The three-day horse trek from Kyzart to Song Kul (and back), day two.
The day breaks clear and cold, the morning so bright I need to squint to see. I wish I had had the forethought to dig my sunglasses out of my bag before stepping out into the light.
Our guides have been up for hours, saddling up the horses, preparing hot water for tea and the washbasin. They gather outside the dining yurt after they’ve completed their morning chores, washing up in preparation for breakfast.
They shine their shoes while they wait, our chef running baskets of bread and other sundries from the kitchen yurt to the dining yurt. I appreciate how each yurt serves its own purpose, like rooms in a western house, and I wonder how many yurts a family typically will have. The family in the yurt camp next door have four; I’m curious to see how they’re arranged.
During breakfast someone asks for milk for the their coffee. It takes a minute for our guides to understand what they’re asking for and someone steps out for it.
I’ve finished eating and follow them outside to enjoy the morning air and to fetch my sunglasses. Elle is also out and about; we seem to be the only two to have finished our repast.
I watch as the guide walks out into the pasture, metal pail in hand. He approaches one of the cows and squats, places the pail before him, and proceeds to milk the cow. There’ll be fresh milk coming up shortly.
Once everyone has finished eating and washed up, a guide cries “Let’s go” and we all seek out our horses. I recognize Jerda by his brown coloring and the purple pillow placed upon the saddle, giving him a few pats on his neck before climbing up onto his back.
We’re off of the dirt roads and climb our way slowly up into the mountains, surrounded by green fields, before we find a narrow horse trail.. Here and there, horses and cows graze upon the grass. It feels like we’re now truly in the wilds of the Song-Kol-Too, the inner Tien Shan ridge that forms the northern boundary of the Song Kul alpine lake plateau.
The clouds cast shifting shadows upon the mountains, unlocking a childhood memory of driving through the plains and deserts of the western United States, deep black pools dotting the landscape. Then, I didn’t realize they were shadows cast by the clouds. It didn’t seem possible that something so light and ethereal, made up of mere mist, could have the power to block out the sun.
Soon, we find ourselves approaching a steeper ascent. Before us, I can see other groups of people on horseback snaking their way up the mountain, dotted lines of riders following a switchback road.
Approaching the Jalgyz Karagai Pass, we reach patches of snow that have yet to melt. The horses wander veer towards the snow to lap up the frozen crystals and cool themselves. I indulge Jerda, letting him scoop up as much as he can until the guides push us on.
At the pass we stop to rest, our guides leading us up the western slope of the saddle. We’re rewarded with our first views of the lake, a sliver of pale blue caught between two ridges.
We’re at 3,400 meters, the highest point we’ll reach on our trek. It’s windy and cold and I’m glad to have brought more layers. I’ll need them tonight.
Many groups have stopped for the views and to rest their horses and it’s a bit crowded at the pass. I walk down to the take a photo of the sign before climbing the opposite side of the saddle to take in the views of the valley behind us and the lake before us. A guide follows me, leading a horse behind him. He calls out to a woman who’s descending. It’s time for them to go. In passing she tells me the views are fantastic before adding it’s also a great place for a wild wee.
I take a few photos, doing my best to capture a 360° panoramic of the views before descending to the pass and back up to where I’ve left my horse. By the time I reach the group it’s once time again to saddle up.
There’s a winding path down from the pass that looks to lead directly to Song Kul, but we turn to the east, following another track along the edge of the slope before turning south towards the lake.
As we draw nearer the horses sense that their day is about to end and start trotting towards our destination. I’ve watched Shannon’s form when her horse starts to speed up and try to match how she leans forward and raises her body in the stirrups. Later, I’ll tell her I’m thankful for her and her father’s presence as I feel like I’ve learned a lot just by watching them. She tells me I shouldn’t necessarily use her as a model; she admits to a few bad habits. If so, they’re now mine as well.
At our yurt camp we unload our bags and are shown to our yurts. We’ll all be sleeping in one tonight along with our guides on the floor.
After dropping off our things we all climb the small ridge against which our yurts are placed to admire the views. Ella posits a swim. I’m game and head back to the yurt to grab a change of underwear and my flip flops. I hadn’t brought a swimsuit.
At the edge of the lake I run into the three Australian women traveling with Izaac and Steve. They’ve come up with the same idea and already stripped down for the plunge. They ask if I can help film them and hand me a phone before diving in. I toss them a T-shirt I’ve brought to help wipe off the water and ask them if they can film me.
