3. Over the mountains and through the woods…

The sat phone was dead. I mean really, completely, totally dead. Coming back to the apartment late the night before departure, we saw it hadn’t charged and wouldn’t even turn on. Problem. The next morning, the morning of our departure, Asel sent two more chargers with Sasha, our driver, who parked the strangely-out-of-place Comanche truck in the tiny alley outside our apartment. We tried to charge the phone as much as we could, but the apartment owner was excessively pushy, and scowled at us as we lingered with our last few bags, hoping to eke out a few more minutes of charging time.

The cigarette lighter in the truck was also broken, so through phone calls with Asel and garbled gesturing, we informed Sasha that we had to go to the ITMC office. While Sasha set out to fix the cigarette lighter (the man is a MASTER mechanic), we charged the phone. We also realized we had no way to charge the phone with the solar panel. After trying several adapters at ITMC with no luck, Dan and I set off for some stores that might have the adapter we needed and Matt came along to go to the ATM (we had forgotten this the day before - luckily we remembered, it would really save us). A couple hours later, we returned without an adapter but with a few miscellaneous parts. Dan expertly rigged up an adapter, splicing together pieces, and we all cheered when it worked. Now about four hours late, we were finally on our way, cruising the streets of Bishkek in our monster truck.

Not an hour into our journey and we were pulled off the side of the road. Ugh. Something (a hose?) had broken. Thankfully, with Sasha’s skill, we were back on the road in about 20 minutes, although we were a bit concerned about how many times we’d be stopping to fix the antique Russian vehicle that very well may have been used in Afghanistan.

About five hours later and still plodding along like a giant tortoise, we stopped at a tiny restaurant on the shore of the beautiful Lake Issyk-Kul. Abdybek helped us order a delicious local dish called Manti, dumplings filled with chopped onion and mutton. We’d spend the rest of the trip dreaming about a big plate of Manti waiting for us on our return.

It was late in the evening as we turned off the main road and headed up Barskoon Gorge. We were awe-struck by the beautiful mountainscape: towering evergreens, gushing river, lush grass. We gained elevation slowly, but soon stopped by some old abandoned buildings, unable to go further for the night as the pass above was covered in dense clouds. Chris, Dan, and I set up camp as Sasha laughed at Matt and Jamie rolling out their sleeping bags under the truck.

The Comanche truck, our ride to the Djangart, parked at our campsite in Barksoon Gorge.

We still had a long way to go and were up and out just after 6 a.m. the next morning. We gained the pass through 30-something switchbacks on a well-graded road, then spent several hours moving across a high plateau. We eventually left the main road - it continues on to the Kumtor Gold Mine - and utilized the truck’s full 6WD capabilities as we bypassed washed out bridges and ducked in and out of washes. The rugged power of the truck also meant one seriously bumpy ride – there was no type of suspension system meaning we were tossed about like rag dolls. Sleeping or reading was a tedious task; thankfully, there was a beautiful landscape at which to stare.

By about 11 a.m. we made it to the first border post, Kara-Say. We hopped out of the vehicle and handed our documents (border permit and passport) to two soldiers who staffed a gate. They gave them a look, and handed them back. That was easy. We gave them a bottle of vodka and some cigarettes, having been informed that they are quite happy to receive these gifts at their remote location.

We didn’t get far before stopping again, this time at the main outpost. Sasha and Abdybek went inside to talk to the chief while we waited outside. We were greeted by a handful of friendly soldiers. Dan traded his PSU hat for a military one and we gave them more Vodka and cigarettes. They didn’t want it just for themselves though, and soon we found ourselves passing around teacups full of Vodka (all except for Matt who expertly seemed to dodge the potent spirit). Everything seemed fine as we jumped back in the truck.

Kara-Say

Back on our way, we travelled northeast along the barely recognizable “main road” that heads northeast, paralleling the Kyrgyz-China border. As we stopped for a late lunch, we found that a jar of pasta sauce and a jar of Nutella had busted open in Dan’s pack thanks to the lurching and jostling of the truck. It made a huge mess that we cleaned as best we could. Those were the second and third casualties after we found our bananas looking more like baby food. As we were cleaning, we were approached by two soldiers on horseback. They checked our documents and had a friendly chat with Sasha, seemingly giving him directions to our next destination, the military outpost near Ak-Shyyrak that we believe is actually called Uch-Koshkon. Somehow, Dan convinced them to let him ride their horse, and he went for a little trot. Only Dan could pull that off.

Dan in his freshly traded hat with the horse patrol.

By late afternoon we rolled up to the gate at Uch-Koshkok. Like we had done previously, we produced our documents. This time, however, there was a problem. They told us the Abdybek couldn’t go any further.

“What?”
“Him (points) – nyet.”
“What?”

Abdybek, 17, is an intern with the Alpine Fund. The Alpine Fund offers jobs facilitating the outings to selected kids who go through their programs. When we first got involved with the Alpine Fund we inquired about hiring someone to come along and act as a translator. We soon had hired Abdybek to come along as a cook (he loves to cook), translator, porter, and camp companion. Unfortunately, Abdybek didn’t have his identification document with him, which is required along with the border permit (we don’t know if he forgot it or doesn’t have it). We pleaded with the soldiers at Uch-Koshkon, but they wouldn’t budge. At Kara-Say, Abdybek had come running back out to the truck and grabbed our last bottle of Vodka to give to the chief - we didn’t realize until later that it must have been a bit of a bribe. We frantically gestured, but got nowhere. We couldn’t believe it. Dejected, we dug in our bags for a few cigars and two packs of cigarettes that had been left. We took them back out to the soldiers, although the chief had already gone back inside. Amazingly, the mood seemed to shift. Suddenly, a man jumped in the front of the truck, Abdybek got in with us, and we were off. In his broken English, Abdybek joked that there must have been a call from the president. We all laughed. All was well.

Or so we thought. We made our way up the Kaichi Valley, the next valley system over from the Djangart, our destination. Sasha had managed to communicate earlier that he probably couldn’t get over the pass, but we held out hope. As the late afternoon sun bathed the peaks in warm light, we stared, awe-struck. The mighty Comanche powered through the Kaichi River several times, much to our delight. We passed a herd of cows and a herd of horses, then some shacks, although we saw nobody. The Russians who visited the area in 2008 had arranged horses in this valley. We thought maybe the guy in the front cab with Sasha was the man who had helped them. We were wrong.

The truck pulled off the road a couple miles from where it crests the pass. The road looked fine, but Sasha indicated that he couldn’t go any further. We tossed our bags out of the truck, not pleased. When we tried to talk about going over the pass with horses, the guy with Sasha was confused. After a lengthy session of gesturing, we realized he was just there to get a ride back to Bishkek and that Abdybek had to go too. Ahh! Frantic phone calls to Asel who translated to Sasha.

Our drop-off location in the Kaichi.

In the end, the truck left with us sitting there incredulous. Sasha would try to find and arrange for horses to meet us on his way out, but there were no guarantees. If they were coming, they’d be there by 2:00 the next day. If they didn’t, we’d be in for a major change of plans. Let the nervous waiting begin.

Mike