Into Wild Mongolia by George B. Schaller

Author:George B. Schaller [Schaller, George B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: nature, Ecosystems & Habitats, mountains, history, Asia, Central Asia, Biography & Autobiography, Environmentalists & Naturalists
ISBN: 9780300252729
Google: YrHNDwAAQBAJ
Publisher: Yale University Press
Published: 2020-02-18T00:24:35.311522+00:00

The empty shells of Russian apartment buildings and a damaged statue of Lenin in the town of Saynshand.

We leave UB and drive toward Bayan Tooroi, the Gobi Park headquarters. In the evening we pull off the road to set up camp on a meadow. The Russian team has organized everything with marvelous efficiency. Tarps are spread on the ground, and sleeping gear is placed on one, personal packs on a second, and food boxes on a third, all within easy reach from the back of one truck. Our first duty is to erect a large kitchen tent with table and chairs. Two team members have already been designated as cooks, and we are served potato soup and bread. Sitting around the table, the Russians sing, with Mikhail contributing his deep baritone. They look dreamy, and the songs are full of nostalgia about “my beloved Moscow” and “my beloved country.” Anya orders us to bed at eleven. We have already erected our personal tents. In the morning, she notes, we will clean the campsite. “There must be nothing left, not even a cigarette butt.” I appreciate such care.

Late the following afternoon we reach the Tuuya River, which flows into the shallow lake Orog Nuur. Usually the river is dry or is just a trickle. Today we face a milky-brown flood rushing along several channels. Heavy rains fell on the Gobi last year, but rains this year are the heaviest on record since 1938. Two trucks are submerged in the river up to their hoods, trying to reach the town visible on the other shore. I know one of the drivers. He tells me that they’ve been here three days, for the townspeople refused to pull them out with their tractor citing lack of diesel. I surmise that the town has ample diesel—for a price. I give the driver seven dollars, and the tractor is suddenly available for the following day.

In the morning our team lines up on the riverbank and tosses pebbles into the water to gauge its depth. Impatiently I wade in to find a suitable fording place and John Hare joins me. There is no problem except for one deep channel. We locate a good route with water only up to our waists and the river bottom quite solid. We wave the first truck on, pointing out the precise route. Whatever is in the driver’s mind, he veers sharply off course and plows into a deep hole. The water is to the top of the hood and inside the cabin. Peter, Anya, Dashzeveg, and the driver clamber onto the roof of the truck. Fortunately our other truck manages to pull the submerged one out. Several food boxes are soaked, turning the sugar, noodles, biscuits, and cereal into a soggy mess.

The road descends into the Gobi desert. The rains have transformed it from drab gray and brown into a sparkling green expanse. Nikolai the botanist is ecstatic. He points to a seedling of the shrub Reaumuria and notes that he last saw one in 1978.

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