My Scariest Travel Moment (so far)
Being stalked by a wolf in Mongolia
I am often asked what the scariest moment of my travels has been so far. I feel like most people expect it to be me being mugged or meeting creepy people. The truth is that although I have a small handfull of oddballs along the way, my interactions with others while travelling have been generally great and other travellers I meet generally say the same. There have been some hiccups on the road, like when I was pickpocketed of my old, slowly dying Motorola phone in Delhi; jokes on them though because it was so broken that if it ever ran out of charge, it wouldn’t turn on again, so good luck to them! Other than this and probably being overcharged slightly here and there for being a tourist, I’ve generally had a great time with people, travellers and locals alike.
Despite spending years on the road undertaking a good deal of hiking, climbing, hitchhiking and motorbike adventures, I’ve generally been fine and managed to get myself out of a bind when it occurs, either by my own ingenuity or thanks to the help of others. Even things which may sound to others like the start of their worst nightmare or horror film can often be solved fairly easily. A great example of this was when my car got a puncture in the Australian outback while I was travelling along an unpaved, infrequently travelled back road. This could have been scary, but I had a spare tyre and loads of extra drinking water, so I was in little real danger and in no time I had changed the tyre and I was back on my way. In this instance and many others like it, preparation can make all the difference. This is particularly true for hiking and mountaineering, so if I can offer you any words of wisdom, come prepared for the adventure you are looking to do! Feel free to check out my Packing List and Travel Tips pages to help you prepare for future adventures.
That being said, I have inevitably had a few scary moments. I’ve been on many a remote mountain slope when the weather has changed unexpectedly, reducing visibility to near zero and sending temperatures plummeting, dramatically increasing the risk of falls and hyperthermia.
Another of my more scary travel moments which comes to mind, occured so quickly that I had little time to process what was happening. I had rented a motorbike in the Indian state of Maharashtra. I had spent several days enjoying the meandering mountain roads, which were perfect for motorbikes. During the day, I had been hiking up to stunning mountain forts which have had incredible panoramic views.
It had been a long day and it was dark and raining by the time I arrived in a small town looking for somewhere to stay for the night. I approached an intersection and proceeded to cross. All of a sudden, out of nowhere, a large herd of stampeding cows came charging across the intersection at full speed. I slammed on my brakes, losing control in the rain and sliding across the intersection with my heavy bike falling on top of me, pinning me to the ground. The cows thundered by just in front of my bike, missing me by mere inches. I could do nothing but wait for them to pass, knowing that if I had stopped a moment later, I would have been crushed beneath them. After they had passed, some locals came to my aid, lifting the bike off me. I had some scrapes and ripped clothes, but I had worn enough layers to have no serious road burn or injuries. It was a close call and I am grateful to have avoided it. Being crushed to death by cows in a remote part of India is pretty low down my list in terms of ways to kick the bucket, if I had a choice in the matter!
For me though, there is an event which stands out above them all as being my scariest travel memory (so far): being stalked by a wolf in Mongolia.
So allow me set the scene…
Mongolia is an incredible country and one which, so far, has been my favourite to travel in. It is landlocked and sandwiched between Russia to the north and China to the south. Famous for being the land of Ghengis (Chenggis) Khan and having seemingly endless steppe, huge flat grasslands. The country has the lowest population density of any in the world! Around two people per square kilometre (around five people per square mile). The locals live in gers (known in the west as yurts), which are animal hide-covered tent-like structures which can be packed up and relocated, an ideal dwelling for its largely nomadic culture. The capital Ulaanbaatar, is the only real city in the country. Mongolia was a soviet puppet state until the early 90’s and much of its architecture is still from its communist era, although now it is a democracy. Ulaanbaatar, often referred to as ‘UB’, does, however, have some more modern, post-Soviet buildings near the centre.
Other than here, there are a handful of other small towns in the country, most of which look like something straight out of a Western movie. Mongolia is also home to a wide variety of landscapes, from mountains, valleys and lakes to the Gobi desert in the south. Much of the country, however steppe and this beautiful sea of grass with animals like yaks, horses and goats roaming infrequently and huge birds of prey soaring overhead. With no trees to land in this massive birds sit in plain view on the ground and take off, soaring spectacularly overhead as you approach. In many places in Mongolia, it is perfectly flat with no trees, shrubs or even rocks anywhere to be seen. It’s a beautiful sight and one which also makes for an interesting challenge when looking for some privacy when nature calls!
