before me and inquired whether I’d seen a stray horse whence I came from – which they apparently were in the business of finding – thus refuting the animal’s venture for freedom. I answered them in the negative. They thanked and turned back whence they’d come.
The weather had been fair so far: warm, mostly cloudy with brief spells of sunshine, but most importantly dry. The forecast had predicted rain for the afternoon, though, and I was waiting for it. Sure it came. A few drops started falling, and it grew steadily stronger to become a full-fledged shower. I covered myself up and kept walking, dreaming about a kiosk with a brook streaming by its side in the meanwhile. The odds were not on my side, but sure enough, my dream came true. I spotted a nice little shack with a roofed porch. The brook was running through some snow leftovers, no more than 10 meters away.
I made myself a good lunch and a cup of tea, and stayed there waiting for the rain to taper off. I soon got the company of a cattle herd grazing nearby. Apparently, they took notice of me and scurried to the shack to see what’s going on. Quite an amusing company they made. But I cannot say the same about whom they brought along with them. Before I knew it, I was surrounded by a cloud-like swarm of gigantic mosquitos. Bastards! They kept buzzing around my head non-stop right at the time I was having my lunch. They also kept trying – indeed successfully a number of times – to feed on my legs through the trousers (and they weren’t any thin). I was quick to spray myself with ample loads of repellent and burn a couple of coils. The greatest bulk of them was driven away. But alas! they were still many. The Siberian mosquitos are not an easy foe to cope with.
The rain stopped and even some meager sunrays reached the ground through the thin layer of clouds. I got back on the trail. About an hour later, I made it to this little spot where I decided to camp and I am now writing. It’s about time to make a fire and prepare my dinner. I have a long way tomorrow.
Day #3
Today it’s been a long, fatiguing, and lonely day. I didn’t see any human, and apart from some campfire sites and cairns, no sign of human activity either; no shacks, no domesticated animals. What a profound rapture to be utterly alone in such a remote and wild place: a place outright forgotten by the 21st century. It is under such conditions one manages to forget about being a human, or any other sort of individual entity, and becomes closely aligned with the cosmic flow.
I had set the alarm to ring at 6 am. But my sleeping bag was so cozy that I couldn’t resist snoozing for a while. I got up at 8 am, after all. The weather was plainly ideal, and was to remain so for all the rest of the day: not cold, not hot; mostly sunny, but with some brief, soothing cloudy intervals. I had my breakfast, and by 9 am I was moving again along the trail, deeper into the Altai Range.
The trail was a hard one. It had everything: uphill and downhill; pushing through the thorny bush; clambering over or crawling under huge fallen trunks; narrow, infirm passages by the side of vertical cliffs; steep, erratic screes; stream-crossings by either sketchy trunk bridges or stone-hopping; and a lot of scrambling.
Above all, however, it had beauty: epic, wild beauty. The views of the enormous snow-clad peaks over the rushing Mazhoy River made me scream with excitement. Equally excited was I every time I chanced to see some squirrel, hare, ibex, or some other little mammal or curious bird.
By about 4 pm, I made it to this amazing little spot where I am writing right now. Originally, I was intent on continuing all the way up and heading straight down tomorrow morning. As I sat on the ground and leaned my back against a cedar trunk, however, it didn’t take long before I changed my mind. The ground is flat, dry, and soft. There is a campfire site with lots of firewood piled beside it. A clear brooklet streams 3 meters away. The view is astounding and the serenity profound. The mosquitos are only a few. It is a perfect camping spot.
I was tired. I took my shoes off, and then the socks which were so glued to my feet that I almost removed the skin together with them. I’m settled for the day. The new plan is to get up early tomorrow, leave most of my stuff here, and, without carrying much weight, go up to as far as I can reach without ice-climbing gear. Then head straight back.
Day #4
Yet another long fatiguing, and lonely day. I got up at dawn. It was so chilly inside the tent that I needed to wear an extra footer as I came out from the sleeping bag. A squirrel was busy taking care of the carrot shavings I left on the previous evening. She ran away in terror upon me unzipping the tent. With nimble movements, so to warm myself up, I packed a few things I needed in the backpack, left the tent as it was with all else inside it, and started on my way uphills.
