Snow and Flowers: It’s Spring in Mongolia!

Posted on May 31, 2016 by Jack & Barbra Donachy

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Our most recent heavy snow was just two weeks ago, and we’ve had a few flurries since then. But out in the countryside near Ulaanbaatar, wildflowers have begun to grow in profusion.

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Snow drops (above) are among the very first flowers to show.

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Notice the small red ant on the right side of the photo. The centers of these particular flowers reveal a tell-tale indication of their age, with the youngest flowers having yellow centers. Most of the early wildflowers are small. But they’re everywhere, and close examination they often reveals intricate beauty…

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…making us wish we knew more about these splashes of color.

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And happy to come across something as familiar as Alaska’s state flower, forget-me-nots.

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There’s wild rhubarb, too, and wild mint and caraway are abundant.

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But it’s the flowers that capture our attention.

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And leave us vowing to take a botany course when we return to Alaska.

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The scene in Ulaanbaatar just over two weeks ago on May 11.

Our Annual Mongolian Khorkhog

Posted on August 23, 2015 by Jack & Barbra Donachy

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Packed with sheep, potatoes, carrots, cabbage, sizzling hot fist-sized rocks and water, the piping hot contents of this milk can are tender and ready to be served. Let the khorkhog begin!

It’s a a tradition keenly anticipated at the International School of Ulaanbaatar (ISU). With our first week of school behind us, it’s time for faculty, staff and administrators to relax in the style of traditional Mongolia – with a khorkhog. In days past, the animal’s stomach would have served as the cooking pot. These days, it’s more common for khorkhog to be slow roasted with hot rocks, meat and vegetables placed in an old-fashioned milk can. Prepared thus, the meat comes out tender and flavorful, though as the photo suggests, containers are to be opened with caution.

A shovel handle is used to apply pressure to the milk can to slowly let off steam while ISU’s driver turned chef Baatar pulls a roasted potato from another can.

With a faculty, staff and student body representing over 30 nationalities, ISU is truly an international school. But the school’s roots are planted firmly in Mongolia. The site selected for this year’s khorkhog is on the outskirts of Ulaanbaatar on the shoulders of Bogd Khan Mountain, a place Mongolians point to with pride as the world’s oldest national park. An easy bike ride from our Ulaanbaatar apartment, we’ve come across signs of deer and wild boar on hikes and rides through the hills, and have encountered fox, sable, marmots and Eurasian red squirrels. We’ve also focused our binoculars on dozens of species of birds including demoiselle cranes, hoopoes, falcons, eagles, hawks, kites and numerous song birds.

Circling high overhead, an imperial eagle checked out our feast.

Song is a rich tradition in Mongolia, and once stomachs were full a guitar and drum came out.

Everyone knew the words to the Beatles’ classics!

Meanwhile, a group found a perfect pitch speckled with wildflowers for a game.

Rounds of tug-of-war were amiable enough…

… but wrestling, one of the Mongolia’s national sports, always has a serious edge to it.

Recent rains have turned the fields and forest lush shades of green, and wildflowers – not to mention abundant wild herbs such as mint, sage and caraway – are everywhere.

Situated at over 1,300 meters (4,300 feet) above sea level and not terribly far south of Siberia, fall comes quickly on the heels of summer in Ulaanbaatar. Already nights are growing cool. In a few weeks time the larch trees where we recently held our khorkhog feast will turn gold with autumn.

Hana Restaurant, Ulaanbaatar: a Trip to Japan Without the Passport

Posted on June 27, 2015 by Jack & Barbra Donachy

Sushi?… In Mongolia?! Heck yeah! Slightly crunchy in the best possible way, herring roe paired with mackerel is a sumptuous favorite at the Hana Japanese restaurant in Ulaanbaatar.

Jack’s birthday. What to get a man with a serious fish addition in a country where canned Alaskan salmon is pretty much the only palatable fish to be found? We’d heard a couple of good reports from a relative newcomer to Ulaanbaatar’s rapidly growing restaurant scene. Hana was said to have the best sushi – in fact the best fish of any description – in town.