As a child, I had a map of the world above my bed and I was obsessed with staring at countries and places which are remote. Having been a lifelong outdoor lover and history nerd, Mongolia made it high on my must-see travel list. I had eased into travelling by spending a year in Australia, three months in New Zealand and then several months in south-east Asia; all places which are a bit more ‘beginner-friendly’. My travels had gradually become more adventurous as I gained confidence. I loved Thailand but by the time I had arrived there, I had spent around a year and a half seeing countries famed for beaches and volcanoes. By this time, I had also seen my fair share of south-east Asian culture and I was craving something new. The rainy season was fast approaching in south-east Asia, while my research showed the weather was improving in Mongolia as their harsh winter weather dissipated. That was all the encouragement I needed. I saw it as a sign and booked a last-minute flight from Bangkok to Mongolia via Hong Kong.
I got an amazing view of Hong Kong from the air and within a few hours, I had landed in Mongolia’s principal international airport: Cheggis Khan International Airport. The airport is modern and well organised as Mongolia seeks to bring more tourists to the country. It is located some distance from the capital and leaving the airport you get a true glimpse of the real Mongolia as worlds and ages collide. I saw 21st century passenger jets taking off and landing, while at the end of the runway, underneath the flightpath, you can see animal skin dwellings known as gers (known as yurts by Westerners), housing people living traditional nomadic lives, akin to those that their ancestors would have had thousands of years ago.
The rural areas of Mongolia are home to many ger-living nomads. Hardy people who typically keep livestock for sustenance. These people are incredibly resilient with temperatures in Mongolia being pleasant in the summer but plummeting in the winter. Ulaanbaatar is the coldest capital city on earth, with temperatures often below -25 Celsius (-13 fahrenheit) in winter and sometimes dropping as low as -40 Celsius (-40 fahrenheit).
I spent two months in Mongolia, leaving it right up to the wire to depart because I loved my time there so much. The only reason I didn’t stay longer was because I couldn’t extend my tourist visa beyond a second month! My first adventure after arriving was a tour of the Gobi, where I met nomads, learned some of their customs and how they lived. I found their customs and traditions fascinating and I will no doubt discuss them more on my podcast at some point. There are too many to list in detail here but one of my favourites is when being invited into nomads’ gers, as a guest, they would typically offer sniffing tobacco.
As a guest, you are expected to pour some onto your hand and sniff it through your nose. You then return it to the host, and the host then passes it to any other guests in turn. It is considered rude to pass it from one guest to another directly and I presume this is because it is not yours to give. For a history nerd such as myself, I found that seeing how nomads live was like going back to another time. Many nomads have replaced horses with motorbikes and often have modern metal stoves for heating and cooking, but other than that, life is pretty much how it would have been over two thousand years ago!
My second adventure was a 10-day horse trek in the far north of Mongolia, close to the Siberian border. Here I met and stayed with the Dukha (sometimes called Tsaatan) people. They live in remote northern valleys and live off reindeer, riding them and using them for sustenance. That’s right, you read that currently, they ride reindeer! The Mongolian term Tsaatan literally translates to ‘Reindeer People’. I was greeted by a badass kid riding up to me on the biggest reindeer they had (see photo). Unlike other Mongolians, they live in teepees instead of gers and they are ethnically Turkic rather than Mongolian. I will probably discuss these more in another blog or podcast at some point, so stay tuned! In the meantime, here are some photos of what I got up to, to give you a flavour.
After returning from this trip, I rested up in the capital for a few days, enjoying some comforts of city life and planning my next adventure. I had previously ridden scooters (mopeds) in south-east Asia and dreamed of having my own solo motorbike adventure in the Mongolian wilds. I don’t recommend this at all, but I chose to watch a few videos on motorbikes to see if I could learn on the job. I had always driven manual cars, so I figured that I’d work it out. I looked into buying a motorbike, but because of the length of my visa and the legal issues in buying and selling one as a foreigner, I chose to rent one instead. I found and booked a rental company which provided a motorbike, a tent and a sleeping bag. The day before leaving, I met through friends a Colombian, Antonio. By chance, he planned to rent a bike from the same place as me, and he also had aspirations of having an epic solo adventure.
Antonio, who I nicknamed Tony had grown up in Bogota and was an experienced dirt bike rider. We knew that the bikes we were to be renting were reliably unreliable. The cheap Chinese-made bikes were easy enough to ride, lightweight and had affordable replacement parts. They weren’t powerful, only 150cc, similar to some scooters, but we had to use them. This was because they were the only bikes the locals rode with plenty of nomads having them. This meant that the locals had spare parts and know-how to fix them if we had any trouble.
