Into the mountains

It was absolutely freezing in Altyn Arashan, the sort of cold that knocks the breath out of your body when you try to inhale and forces you inside around a dying fire. To preserve as much warmth as possible we made the executive decision to go to bed as soon as the fire started gasping for wood we did not have. Heat conservation drove me to wear PJ shorts, trousers, skiing socks, T shirt, 2 long sleeve layers, a fleece and a woolly hat to bed, and also to use - but also in a sleeping bag liner, sleeping bag (mine) and a US army sleeping bag for arctic regions! Very warm - if a little smelly (the army sleeping bag)! If you ever want to wipe out a battalion of US army, attack them at night, somewhere cold. Once you get into one of those things it is nigh on impossible to get out! Having bundled ourselves sup in as many layers as possible and rolled into bed we subtly tried to persuade David to go to his own bed rather than sit on the end of The Aussie's bed and talk AT us. It was also imperative to go to bed early and say tucked up until morning as any night time forays to the long drop could include a risk of frostbite on some rather delicate areas!

We got up bright and early the next day for a long walk into the mountains, and a chance to get used to the altitude. Tania (still giggling with Sacha) produced an interesting breakfast involving cold noodles covered in powered pepper and fried potatoes. I think I preferred the cake in Khiva. Having consumed this unusual feast we set off.

The path took us along the valley floor and then began to wend its way up along the wooded flanks of the mountains. It was dry underfoot and obvious that we were following the paths made by the nomad’s animals earlier in the season. We could see the highest peak veiled in snow at the end of the valley and meandered our way up a neighbouring valley, stopping at the glacier melt streams along the way to fill up our water bottles – and catch our breath.

It was too late in the season for any domestic animals to be about, just dry pasture made upof peppermint that released a subtle fragrance when crushed by our walking boots, delicate little gentian plants and a kind of purple geranium. Dotted around the landscape were clumps of juniper (a smell reminiscent of gin) and blackcurrant bushes laden with late berries - blackcurrants are apparently a local cure for mountain sickness. It was a sort of infinite landscape – rolling hills and mountains scrolling into the distance with no sign of human intervention – no fences, habitation or rubbish. Occasionally we came across an area where yurts had been erected during the lush summer – obvious due to the circular scars on the ground from the tents; but other than that it was just us and an eerie hush broken only by the sound of gurgling springs and calls of soaring birds.

After several hours of huffing and puffing following Sacha who was skipping all over the place like a mountain goat we crossed over a river very precariously using a fallen free trunk as a bridge and climbed up to the snow line. This fresh snow was testament to our remoteness as it did not display any other footprints and crunched satisfyingly under our feet. We soon reached a glacial lake for lunch. The lake was what was known as a cwm in our GCSE geography lessons (Miss. Mansergh would be proud) sitting in a hollow below a triangular snow clad peak. It was a limpid jade green silently reflecting the slopes above it and the eagles catching thermals circling above us.
Lovely fresh snow was all around us, but the day was sunny and flopping down to lean against a sun warmed boulder we felt we’d earned our pack lunch (fried bread, tomatoes and cheese that had been sweating in plastic bags – as well as a large chunk of our own chocolate!). After we’d eaten, we left The Aussie smoking (not great for mountains sickness at altitude) and I followed the others to climb up to a pass and a peak nearby to get a decent view.