Crisp, light and slightly malty, when it comes to pairing a beverage with sushi, it’s tough to beat a traditional Japanese rice lager such as these frosty glasses of Sapporo. Hana also features a decent wine list as well as locally-brewed beers.

On a whim, we’d stopped in for lunch at Hana the previous day during a walk of the city. I thought we were just getting in out of the mid-day heat for a bite to eat. I know now that Jack was vetting the place for a possible birthday meal. We each ordered a set menu. My chirashi-zushi, an assortment of beautifully-sliced salmon, tuna, sea bass, prawn and mackerel on top of a bowl of sushi rice surprised with its fresh and delicate flavors. Jack went with a nigiri-zushi set (which should have tipped me off that he was up to something). Like my bowl of chirashi-zushi, Jack’s meal was beautifully presented and fresh. Our bowls of miso soup, too, were spot on. We’d tried the sushi at a couple of other Ulaanbaatar restaurants, and had found it to be OK. But our lunch experience at Hana was authentically good.

As bright and fresh as maguro in Japan, this tuna flank was amazing.

Anytime we visit a good restaurant, we start by asking available waitstaff, chefs, managers and owners what they recommend. On the night we visited Hana, the consensus was that the tuna, recently flown in from Hana’s Japanese supplier, was superb. We began our meal with a plate of maguro sashimi and were not disappointed. The translucent-ruby slices were served with a traditional salad of shiso leaf and julienne daikon, radish and squash. It was absolutely delicious.

Perfectly ripe, creamy avocado, crisp garden salad, seared tuna flank and a house-made sesame dressing came together beautifully. In the background, our chef is shaping the nigiri-zushi that would follow.

The next item that was recommended to us was an appetizer salad featuring a balance of impeccably ripe, thinly sliced avocado and lightly seared tuna. Searing the tuna gave it a sweetness which was deliciously complimented by a quick dip in soy sauce. The chef’s sesame sauce gave the avocado and garden salad a savory-sweet dimension. In California, restaurant goers take avocado as good as this for granted. Here in UB, this kind of quality is evidence of the effort and attention to detail that separates Hana from other establishments.

A delicious, authentic assortment of steamed vegetables, pickled seaweed and other appetizers appeared next.

Among the appetizers, our favorite was this konbu tsukudani. This savory bite is made of kelp cut thin, cooked in soy sauce and mirin, and served with sesame seeds. Jack felt like he was back in Japan.

With enough food for two or three people, the sushi assortment platter is a good place to start if you’re visiting Hana.

When it came to choosing our main entrée, we opted for the assorted nigiri-zushi for two.

The plate featured the obligatory cooked shrimp, tamago (egg), and a sushi roll that didn’t excite us. The tamago was quite good – but not something we typically would order á la carte. The remainder of our plate took us to Japan.

Although the hamachi lacked the butteriness we expect, it was impeccably fresh and beautifully presented with wasabi-cured flying fish roe.

The sea bass, sliced translucently thin (you can see the wasabi beneath it) and dressed with a dollop of flying fish roe, was excellent. Given that the fish is fresh, what really makes and breaks sushi is the quality of the rice. Delicately flavored sea bass is unforgiving. At Hana, the sushi rice is excellent. Former Alaskans, we appreciate the difference between good, really good and excellent salmon. Fresh and melt-in-your-mouth buttery soft, the salmon sushi at Hana is perhaps the best fish available in Ulaanbaatar.

We were on the verge of leaving when the chef brought out a treat appreciated by true aficionados of Japanese cuisine and by few others. Natto. Sticky, gooey, fermented soy beans. In most restaurants, natto is served on rice, perhaps accompanied by a raw quail egg. On Jack’s birthday, the chef served it on a bed of tuna sashimi. I let him have the bowl to himself. The perfect end to the perfect birthday dinner.

Ulaanbaatar is not a foodie mecca. But restaurants like Hana are working to change that.