Tony and I shared a taxi to the motorbike rental located in the outskirts of UB and I tried out the bike. The YouTube tutorials I had watched worked well enough and Tony had enough experience to know what to look for when inspecting the bikes. I didn’t fall over on my test laps up and down and we were given our tents, saddle bags and sleeping bags. It took some time to pack up and best distribute the weight for balance. By the time we departed, it was late in the afternoon. We threw our legs over our bikes and set out on our adventure.
Tony (right) and I (left) at the bike rental located on the outskirts of Ulaanbaatar
Originally from Columbia he had lived and worked in Europe, speaking English, Spanish and Italian fluently. He had booked a trip to Tibet for a week after we set out and like me, he sought after an an epic solo adventure in Mongolia. We originally planned to spend just the first night together to test out gear in case the other had an issues but we got on so well that we ended up spending most of his week-long adventure together. We enjoyed exploring remote valleys and ancient burial grounds. We met locals, sometimes being invited to stay with them and took ourselves off on spontaneous hikes. We made campfires and generally enjoyed being boys in the wilderness.
Originally from Columbia he had lived and worked in Europe, speaking English, Spanish and Italian fluently. He had booked a trip to Tibet for a week after we set out and like me, he sought after an an epic solo adventure in Mongolia. We originally planned to spend just the first night together to test out gear in case the other had an issues but we got on so well that we ended up spending most of his week-long adventure together. We enjoyed exploring remote valleys and ancient burial grounds. We met locals, sometimes being invited to stay with them and took ourselves off on spontaneous hikes. We made campfires and generally enjoyed being boys in the wilderness.
I was new to riding motorbikes and Tony wasn’t and the difference definitely showed. Mongolia has very few paved roads and we spent most of our time bouncing around the countryside. He would navigate mud and sand with ease, whereas I took a few tumbles. I was lucky that many of my falls were minor, although on the second day, I took a tumble after losing control in the mud, and I felt some pain for a few days afterwards. Tony was used to fording rivers and that was a skill which I needed to master in Mongolia. I had forded rivers before in manual cars and luckily the theory was the same but with the added element of balancing a heavily-laden bike as it bounced over cobbles on the riverbed. As well as lacking roads, Mongolia also lacks bridges.
As I was new to motorbikes and crossing rivers on them, had I been alone, I would have pulled up to a river crossing and thrown in some rocks to judge the depth, then proceeded slowly and with caution. Tony, on the other hand, had balls of steel; he would drive through rivers with no hesitation and rapidly climb up the other side. I got the hang of this more quickly than I thought, although I think I am still far off Tony’s level of skill. One river crossing was a little problematic. Tony led the charge across a particularly deep and fast-flowing river, which had a steep, crumbling bank on the far side. I crossed shortly after Tony, but Tony got stuck coming up the far bank. With our heavily laden bikes, I couldn’t stop in the river and also couldn’t stop on the far bank for fear of losing control of my bike on the steep bank and tumbling backwards into the river with my bike and all belongings crashing down on top of me. I was rapidly approaching Tony and didn’t know what to do; to stop would be a disaster, but to keep going, I would crash into him. In the end, my indecision made the decision for me. I rode into the back of him. On the positive side, he was able to get up the far bank with the encouraging nudge I had given his bike from behind as I crashed into him. The negative was that the impact and the angle of the bike on the bank caused a severe jerking motion, which, judging by the expression on his face, had crushed his balls so that they felt like they had been flatted into pancakes. Luckily, all was forgiven and we soldiered on.
During our adventures, I got more confident on the bike, which would stand me in good stead for my second week alone after Tony left to head back to UB and onto Tibet, where I would continue solo. On what was planned to be our second last day together, my bike got an oil leak and came to a grinding halt in the middle of a remote valley. I pushed the bike onwards while Tony rode on ahead. Luckily, there was a very small town not too far away where he bought oil and brought it for me so that I could limp the bike into the same town. We were far from Ulaanabatar and Tony had his flight to Tibet coming up. We had planned to camp nearer the capital so that he could return more easily while I stayed out solo for longer. So that he wouldn’t miss his flight, I told Tony to leave me in the town. After an amazing week of adventures together, we said our farewells and he rode off towards the capital. I then asked around the town to find a mechanic who could patch up my bike and stop the oil leak.
