Wawa
New member
Two months in; Dirty, skinny, battered and bruised. Updates coming soon.
View attachment 31986
View attachment 31986
Featured Mongolia Rainbow Horse Caravan
- Thread starter Wawa
- Start date
Wawa
New member
Early on the morning of May 26th, we shoved our mighty pile of gear outside, lured in a pair of taxis, and loaded up in the icy cold before the sun rose.
View attachment 32010
Coffee and go.
The bus station was chaos. Umi was immidiately pickpocketed. He kept the money and returned the wallet before melting into the crowd. With an armfull of wallets and passports, I guarded our gear pile while others unloaded taxis and found our bus.
View attachment 32009
Learning about the shitty logistics of having too much stuff but needing all of it.
The Arkhaveer bus was stuffed, but the driver packed and repacked, stuffed the aisles with tires, cases of soda and suitcases. I was on edge, worried we'd be split up, left behind at the station with an immobile pile and no where to take it. When we finally all got on, the disgruntled driver demanded an extra 5000MNT(about 2.50USD) and I was stoked to pay up and go.
The bus trundled along the pitted, desolate highways of central Mongolia for eight hours, disgorging people and supplies at clusters of Gers along the way. We cut through a corner of Gobi desert, where two-humped, long haired camels crouched alongside the pavement, then north again into Arkhaveer.
View attachment 32011
View attachment 32012
Beer run in Arkhaveer.
Tamir and Tamor, our contacts in the area, came to pick us up. We met up with Indre and Ishtar at Tamor's house in town, where a big pickup truck waited to take us on the two hour cross country drive to the family we'd buy horses from. We made a quick trip to the street market to buy snacks, beer, and vodka, settled into the truck, and were off.
View attachment 32013
Finally a vehicle with enough space!
It was warm, dry, sunny. We broke out the town goodies, took a lot of pictures of eachother, all pointed and admired the huge longhaired yaks, the dogs running alongside the truck, the many-colored horse herds, eagles, giant bald-headed lammergeiers.
View attachment 32017
View attachment 32018
View attachment 32019 The whole ride was one long awesome photoshoot.
We came to our destination late in the afternoon, and met Buch, looking like a cold-eyed smiling horselord. He had us checking out horses before we even got the tent up - most of this first bunch we ended up keeping. Mandalin, Indre, and Alan's riding horses, plus two of our packhorses came from day one.
View attachment 32020
Buch, lounging.
Buch gave instructions and Tamir translated: The horses need water at dawn and dusk. We need to get our own halters on them and stake them in the better grass over the hill. Since they live here, they'll run off in a pinch and need to be hobbled. We got the horses settled, and set up our camp.
View attachment 32021
Our home on the steppe.
View attachment 32010
Coffee and go.
The bus station was chaos. Umi was immidiately pickpocketed. He kept the money and returned the wallet before melting into the crowd. With an armfull of wallets and passports, I guarded our gear pile while others unloaded taxis and found our bus.
View attachment 32009
Learning about the shitty logistics of having too much stuff but needing all of it.
The Arkhaveer bus was stuffed, but the driver packed and repacked, stuffed the aisles with tires, cases of soda and suitcases. I was on edge, worried we'd be split up, left behind at the station with an immobile pile and no where to take it. When we finally all got on, the disgruntled driver demanded an extra 5000MNT(about 2.50USD) and I was stoked to pay up and go.
The bus trundled along the pitted, desolate highways of central Mongolia for eight hours, disgorging people and supplies at clusters of Gers along the way. We cut through a corner of Gobi desert, where two-humped, long haired camels crouched alongside the pavement, then north again into Arkhaveer.
View attachment 32011
View attachment 32012
Beer run in Arkhaveer.
Tamir and Tamor, our contacts in the area, came to pick us up. We met up with Indre and Ishtar at Tamor's house in town, where a big pickup truck waited to take us on the two hour cross country drive to the family we'd buy horses from. We made a quick trip to the street market to buy snacks, beer, and vodka, settled into the truck, and were off.