Connected by Waxwings

Posted on April 15, 2015 by Jack & Barbra Donachy

Like drops of bright red sealing wax, pigment is enclosed in the translucent sheathing of extended secondary feather shafts, giving waxwings their name.

In the midst of the 11-minute walk from our apartment to our school in Ulaanbaatar earlier this week we heard a familiar “wheezing” sound from nearby treetops. The friend we were walking with must’ve thought we were crazy as I abruptly spun around and began crossing the road toward the origin of the sound. But Barbra knew what it was about. “Waxwings!” I exclaimed as I approached the tree where they were perched. Barbra confirmed the sighting. “Yep! Look at their crowns.”

For the past few days, small flocks of Bohemian waxwings have been putting smiles on our faces. On their way to nesting grounds in the conifer forests of Siberia, these flocks don’t hang around long. Until recently the southern edge of Ulaanbaatar near the Tuul River was covered in berry bushes, poplars and willows. Each year, less and less of this habitat remains as Ulaanbaatar’s human population grows…

…but here and there a small patch of what it used to be remains. Every little bit of this habitat is increasingly critical. Even a few berry bushes edging apartment buildings helps.

If you’ve never seen waxwings in good light, I’m not sure I can adequately describe them. Their primary wing feathers are streaked with pure white and edged in yellow the color of daffodils in sunlight. The just-dipped-in-paint sheen on these feathers is reminiscent of crayon gone over with watercolor paint. But it’s the candy apple tips of their secondary wing feathers that give waxwings their name. The red is not on feathers. Rather, it’s opalescent pigment encased in modified, translucent feather shafts.

During their nesting season, waxwings often eat insects. The rest of the year, it’s berries, berries, apples, and more berries – sometimes hundreds of berries in a single day. We walk past these bushes every day and never noticed the winter-preserved berries still clinging to them. But the waxwings noticed. They need this fuel as they fly on to Siberia.

You could be almost anywhere in the Northern Hemisphere and never see a single waxwing. Ottawa, Canada; Sacramento, California; Clarion, Pennsylvania; Sapporo, Japan; – to name a few places where waxwings may or may not be. And, in the wrong light, you might pass right by them and dismiss them as robins or sparrows.

Wheezing. That’s what gives them away. If you hear birds wheezing, look closely. Get them in the right light. You won’t believe what you see.

The only bird with a brown crest – as though the black eye paint and warrior feathers weren’t distinctive enough.

My first sighting of waxwings occurred many years ago on western Pennsylvania’s North Fork of Redbank Creek. I was fly-fishing in early spring, and as I worked my way around a bend in the stream I came upon a leafless poplar that was as lit up as a Christmas tree with waxwings. I thought I’d never seen anything as beautiful in my life. The paint-dipped tips of their feather seemed to glow in the evening light and I stood motionless in the water, mesmerized till they suddenly filled the sky.

This photo shows that the waxwing’s red wing tips are featherless extensions of wing shafts.

In mid-winter, they light up the holly bushes on the campus of the College of Charleston where I earned my master’s degree.

In Sacramento, they filled the camphor tree in our front yard – gorging on berries, wheezing their calls to each other, brightening our day.

The birds we encountered in the lower 48 were cedar waxwings, smaller relatives of bohemians. But here we are, many thousands of miles removed from Pennsylvania trout steams, holly bushes in the Deep South and a lovely, mid-town bungalow in California.

Connected by waxwings.

A pair of waxwings look north against the pale dusk in Ulaanbaatar. They still have hundreds of miles to go before reaching the conifer forests of Siberia where they’ll build their nests and bring the next generation of waxwings into the world. Not many berry bushes here anymore, and a hunk of metal overlooking a construction site makes for a cold roost.

Spring! April in the World’s Coldest Capital

Posted on April 14, 2015 by Jack & Barbra Donachy

Warmer temperatures are bringing flocks of new birds to Ulaanbaatar. These Bohemian Waxwings won’t stick around long; they’re on their way to nesting grounds in Siberia.