This was the first major issue I had with my rental bike, but unfortunately, it was not the last. I had some degree of problem with my bike every day for the next week of my solo adventure before I finally limped it back into UB. Finding mechanics in Mongolia is also interesting. Most of the time, you have to ask around. This alone can be problematic, as I don’t speak more than a few words of Mongolian, the locals typically speak no English and Google Translate is better than nothing but works very poorly with Mongolian, with a great deal being lost in translation. I typically found the town mechanic working in nondescript residential buildings with no signage. I also got help from nomads who all had some knowledge of fixing motorbikes, although many often didn’t have the parts to undertake any major repairs. One time, the back of my bike, which supported my saddlebag, fell off and I only realised two miles later. I then had the joy of circling back to try and find it, which was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. In that instance, I managed to find a welder and get it fixed in less than three hours, which was a very good result given how remote I was.
My constant motorbike issues meant travelling great distances was slow and came with more risk should my bike break down. On one occasion, I spent two nights in a town getting my bike fixed and drove over 6km (4 miles) down the road only for it to die completely. I then had to take the long trudge back to town once more, pushing my bike and all my equipment the whole way. Thankfully though, this was one of the few sections of hard-paved road I drove down on my trip and the road was relatively flat, making my life easier.
After Tony and I had parted ways I set out to a remote part of Mongolia, famed for its mountains and lakes. I got on well fording rivers, camping, cooking, hiking and meeting locals. The trip was incredible. Traversing wilderness areas, watching horses and yaks roaming through breathtaking landscapes. One of my favourite things was the birds of prey. Large parts of Mongolia have no trees, so these massive birds squat strangely on the ground, often in groups. As I would drive by, they would take flight, soaring majestically just over my head. My unplanned tour of Mongolian mechanics was not ideal, but the country more than made up for the delays!
My bike was so temperamental that it wouldn’t start or even be kick-started; I could only hill start it. This meant that I had to be very particular about where I camped. I sought sites near water for drinking and cooking. I also needed somewhere flat enough to be comfortable to sleep on, yet with a nearby slope steep enough to roll my bike down the next morning to get it started.
Despite numerous setbacks with my bike, I approached my destination, a large lake with a large ridge before it, requiring a steep ascent and even steeper descent on the far side. I forded several large, deep rivers that day, which thankfully went well. I knew if I stalled the bike while fording a river, that I would likely be stuck there in a freezing river, which definitely upped the stakes. The rental owner also held my passport as a deposit since I had only paid for two days’ bike rental, as I didn’t commit to the full two-week rental straight away. The passport was held until I returned the bike and paid the extra money I owed. I knew she would have me short and curlies if her bike was left broken and water-damaged in a remote river. As you can imagine, roadside assistance and recovery does not exist for motorbikes in rural Mongolia! You may be wondering why I didn’t return the bike and swap it for another. To answer that, my visa limited my time left in Mongolia and returning to UB from where I was would have cost me 3-4 days. I chose having bike issues and a few extra days of exploring Mongolia over the alternative. Plus, spending more time in UB meant more risk of coming across cops and at this point, I had already been pulled over and had one nerve-racking experience with a cop and I wasn’t eager to repeat that experience.
I was making steady progress towards the lake. My second-last major river crossing of the day was a wide, deep river with a very rocky, difficult riverbed. I had to choose my crossing point carefully to not drop too deep and get stuck. I considered taking my saddle bags off my bike, wading across the river and dropping them on the far side before coming back for my now lighter bike afterwards. This would make the crossing easier and also mean I had a chance of being able to push it out of the river if I stalled it. This costs time though, and would mean I would be up to my scrotum in cold river water as I tried not to drop my belongings into the river. I decided to go for it in one with my bags still attached and drove in. Keeping the bike slow by the revs high, I chugged away through the river, being bounced left and right by the uneven stones beneath the wheels. I was relieved and elated when, with no issues, I climbed out of the other side and mounted the far bank. I felt like my destination had never been closer. There is something about driving further from civilisation on a broken motorbike with no help of rescue, which does give you some fear in your gut that you could be making your life a lot more stressful, but the way I see it, in for a penny, in for a pound! At this point with seeming the worst behind me, I was feeling optimistic and my spirits were high! I don’t have many pictures of my river crossings because I was preoccupied with the task at hand but I did pass this distinctive rock feature just afterwards, which served as a great landmark.
After driving a little while and crossing some more minor rivers, I approached the lake and I could see the final ridge rising upwards, obscuring the lake from view. One final river crossing lay between me and the ridge. It wasn’t nearly as wide or deep as the other I had crossed earlier and I was confident. I slowed down to cross the river and began to cross. Then, without warning, halfway through the river, my bike stuttered and died. I am normally a very easy-going, relaxed guy. I admit that on this occasion, I was not. I swung my leg over my bike to stand alongside it and then proceeded to punch my bike while swearing like a trooper. I had lost all self-control after a week of non-stop bike problems and countless breakdowns. To come so close and then have this was felt like a cruel joke and it was a mre than a little frustrating. After my minute-long tantrum, I turned my head to see a young nomad watching my outburst from the riverbank a few meters away and embarrassment hit me. He helped me push my bike from the river and then limped it up to his camp on the riverbank.