View attachment 32013
Finally a vehicle with enough space!
It was warm, dry, sunny. We broke out the town goodies, took a lot of pictures of eachother, all pointed and admired the huge longhaired yaks, the dogs running alongside the truck, the many-colored horse herds, eagles, giant bald-headed lammergeiers.
View attachment 32017
View attachment 32018
View attachment 32019 The whole ride was one long awesome photoshoot.
We came to our destination late in the afternoon, and met Buch, looking like a cold-eyed smiling horselord. He had us checking out horses before we even got the tent up - most of this first bunch we ended up keeping. Mandalin, Indre, and Alan's riding horses, plus two of our packhorses came from day one.
View attachment 32020
Buch, lounging.
Buch gave instructions and Tamir translated: The horses need water at dawn and dusk. We need to get our own halters on them and stake them in the better grass over the hill. Since they live here, they'll run off in a pinch and need to be hobbled. We got the horses settled, and set up our camp.
View attachment 32021
Our home on the steppe.
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Last edited:
Wawa
New member
Our life in Buch-Land....
View attachment 32022 Dragging horses to water...
View attachment 32023 Where the hell is the water again?
View attachment 32024
Moving horses from this grass to that grass...
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Coaxing saddles onto horses.
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Sewing.
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Sewing....
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SEWING.
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View attachment 32026Here's the daily goat invasion.
View attachment 32025
Cooking in the dark...
View attachment 32022 Dragging horses to water...
View attachment 32023 Where the hell is the water again?
View attachment 32024
Moving horses from this grass to that grass...
View attachment 32028
Coaxing saddles onto horses.
View attachment 32029
Sewing.
View attachment 32030
Sewing....
View attachment 32031
SEWING.
View attachment 32027
View attachment 32026Here's the daily goat invasion.
View attachment 32025
Cooking in the dark...
Attachments
Wawa
New member
We spent ten days at Buch's. Three days in I got my horse and wrecked my shoulder - I wrote about that in this other thread: https://squattheplanet.com/threads/polvo-the-mongolian-horse.28395/#post-207149.
Not quite seed camp....
The last seven days were the hardest of the trip for me. After my fall, I was locked up and swollen from my jaw to elbow. I probably cracked some ribs. When I got back to the tent, my ears were plugged with dirt from hitting the ground so hard and rolling. For two days I couldn't raise my arm, and it took two weeks to be able to hold it over my head.
View attachment 32047
Our camp, next door to Buch's family.
Every moment of the day there was work to be done. I got irritated at being told to "just rest", there was too much to do and no one to do it for me. The horses needed watering, we needed to haul in water for ourselves, gather dung, cook food, fix-adjust-modify gear, make plans, start training horses, catch runaways, administer parasite meds, fix broken hobbles. There was always always sewing to be done.
View attachment 32048
Tinkering with saddles.
All around me, the others were getting used to their animals. People with no riding experiance were getting it. They'd ride off to the river, swim and explore caves. They'd visit nomadic families and come back with milk, yoghurt and stories. Ishtar, Indre and Doudou would run their fast horses over the rolling hills; Alan, John and Marshall all fell off the same wild little pony but got up ready for another go.
View attachment 32049
One of Buch's gers, with solar panels and a yak stomach of yoghurt.
When I wasn't struggling with simple tasks, I took the form of a bitter, complaining lump by the door of the tent. I couldn't saddle my horse alone. I could just barely pull out his stake and move him, pounding it back in took fifteen minutes one morning. I cried more, in vulnerability and frustration, than in any period of my life.
Tension rose in the camp. Tamir was still with us, as a friend and translator, but the man is an alcoholic and whenever he had cash, he'd go to Zuunbayan-Ulaan and come back trashed. Sometimes other area men would join in. They'd manhandle our horses, go through our gear looking for more vodka, harass Doudou for being chinese. Umi, Mandalin and I began to avoid these scenes by keeping to the tent in the evenings, earning us a reputation as "never up for fun clique".
