XC Mongolian Style
Nordic skiing was introduced here by the Russians, and although it is not nearly as popular as the three “manly” sports of horse riding, wrestling, and archery, some Mongolians enjoy it. In UB, a group goes out almost every weekend in the winter. To be included on one of these ski outings, you don’t need skis or transportation, and you don’t even need to know how to ski. All you need to do is show up at the customary meeting place at 11 am. Or, if you’re the kind of person who needs a little more structure than that, you can call Ron. Ron, keeper of a mound of ski gear donated over the years by ex pats departing for warmer postings, will loan you what you need (no warranties as to proper fit or decent condition), and find you a seat in a car.
This past Saturday morning the usual disorganized group of foreigners and Mongolians were loading piles of worn and mismatched ski gear into several cars in the parking lot of Millie’s Espresso diner. Unlike other Saturdays, however, the hills surrounding the city were white with several inches of new snowfall. This was the best snow we’d had in an incredibly dry winter, and we were excited by the prospect of skiing without falling over exposed roots and rocks.
This photo shows how skinny the snow has been (we had to take our skis off to get to this lunch spot).
And the reason we're all looking kind of discouraged in the photo at right is because we had to turn around for lack of snow.
But we wouldn't run out of snow today! After caravanning out of town and assembling at the trailhead, we began the usual negotiations as to destination. This is the same process used by the hiking group, so I won’t repeat myself here. Also like the hiking group, though, people of all abilities and experience are welcome to ski. So, the faster skiers spend a lot of time waiting for the slower skiers to catch up, and the slower skiers spend a lot of time wondering whether the faster skiers took the left or the right fork. But we haven’t lost anyone yet. Or at least, we haven’t lost anyone that we later didn’t find.
Anyhow, after starting out this past Saturday, we were puzzled to see a wobbly and skinny but nevertheless recognizable diagonal track set on the trail—something we’d never seen before. The mystery was solved when we heard a strange yell from behind and turned to see a young Mongolian woman in Lycra and a racing bib pushing hard up the hill. We had wandered into a ski race! The strange yell must have been the Mongolian word for “track.” Stepping aside to let them by, I noticed that their outfits were the latest fashion, but the skis looked worn. As I watched them struggle up the hill I fought a sudden desire to ditch my pack and jump in.
Instead, we left the “groomed” trail to the racers, and trudged off with our packs and heavy gear to break trail in a different direction. A few kilometers later, still longing for the fun of racing in set tracks on lightweight skis, I spotted a small herd of cows on the trail ahead of me. Picking up the pace, I easily overtook all but one. The leader was running fast now, but I was clearly gaining on her. When I was right behind, I called “track” loudly in both Mongolian and English. After several yells, she yielded and I overtook. I left her to chew her cud in my dust.
This past Saturday morning the usual disorganized group of foreigners and Mongolians were loading piles of worn and mismatched ski gear into several cars in the parking lot of Millie’s Espresso diner. Unlike other Saturdays, however, the hills surrounding the city were white with several inches of new snowfall. This was the best snow we’d had in an incredibly dry winter, and we were excited by the prospect of skiing without falling over exposed roots and rocks.
This photo shows how skinny the snow has been (we had to take our skis off to get to this lunch spot).
And the reason we're all looking kind of discouraged in the photo at right is because we had to turn around for lack of snow.But we wouldn't run out of snow today! After caravanning out of town and assembling at the trailhead, we began the usual negotiations as to destination. This is the same process used by the hiking group, so I won’t repeat myself here. Also like the hiking group, though, people of all abilities and experience are welcome to ski. So, the faster skiers spend a lot of time waiting for the slower skiers to catch up, and the slower skiers spend a lot of time wondering whether the faster skiers took the left or the right fork. But we haven’t lost anyone yet. Or at least, we haven’t lost anyone that we later didn’t find.
Anyhow, after starting out this past Saturday, we were puzzled to see a wobbly and skinny but nevertheless recognizable diagonal track set on the trail—something we’d never seen before. The mystery was solved when we heard a strange yell from behind and turned to see a young Mongolian woman in Lycra and a racing bib pushing hard up the hill. We had wandered into a ski race! The strange yell must have been the Mongolian word for “track.” Stepping aside to let them by, I noticed that their outfits were the latest fashion, but the skis looked worn. As I watched them struggle up the hill I fought a sudden desire to ditch my pack and jump in.
Instead, we left the “groomed” trail to the racers, and trudged off with our packs and heavy gear to break trail in a different direction. A few kilometers later, still longing for the fun of racing in set tracks on lightweight skis, I spotted a small herd of cows on the trail ahead of me. Picking up the pace, I easily overtook all but one. The leader was running fast now, but I was clearly gaining on her. When I was right behind, I called “track” loudly in both Mongolian and English. After several yells, she yielded and I overtook. I left her to chew her cud in my dust.
posted by Susanne D. at 4:51 PM
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