His camp consisted of two gers and a huge Bankhar dog, which lunged to attack me as I approached. Thankfully, a thick metal chain tethered it to a stake in the ground. I had come across these dogs before. Bankhar dogs are massive and are kept by many Mongolian nomads to protect them and their livestock from wolves. Both solo and with Tony I had driven past nomads’ gers to see these huge beasts chase after us, barking at our heels. We would be doing over 30km/hour (20mps) with these dogs easily keeping pace with us. Luckily, those we had passed which wern’t chained up would bark but not bite us. If it came down to a fight with these massive dogs, my money would definitely be on the dog and not me!
I managed to communicate with the young nomad with some broken Mongolian and Google Translate, which, as previously mentioned, is a bit patchy when it comes to Mongolian. He told me that he and the others in the valley live by the lake I wanted to visit in the winter, but that the government makes them move into the nearby valley in the summer so that people can use the area for recreation. He warned me against staying there overnight because there were a large number of wolves in the area. He said if I stayed there, I should keep a fire burning all night to be safe. I had no firewood, there was no vegetation in the area and being tired and alone, I knew that I would fall asleep quickly with no chance of keeping a fire going all night. In case you are wondering how Mongolians keep fires going for heating and cooking when much of the country has no vegetation, it is because they burn animal manure, which doesn’t smell as strongly as you may think.
My new nomadic friend offered for me for me to stay with him and his family instead with their dog serving as protection from the wolves. His mother was there but his dad had travelled to the nearby town and was due back to the following day. They offered me space to sleep in their ger. I thanked them but chose to sleep in my tent, which I pitched up next to them.
My new, young, nomadic friend and I played chess together in the evening with a travel-side chess board I had bought in UB. I found this made for a great way to socialise with locals when there is a language barrier and it was a lot of fun and worked well. As I retired to go to bed, I was told to use the bathroom (term of phrase only, this is rural Mongolia) before bed because their dog would be let off its chain to patrol the area and protect them and their livestock.
He said I should not leave my tent until it was dawn and the dog was chained up again, or it would attack me. The thought of being mauled by a giant dog which is bred to keep humans safe from wolves was a comically ironic thought, but I made sure not to drink much water before bed all the same!
My nomadic hosts let me keep my bike at theirs. I saw they had a bike which was half gutted and looked to be salvaged for parts. My new friend looked over my bike and told me that I need parts to fix it. I asked if I could take some from the other bike, but he said it was his dad’s and he would need his permission before he took anything from it. The next day, I hiked up to the lake, leaving my bike and belongings at the camp and asking my friend before I left to check with his dad about the bike parts when he returned and offering to pay for them and the work. Without them, I would be stuck. On my way up to the lake, I passed a nomad on a motorbike with a rifle slung over his shoulder. I was aware that wolves were an issue in Mongolia, as I had been warned about them many times before and saw the nomads’ huge Bangar dogs on many occasions as a reminder to the threat.
The hike up to the lake was beautiful. I took a detour to explore some nearby slopes and take in the view before heading down to the lake. I hadn’t seen anyone else in the area other than the nomad with the rifle early that morning, several miles back down the valley. When I got to the lake, I stripped down for a well-needed wash in the lake. The water wasn’t as cold as swimming in glacial lakes, but it definitely wasn’t warm either. That being said, I was desperate for a wash. I had splashed water on myself in rivers, but I had often not been camped anywhere with a river which was suitable for bathing. After I dressed and began to head back, thinking I was miles from the nearest person, I heard voices and stumbled on a group of Mongolians on holiday. The group of friends sat around their car laughing and joking. They seemed well off with a nice off-road car (rare in Mongolia) and they even spoke English. They offered me a bottle of coke which I tried to refuse out of courtesy, but they insisted I take it. I was incredibly grateful for it. I had had nothing but meat, rice and water for two weeks and the sugar rush gave me the much-needed energy to get me back up the hill towards the camp.
I returned to the camp to find more good news. My friend had nearly finished fixing my bike, having obtained permission to salvage the parts from his dad’s bike. I met his father and spent time with the family while my bike was being fixed.