Before we even had all our horses, Buch started to want us gone. He expected more skill and competence from us, and was worried we'd shame him by getting killed or maimed while under his protection - plus he wasnt getting much work done, chasing our runaways and arranging sales every day. He put word out in town, and horses started coming in fast, some from 50km away, sweaty and panting after being towed by motorbike. He offered to jeep our gear to a likely spot in the Orkhan valley, were we could stay until we had the packhorses under control.
Not quite seed camp....
The last seven days were the hardest of the trip for me. After my fall, I was locked up and swollen from my jaw to elbow. I probably cracked some ribs. When I got back to the tent, my ears were plugged with dirt from hitting the ground so hard and rolling. For two days I couldn't raise my arm, and it took two weeks to be able to hold it over my head.
View attachment 32047
Our camp, next door to Buch's family.
Every moment of the day there was work to be done. I got irritated at being told to "just rest", there was too much to do and no one to do it for me. The horses needed watering, we needed to haul in water for ourselves, gather dung, cook food, fix-adjust-modify gear, make plans, start training horses, catch runaways, administer parasite meds, fix broken hobbles. There was always always sewing to be done.
View attachment 32048
Tinkering with saddles.
All around me, the others were getting used to their animals. People with no riding experiance were getting it. They'd ride off to the river, swim and explore caves. They'd visit nomadic families and come back with milk, yoghurt and stories. Ishtar, Indre and Doudou would run their fast horses over the rolling hills; Alan, John and Marshall all fell off the same wild little pony but got up ready for another go.
View attachment 32049
One of Buch's gers, with solar panels and a yak stomach of yoghurt.
When I wasn't struggling with simple tasks, I took the form of a bitter, complaining lump by the door of the tent. I couldn't saddle my horse alone. I could just barely pull out his stake and move him, pounding it back in took fifteen minutes one morning. I cried more, in vulnerability and frustration, than in any period of my life.
Tension rose in the camp. Tamir was still with us, as a friend and translator, but the man is an alcoholic and whenever he had cash, he'd go to Zuunbayan-Ulaan and come back trashed. Sometimes other area men would join in. They'd manhandle our horses, go through our gear looking for more vodka, harass Doudou for being chinese. Umi, Mandalin and I began to avoid these scenes by keeping to the tent in the evenings, earning us a reputation as "never up for fun clique".
Before we even had all our horses, Buch started to want us gone. He expected more skill and competence from us, and was worried we'd shame him by getting killed or maimed while under his protection - plus he wasnt getting much work done, chasing our runaways and arranging sales every day. He put word out in town, and horses started coming in fast, some from 50km away, sweaty and panting after being towed by motorbike. He offered to jeep our gear to a likely spot in the Orkhan valley, were we could stay until we had the packhorses under control.
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Wawa
New member
We become a caravan....
With no packhorses.
Mongolian feelings on the concept of time run something like "It'll happen when it needs to, but be ready now", so we prepared to leave in the morning, but actually left at 3pm. I rode the jeep with Buch, loaded with our gear and a freshly slaughtered goat.
Pretty much right away, the jeep broke down. Buch got under it, hit and moved and hammered on some things, and drove it back home for more work. I sat on my thumbs in the shade with the dogs, watching his sister and little brother milk goats until he fired the thing up again to go find the others.
View attachment 32050
Looks legit.
We caught up with Doudou and Saya, fallen behind the group. Saya's hadn't finished resizing her saddle girths before we left, and Doudou's horse was afraid of his saddlebags. We watched a Mongolian lady lead his horse back to him on a motorbike. Saya joined me in the jeep, Doudou unloaded his bags and galloped off to catch up.
We pulled ahead of the caravan, and sat in the shade of the jeep eating dried curd until they arrived. Umi was in bad shape, redfaced, sick and dizzy with the heat. The only thing for it was for me to switch with her. I was pretty much terrified that I'd wreck my shoulder worse, but I insisted on it anyway.
Riding that day turned out to be a great idea. I don't much get along with Umi's horse or fit well in her saddle, but the few hours until we stopped for the night gave me back some confidence.
