Camping on the Shelek River

Camping last weekend was canceled by a shorted-out stove. We had to wait for the electrician to come, and when he did, he routed all dials to one large burner. The problem is, whatever dial you turn on not only turns on the one big burner, but the burner that actually belongs to that dial. So, we have a stove, and we got some other daily housekeeping stuff done, but no camping. 

This weekend we were determined to get out of the city and camp. Coming back for our second year, we made goals for ourselves to get out more and stay in less. Fall is near, and it's a short season here in extreme continental Kazakhstan. We have to take advantage. 

 As we leave Almaty, the road-side towns gradually begin to spread out, moving from blurred boundaries to kilometers of trees and fields between them. The weather report said 90% chance of rain for the region and indeed, we awoke to rain (which I loved!) and as we left the city behind were caught in several small sprinklings. We stopped to buy some saksaul, a dense wood normally used to make hot-burning shashlyk coals, but great for campfire as well. 

 Each town had it's street-side market and babushkas. 

 About 2 hours outside of Almaty, we were near our goal, and in the sunshine. Allen, our convoy leader, had been there last spring and was jogging his memory for which unmarked dirt road leading towards the mountains was the one for us. 

 So we started down this one. 

 Allen is proficient in Russian and stopped to ask this babushka if we were on the right path. 

 A middle-aged man came around and assured us that yes, the Shelek River was just down this road. 

I "chatted" with what I assumed to be mother and son with the minuscule amount of Russian I have. I told them "We. Almaty. School." He nodded in understanding. He said he was Kazakh. I replied, "Good. Kazakhstan good", and asked if I could take her portrait. 

 We continued down the road, passing dry corn fields...

 ...still spotting a few flowers mixed into grazing pastures....

 ...only to find the road flooded. Maybe even by a channel of the Shelek. 

So we back-tracked past the freshly-bailed hay fields...

...and down another dirt road. 

The steppe that we left in June was lush and alive. Now, after what must have been a hot and unforgiving summer, only crispy exoskeletons remain of fragile desert plants, still rooted in sandy soil.

 What did remain in the foot hills was sheep...

 ...and their shepherds. 

 The shepherd began to drive his flock out of the hills and towards the broad plains with only a few loud whistles. 

 He came by to say hello. 

 He asked where we were from. "America". He nodded. I asked him how many sheep he has. "Six hundred". "Good", I said. He said, "I'm Kazakh". "Good", I confirmed. " Kazakhstan good. Can I, you, photo?". He proudly nodded and displayed his whip. 

 Then, as all good and friendly Kazakh shepherds do, he offered for me to sit on his horse. 

 His German Shepherd loyally followed behind, lovingly carrying a large rock in her mouth, setting it down when we stopped, picking it up again when we started. 

 A few others with better Russian than I informed him that we'd be camping along the river, and he seemed happy about that. 

 As we dropped down to the river bank, we discovered the water to be swift, rough and sediment rich. I don't think I've ever seen a river this color, and tried to pinpoint it's exact tint while I watched it slip by.  Milky. Pewter. Cement. A potter's water bucket. 

 Lunch time at our newly-found camping spot. 

 Then the task of making the fire ring. There was no shortage of banded and conglomerated river stones embedded in soft sand to choose from. I even found a stone with a fossil of a small insect in it. 

 Nic brought over some big ones. 

 As the day wore on, we began to wonder if our good luck, sunny afternoon might turn into an early evening in our tents. 

 The dark clouds made for a even more dramatic back drop. You can barely see our cars at the first bend in the river. 

 It's as if God were cleaning his paintbrush with the hose, and the water that ran from it turned into the braided channels of the Shelek. 

 Up, off the floodplain.

 Where there's lichen, there's life. 

Almost at sunset, we spotted a quiet herd of sheep and goats in the bushes near our camp.

 And where there are sheep, there's a shepherd. I sat down on a nice round rock, and scanned the landscape looking for him for a few minutes. The herd moved on, up and away from the mercury river, but still no shepherd. 

 So I rejoined the group at the campsite. A few minutes later, I saw movement on the ridge. Can you spot the shepherd? 

 He moved steadily across the tall gravel ridge, headed towards the nearest town. 

 After a moonless night, where the Milky Way spread out above us (maybe that's what the river is like!), we awoke early to pale pink light on the horizon. Nic tends to the fire which was born again from coals that kept each other warm in the darkness. 

 Another shepherd, with 400 sheep. He did not specify that he was Kazakh. 

 Boys in donkey carts, a common site. I wonder if it's their version of driving mom and dad's car while they're gone, before they have their licenses. 

 We stopped in a town with a vibrant market, one we had stopped in last spring on our way back from Charyn Canyon, to stock up for the week. A variety of melons was piled before every other stall. We bought a feed-sack of red peppers for $4. 

 A tandoori-style bread oven at a road-side restaurant. 

 We stopped in for black tea, shashlyk, and meat-stuffed rolls fired in the oven above.

Heading back to our cars, to go back to the city, our friends Nick and Jenny observed that even though it was just one night, it feels kind of like a mini vacation. Nic and I agreed, and started to plan next weekend's trip out of the city. Kazakhstan good.