It was evening by the time my bike was ready and the family advised me to stay as it was getting late. With my visa end date coming around, though and my recurring bike issues, I was keen to make some progress back towards UB in case I had any further delays. I didn’t want to be banned from coming back to Mongolia for overstaying my visa or worse, finding myself detained!
I thanked the family and headed off. I had seen on my map a place which looked good to camp. It was towards the main road I intended to get to and use to return more quickly to UB. I had been advised not to camp near towns as locals don’t use tents or motorbike helmets, so I would stand out as a tourist and although unlikely, there was a greater risk of being robbed. That being said, being somewhat near a town reduces the risk of having wolves nearby. I got to the camping spot I had chosen on my map well after dark and I was exhausted. It had been a long day of hiking, socialising, riding and river crossings. I found a nearly level place to pitch my tent with a sufficiently steep-enough bank nearby to hillstart my bike in the morning. I pitched up, chained up my bike and headed down to the river for some much-needed water.
Most rivers in Mongolia which I had come across were great, with clean flowing water. In the north, I had found some mosquitoes, but in central Mongolia, where I was at this time, I hadn’t seen any, until this moment… As I went down to the river, I found the bank treacherous. The lose soil collapsed easily, with sides being perilous to navigate down to the river. The darkness didn’t help my descent as the moon hadn’t yet risen and I didn’t fancy a twisted ankle, especially at that point in my trip! Once at the river, I found mosquitoes everywhere. They swarmed me and entered every orifice they could find, filling my nostrils, eyes and ears. Filling water in my pots, I found the water contained a lot of dirt and insects. I aimed to take the cleanest I could and tried not to spill what I could as I scrambled back up the riverbank towards my tent. When I got back to my tent and could inspect the water properly, I found that, despite my best efforts, it was too dirty to use and I opted to cook with my limited drinking water. I have since invested in a Lifestraw, which filters water and solves this issue and which I discuss on my Packing List page.
I was hungry and exhausted. Despite being thirsty, I chose to use some of my limited drinking water to cook with and even then, I managed to burn some rice to the bottom of my cooking pot. I would normally wash everything and then put my food bag a few meters from my tent. I thought I had left the worst of wolf country at this point and didn’t fancy a scramble in the dark down to the mosquito infeseted river just to wash my things in dirty water. Instead, I put my things in a bin bag and threw them a few meters from my tent, crawling into bed and falling quickly into a deep sleep.
In summer, central Mongolia has great daytime weather, but the evenings are cold and I wore several layers to sleep in. Unusually though, on that night, I woke just before 3am as a result of being too hot. I stripped off some layers and tried to get back to sleep. As I tossed and turned for half an hour, then started to drift off again. I was in a state of being half asleep when I heard a dog drinking from a dog bowl. I was exhausted and it took me a few seconds to come to my senses. I then very quickly remembered where I was and realised what was happening. A wolf was just meters away from me as I lay in my tent. It was drinking the water that I had left in my cooking pot to soak my burned rice. I lay there motionless as I heard the wolf rummaging through my bin bag of discarded food and licking out my jar of sauce, which I had failed to rinse out a few hours prior.
Until then, I hadn’t been afraid of wolves. I knew they were more active at dawn and dusk and just a few weeks prior, I had climbed a hill in northern Mongolia alone at dusk to take in the view. My friends didn’t want to join me, so I had ventured up alone and I stayed there at the end of a treeline watching the light fade. Only as it suddenly began getting very dark, I had felt my heart beat a little faster as I imagined wolves emerging from the tree line to cut off my retreat to the camp. I made it back just as the light faded with no issues, but I had definitely felt more alert and less relaxed than usual.
My view from a short hike from my camp during a horse trek in Northern Mongolia
Even the day before, the wolf had paid my camp a visit when I had been hiking around the lake. I was not afraid. I had been stood upright, in daylight and there were plenty of rocks on the ground which I could use to throw at any approaching wolves. I knew it wouldn’t be enough to really harm any, especially if they were in a pack, but hopefully it would be enough to make them think twice.
At that moment however, as I lay in my tent, I was terrified. My heart pounded in my chest as I felt naked and vulnerable. I was lying down, encapsulated in a sleeping bag and with no weapon to defend myself or even the space to stand upright and adopt a fighting stance. My only weapon was a Swiss Army knife, which lay in a bag which was somewhere near my feet. Getting it would make a fair bit of noise and even once I had it, its short 2-inch (5cm) blade would do little against a wolf.
As I listened to the wolf raiding my supplies, I considered my options. The way I saw it ,I had three:
- I could scream at the wolf and make some noise. There was a good chance that if I did this, it might be scared away. There was a slim chance, however, that it would be enraged and then I would find myself unprotected and like a burrito, wrapped in my sleeping bag for the wolf’s convenience.