We spent the night in a beautiful, flowery nook between forested mountains and a rocky stream. Buch and Tamir brought out the pot of goat organs and blood-stuffed intestines. They charred the head and scraped it clean. They boiled a pot of water, and we shared liver, lungs and blood sausage soaked in green tea. Buch picked out the asshole end of the sausage and ate it with relish, hairy butthole and all.
View attachment 32051
View attachment 32053
When the Mongolians let the fire die down to coals, John did an amazing job of slow roasting a leg. Most all us meat eaters, stuffed, went to sleep.
I stayed up until 3am. Away from the relative safety of Buch's, we decided to start keeping watch in two shifts overnight, to protect the herd from wolves, thieves, mean wild horses and getting tangled up in their ropes. So, I stared at the fire and listened to munching horses for a few hours, then woke up Ishtar and passed out.
With no packhorses.
Mongolian feelings on the concept of time run something like "It'll happen when it needs to, but be ready now", so we prepared to leave in the morning, but actually left at 3pm. I rode the jeep with Buch, loaded with our gear and a freshly slaughtered goat.
Pretty much right away, the jeep broke down. Buch got under it, hit and moved and hammered on some things, and drove it back home for more work. I sat on my thumbs in the shade with the dogs, watching his sister and little brother milk goats until he fired the thing up again to go find the others.
View attachment 32050
Looks legit.
We caught up with Doudou and Saya, fallen behind the group. Saya's hadn't finished resizing her saddle girths before we left, and Doudou's horse was afraid of his saddlebags. We watched a Mongolian lady lead his horse back to him on a motorbike. Saya joined me in the jeep, Doudou unloaded his bags and galloped off to catch up.
We pulled ahead of the caravan, and sat in the shade of the jeep eating dried curd until they arrived. Umi was in bad shape, redfaced, sick and dizzy with the heat. The only thing for it was for me to switch with her. I was pretty much terrified that I'd wreck my shoulder worse, but I insisted on it anyway.
Riding that day turned out to be a great idea. I don't much get along with Umi's horse or fit well in her saddle, but the few hours until we stopped for the night gave me back some confidence.
We spent the night in a beautiful, flowery nook between forested mountains and a rocky stream. Buch and Tamir brought out the pot of goat organs and blood-stuffed intestines. They charred the head and scraped it clean. They boiled a pot of water, and we shared liver, lungs and blood sausage soaked in green tea. Buch picked out the asshole end of the sausage and ate it with relish, hairy butthole and all.
View attachment 32051
View attachment 32053
When the Mongolians let the fire die down to coals, John did an amazing job of slow roasting a leg. Most all us meat eaters, stuffed, went to sleep.
I stayed up until 3am. Away from the relative safety of Buch's, we decided to start keeping watch in two shifts overnight, to protect the herd from wolves, thieves, mean wild horses and getting tangled up in their ropes. So, I stared at the fire and listened to munching horses for a few hours, then woke up Ishtar and passed out.
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Last edited:
Hillbilly Castro
New member
Jesus this is incredible. @Matt Derrick this should be best of
Wawa
New member
After one hellishly long day, a heat-stroke hospitalization, and a night mostly spent lost and separated from our gear, we settled into a nice patch of forest about 10km from the colorful little town of Bat-Ulgii. Buch and Tamir stuck around for one last night of drunken debauchery, then left us to our own devices.
View attachment 32857
We hung around for nearly three weeks.
I can't exactly explain why it took three weeks. Stuff happened. People left and came back and left again. Forest service guys bothered us. Horses ran away. Gear broke. Umi became allergic to the sun. No one went hungry, at least; as a group, we're pretty good at eating.
View attachment 32858
Playing music,
View attachment 32859
Picking nettles,
View attachment 32860
Eating goats.
About two weeks in, we started to pull our shit together. Ishtar, Alan, and Indre had left to go explore for a few days(it ended up being eight), and took the wild little pony, Gota, that everyone had been falling off of, to train as a packhorse. That left the rest of us at the camp with Buckwheat; camel-faced, kickhappy, lazy as fuck. Fortunately, he treated being loaded up with packbags something like getting a special message. Unfortunately, he'd sometimes lay down during the procedure and refuse to get back up.