One day temperatures are in the 50’s or 60’s (in the teens, Celsius). The next day it’s below freezing with snowfall. And so it has been for the past few weeks from late March through mid-April. Welcome to Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia – officially recognized as the world’s coldest capital city. As transplants from Alaska, it feels like home – albeit a little warmer than our former north-of-the-Arctic-Circle village of Point Hope.

Pussy Willows – flowers of willow trees – have begun pushing out of their buds along the banks of Ulaanbaatar’s Tuul River.

Great tits, above and below, are common residents along the Tuul River as well as in the nearby mountain forests.

Such interesting little birds, all camouflage and color from the head to the mid-back, an abrupt line, and then symmetry from the mid-back through the tail, which, in nature, is its own form of camouflage.

Early morning frost turned the withered remnant of last fall’s flowers into frozen jellyfish.

By late morning, the sun had melted most of the frost…

…while in shaded pockets where snow still lingered, newly arrived long-tailed rosefinches filled up on last year’s store of seeds. The willows and grasses along the Tuul provide the perfect habitat for many species of birds. And, judging by tracks in the snow, rabbits as well.

Finches become acrobats in pursuit of a good meal.

As is typically the case among passerines, the colors of the female long-tails are subdued compared to their male counterparts.

Magpies were out in force, searching for nesting material to add to the massive jumbles of sticks they build in trees. It must work. They return to the same nests year after year, building them ever higher. Note the hooked beak; passerines beware. Magpies are predators, and no mistake.

The Tuul River green belt is our favorite place in Ulaanbaatar. In addition to providing habitat for year-round resident birds and summer nesters, the abundant seeds provide critical fuel for passerines migrating further north. The belt is also important hunting grounds for kestrels and other birds of prey as they make their way to their own nesting grounds. The banks of the Tuul are what’s left of an increasingly fragmented ecosystem. We’ve even caught fleeting glimpses of some type of quail or partridge in the thick willow undergrowth!

Oasis in the Southern Gobi: A Camel-Back Trek

Posted on December 6, 2014 by Jack & Barbra Donachy

Brown with October’s cold, a gnarled desert tree frames buntings (possibly Jankowski’s) (Emberiza sp.) near our ger in Mongolia’s southern Gobi Desert .

A few miles south of the Khongoryn Els singing dunes marked our southern-most push into the Gobi.

A herdsman’s goats crowd around a rare source of water.

While driving, we encountered a species of gazelle that was new to us – black-tailed gazelle (Gazella subgutturosa).

The black-tails proved to be every bit as skittish as the Mongolian gazelle we’d been seeing throughout the trip.

After driving through an expanse of mostly sand and rock, we came into an area of small trees, shrubs and tall grasses, evidence of water close to the desert’s surface. The family gers there would be our camp for the next two nights. With water available, one of our first orders of business was good hair shampooings all around. This was to be the closest thing to a shower we had during our eight-day trek, and it was decidedly refreshing.

Jimi Carter and I lug water cans to our ger for impromptu hair washing. The effects of the mini-shower were immediately spirit lifting.

There was a large gerbil warren not far from our camp – and signs that a fox had recently visited it.

For dinner, the appetizers featured steaming bowls of temeni suute tsai (suu – te – tsay) – camel milk tea, fried bread and camel milk aarts. Aarts is similar to sweet, mild cream cheese. It was absolutely delicious, and we had to remind ourselves to save room for the main course – goat with a variety of goat meat sausages.

The sunset that night was, as usual, spectacular.

This was the most spacious and ornately decorated ger we stayed in. Note the bag of aarts – camel milk cream cheese – on the right wall. After breakfast, our host rounded up several camels for our trek to a set of dunes about three miles from the ger.

Decked out in a traditional dell, our driver, Nimka, (foreground) and our host were ready to mount up and lead the way to the dunes.

Raptors use the dunes as perches and hunting grounds. Here a cinereous vulture (Aegypius monachus) executes a take-off…

…and a common buzzard (Buteo buteo) soars above the landscape scanning for prey.

