Buzzard's Eye View

BIRDS OF AMISK , ATHAPAPUSKOW AND WEKUSKO LAKE REGION- NORTHERN SASKATCHEWAN AND MANITOBA

2011-11-05T15:25:00.000-05:00

For the longest time, it has bugged me that there is no check list of local birds. I am trying to remedy this.I have been through the literature and extracted what birds I think can be expected to be seen in this region.At the same time, I am trying to obtain a photographic record of as many of these birds as possible.To access the list, Click on the tab at the top "LOCAL BIRDS"Birds on the list for which I have photos have a hyperlink.I welcome any comments.

2011-04-16T13:36:00.005-05:00

TRIP TO BARRANCA DEL COBRE (COPPER CANYON)
Day 11 (Saturday March 12, 2011): Back to Mazatlan (or how even when you think you know how things work, you don't.)

We had a leisurely breakfast, enjoying the morning one last time. Ignacio told us that we should be able to get a non stop bus to Los Mochis and after breakfast he drove us down to the bus stop.

There was a bus waiting but it said nothing about being "Directo" so we stood and waited for the "Directo" which we were assured was coming. We were all feeling very itchy from all our bites and even in the town we were being assailed by the little buggers.

In due course another bus showed up which we assumed was the one we wanted. The first bus was still there and when we went up to the second bus, someone came along from the first bus and said "No, we wanted the first bus" and "Yes, it was a directo." We had no idea what was happening and Lori had misgivings as to whether we were doing the right thing but eventually we were prevailed upon to board this first bus. Somewhere along the line we must have told someone that we were going to Mazatlan.

Anyway, even by Mexican standards this was not a Direct bus. We had stopped three times before we left El Fuerte. I said you could only count two of these because the third stop was for a pretty girl and I argued that any guy could be forgiven for stopping to pick her up! My travelling companions disagreed. By the time we reached Los Mochis we had stopped thirteen times.

Just after we entered Los Mochis the conductor indicated that we would be getting off the bus at the next corner. We knew we were nowhere near the bus depot and gazed blankly at him. But when we got to the next corner, there was a bus headed for Mazatlan, waiting for us. We figured they must have made this arrangement by cellphone and it was really thoughtful of them.

It now got stranger. The bus was more comfortable than the one we had travelled on from Mazatlan the previous week and the ticket was significantly cheaper. It also made fewer and shorter stops on the way to Mazatlan.

The strangest thing though was where we went in Mazatlan. All the time we have been going to Mazatlan we have assumed that the big Central Bus Depot near our hotel is THE bus depot but it turns out that there is a totally different bus depot serving different bus lines. I can't even find this place on the map and there is no mention of it in the guidebook! But the bottom line is that we had a cheaper, faster and more comfortable ride back from Los Mochis. It's a funny old world.

Anyway, this was a wonderful trip. Amazing scenery, spectacular birds, charming people and lots of laughs, particularly as we were tripped up once again by the presence or more likely absence of water!

2011-04-14T08:28:00.020-05:00

TRIP TO BARRANCA DEL COBRE (COPPER CANYON)
Day 10 (Friday March 11, 2011): El Fuerte - birdwatching and petroglyphs.

Of all the places we stayed on our trip, breakfast at El Fuerte was always special. The view of the river and the masses of birds at the feeders made it a magical time.

The hotel is operated by the three brothers. Ignacio was the one we saw the most of because he did the cooking. At breakfast, Lori mentioned that there was no hot water. So after breakfast he went back to Lori and Andrew's room. Ignacio turned on the faucet and lo and behold there was hot water. What can one say?

Today we were going on the river with the third brother Felipe, who we had glowing reports about as a bird guide.

Next to the hotel there were a couple of covered launches. We hooked one of them up to an ancient Suburban and, with Ignacio driving, left town and went upstream. I got the sense this was going to be a good day when I saw these three vultures surveying the world.