View attachment 32861
Introducing Buckwheat....
View attachment 32862
Buckwheat is training to be our indispensable packhorse.
View attachment 32864
But, there is some skepticism from the peanut gallery.
View attachment 32863
Buckwheat crumples under the pressure.
Our other potential packhorse, Kasha, had panicked on the first attempt, broke his rope, ripped open the packbag, ran 30km away and lost our packsaddle. No one wanted him.
As we prepared to go mobile, Umi's sunsickness worsened until she was pretty much in a state of constant miserable nausea and weakness. She decided to leave, and Buch and Tamir came out to buy back her horse, drive her to UB, fend off the troublesome forest service people, trade Kasha for a riding horse for John, and get fucked up around the fire.
Doudou and Saya also had to go to UB for visa extensions - Saya decided not to return. So, on June 23rd, when we finally became a real, movable horse caravan, we were down two members and missing four more(Alan, Ishtar and Indre were pretty much gone without a trace).
View attachment 32866
Polvo, ready to bounce.
We made it one and a half kilometers. Then, Buckwheat started a fight with Sunny(Saya's horse, now potential packhorse. Kind of an asshole), Sunny spooked Tonto(Marshall's horse), and the two of them ran back to the old camp. By the time Mandalin and Marshall caught them, it was too late to move on. Bummer.
View attachment 32865
Pretty horses at the new camp.
The next day, Indre, Ishtar and Allen returned. This brought us up to two packhorses, likely to poor Buckwheat's great relief. It rained, and rained, and we did final town runs, and on the 27th , in a cold and heavy rain, left for real. We made a good solid day, 20+ kms, a celebratory stop at a tourist restaurant while the newly emerged sun dried our socks on the fence; and a new camp alongside the wide, white-foaming Orkhon river.
View attachment 32867
Covering new ground.
View attachment 32857
We hung around for nearly three weeks.
I can't exactly explain why it took three weeks. Stuff happened. People left and came back and left again. Forest service guys bothered us. Horses ran away. Gear broke. Umi became allergic to the sun. No one went hungry, at least; as a group, we're pretty good at eating.
View attachment 32858
Playing music,
View attachment 32859
Picking nettles,
View attachment 32860
Eating goats.
About two weeks in, we started to pull our shit together. Ishtar, Alan, and Indre had left to go explore for a few days(it ended up being eight), and took the wild little pony, Gota, that everyone had been falling off of, to train as a packhorse. That left the rest of us at the camp with Buckwheat; camel-faced, kickhappy, lazy as fuck. Fortunately, he treated being loaded up with packbags something like getting a special message. Unfortunately, he'd sometimes lay down during the procedure and refuse to get back up.
View attachment 32861
Introducing Buckwheat....
View attachment 32862
Buckwheat is training to be our indispensable packhorse.
View attachment 32864
But, there is some skepticism from the peanut gallery.
View attachment 32863
Buckwheat crumples under the pressure.
Our other potential packhorse, Kasha, had panicked on the first attempt, broke his rope, ripped open the packbag, ran 30km away and lost our packsaddle. No one wanted him.
As we prepared to go mobile, Umi's sunsickness worsened until she was pretty much in a state of constant miserable nausea and weakness. She decided to leave, and Buch and Tamir came out to buy back her horse, drive her to UB, fend off the troublesome forest service people, trade Kasha for a riding horse for John, and get fucked up around the fire.
Doudou and Saya also had to go to UB for visa extensions - Saya decided not to return. So, on June 23rd, when we finally became a real, movable horse caravan, we were down two members and missing four more(Alan, Ishtar and Indre were pretty much gone without a trace).
View attachment 32866
Polvo, ready to bounce.
We made it one and a half kilometers. Then, Buckwheat started a fight with Sunny(Saya's horse, now potential packhorse. Kind of an asshole), Sunny spooked Tonto(Marshall's horse), and the two of them ran back to the old camp. By the time Mandalin and Marshall caught them, it was too late to move on. Bummer.
