Section 11. Ubsunurskaya Kotlovina Reserve – shrub and sand deserts.

Days 26, 27 and 28: (September 6,7 and 8) Travel via Kyzyl to the Ubsunurskaya Kotlovina State Nature Reserve; Central Asia Monument; Buddhist temple; museum. Campsite at Tore-Hol Lake, overnight in yurts or tents. Excursions to sand desert, shrub desert, rock outcrops and lakes. Birdwatching. Lecture on traditional land use. Visit stone carver in Erzin. Throat singing concert.

On the shore of Lake Tore-Hol in the Ubsunurskaya Kotlovina Reserve, Saturday, 7 September - 5 p.m.

We have taken refuge in a couple of the big yurts, to shelter from the sandstorm that blew up in the middle of our afternoon excursion. We were investigating a typical ‘koppie’, a massive rock outcrop, which rises starkly out of the desert, surrounded on all sides by a sand skirt with caragana shrubs and other scattered vegetation. It was a very windy afternoon, so that we had to be careful when clambering over the smooth sandstorm eroded rocks. We had just observed and discussed the lichens on some of the rocks, which seemed to actually protect the rocks from the effect of blowing sand, as was shown by the fact that the bare areas were more deeply eroded than the lichen covered parts. When we looked up, and into the freshening wind, we noticed that the horizon had disappeared behind a dull yellowish haze. As we walked back toward the bus, the wall of wind-blown sand and dust came upon us. Within minutes we were engulfed in a strange colorless light, and soon all horizons, distant mountains and other landmarks were gone. We briefly stopped at another rock outcrop for a look at some petroglyphs, but the wind was so strong that we had to struggle to stay upright, and the sand blew into our eyes, making picture taking virtually impossible. Back at camp we found that some of our tents had blown down, and the gentle lake in which we had swum in warm sunlight only three hours earlier, was now a raging sea with meter high white capped waves, crashing on the beach. After we stabilized the collapsed tents, we came here. Chaizu Kyrgys, the leading local reserve scientist, gave us a talk on the history of land use in Tuva. Now we are writing, talking, reading, or just listening to the sand being whipped against the side of the vigorously flapping and shaking yurt, but inside it is still, as if we are trapped in the eye of the storm.

8 p.m.

By now the sandstorm has changed into driving rain. The wind is still howling, but not quite as blustery as before. For a while, the electricity in the yurt gave out, but somehow the locals got it fixed, so that some 24 people are huddled under one naked light bulb, which casts our shadows, like two-dimensional spirits on the walls of the yurt. Every now and then, the door opens, and someone comes in with news of another tent disaster, a weather report, or an update on dinner preparations in the other yurt. I went out to check our tent, which to my relief is fine, it flaps and dances and rattles, but so far it is living up to the high performance we were guaranteed when we bought it. In the other yurt, the staff has slaughtered a couple of sheep, and a large kettle is boiling away with all sorts of mutton chunks, vegetables and spices. They even cleaned sections of gut and were filling them with blood and spices to make blood sausage. Some of our more delicate travelers and vegetarians were freaked out by this ‘in the field’ butchery, especially one person who had befriended the sheep, not realizing that they were destined to be our dinner.

As time ticked by, the conversation here in the yurt has died down, we are all getting hungry, and our minds are occupied by wondering how we are all going to get a good night’s sleep. The dry sandy field with scattered, desiccated pieces of dung, where the tents stand (or stood), has turned into a smelly, muddy barnyard. I think some of our group are starting to get depressed, especially after one of the Russians told us that storms such as this one can last for up to three days.

Sunday, 8 September - noon

Yesterday evening, after a dinner of delicious, greasy chunks of mutton and a variety of equally greasy Tuvan side dishes, the rain abated. After designing a strategy for getting in and out of our tent without getting things wet and muddy inside, Jeri and I fled across the ‘barnyard’, and executed the planned operation successfully. However, we soon discovered that the night became bitterly cold. All night long Jeri shivered in her new sleeping bag, and I just about froze around 4 a.m. when I stood for a minute, partly naked, under the most brilliant stars I have seen in years, having a pee next to a caragana bush. By morning our tent was covered with frozen raindrops, the lake was steaming, and the surrounding mountains were glittering under a topping of freshly fallen snow. But the sun rose on time, reminding us that it was still only early September, and the first onslaught of winter was about to dissipate in a warm, sunny day. And so it did. We are having lunch at a small salt lake between rock outcrops somewhere in the middle of the desert; it is warm and sunny. Willem Vreeken has just treated us to a fine analysis of the erosion of the granite boulders, and the soil formation around the salt lake. Kostya has explained the various holes of picas, gerbils, gerboas, ground squirrels and kangaroo rats, and I gave a mini-lecture on plant adaptations to salty conditions. This morning we drove for miles through a mesmerizing landscape of deserts, steppes and boulder fields, with protruding koppies. All around, the horizon consisted of the snow-capped peaks of the Sayan, Altai and Mongolian ranges. A massive thunderstorm slowly moved southwards, but threatened neither us nor our campsite on Tore-Hol Lake.