We launched into the river at a beautiful riparian spot and Ignacio returned to town. The launch did not have a motor. Our trip was going to be downstream using the current as a motive force and Felipe steered with a long paddle. The river approaches 100 metres in places and is quite strongly flowing.

Immediately we encountered large nesting sites of great egrets

and blue herons.

Also saw Double Crested Cormorants nests as well. Obviously these are not at their nest!

The nesting species seem to co-exist perfectly happily but we were fascinated by the interaction, or lack thereof, with predators. All around the nesting trees were large numbers of Turkey Vultures and Black Vultures and occasional Ospreys. These predators obviously viewed the nests as prime targets. The nesting birds made no effort to drive off the predators or to disrupt their predation. It was a far cry from what I have seen songbirds do when they feel threatened by hawks and the like. Many times I have seen flocks of small birds swarming owls and hawks until the predator departed for more tranquil places. The vultures, in particular, took up strategic positions in the very trees in which the nests were. From time to time they would move on the nests and the herons and egrets would fly off in consternation.

Felipe guided us to shore and we disembarked. Along the river there were wonderful canopy trees - very different from what we had been seeing in the barrancas. There were even more vultures lurking like undertakers on the boughs of these trees than we had previously imagined.

It was getting quite warm, noticeably so, as we moved away from the river.

Almost immediately Felipe heard an owl and with some difficulty we tracked down a Ferruginous Pygmy Owl, which is diurnal and a ferocious hunter.

There were a number of different acacias and also huge cottonwoods. One of the acacia species, guamuchil, had a wonderful burgundy coloured timber.

Felipe was taking us to visit some petroglyphs when we had finished walking around in the bush looking for birds. I picked up a really nice stone hammer head off the trail. It was definitely an artifact but we were nowhere near the petroglyphs at that time and Felipe said there was no problem with me keeping it.

There are several petroglyph sites and I was not sure what to expect. The ones we had seen at Cusarare were not spectacular but the ones Felipe showed us were wonderful.

Felipe is really very good at the birdwatching thing but I got the sense that he was passionate about the petroglyphs. Carbon dating of numerous pottery shards suggests that they date back about 2500 years.

The first site we visited was interesting in that it had only been exposed in 1992 as a result of flooding. However, the Spaniards had obviously known about the site because the petroglyphs were adjacent to a rough stone wall which dates from the time of the conquest.

The petroglyphs are attributed to the Mayos people and depict any number of identifiable images carved in the hard brownish rock. There are quite frequent representations of upright figures (life)

and upside down figures (death). The one that really caught my attention is interpreted as being a map of the village. On the map there is a discernible boundary to the village which consists of a number of enclosures. Running through the centre of the petroglyph is a squiggly line which is interpreted as being a river. Now, if this really is a map, and I was certainly convinced, this has to be the oldest cartographic representation I have ever seen. It deserves to be better known.

There were other sites as well which had abundant pottery shards. Another thing that was interesting was that some of the petroglyph slabs had been displaced by several metres from what was obviously their original home. This is believed to be the result of earthquakes and of course, this is a very active tectonic area.

In terms of vegetation we saw some really neat stuff. We saw two trees which had cacti growing out of them.

How this came about, I can only speculate. You don't normally think of cacti having a parasitic relationship to other trees but that these two cacti were definitely growing off trees and it looked like they were obtaining their nutrition from the parent trees.

There were kapok trees and these are interesting in that, when young, the tree trunks have fairly numerous stout hooked thorns. Then of course they also have the wonderful fibre filled pods.

Poor Andrew, had been looking forward to the birdwatching but he was really not feeling well so we left him in the shade while we went off to the second petroglyph site.

We then went back to the river, with Andrew, and once more set off down the river. After the heat on shore, it was most refreshing just drifting down the river. We saw Jacanas, kingfishers, ospreys, tiger-herons and a splendid ibis.