View attachment 32865
Pretty horses at the new camp.
The next day, Indre, Ishtar and Allen returned. This brought us up to two packhorses, likely to poor Buckwheat's great relief. It rained, and rained, and we did final town runs, and on the 27th , in a cold and heavy rain, left for real. We made a good solid day, 20+ kms, a celebratory stop at a tourist restaurant while the newly emerged sun dried our socks on the fence; and a new camp alongside the wide, white-foaming Orkhon river.
View attachment 32867
Covering new ground.
Attachments
Last edited:
Wawa
New member
For our long stay in the region, Bat-Ulgii was our supply and entertainment stop. Colorful, ramshackle, with mud-maze streets, full of sleepy cows, mean dogs, and motorbikes. Shops with snacks, snickers, cokes, rice, flour, potatoes behind a counter you wait your turn to point at. Khuushuur and milk tea joints.
Later on I discovered that this describes every small Mongolian town I'll ever see.
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Later on I discovered that this describes every small Mongolian town I'll ever see.
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Attachments
Wa-wa-WOW I remember hearing about Y'all doing this and it's hard to believe it was a year ago already. Thank you very, much for sharing so much detail of this adventure. What a way for us to glimpse life in Mongolia. You're a talented writer and adventurist @Wawa. Filling us in on the gritty frustration and triumphs, or whatever other tones you can share will make this story that much more engrossing, though it's already good. Always preciated your contributions.
Wawa
New member
As of JULY 6TH:
A week ago I had a fairly major falling out with the caravan group.
Polvo and I got along fine on our first day of travel with the group. We can deal with eachother. My shoulder hurts a lot, but I can use it. I went to town recently, and I have a personal food stash ready to go.... So I left.
View attachment 37510
The morning after the trouble, I woke up in the grass with a goat nibbling on my head and nearly laughed at the absurdity of it. Then I remembered the night before, and made my decision - packed up, saddled Polvo, and just left. He did not want to be taken away from the herd, and it was a hard thing to do. I think if the horse had carried on being scared and miserable, I would have changed my mind. He turned cooperative as soon as the others were out of sight, so we kept walking.
View attachment 37511
View attachment 37512
That first night, I camped in a river valley pinewood thick with columbine, geum, ferns and nettle. I sat alone by a small fire, cozy warm with embers, and made flat bread on a hot rock. No one threw trash in the fire, left junk and clutter around the camp, or fought over what to eat or where to go. Just me, and Polvo munching and buttscratching. In the morning, I could get up and do anything. I decided at this point not to wait up for the caravan.
With my bag of food, in addition to saddlebags full of basic gear, riding wasn't much of an option. No problem. For five days, I only walked. Polvo tagged along gamely, scratching his face on my back and sneaking mouthfuls of flowers and tallgrass. Now, as my food supply depleats, I ride occasionally.
View attachment 37513
View attachment 37514
I have a photo on my phone of a topographic map, and a simplistic highway gps map with all blank spaces. My boots never dry. The valleys are full of mud, the passes thick with flies. Nearly every day, it storms at some point. Twice I took shelter under Polvos belly as he squared off against the wind and hail.
At night I keep Polvo close to my tent. My main fear is of predators, or thieves after the horse. His main concern is eating. He chews off the tender grass tips, then wakes me up to move him. He doesn't seem to sleep much.
View attachment 37516
View attachment 37515
The hose is good company. He plods along next to me, or behind me. We drink from streams together. He grazes while I pick wild greens and mushrooms. Yesterday, he watched with great interest as I carefully harvested stinging nettle. After much consideration he dipped his head to try a taste, but it didn't go well for him.
Sometimes he catches me peeing, and makes a point to take a long piss nearby.
I'm feeling ready to return to the caravan, but I'm several days out from town and potential cell phone service. They could be anywhere. I've starting leaving notes like breadcrumbs along the way, my name and date on a fence post or snowbank... So if you ever see a suspiciously trainrider-like tag in a valley in Arkhangai, that's me!
