chapter seven - Wee Hike

I always like to think of myself as a hiker. Possessing no athletic skill but the ability to walk (which actually isn’t even vaguely athletic), this is the only sport in which I can really enjoy exerting myself. I like plodding under leafy treetops or clambering up the sides of hills or meandering through still meadows. My dream life involves mountains, a backpack and a tent. And there is a reason why it’s a dream life: my hiking experiences have been limited to a mid-western life; catalyzed by cornfields. Hiking that I’m used to is a short jaunt along well-marked, relatively level, often tarred paths through little state parks. So, in reality, my dream life would probably kill me because I’d get lost within 5 minutes or fall off the mountain…or both.

The hiking I did around Huvsgul Lake was something like a refiner’s fire. It didn’t kill me or obliterate any joy I have for hiking – it revealed to me my own inefficiency and inadequacy as one who labels herself ‘hiker’ and crazily enough, strengthened the joy I find in hiking. I will outline for you the lessons I learned during the first hike we did:

To the north of our ger camp was a formidable hill (maybe 1,000 feet/300 meters or so). It was mostly covered in trees except for a few bald patches near the top. Our goal was to hike the hill and eat lunch on top of it. My first lesson was in methodology: when facing a steep mountain or hillside, I walk straight up. Whereas, more experienced and intelligent hikers walk in zig-zag fashion so they don’t kill themselves getting to the top. Therefore, Zig-zag = genius. I logged this away for future reference.

My second lesson was in resourcefulness: when we reached the topmost bald spot of this hill it was lunch time. Lunch that day consisted of potato chips and ramen noodles. Ian set up the stove to boil water for our noodles while we munched away on the chips enjoying the warmth of the sun. However, we quickly discovered a slight snafu: no one remembered forks. It’s not impossible to eat ramen noodles with out a fork, but anything swimming in boiling hot water really shouldn’t be slurped down without one. Ian to the rescue: taking knife in hand he whittled double pronged fork-like utensils from some twigs on the ground. His wife, Liz, would later follow suit and make a spoon and butter knife.

I should explain that Ian and Liz are disgustingly outdoorsy (they probably would not appreciate that adjective but I’m using it anyway). In college, Ian majored in ‘Nature and How to Be Awesome In It,’ and Liz has gone on many a hiking/camping/canoeing trip. These two are the sort that could easily survive in the wild with only a compass and a fork made out of a twig.

My third and most important lesson was in endurance: after lunch I foolishly thought our hike was completed. I forgot I was in the company of jinkhen hikers**; hikers who feel the most at home when there is no trail in sight and only a vast expanse of possibility before them. After we had packed up the remains from lunch, we traveled down the east side of the hill through endless pine forest. There was such a thick layer of pine needles and moss on the ground it was as if we were stepping on a sponge.

After a couple hours we stumbled across a clearing that ended at a cliff overlooking the lake. We stopped here for a few minutes to rest and then followed a path down to the rocky beach. We followed the beach until it ran into a jutting piece of red cliffside. I wasn’t particularly pleased to have to scramble up another steep hillside at this point, but it was the only way to get around the cliffside.

After finding a decent footing on the side of the hill, we came to a narrow goat path and decided to follow it back to our ger camp. This path was made by animals with some kind of death wish. If one stepped incorrectly, it was a messy tumble downward to an even messier splat on the rocks below. I was walking with Ed and Charli for this bit and to keep our minds off the possibility of dying, we talked about the British and American difference of terms for certain bodily functions and articles of clothing.

We followed the treacherous goat path for at least two hours until it opened up onto flat land. Not too long after, we were back in camp and very ready for dinner. This wee hike was somewhere in the vicinity of 5-6 hours, one of the longest hikes I’d done thus far. If that doesn’t sound wee to you, just wait until Chapter Nine.



**language note: jinkhen means real or genuine in Mongolian