I really loved this day. The birdwatching was amazing and the petroglyphs were an unexpected bonus. However, I must relate the downside of the day. I had set out in shorts and T-shirt. Everyone else was wearing long pants so were slightly better off than me. As soon as we set out on the river we became aware that we were being bitten. In fact we were being devoured by noseeums. Felipe had some anti insect lotion but I know from past experience that these are only of limited effect. This stuff was only efficacious for a few minutes so I decided that the only thing to do was just get on with the day and not let it bother me. This was all well and good but we were all really bitten and I had pronounced itching for at least for ten days. Absolutely, the worst insect biting experience of my life but good stoic practice!

During our trip we saw 95 species of bird, 59 of which were new for me.

My Bird List is here.

Felipe put us ashore just below the hotel. The town has developed a lovely promenade along the river bank.

Andrew went back to the hotel but the rest of us went and grabbed a bite in the plaza. After that we walked around getting a feel for the town - nice place.

Adjacent to the hotel is the town museum. It has been built to represent a Spanish fort although there is nothing to suggest that the Spanish fort was actually on this site. It needs some work to make it more interesting.

I then went back to the hotel. I was hot and tired and wanted a shower. I got in the shower and thought to myself "No hot water. What else is new?" But even the cold shower felt good and I stood there just soaking for about ten minutes, when suddenly the water turned hot!

2011-04-12T09:56:00.007-05:00

TRIP TO BARRANCA DEL COBRE (COPPER CANYON)
Day 9 (Thursday March 10, 2011): Cerocahui and back to El Fuerte

Regretfully we left San Isidro this morning. Mario drove us to Cerocahui which is his home town. Cerocahui has a population of about 1000 people. It is surrounded by orchards and farmland and a river runs through it.

The town has a small attractive plaza with charming benches.

The town is dominated by the church of San Francisco Javier with its attractive yellow dome.

The original church was started in 1680 but fell into disrepair and has been restored during the last 100 years. This was more like a traditional church in that there are pews and a stone floor. It is a very pleasing building.

There were streams of schoolchildren walking in more or less orderly crocodiles with their teachers supervising them. We saw later that they had all been heading to the town stadium but we don't know what the occasion was.

Andrew and I stopped in at Hotel Mision to use the washroom. This is a very attractive place (priced accordingly). The decor looks to be authentic early Mexican with heavy polished wooden furniture and airy rooms. There are lots of hummingbird feeders which were really being patronised.

Mario was not feeling well and he had arranged that his nephew would accompany us as we walked along the river. His nephew was about eleven and I am pretty sure he was playing hookey from school because he was quite anxious not to be seen by any of the schoolkids or teachers that we had seen earlier!

It was funny. I can easily imagine that this boy will be making his living in the tourism sector, based on what his uncles and father do, but he had absolutely no idea why we would be looking at birds. He had a slingshot with him and he had to be discouraged from using it!

Without Mario, we realised how inadequate our birdwatching skills were! It was not that we were not seeing birds, it was just that all of a sudden our identification abilities went out the window. We did have one success, a Little Green Heron.

Mario picked us up and we drove back to Bahuichivo. We were too early for the train so we had lunch in a spotlessly clean restaurant. There was a couple eating there who were from Alberta. They fly their own plane down to Mexico every year and as it happened we ran into them again the next night. Rather incongruously, I had a shrimp dish. As soon as I ordered it, I wondered about the wisdom of it because the logistics of getting shrimp from the coast to Bahuichivo are not that straightforward, but no bad effects.

After lunch we looked for some Tarahumara music and then walked quite a steep hill down to the station. Our train was more than an hour late. While we were waiting a freight train arrived from Los Mochis. There were people riding on the roofs of the cars and also between the cars. The railway authority was not making any attempt to get them off. I found this a real statement about the society. I think that for many Mexicans, their parents or grandparents probably made the transition from rural society to urban society by riding the tracks. So, it is ignored.

The train was quite full and we did our normal thing of dumping our bags and heading to the saloon. Every time we rode the train, we had the same barman! It was a gorgeous ride while we ruminated on all we had seen.