View attachment 37519
View attachment 37520
View attachment 37521
A week ago I had a fairly major falling out with the caravan group.
Polvo and I got along fine on our first day of travel with the group. We can deal with eachother. My shoulder hurts a lot, but I can use it. I went to town recently, and I have a personal food stash ready to go.... So I left.
View attachment 37510
The morning after the trouble, I woke up in the grass with a goat nibbling on my head and nearly laughed at the absurdity of it. Then I remembered the night before, and made my decision - packed up, saddled Polvo, and just left. He did not want to be taken away from the herd, and it was a hard thing to do. I think if the horse had carried on being scared and miserable, I would have changed my mind. He turned cooperative as soon as the others were out of sight, so we kept walking.
View attachment 37511
View attachment 37512
That first night, I camped in a river valley pinewood thick with columbine, geum, ferns and nettle. I sat alone by a small fire, cozy warm with embers, and made flat bread on a hot rock. No one threw trash in the fire, left junk and clutter around the camp, or fought over what to eat or where to go. Just me, and Polvo munching and buttscratching. In the morning, I could get up and do anything. I decided at this point not to wait up for the caravan.
With my bag of food, in addition to saddlebags full of basic gear, riding wasn't much of an option. No problem. For five days, I only walked. Polvo tagged along gamely, scratching his face on my back and sneaking mouthfuls of flowers and tallgrass. Now, as my food supply depleats, I ride occasionally.
View attachment 37513
View attachment 37514
I have a photo on my phone of a topographic map, and a simplistic highway gps map with all blank spaces. My boots never dry. The valleys are full of mud, the passes thick with flies. Nearly every day, it storms at some point. Twice I took shelter under Polvos belly as he squared off against the wind and hail.
At night I keep Polvo close to my tent. My main fear is of predators, or thieves after the horse. His main concern is eating. He chews off the tender grass tips, then wakes me up to move him. He doesn't seem to sleep much.
View attachment 37516
View attachment 37515
The hose is good company. He plods along next to me, or behind me. We drink from streams together. He grazes while I pick wild greens and mushrooms. Yesterday, he watched with great interest as I carefully harvested stinging nettle. After much consideration he dipped his head to try a taste, but it didn't go well for him.
Sometimes he catches me peeing, and makes a point to take a long piss nearby.
I'm feeling ready to return to the caravan, but I'm several days out from town and potential cell phone service. They could be anywhere. I've starting leaving notes like breadcrumbs along the way, my name and date on a fence post or snowbank... So if you ever see a suspiciously trainrider-like tag in a valley in Arkhangai, that's me!
View attachment 37519
View attachment 37520
View attachment 37521
Last edited:
Wawa
New member
Okay, sorry I'm always messing up my posts, but I did it again and waited too long so now I can't edit it, and all the photos are broken...if anyone with modpowz could delete my last post, and remove this explaination, would be appreciated.
As of JULY 6TH:
A week ago I had a fairly major falling out with the caravan group.
Polvo and I got along fine on our first day of travel with the group. We can deal with eachother. My shoulder hurts a lot, but I can use it. I went to town recently, and I have a personal food stash ready to go.... So I left.
View attachment 37771
The morning after the trouble, I woke up in the grass with a goat nibbling on my head and nearly laughed at the absurdity of it. Then I remembered the night before, and made my decision - packed up, saddled Polvo, and just left. He did not want to be taken away from the herd, and it was a hard thing to do. I think if the horse had carried on being scared and miserable, I would have changed my mind. He turned cooperative as soon as the others were out of sight, so we kept walking.
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That first night, I camped in a river valley pinewood thick with columbine, geum, ferns and nettle. I sat alone by a small fire, cozy warm with embers, and made flat bread on a hot rock. No one threw trash in the fire, left junk and clutter around the camp, or fought over what to eat or where to go. Just me, and Polvo munching and buttscratching. In the morning, I could get up and do anything. I decided at this point not to wait up for the caravan.