Evidence of a successful hunt. The porcupine-like quills are those of a hedgehog. We found several of these pellets along the ridge of the dune. Birds of prey regurgitate the undigested parts of the birds and mammals they dine on.

Camels tethered below, we ascended a fairly steep dune where we’d seen raptors perched. Although we never did encounter a fox, once again their tracks were present, along with those of hares.

We named our camels for the trek. Here Barbra’s camel, Timmy, hams it up for the camera. (The Mongolian word for camel is teme – hence Timmy the teme.)

Below: Surprisingly lush growths of various seed producing grasses provide forage for the abundant bird and rodent populations, which in turn provide prey for foxes, wolves and the Gobi’s numerous raptors.

In addition to the many buntings and sparrows around this oasis ger, there were times in the early morning when thousands of doves filled the skies.

Climbing Khongoryn Els: The Gobi Desert’s Singing Dunes

Posted on December 5, 2014 by Jack & Barbra Donachy

Towering nearly 200 meters high, Mongolia’s Khongoryn Els are among approximately 30 “singing dunes” worldwide. Precise balances of humidity, silicon content and sand grain size and shape must be perfect to achieve the deeply vibrating hum these dunes produce. Click any photo to enlarge.

With each step up the steep slope of the dunes, we simultaneously gained and lost elevation, slipping back with the shifting sand. Although the mid-October day was cool, we were stripped down to jeans and shirts, and would have been more comfortable in shorts. By the midway point, we were drenched with sweat. And that’s about when we began to notice it – an unmistakable vibration that began in our feet and traveled through our leg bones up through our hips accompanied by a low, resonate hum. The sound was audible – sort of like monks chanting “ohmmmmmm” from somewhere deep in their throats.

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Wind sculpted sand has fascinated humans for millennia. Views like this were our reward for hiking to the top of the dunes.

Water bottle in tow, Barbra takes a breather halfway up the tallest dune. Livestock look like mere dots on the shores of the distant shallow lake. The water is a morning gathering place for doves in the thousands… perhaps tens of thousands.

The top of the dunes felt like the top of the world – the perfect place to make sand angels.

Although much of the Gobi Desert is rocky and wet enough to support plant life, the area of the singing dunes is an ocean of ever-shifting sand. See Yolyn Am Canyon: Wildlife Safari amidst Remnants of the Gobi’s last Glacier and The Gobi Desert’s Valley of the Lammergeier.

Dusk was closing in by the time we descended the Khongoryn Els, creating dramatic contrasts along the dunes’ curving edges.

One of the funnest runs of our lives was racing down the dunes barefoot – a 200 meter decent, big strides landing in soft, cool sand, only slightly tilted away from vertical.

The Gobi Desert’s Valley of the Lammergeier

Posted on December 3, 2014 by Jack & Barbra Donachy

On our second day in the Yolyn Am Canyon in mid-October, we encountered more ibex such as this handsome billy. The sheer number of raptors was astounding.

Out trusty Russian van slipped through a seemingly impossible passage. Here and there, falcon, hawk and eagle’s nests were perched on ledges along the craggy, vertical walls.

A saker falcon stretches his wings during a morning of hunting.

Small birds and mammals abound in the canyon, providing ample forage for raptors and other predators. On this morning, swarms of wheatears seemed oblivious to this rough-legged hawk, which was probably hoping to score one of the canyon’s many small mammals.

This shy pica had good reason to be on high alert.

Probably a mated pair, these rough-legged hawks were hunting along a spring creek.

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During our two-day journey on foot and by van through the canyon, we saw over 20 ibex.

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Bearded, muscular and with iron-like knobbed horns silhouetted against a blue Mongolian sky, this billy cast a baleful eye on us as he calmly passed by.

The shape of the tail and the gold under the chin make it easy to identify this as the Yolyn Am’s eponymous bird – a lammergeier, also known as a bearded vulture. They kept their distance. We have equally blurry shots of the canyon’s golden eagles.

