The Khulan, or Mongolian Wild Ass (Equus hemionus hemionus) is a rare species of donkey that is only found deep in the Gobi Desert and is consequently not often seen by most visitors to the country. The Przewalski’s Horse is rather more famous, and while fascinating in its own right, is resident in national parks just a few hours’ drive from Ulaan Baatar. Trekking out to see the Khulan (also known as the Onager) in comparison is a three-day journey.
What’s the difference between a horse and an ass? The genetic differences are really to do with natural adaption. Horses tend to prefer lush pastures and plenty of water, asses are adapted to wilder, more remote and harsher conditions, such as deserts, where food and water can be hard to come by. The Wild Ass also tends to have longer ears. Interbreeding is not uncommon, but horses and asses are so distinctly apart in their DNA that any offspring they produce – known as a mule – are sterile.
I have an apartment in Ulaan Baatar and have had for many years’ it’s an ideal base for organising expeditions out into the Mongolian countryside. Things have changed over the decades, whereas 20 years ago, trips way out would involve staying at nomadic gers en route, and perhaps not washing for several days, things have improved in terms of comfort. Ger camps are now prevalent in remote areas, and the Mongolian tourism board has set standards – they must provide hot and cold water, toilets and have food available. Sometimes I miss the old rough days of hanging out with the nomads and exchanging stories and bottles of snuff, but at least contemporary trekking in Mongolia allows for more creature comforts. Roads and highways have also improved, so getting to small towns such as Mandalgovi and Dalanzadgad, both gateways to the massive Gobi region is relatively straight forward.
Mandalgovi, which has developed from a one street village to a distinct town of about 5,000 people, is now a convenient stopping off place, with coffee shops, supermarkets and so on. It’s a good place to stock up on any forgotten provisions, and is about a 3-4 hour journey south from UB. But we’re headed for Dalanzadgad, even further south, essentially on the highway to China, another three hours further south: doing this all in one go makes for a long day.
Dalanzadgad has also changed and has become another small town. It is close to significant coal, copper and gold deposits, with numerous foreign investors there, while many work on site, the town has developed into a regional support centre so also has shops, an hotel, and even an airport with daily flights to UB. Around this area are plenty of ger camps. The hotel not recommended – locals sometimes after a few too many vodkas are wanting to pick fights and it can get a bit rough. We chose a ger camp about 20km on the way out of Dalanzadgad to the Yolim Am gorge, as the Mongolian evenings are usually clear, and being out of the town’s light pollution means there are great sky-gazing opportunities. There are plenty of options to choose from. The next day its worth heading back into Dalanzadgad as it has an excellent new Dinosaur museum, showcasing many of the Gobi finds as well as an interesting section on regional minerals and Mongolian Gobi culture.
From Dalanzadgad we are heading southeast, and you can see from the map there is nothing much marked. There are smaller villages, but this region, on the way to Dornogovi Aimag is remote. This means that it’s probably best to plan a trip to this region – which is where the Khulun live – in advance. Locally, it is known as the ‘Ancient Gobi’ as scientists have uncovered the oldest rocks and sediments here. Millions of years ago it was fertile and largely covered by the Tethys Ocean. It would have been a lot warmer and an ideal habitat for dinosaurs. There is a very remote museum, where the first dinosaur footprints were discovered and are now preserved in their natural habitat, at Khermen tsav.
The landscape here gets progressively rough, and it’s entirely possible to conjure up imaginations of how this region looked when it was an ancient Ocean.
But we are heading further southeast, where the landscape is constantly changing. We make our way over massive boulders, desert plains, until we eventually arrive at Khanbogd, about 70km from the Chinese border. This is a typical small Gobi village, with inhabitants mainly employed in the coal industry. We are booked into a small, but comfortable accommodation basically consisting of small wooden huts and a communal ger, whose lovely lady owner knocks us up a local fried meal. We are a long way from UB, and a long way from anywhere. We are rewarded for our long journey by a spectacular moonrise.
The next day we pick up a retired, but still availably active guide who used to work for the Mongolian wildlife department and is familiar with the movements of the Khulun. We are in luck, for in spring they are more easily found, although it is still a 2-3 hour, offroad drive to where we need to be. On the way I notice wild Iris and Mongolian Elm – sure signs that beneath the often-forbidding landscape, fresh water is running beneath.
We drive for close to 200km east across what increasingly becomes desert plain, largely barren, with just sagebrush and yellow caltrope bushes dotting the landscape. Yet even out here, nomads manage to eke a living, as occasionally we will come across a remote ger. You have to be very hardy and self-reliant to live out here where the nearest civilisation is 200km distant and the largest provincial town at least 24 hours’ drive away.
Then, just as I’m reconciling myself to the thought that if I don’t see them, I’ll have to come back another time, our guide – who must be about 70 but has the well-trained eyes of a hawk, points in the very far distance and says “There!” Frankly, I can’t see a thing, but we stop the car (A Toyota Landcruiser) and get out to have a look, binoculars in hand. I can see a group of about three small dots, even with the glasses, so I have no idea how the guide could spot them without. They must be a good 2-3 km distant. Keeping an eye on them – for the Khulan are already well aware of our arrival – we head towards what now appears to be a herd of about 20 animals. We stop again, and again, to allow them to get used to our presence until we finally come to a halt about 200 yards from them. I get my first good look at Khulan! And they are beautiful animals.
They are standing, mostly grazing, but with every fourth or fifth animal staring directly towards us. At the first sign of any perceived threat, they will be off – and Khulan can reach speeds of 70km an hour over short distances.
We spend a good couple of hours watching them and note some foals, born probably just 2-3 months earlier. We also find another couple of herds, including some more feisty, who will not allow a close approach but whose hooves we soon notice kicking up dust as they trot away. In fact, that raising of a dust cloud from a distance we realise is a giveaway that a herd of Khulan are on the move.
Weary, we eventually head back to our camp, with a similar expedition, with similar results, the next day. We have seen several thousand Khulan over 48 hours, at times being allowed to within 50 meters if approaching slowly, on foot.
On the third day, we drive over to the extraordinarily remote Damchog Monastery to pay respects, 300 monks were killed here in the 1930’s as the communist revolution swept Mongolia. Now, it has been partially restored with a few monks in situ. I learn that it is regarded as the ‘Centre of the Universe’, with a large metal spike hammered deep into solid rock at the top of a small hill overlooking the main building. The guide talks about energy fields and a scientific explanation relating to various mineral deposits flowing out from here, I can’t pretend to understand it. But in his remote part of the world, having seen the Khulan and completed the task I had set for myself, it certainly seems that this part of Mongolia is indeed the centre of everything.