With my bag of food, in addition to saddlebags full of basic gear, riding wasn't much of an option. No problem. For five days, I only walked. Polvo tagged along gamely, scratching his face on my back and sneaking mouthfuls of flowers and tallgrass. Now, as my food supply depleats, I ride occasionally.
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I have a photo on my phone of a topographic map, and a simplistic highway gps map with all blank spaces. My boots never dry. The valleys are full of mud, the passes thick with flies. Nearly every day, it storms at some point. Twice I took shelter under Polvos belly as he squared off against the wind and hail.
At night I keep Polvo close to my tent. My main fear is of predators, or thieves after the horse. His main concern is eating. He chews off the tender grass tips, then wakes me up to move him. He doesn't seem to sleep much.
The hose is good company. He plods along next to me, or behind me. We drink from streams together. He grazes while I pick wild greens and mushrooms. Yesterday, he watched with great interest as I carefully harvested stinging nettle. After much consideration he dipped his head to try a taste, but it didn't go well for him.
Sometimes he catches me peeing, and makes a point to take a long piss nearby.
I'm feeling ready to return to the caravan, but I'm several days out from town and potential cell phone service. They could be anywhere. I've starting leaving notes like breadcrumbs along the way, my name and date on a fence post or snowbank...
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As of JULY 6TH:
A week ago I had a fairly major falling out with the caravan group.
Polvo and I got along fine on our first day of travel with the group. We can deal with eachother. My shoulder hurts a lot, but I can use it. I went to town recently, and I have a personal food stash ready to go.... So I left.
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The morning after the trouble, I woke up in the grass with a goat nibbling on my head and nearly laughed at the absurdity of it. Then I remembered the night before, and made my decision - packed up, saddled Polvo, and just left. He did not want to be taken away from the herd, and it was a hard thing to do. I think if the horse had carried on being scared and miserable, I would have changed my mind. He turned cooperative as soon as the others were out of sight, so we kept walking.
View attachment 37772
View attachment 37773
That first night, I camped in a river valley pinewood thick with columbine, geum, ferns and nettle. I sat alone by a small fire, cozy warm with embers, and made flat bread on a hot rock. No one threw trash in the fire, left junk and clutter around the camp, or fought over what to eat or where to go. Just me, and Polvo munching and buttscratching. In the morning, I could get up and do anything. I decided at this point not to wait up for the caravan.
With my bag of food, in addition to saddlebags full of basic gear, riding wasn't much of an option. No problem. For five days, I only walked. Polvo tagged along gamely, scratching his face on my back and sneaking mouthfuls of flowers and tallgrass. Now, as my food supply depleats, I ride occasionally.
View attachment 37774
View attachment 37777
I have a photo on my phone of a topographic map, and a simplistic highway gps map with all blank spaces. My boots never dry. The valleys are full of mud, the passes thick with flies. Nearly every day, it storms at some point. Twice I took shelter under Polvos belly as he squared off against the wind and hail.
At night I keep Polvo close to my tent. My main fear is of predators, or thieves after the horse. His main concern is eating. He chews off the tender grass tips, then wakes me up to move him. He doesn't seem to sleep much.
The hose is good company. He plods along next to me, or behind me. We drink from streams together. He grazes while I pick wild greens and mushrooms. Yesterday, he watched with great interest as I carefully harvested stinging nettle. After much consideration he dipped his head to try a taste, but it didn't go well for him.
Sometimes he catches me peeing, and makes a point to take a long piss nearby.
I'm feeling ready to return to the caravan, but I'm several days out from town and potential cell phone service. They could be anywhere. I've starting leaving notes like breadcrumbs along the way, my name and date on a fence post or snowbank...
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Attachments
anarchocynicalist
New member
Neat story. I would like to know the process? Did you just buy him and start traveling?
No offense, but a question like that makes me think you didn't even read the thread.
anarchocynicalist
New member
The formatting was a little different for me so I didn't see everything. I knew they had purchased the horse but I was just hoping to start a general conversation about this persons amazing trip.
I'm just saying, the answer to your question is in the OP. You should try reading it before posting.