Three-hundred fifty miles (560 km) south of Ulaanbaatar, the Gobi Desert is wild and remote yet accessible. (In Mongolian cyrillic, the “P’s” are pronounced as “R’s” in English.)

Coming next: The famous Singing Dunes – an Ocean of Sand

Yolyn Am Canyon, Mongolia: Wildlife Safari amidst Remnants of the Gobi Desert’s Last Glacier

Posted on November 30, 2014 by Jack & Barbra Donachy

When this magnificent male Siberian ibex turned his back to us and disappeared, our hearts sank. But moments later, he reemerged for a second photo op. His group of females, young males and yearlings was tucked away up a narrow arm of Mongolia’s remote Yolyn Am Canyon.

Ovoos – sacred mounds of stones and other objects – are common throughout Mongolia. This one is a testament to the special place Yolyn Am Canyon holds in the hearts of the Mongolian people. Translated as “The Valley of the Lammergeiers” (a raptor also known as bearded vultures), the canyon is home to abundant wildlife, some of it rare.

On the evening of day four of our tour from Ulaanbaatar through the Gobi Desert, we stayed in a ger on the outskirts of Mongolia’s Yolyn Am Canyon. Situated at elevation in a narrow valley surrounded by jagged peaks, sunlight only briefly reaches the canyon’s floor each day. Until recent times, ice remained in the valley throughout the year, which made Yolyn Am the Gobi’s last glacier. In recent years, the ice is gone by August or September. By the time of our visit in mid-October, however, ice had returned to the spring creek that flows through the valley’s shadows.

It is the universal story across our planet: Where there is water, there is life. The spring creek emerging from the stone mountains of Yolyn Am are an oasis sought out by diminutive passerines such as this chaffinch (Fringilla sp) as well as charismatic megafauna such as the park’s argali bighorn sheep and Siberian ibex.

Fringed with October ice even in the sunny portions of the canyon, this water makes for a chilly bath.

Dense populations of Daurian pika (Ochotona dauurica) and other rodents sometimes lead to disputes. With winter’s icy lock looming, it is critical that each pika lay claim to a food source and stock up enough grass and seed to get them through the coming dark and cold. When stakes are high, these relatives of rabbits go at it with teeth bared and kicks flying.

Ears back and chin down, the vanquished rival retreats to his burrow.

Walking through the narrow canyon in late morning light, we found ourselves surrounded by innumerable pikas, gerbils, wheatears, horned larks, buntings and other passerines. The abundance of wildlife was a revelation, and for me, an avid birder, it was hard to take my eyes of the creek bank and sunny glades where most of the action was going on.

And then magic happened.

“Jack!” one or our party exclaimed. “Ibex!” I followed the line of his index finger to a far off ridge where, unmistakably silhouetted against a famously blue Mongolian sky stood a beautiful example of a mature male Siberian Ibex. In such flawless relief against the sky and perfectly still, it looked like a statue. Far off in the distance, it was staring directly at us and no doubt had been for some time.

I crouched low and began pacing myself toward it. Forty strides, stop, shoot. Forty strides, stop, shoot. Along the way I passed up the very shot of red-billed choughs (Pyrrhocorax pyrrhocorax brachipus) – a crow-like bird with a distinctive bright red bill and matching legs – I’d been hoping to get on this trip. I kept closing ground on the ibex, and although still well out of range, I reasoned that with every set of 20 paces I might be getting slightly better shots.

And then I looked down to where my left foot was about to fall near the edge of the creek and saw something I hadn’t even considered would be a possibility on this cool October morning…

Which of us more surprised the other is impossible to say. For a brief moment, I considered stopping to reposition this 22 inch (55 cm) snake, or to at least get a better photographic angle on him. But the ibex… Ironically, it turns out that seeing a Halys pit viper (Gloydius halys) is more unusual than seeing an ibex. On the other hand, as the name “pit viper” suggests, it’s just as well I didn’t mess around with this guy. Besides, on this cold day in a land where raptors are abundant, it was in the snake’s best interest that I left him alone.