- I could try to reach for the knife in the bag at my feet so that if the wolf did go for me, I could at least put up some resistance and hopefully scare it away if it came to it. Reaching for the knife would make some noise though, as my sleeping bag rustled and the zip was pulled back, which could cause the wolf to turn its attention on me. Even then, I was doubtful that my small blade would do any real damage to a wolf.
- I could lie there like a little b*tch and pray it goes away…
Being the lion of a man that I am, I chose option 3…
I felt deep down that the wolf would likely sniff around, take some easy pickings and then be on its way. So that’s what I did, lay there listening intently and not moving an inch. Then came by far the scariest moment of this episode. The wolf became bored of my food and then slowly stalked around my tent. It stared on the right side of me near the tent opening before walking around my feet and up the left side. At one point it must have been little more than a foot (30cm) away from my head. It was a full moon that night and the light streamed into the left side of my tent, that is, until the wolf walked by, obscuring the light of the moon. At this point, I thought that the wolf would either smell me, investigate and then potentially attack and kill me, or that this would be an incredible story. I am very grateful that it is the latter. The wolf circled my tent twice in all before all fell silent again. A short while later, I heard dogs barking down the valley and I deduced that the wolf had ventured off that way, spooking the dogs of nearby nomads as it ventured too close. Although I wasn’t relaxed by any means, the immediate danger had passed and I breathed a deep sigh of relief. I felt safe enough to reach down for my knife, which I kept beside me and in easy reach for the rest of the night.
All in all, I think the wolf was around my tent for 20 minutes, although it’s hard to say for sure because, to put things poetically, time goes more slowly when you’re shitting yourself.
I couldn’t sleep for the rest of the night and at 6am as the sun was rising, I emerged from my tent. I found the leftovers from the wolf’s midnight feast and noticed that my cooking pot, which I had burned rice in the previous evening, was gone. I searched for it but couldn’t find it in any direction. I crossed the river to get over a small ridge on the far side, as this was the only place anywhere nearby where I could have some degree of privacy to answer nature’s call. From the top of the small ridge, I could survey the area which I hadn’t been able to take in the previous day, as I had arrived after dark. I could see the river, my camp, the nearby town in the distance and the track I had driven down to get there. I also saw some nomads’ gers (yurts) from where I presumed I had heard the owner’s dogs barking the previous night as the wolf ventured down the valley. The event had felt very surreal and even thinking back on it now, it feels more like something from a film that that something that would happen to me. I still count myself as very lucky though, since a cooking pot was all I lost!
Photos taken from of my camp the morning after the wolf came-a-stalking
I had accounted for it taking two days to get back to the capital. I had made it this far by largely avoiding Mongolia’s few hard-paved roads. I planned to get back using these roads in order to save time and also be more likely to get help should my bike break down again, which, given my experience thus far, was very likely. With a broken bike, no cooking point, a lack of sleep, limited time to leave Mongolia before I overstated and the previous night’s events still fresh in my mind, I decided to try and make the drive back to Ulaanbaatar in one day. Google Maps estimated that I was 7.5 hours of non-stop car driving from UB. My Chinese bike however, had very low power. It was lightweight and packed more power than I would expect a bike with only a 150cc engine, given that many scooters (mopeds) packed a similar size but all the same, it was incredibly slow when it came to cruising on main roads. I found I was unable to go more than 80km/hour (50mph) without it screaming. I was also hesitant to rev it too hard, as last time I had done that, it had broken down completely. I didn’t know how long the journey would take, but I knew it would take a lot longer than 7.5 hours.
I removed my security lock and chain, loaded up my bike and coasted down the small bank to the river, hearing and feeling the bike jump onto life as it awoke beneath me. I turned towards the small town I had seen in the distance and which lay between me and the hard-paved road I was aiming for, which would take me back to the capital. As I passed through the town, I saw it was deserted.
It appeared to be a former industrial town with no sign of life. I had chosen my campsite to be far enough from the town to not have trouble with any locals, but close enough so that the number of inhabitants and human activity may deter any wolves. Upon seeing how empty it was, I then understood why the wolf from the previous night was willing to come so close to it.
I continued on from the town and within an hour, I had made it onto the main road. The sense of relief was incredible as I now felt far more confident that I could limp my bike back to the capital and hopefully, not overstay my visa! After driving for several hours down this road, however, I noticed how few vehicles passed me; I barely saw any! I expected there may be some traffic which I could flag down for help if my bike gave me trouble, but quickly realised that even here, I would still have a fair wait on my hands before anyone came by.