At one point, Lori called out "Look at the parrots." There were about thirty of them and they flew along next to us, long enough for us to identify them as Lilac Crowned Parrots. The bird book states that this is a species that is in serious decline - less than 10000 are believed to exist in the wild. This was definitely memorable. We also saw a Gray Hawk and I saw a pair of Chacalacas.

I got into conversation with a Mexican who spoke outstanding English. It transpired that he was going to Rio Vista and when he heard we were coming from San Isidro the penny dropped for him. He is a friend of Mario and Noel (as well as the brothers at Rio Vista) and it was him who had actually got hold of Mario from Creel when we did not know if we were going to be met or not. His name was Gustavo.

In due course we arrived at El Fuerte. There were masses of people disembarking, but with Gustavo's help we got our taxi and made our way to Rio Vista.

We had asked Ignacio to prepare the lobina and langoustine dish again. It was so good.

And so to bed.....no hot water!

2011-04-11T20:31:00.004-05:00

TRIP TO BARRANCA DEL COBRE (COPPER CANYON)
Day 8 (Wednesday March 9, 2011): Bird Watching and Shamans!

Rose early this morning as Mario was taking us birdwatching. Breakfast was a pleasure at San Isidro. Mario had heard about our interest in Tarahumara music and there was always a selection playing in the background. Lori was pretty excited because Mario told us that he had someone who would do some traditional dances for us later.

After breakfast we set out. Mornings were warmer here than in Creel. In fact, the temperature was perfect. We walked primarily along trails which were used for harvesting the forest. As I mentioned before, the trees appear to be harvested very responsibly. It was really a lovely walk although the birding was quite tough. We did see a white striped creeper, which is an uncommon bird, but generally fewer birds than the previous day.

The scenic highlight was Sosai Canyon. This is a small canyon with a couple of small farms and a river with a dam at the bottom. It was too idyllic for words. In a weird way it reminded me of some Welsh scene, although it was not raining and there were no sheep!

Sarah came up with the thought that if there was to be a nuclear cataclysm, the survivors would be people like the Tarahumara. They live in a remote area, are self sufficient and tough. It is food for thought.

Back to the lodge for lunch and then we had the afternoon to ourselves.

As evening fell, it was time for the dance. Mario made up an outside fire and provided a bottle of wine.

We were introduced to the man who was going to dance. What a thrill! It was the great Victoriano "Jesus" Churro! He no longer runs competitively but looks incredibly fit. He has a farm adjacent to San Isidro Lodge. We had noticed it earlier with its orchard just coming into blossom.

Mario told us that Jesus is also a shaman. Shamans are custodians of tribal knowledge and spiritual guides. They may also act as healers. Interestingly, some Tarahumara traditions are based on peyote. In the tradition peyote is not to be used lightly. It is only some of the shamans who are deemed to have the fortitude to use it.

Jesus, accompanied by Mario on guitar, performed two dances for us. The first was a rain dance. For the second, he donned a mask and performed the rabbit dance. I found this was very evocative. It was a memorable experience - sitting around a fire on a beautiful Mexican evening in company with an icon of Tarahumara culture.

Then supper. Then bed - and yes, hot shower!

2011-04-07T06:32:00.017-05:00

TRIP TO BARRANCA DEL COBRE (COPPER CANYON)
Day 7 (Tuesday March 8, 2011): Trip to Urique

When we had been planning our trip, there had been some discussion about the practicality of going down to the bottom of the canyons. There were all sorts of stories about how awful the roads were and I felt that the grandeur from above would probably be good enough for me, but then there was the attraction of the birds we MIGHT see. So by the time we arrived at San Isidro, we had decided that we would go down the canyon.

San Isidro is a wonderful place in which to wake up in the morning. The hustle and bustle of civilization seems a long way away. We had a delicious breakfast with lashings of fresh fruit and huevos a la Mexicana (Mexican style eggs). Then we packed into the vehicle and headed for Urique.

