This is part two of the writer’s recent adventure in the Gobi Desert, that vast, arid region in northern China and southern Mongolia. Read part one here.
After a night at the Gurvan Saikhan mountain ranges, we visited Yolyn Am. Known for its narrow gorge that stays frozen during winter, the green canyon in the warmer months is flanked by jagged cliffs rising up to 200m.
As the area is shielded from the sun, the inner slope is vegetated and populated by adorable pikas – small mountain-dwelling mammals – and other more elusive animals, such as Lammergeier vultures. This is why Yolyn Am is also known as “vulture valley”.
In the late afternoon, we continued on our journey to Khongoriin Els, expecting to reach there in the evening. But as dusk approached, trouble came in the form of a punctured tyre. Thankfully, our skillful driver was able to put on the spare without much delay.
Afterwards, we ventured into a sandy area in hopes of finding camping ground before nightfall. This, we quickly learnt, was an unwise decision – the vehicle stalled again because, as it turns out, its tyres were stuck in the soft sand!
Our only solution was to push it back onto the firmer “main road”. To do so, we had to repeatedly scoop out sand from around the tyres before pushing the vehicle while the driver reignited the engine.
To our dismay, each coordinated effort would yield pathetic movement before it sank into the sand again. To add to our consternation, the Gobi had a carpet of thorny roots buried beneath the sand, pricking our hands as we dug around the vehicle.
It took us some 3.5 hours to get out of that sandtrap, with my Mongolian friends impressively in good spirits, singing and encouraging one another in their language without complaint.
Finally, we returned to the safety of the main road at 11pm. The rest of the night ended with a quick setup of tents and rounds of alcohol.
Finally – Khongoriin Els
The rolling dunes of Khongoriin Els are flanked by two rare, greenish oases – a welcome sight in the torturous heat – near the foot of the mystical Altai mountain range.
Spanning 6-12km wide and over 100km in length, Khongoriin Els is affectionately known among Mongolians as the Singing Sands. To properly appreciate the vista afforded by the undulant dunes, one has to make the physical effort to at least hike up to the middle ridge.
There, the view is otherworldly: wavy sand hills of yellow-white stretch as far as the eye can see, and each merciless gust of wind armed with sand scrapes your bare skin. It’s highly recommended you fully cover your face while climbing!
While I was heading up, a bunch of children taking part in a hiking competition overtook me, unfazed by the loose sand that forced us to climb on all fours.
In total, I spent 1.5 hours conquering Khongoriin Els. At the peak, I was struck by the wonder of this great adventure that filled me with memories that would last a lifetime.
Later that night, I witnessed another intriguing sight: the pitch-black dunes were dotted with numerous bright lights coursing around its wavy edges. These, I was told, were the flashlights of intrepid climbers attempting a night hike.
To me, these moving constellations epitomised the adventurous spirit of a people inhabiting the rugged, epic Mongolian land.