I walk into the shallows and then dive in when the water is almost waist-high. It’s cold and refreshing after riding in the sun and I can feel my body tingle slightly in the way it did after diving into the waters off the shores of Antarctica. The water’s not quite as cold as it was then, but it’s cold enough and I emerge feeling cleansed. It’s the closest I’ll get to a shower until I’m back in my apartment in Bishkek.
I dry off and start to warm up surprisingly quickly, I’m glad to have gone for the swim before lunch and I’m looking forward to the hot tea and soup that will presumably be served.
Other groups have arrived and the dining hall (a wooden structure next to the kitchen yurt) isn’t big enough to hold everyone; we have to eat in shifts. The Australian women and I end up in the second seating, lunching with the guides. A huge plate of plov is given to us and one of the Dutch riders who had eaten first tells us we’re given much larger portions. I guess it pays to hang with the guides. Or we’re being given all that’s been left.
After lunch I head back towards the lake. Most of our group sits on the beach, sunning themselves. Kimmy and Steve have gone for a swim; Anna is debating.
The lake is calm and clear, mirroring the mountains on the opposite shore and the clouds in the sky. We aimlessly throw rocks into the water. The ripples distort the reflections before the surface stills, once again perfectly mirroring the sky.
Ella asks if I’m going for a swim. I tell her I have. Twice before lunch, the second time so that I could film it to send to my mom.
A woman canters by; a guide follows her, phone in hand, filming her ride along the lake. Someone mentions she’s been working at one of a hostels and has ten years of riding experience. She definitely looks comfortable on a horse.
One of the guides comes up over the ridge with empty water jugs in hand. He fills them from the lake before slowly trudging back.
Shortly thereafter, another guide rides up on his horse. He leads his horse to water and then into it until the water is up to his horse’s chest. He lifts his feet out of the water, encouraging his horse on until it’s swimming before they head back to shore.
Not to be outdone, another guide rides into the lake. Stripped to his underwear he enjoys the cold bite of the lake as his horse also reaches to the deeper waters where they can swim.
A group of Germans have arrived and form a group beside ours. They strip down and jump in the lake and the second guide offers to take women out on the back of his horse. A few take him up on the offer and we encourage Anna to follow suit. She’d been considering going for a swim, and this ends up being the closest she gets., though on the horse she heads out further into the lake than any of us. Hoppá!
After the guides head back to camp and the Germans to their yurt Ella decides she’s going to go for a run. She’s brought her running shoes intending to do so and the time feels right. There’s weather on the far shore and I hope that the rains keep to the south.
I decide to go for a walk along the lake to see what lies beyond the next ridge to the east. Kimmy has disappeared and I find him sitting on the ridge I’m looking to cross. I climb up to chat with him.
He had had the same idea. From our vantage point, we can see the shore curving inland and then out again, the water stretching out to the mountains in the distance. It’s a much bigger lake than I had imagined, measuring 29 kilometers at its longest and 18 kilometers at its widest. At 270 square kilometers it’s the second largest lake in Kyrgyzstan and the largest freshwater lake. Kimmy asks how long I think it would take to walk to the far shore. I have no answer.
He had thought to continue walking but instead is thinking of turning back and walking the same distance to the west to see what lies in that direction. In the distance I can see Ella stop on a beach and turn to run back to where we are. As she passes I shout out encouragements as if she’s in the last few kilometers of a marathon. At this altitude, it might feel like it.
I decide to continue walking. Where to? Kimmy asks. I don’t know.
But I kind of do. There’s a stone structure on the plains and I’d love to get a closer look. I turn back to check the clouds and the rain on the far side of the lake, wishing I had brought my waterproof windbreaker just in case the weather turns, but set off believing the rains will keep to the south.
I manage to get a fair bit of the way to the structure before encountering a bog. The ground quickly becomes wet and muddy and I don’t want to take the time to walk back towards the shore to go around it, uncertain even then what it might look like to cross. And so I turn to walk back towards our camp, happy to have put in some steps for the day.
I pass cows grazing, calves suckling their mother’s teats. At one point I get too close and the mother turns, the calf reattaching itself from the other side.
Looking up at the hills I see a group of people climbing to a vantage point overlooking the lake. They’re from Denmark, another group that has arrived in our camp. I start to wonder how many people our camp can hold. I had thought we were full when we arrived and yet groups seem to keep appearing, space keeps being made.