Urique is a village of perhaps one thousand people and is set in the bottom of the deepest canyon, well over a mile below the canyon top.

The road is a spiral of hairpin bends with sometimes precipitous chasms adjacent to the road. It is a gravel surface and quite narrow.

It was built between 1965 and 1975 and I thought it was pretty good. I had been told by a number of people that the roads in the barrancas were the worst anywhere. In my opinion I saw nothing to touch Mongolian roads or many of the roads in my African background.

Just before we started our descent we picked up a couple of Tarahumara who we squeezed into the back. In Mazatlan I had heard a wonderful story.

Some tourists were driving down into the canyon and passed a Tarahumara couple so they suggested to the driver that they could give them a ride. The driver stopped and talked to the couple and said that they were very grateful for the offer but they were declining it because they were in a hurry!

This is not an exaggeration as it is a good two hour drive down to Urique whereas the Tarahumara know all sorts of shortcuts down the steep slopes.

As we entered the canyon we encountered the Cerro Gallego. This is a developed lookout point and is very impressive.

As the road wound down we encountered periodic shrines dedicated to the Virgin of Guadeloupe. Some of these are quite elaborate and as we passed them, Mario would remove his cap as a mark of respect. Any trip in the barrancas is fascinating because of the changes in vegetation. Mario stopped from time to time and we looked for birds. He also had to stop from time to time because the vehicle was overheating. The road was quite steep and going down in low gear really got the temperature up.

Finally we got down to Urique. As we entered the town we crossed quite a wide street with a very pronounced slope to it, I would say at least 15 degrees. Mario told us that this was the local landing strip - pretty scary.

The town of Urique was founded by missionaries in 1690. At one time there was gold mining in the area but now it is primarily tourism and subsistence farming that keep the town going. The town is elongated along the Urique river with lots of flowering trees - bauhinia and mimosas and I think, spathodias. There were still decorations up from the festivities surrounding the marathon. It looked like a typical Mexican town with lots of eating places and cantinas and little grocery stores.

Mario had some business in the town so he lined us up with one of his friends and we walked through the town to a place called Entre Amigos run by a transplanted Oregonian named Keith. Entre Amigos is a collection of cabins and camping sites and wonderful fruit trees. Keith is, I would say, an old hippy but obviously a very skilled handyman. He was having terrible water problems so did not spend much time with us - in fact it was a bit embarrassing because when we had been setting up our trip in Mazatlan, Lori had talked to him and he had the idea that we were going to be staying there.

There was a young couple spending some time there. The girl had participated in the marathon and completed 40 miles before dropping out. However, she and her partner had cycled from Seattle and only got in the day before the marathon and she said that she should have allowed herself more time to acclimatise! She was feeling pretty sore but once she recovered, they were cycling back to Seattle after doing some sight seeing in Mexico. They were totally unfazed by any security concerns. Interestingly, their bikes did not appear to be super hi tech.

We ate a picnic lunch under a huge tree and enjoyed the birds. While we were eating, a tarantula appeared. I was glad that our Mexican companions told us that it was harmless so we just watched it and let it get on with its spider life.

Sarah got permission from Keith and picked a couple of grapefruit. Now, as a grapefruit afficionado, I love Mexican grapefruit and these were absolutely the best.

After lunch we set off on foot and crossed the river on a suspension bridge. It was all so evocative with rangy cattle wading in the river and people going about their business. We walked along until we came to an open area which had been the focal point of the ceremonies around the marathon.

After that it was back onto the vehicle and we drove downstream next to the river. This was a surprisingly good track and we crossed the river on a new bridge. The track headed to a village called La Cieneguita but we stopped before we got there. Mario knew exactly where he wanted to go!

We walked a short way into the bush.