The matinal views of the peaks getting gradually illuminated from top to bottom were breathtaking. I finally reached that amazingly beautiful turquoise lake right at the foot of Maashey Bashi: the kind of place which the average person before the advent of photography would fail to believe it really exists on this earth if seeing it in a drawing. I continued a little further up and I decided that ‘that’s it’. I would have liked to continue for a little longer until the base of the glacier, but I had a long way back and the day was progressing.
Back at the tent, I had my breakfast, packed, and started on my return. I didn’t see anybody for the entire day. If no one else, I was pretty sure I will at least meet the Ural chaps coming up at some point, but, surprisingly, I didn’t. I wonder what may have become of them. Even though I wasn’t there to rock and roll (sorry about that – it’s been an earworm during all these days), it was a long way to the top. The way back was equally long. Though, due to my load being lighter, as well as because this time I knew the route better, I did it much faster than I expected.
By 6 pm already, I’d made it down to the bridge over the Chuya River. This amazing trip to the Altai Mountains is almost over. I have about 6 km to cover tomorrow until the road, where I hope I’ll have some good luck with hitching a ride.
Now it is 20:15. My tent is pitched and my bonfire burning. A herd of buxom horses is strolling back and forth in front of my campsite. I am enjoying a beautiful sunset together with the due relaxation. It’s been four exhausting, yet exhilarating and reanimating days. Several of my muscles are hurting a bit. I got a couple of blisters on my feet. I’m scratched and stung and bitten all over by thorns, mosquitos, horseflies, and who knows what else. I’m as dirty as a pig, and the only reason I don’t notice how much I stink is that I’ve grown used to it. People often ask me what’s the point of putting myself through such exertion. I don’t know really. Perhaps it is something about the genes of my paleolithic ancestors which still constitute me; and their memories, desires, and emotions screaming for expression out of my unconscious brain and reigning over my reality. It is that pure, primitive kind of happiness that socks my mind.
Enough walking for today; enough writing, too. Just like my mind craves satiation with happiness, my stomach, too, craves satiation with a good fat load of food. Tonight’s menu consists of the only edible thing I have left: rice with onion and a pork can.
Day #5
This last day of my Altai Mountains trip should have been a short one. Although it finally turned out rather long. it started early. It must have been around 3 am, during the peak of my sleep’s deepest phase, when a consonance of heavily falling raindrops on my tent’s fabric lifted me to consciousness. It took a minute or two for the initial, half-awake, lullaby-effecting impression to give way for a fully awaken realization of the situation.
The prospect of a night rain had seemed too unlikely on the previous evening. I wasn’t prepared for it. Now, in the middle of the night, I was out collecting my scattered-here-and-there stuff. My shoes had already absorbed as much water as they could have. I put everything inside the tent which I covered with an extra piece of tarp I had with me. I slipped back into the tent and inside the sleeping bag.
But the rain was getting stronger. I soon started to feel the moisture accumulating inside the tent. I then vaguely remembered having seen a shed somewhere near the bridge. I moved out once again in my raincoat and started looking for it in the darkness. I was just about to give up and turn back, disappointed, before I also lose my tent, when the shed suddenly appeared at the verge of my torch’s range. I first moved all my stuff, in two go’s, and then my tent, without dismantling it, in a third go. I put on a dry change of clothes and reassumed my sleep.
A bath in the river and breakfast on the sun-stricken grass: that’s what I fancied about this morning on the previous evening. The rain was still falling on, though, for good, when I got up. I had a fast breakfast under the shed, packed everything, and started on my wet way back. Instead of taking the same path back to Chibit, this time I decided to take the trail to the northeast, which would lead me to the road: to a point about 10 km outside of Aktash village. This was a much shorter approach; though harder. Anyhow, a couple of hours later, the sun finally shone over that wide, green meadow, off the purview of which I could finally see the road and some sparse traffic running through it. Shortly before the road, I made the necessary stop to put something dry and clean on me. Then, early sunny afternoon, I was standing by the asphalt side, arm extended and thumb raised, in pending of my fortune…
In the middle of the dark and chilly night, I was dropped off at a still noisy motorway on the outskirts of Novosibirsk. My Altai adventure was officially belonging to history.
So did this solitary adventure on one of the world’s remotest mountain ranges go by. If you’re looking into doing a similar trip but in a more organized manner, you should definitely check out these tours to Altai Mountains.
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