As I travelled back to the capital, I saw some of the most beautiful landscapes I have ever seen. Stunning countryside and wildlife at every turn. Unfortunately, my curse was that I couldn’t stop to take a photograph or admire the view for longer because I was worried that if I slowed down my bike my stop and not start again. Much of my route back was completely flat, meaning I couldn’t hill start my bike and would end up stranded. The only slight slope I found was next to a petrol (gas) station, where I needed to fill up, which was incredibly lucky and it was just enough to get me going again.
It was 9:30pm as I came to the outskirts of Ulaanbaatar, amazed that I hadn’t had a single unforeseen issue with my bike the whole day! It was dark, which I used to my advantage as I didn’t want to be pulled over by police seeking a bribe. I had also stopped at an ATM on the way back to the city, as only a few worked with my foreign card. I was loaded up with hundreds of pounds to pay for the bike rental and get my passport back. Given Mongolia’s currency (Tugrik) having low value, the notes made my wallet packed. Toll roads in Mongolia are free for motorbikes. I passed through the narrow motorbike lane and on the far side, next to the road, I saw what looked to be an official standing by the side of the road flagging me down. I stood out because I wore a helmet, something I never saw Mongolian’s do. I saw no vehicle near the official and I had no plans of stopping, so I looked straight ahead, pretending not to see and kept on going, putting my foot down once I was round the corner just in case.
My last hurdle was approaching the rental. I had told the rental company owner that I would be returning it late. I thought to myself that even if it meant banging on her door at midnight, I would have done it just to get rid of my cursed bike at this stage and be done with it! I hadn’t realised when leaving Mongolia how much of a sprawl it was until my return journey, likely due to the elation of being on a bike and beginning an epic adventure when I had left two weeks prior. The hills in the city, which were en route to the bike rental, were terrible for me. There were plenty of stops at traffic lights, which sometimes caused me to stall. I would then frantically dismount, pushing the bike out of the way and onto a downhill slope for me to restart it again. By about 10:30pm I had returned the bike, offloading my wad of cash and with my passport safely back in my pocket. I was relaxing in the back of a taxi as I headed to my hostel, where I showered and collapsed into bed.
It had been an amazing trip and one which felt like a true adventure. When I woke up the next morning, I felt incredible with a real sense of achievement. It felt strange being surrounded by so much convenience even after just two weeks of being away, although in truth, it had felt like I had been gone for much more than two weeks! I loved being out in the wilderness, but at that moment, I was delighted to be back somewhere with the modern comforts of city life, particularly with the diversity of food that was on offer. I had been living off rice, meat and occasionally fish and I greedily tucked into food at the local restaurants.
I hadn’t been organised enough to get a Chinese visa, which would allow me to take the train from Ulaanbaatar to Beijing as I had originally intended, so I booked a cheap flight to Daegu, South Korea and enjoyed the remainder of my time in the city.
Despite this scary episode, I still love Mongolia and in a weird way it’s part of the appeal. Not that I’m saying I want to shit myself and be stalked by wolves all the time, but the thought of being out on an adventure in the wilderness is thrilling and it feels like a totally different type of adventure compared to many other parts of the world. Mongolia is a country which I can’t wait to go back to and one which offers something really unique. I know Mongolia is my favourite country I have travelled to so far because I have never been so sad or emotional to leave somewhere as when I was on my way back to the airport to depart. If I had had longer, I definitely would have stayed longer and I am excited to go back!
I hope that you have enjoyed this tale from my time travelling in Mongolia. If you are interested in finding out more about Mongolia, feel free to check out my Mongolia Destination Guide! For more stories, feel free to check out my podcast and other blogs.
I hope you enjoyed this story and happy travels!
Andy Argo
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Title image: When the wolf was stalking around my tent, it was dark and I definitely didn’t fancy venturing out to get a photograph! This is a real photo of one of my motobrike camps in Mongolia and the wolf approaching is dropped in there from a visit I made to a Wolf-Dog santuary in Alberta, Canada. This particular Wolf Dog was around 90%+ wolf with the rest being dog. I went into the enclosure with it (accompanied by a handler) and it was interesting to see the Wolf Dogs with a higher percentage dog being more comfortable for a cuddle, whereas ones like the one shown here with more wolf DNA were noticeably larger and kept their distances, wanting only food. I intended the title photo to look more obviously edited so as to not mislead people but my photoshopping skills of splicing my two photos together have accidentally come out better and more realistic than I intended, so apologies to anyone who thought it was real!