Back at the camp I ask where I might be able to find some hot water. A vague guesture leads me into the kitchen and I have a look around to see where and how our meals are prepared.
In our yurt beds are being made. I was uncertain exactly how we were to sleep, but we’re each given a pallet and a blanket. Quilts are folded over to create makeshift pillows.
Outside one of the Dutch men is looking to set up a futbol match. Sides are chosen, hats on one side, uncovered heads on the other, and a pitch is demarkated, though the ground to one side is highly uneven, causing most players to tread cautiously when the ball sails into that territory.
I take a seat on the sidelines next to Ella and Anna and watch the show, occasionally finding ourselves in the middle of the action when the ball rolls behind us, but is considered to still be in play.
Kimmy scores two goals, the first backfooted. Izaac had predicted Kimmy would be good at futbol and he’s proven right. Kimmy loves the sport and jumped at the chance to play.
As the game progresses, the players slowly drift off, winded or concerned about the conditions of the pitch. One of the Dutch players tells us he purposely avoided playing in the rougher patches of ground for fear of turning his ankle.
I take a walk to the shore headed west. Finding a spot on the rocky beach I sit and listen to the waves, They come fast and small, breaking quickly against the shore. I watch as a wave places smaller pebbles upon a flat rock before me, to be knocked off by subsequent waves. The pattern repeats successively as if the lake is playing a game with the shore.
I walk back to the camp and sit on the ridge overlooking the lake next to Kimmy. The sun is starting to set and the clouds go from white to golden. We’re watching the scenery and he wonders if the sunset today will be as good as it was yesterday.
He’s in a contemplative mood and he tells me that in Korea we would never be friends due to our age gap. I had told him how old I was earlier. We were walking and he stopped dead in his tracks when he heard.
He’s on the second month of a six month trip and it’s interesting to watch him interacting with people following non-traditional paths through life. Later, he’ll ask me if I have any regrets over not being married, not having kids. Nope. None. I wonder what he’ll think when he comes to the end of his trip, what decisions and beliefs will hold fast and what will have been challenged and changed.
He hadn’t originally intended to do this trek. He was going to come to the lake and maybe hire a horse for a day. He had met Anna and Ella on the bus from Almaty to Bishkek, bonding when their connecting bus left without them. They found their way to the capital and after telling him about the trek ended up booking it so he could join them.
He hadn’t realized how long we’d be on a horse and for how many days. It’s unclear whether he would have booked it had he known exactly what the trip entails.
I see Ella and ask if she knows when dinner is. It’s now she tells us. She’s just finished dinner and they’re setting up for the second seating. I ask if I can have dinner outside so as not to watch the sunset, but instead decide to eat in the canteen, wolfing my food down so as not to miss it.
A group from the Singapore has arrived, kicking Izaac and Steve out of their yurt. It’s the second time they’ve had to move; the first time was when the Germans arrived. I ask them where in Singapore they’re from and they look at me as if I don’t know that it’s an island nation of 744 square kilometers. What neighborhood? I clarify, curious to learn more about the country.
I don’t linger to chat. Looking out the door I can see that the colors are rapidly changing in the sky. I finish my tea and excuse myself and park myself once again on the ridge beside Izaac to watch the skies deepen and the clouds turn.
It’s too cold to stay out even with an additional layer on and I retire back to our yurt. The guides have lit the furnace with cow dung and it’s relatively warm. I also choose to sleep with my jacket on. Izaac and Steve join us and Izaac proceeds to tell us stories about his failed love life, his affinity for gingers.
He has one story he tells us is a two-hour epic but he gives us the highlights. We question some of the motivations and he tells us that he now realizes he’s the villain of the story after having originally considered it the greatest love story of all time. Steve tells us he had cautioned him against the relationship at every turn.
Around 23h Izaac heads back outside to shoot some night photography. I step out to have a look. The skies are clear and I stay out for a short period of time to look up at the stars. Izaac calls out a shooting star but Steve and I are looking in the opposite direction. I’m searching for the Big Dipper.
Later he’ll show me the results of his efforts and I low key wish I had stayed out a little longer to shoot a few frames. But in the moment I’m happy to be warm in the yurt. One by one the guides retire, putting one last piece of cow dung in the furnace before heading to bed. I can hear them chatting at the head of my pallet, their voices intertwining in a language I can’t comprehend but that has been heard on these steppes for centuries. 🇰🇬