There was a large tree, a ceiba which is akin to the kapok, and the birds were just flocking to it. We were really keen to see an elegant trogon and almost immediately we did! What a beautiful bird. Then we saw a Squirrel Cuckoo. Mario had seen one earlier in the day but I had missed it. This was a spectacular bird. Then we followed it up with Magpie Jays, Summer Tanagers, Clay coloured Robins and Orchard Orioles. I don't think I have ever seen so many spectacular birds in the same tree in such a short period of time. Mario had obviously had good bird watching experiences there before! We kidded him about it for the rest of our trip.

We then walked over to the river which is wide and shallow in a cobble bed. Lori and Andrew paddled.

Here we saw a vermilion flycatcher which is an unbelievably bright bird and we watched him darting around for ages. By this time it was getting late so we drove back to Urique. We saw some Tarahumara on the sidewalk and Mario stopped to chat. One of the young men had done very well in the marathon. He just looked like an ordinary fellow. Mario had been heavily involved in the organisation of the marathon, in fact he was the principal sponsor of the winner. He had made the trip from San Isidro down to Urique something like ten times in the past week. It is not surprising that we felt comfortable with him at the wheel. I had forgotten to mention that the sides of the road are dotted with crosses marking less successful passages than ours!

Something interesting about Urique. The community has two doctors for its small population. Mexican graduates are obliged to go and work in rural areas for a year. I am sure this works for everybody and I wish we had a program like this in Canada.
It was interesting driving back up enjoying the changes in vegetation and climate. We stopped a couple of times. These steep gradients are tough on vehicles.

When we got back to San Isidro, Sarah had a shower - lots of hot water. I thought I would shower before I went to bed. Mistake. By that time there was no water, hot or otherwise!

Andrew and I spent time watching the hummingbirds. We had noticed previously that the Magnificent Hummingbird was the boss of the feeder and kept the smaller Violet Crowned and White Eared Hummingbirds under control. This evening, however, there was competition. It took us a while to identify the competition. It was a Blue Throated Hummingbird and there was non stop friction between these two. Meanwhile the two smaller species were able to feed unmolested. Mario was dubious about our identification of the Blue Throated but I finally got a photo and we were able to convince him. It was the only time on our trip that we identified a bird before our guides!

2011-04-04T21:27:00.028-05:00

TRIP TO BARRANCA DEL COBRE (COPPER CANYON)
Day 6 (Monday March 7, 2011): Creel to San Isidro Lodge (and still no hot water)!

After our disturbed night we were up and about early. The hotel was quiet as a graveyard - even the dogs were nowhere to be seen. We walked into town and had breakfast at Veronica's.

I had a couple of anxieties running around in my head. Mexico is generally not the easiest place in the world to use credit cards and on this trip we were expected to pay cash everywhere. There is only one ATM in Creel and when I went there on Sunday it was out of cash. There were a number of people in the same boat and I was really hoping that the machine would be replenished in a timely fashion. By the time we finished breakfast there was still no money.

The second anxiety was where we were going to stay after Creel. We had all set our hearts on staying at San Isidro Lodge but we could not raise the owner either by phone or email. The guys at Three Amigos told us not to worry. They would get hold of him. This all sounds well and good but to get to San Isidro, you get off the train at Bahuichivo and have to travel about 50km by road to the lodge. It seemed a bit precarious.

After breakfast we went back to the hotel. By this time there were signs of life. Javier was very hung over but was quite prepared to take us to the train at the appropriate time.

Sarah and I packed our stuff up and I walked back to town again. I had a couple of thoughts how I could resolve the money issue if the ATM had no cash but to my relief it did.

I went to buy the train tickets. The man at the station spoke excellent English and told me the cheapest way to buy our train tickets for the remainder of our journey. Really helpful.

I had a bit of a wait until Sarah, Lori and Andrew were delivered by Javier. We said our goodbyes to Javier. There were things about the Pueblo Viejo that were totally frustrating but it was all entertaining, particularly in hindsight! Javier really is just someone trying to survive in a tough economy.