This was a thrill. The ibex was still far off and way up, but he couldn’t have been any more beautifully silhouetted against the October sky atop this classic, jagged ridge. And then he disappeared for the last time. When I turned around to find Barbra and our group, they were pointing up a narrow canyon arm I’d just passed. The arm was on the other side of the ridge over which the male had disappeared, so I suspected this is where the rest of his group might be. The chase was on!

Somewhere between walking and running, I began scrambling as fast as I could up a wild side canyon. For one short stretch where a feeder spring tumbled over a mossy rock face, the ascent was almost vertical and I struggled between the camera gear I was carrying and finding hand-holds. But once I got up on the bench, there they were. Six, no, eight… maybe a dozen ibex represented by young males with their horns just beginning to gain weight and curl, females, younger animals and kids. They were watching me, but they had the high ground and I was on the opposite side of the canyon. They didn’t seem particularly nervous, so I continued scrambling, breaking a trail as I climbed.

With sturdy legs and heavily muscled bodies, the wild goats are stunning.

As I stepped through the low undergrowth, I suddenly recognized an unmistakable smell. Wild juniper. I reluctantly took my eyes off the ibex and looked down to see a vast carpet of berried shrubs blanketing the side of the canyon I was climbing. Still making my way to higher ground and watching the animals on the opposite canyon wall, I found myself almost instinctively thinking, “This would be the perfect place for…”

At that very moment the ground around my feet exploded in a wind-rush thrum of blurred wings. Chukar!

Shooting in manual, I was spinning dials like mad on my camera to adjust from the sunny slopes on the opposite canyon wall where the ibex were to the shade where this hen chukar was kind enough to pose on a lichen-stained rock complimenting her colors. The rest of the covey – her brood, I’m guessing – kited off to the opposite canyon wall and began calling each other back together.

It seems that everywhere we looked that day, wildlife was abundant and cooperative. This young white-winged snow bunting (Montifringilla nivalis) insistently remained underfoot till I snapped a few shots.

Our day-hike through Yolyn Am ended with shadows and cold crowding us out of the canyon, and though we could have walked further, we began to reckon that a warm ger and a hot meal sounded pretty good.

Ice – the great aquifer of arid highlands. It is this frozen water, slowly melting through the summer, that keeps the Yolyn Am Canyon wet and fecund. We couldn’t help but wonder what changes are in store for this magical place as the planet continues to warm.

A flock of red-billed choughs gathers in the canyon’s last light before flying to their roosts.

Next: Further South in the Yolyn Am Canyon – more ibex, gerbils, a lammergeier, rough-legged hawks, and a rare saker falcon in “The Valley of the Lammergeiers.”

Day 3: Tsagaan Suvarga, The Gobi Desert’s White Cliffs – Gazelles and Ger Life

Posted on November 23, 2014 by Jack & Barbra Donachy

In the distance, Mongolia’s Tsagaan Suvarga – The White Cliffs. In the foreground, a camel skull. A zud (harsh winter) can wipe out hundreds of thousands or even millions of livestock. And yet a hardy breed of people thrive here and in a land where humans and their herds of animals have coexisted with nature for millennia, wild animals are surprisingly abundant.

As we continued our journey south, the land unfolding before us bore little resemblance to what we had imagined the Gobi would be like. Throughout the journey, our van passed through nearly endless mixed flocks of passerines – wheatears, larks, buntings and sparrows. Eagles, hawks, ravens and vultures soared overhead. And there were times when gazelle seemed to be everywhere.

Initially, we had no idea what to expect from the domesticated Bactrian camels we encountered, so we approached with caution. As it turned out, they were even-tempered and in some cases not opposed to having their heads scratched. With thick coats of fur, sturdy legs, heavily muscled bodies and the capacity to go for a full week without water, these magnificent animals have evolved to thrive in one of the world’s harshest environments.

“Would you ride one?” Barbra asked playfully motioning toward the group of camels standing a few meters from us. I could tell by the smile on her face and the twinkle in her eyes that she was in.

“Maybe,” I replied with some hesitation. They appeared to be docile enough. “But not in circles in some tourist camp. If I get on a camel, it’s going to be to go somewhere.”

In fact, we’d get our opportunity in a couple of days. Between seeing several mammal and bird species that were new to us and after eating and drinking things we’d previously only read about (and in a couple of instances had never heard of) this proved to be a trip of firsts.

A thick-necked buck (center) vocalizes an alarm to his group of females and young. Mongolian gazelle (Procapra gutturosa) are the definition of skittish. It took our group several attempts before we began to learn how to approach these shy animals closely enough to get decent photographs.

Almost constantly on the move and sometimes covering thousands of square miles in a given year, Mongolian gazelle have adopted a nomadic lifestyle well-suited to the arid steppe and desert. Hunted both legally and illegally, their numbers remain robust at more than a million individuals. On our trip from Ulaanbaatar to the Gobi, we encountered thousands.

Pounding hooves and flying dirt. Standing about as tall as a man’s knee at the shoulder, these diminutive ungulates are capable of speeds up to 40 miles an hour (65 kph). (Click any of these photos to enlarge them.)

With seven of us in the van along with camera gear, sleeping gear, cooking gear, small chairs, tubs of food, extra water, eight three-liter boxes of wine, gifts for our host families, day packs and clothing bags rattling over steppe and desert, you might suspect we felt crowded and uncomfortable. It amazed us that we did not. We never tired of seeing the wildlife and landscapes and anticipating what might be around the next hill.

Nonetheless, after a day of bouncing across the open range, we were always happy to pull into our next ger, meet our hosts, and settle in.

Our hostess aerates a steaming pot of yamani suute tsai (suu – te – tsay) . Goat milk tea is a staple beverage in many Mongolian gers. Adamant non milk drinkers, Barbra and I loved the warmth, nutrition and flavor of this drink and came to look forward to a steamy bowl of it (or of the equally delicious temeeni suite tsai – camel milk tea) before dinner each evening.

Gers are eminently well-suited to the life of nomadic herdsmen and their families. Round and with conical roofs, there are no flat walls or edges to catch the wind. Covered with felt, they are well insulated. At around 500 square feet, (46 square meters) these one-room homes are an answer to the “tiny house” movement’s quest for a comfortable, efficient living space.

In modern times, many gers feature solar panels and batteries to power TVs and lights. A centrally-positioned steel stove, generally fueled with dry dung, serves as both a cook-stove and a heating system. Typical gers are appointed with wooden-framed beds, a small dining table, a few chairs, and perhaps a chest of drawers or two, all generally brightly colored. If you look around carefully, you’re likely to notice a rifle tucked away somewhere; wolves are still a threat to livestock in many locales, and foxes are common. There is no running water.

Although many herdsmen tend their animals on horseback, motorcycles have proved their usefulness as well.

In the last remaining light of the day, our host prepares a young sheep for dinner. His wife used the entrails to whip up the best country sausage we’ve ever tasted. Nothing was wasted. As the eldest in our group, I was offered dibs on the heart, kidneys, lungs, blood sausage, liver and the highly prized, succulently fatty tail. Some of these were epicurean firsts. Salted and otherwise very lightly seasoned, all were quite toothsome. The cigarette, which our host hand-rolled prior to beginning this chore, never left his lips.

Breakfast. Our driver, Nimka, relaxes with a bowl of goat milk tea in which homemade sausage from the previous night’s meal is steeping.

Following Nimka’s lead, I have a bowl of the same. It was absolutely delicious.

No doubt the key to the excellent flavor of everything was its freshness. Here is the bucket our hosts used for milking the goats.

Looking out over the desert plain from a vantage point on the White Cliffs. Day by day, hour by hour, we found ourselves falling in love with this country.

Next stop: Yolin Am Canyon: Remnants of the Gobi’s last glacier. Ibex, Picas, Raptors and more…