We were very touched. While we were waiting for our train (which was late), Noel came to the station to say goodbye. We so enjoyed his company.

The train was pretty full and we did the same as we had done before: dumped our bags and headed to the bar car. There was a large tour group. They were also heading to Bahuichivo.

The journey reinforced once more how much I enjoy train travel. It was funny. In due course we reached Divisadero and there once more was Noel! He had just driven there to collect his next clients from one of the fancy hotels overlooking the barrancas. We also saw our friend the little black dog.

Bahuichivo is a couple of hours beyond Divisadero. It was quite a press getting off. There were also a number of people getting on, primarily tired runners from the 50 mile race which had taken place the previous day.

This is a good time to talk about the marathon.

Tarahumara means "the people who run fast." Gringo North America first became aware of "the people who run fast" in 1993 when three runners went to the Leadville 100 mile race in Colorado. These three men were running in clothes far different from anything anyone had ever seen. Not only that but they did not show any great interest in energy bars. In spite of this they finished first, second and fifth. The winner, Victoriano Churro, was, at 46 years old, the oldest runner ever to win this event. The running world sat up and asked "Who are these people?"

Over the next few years runners came to the Barrancas to see the environment in which the Tarhumara live and run. In 2003 the Copper Canyon ultramarathon was inaugurated with seven runners. Since that time it has grown in popularity drawing people from all over the world. This year the run took place on March 6. I can certainly do no better than offer you this link to the account of someone who ran this year

Copper Canyon Ultramarathon 2011 Adventure & Race Report

So there we were in Bahuichivo and not knowing if we were being met or not. An American came up to us and asked if we were looking for Mario. When we said that we were, he told us that he had just gone to do some shopping and would be right back. Relief.

In a few minutes we were on our way for an hour and a half drive, much of it climbing, to San Isidro Lodge. This is the brainchild of Mario and consists of a number of cabins and a beautiful dining room with attached kitchen. There are fruit trees and abundant hummingbird feeders so we were immediately treated to a variety of these gorgeous birds. All the cabins are self contained with little wood stoves and very comfortable.

When we arrived Mario took us for walks around the lodge. The forest is open and a mixture of oak and various conifers.

The views were spectacular. We sat and looked out over a canyon in the late evening watching hawks swooping about.

There was another family staying at the lodge, from Colorado. The son, a young fellow in the computer industry, had been planning on running in the ultramarathon but he had been struck down with heat stroke on the preliminary reconnaissance over the course. He and his dad joined us for supper. We had a really interesting and far ranging discussion about things as disparate as running, Mexican history and Botswana. Certainly one of the pleasures of travel is these passing encounters with interesting and engaged people. For supper we had a really delicious soup. In fact, each of the three nights we had stunning soups.

We had had the fire lit in our room. In the event, we let it go out as it pushed out too much heat. And so to bed and a good night's sleep.

Oh, did I mention? There was no hot water!

2011-04-01T15:53:00.010-05:00

TRIP TO BARRANCA DEL COBRE (COPPER CANYON)
Day 5 (Sunday March 6, 2011): Quiet day in Creel and surroundings (and very noisy night)!

When we came in from supper on Saturday, I went and had a drink in the bar with Javier while Lori and Andrew had a shower. It was pretty quiet in the bar, just a couple of patrons. But it became noisy in the night with lots of vehicular traffic outside our cabana. At times it seemed like people were bent on driving straight in. But our beds were comfortable and I was tired so it really did not bother us too much.

I mentioned to Javier that it had been pretty noisy but complaining about noise in Mexico is not productive. Noise is generally taken as being good. Sarah believes that Mexicans are are conditioned from childhood to associate cacophony with fun. I am OK with this view.

Anyway Sunday was going to be our last day in Creel so we decided to have an unstructured day. Andrew really wanted to rent a bike and put in some serious miles and Sarah and I felt like hanging out together. We wanted to have our last meal at the hotel and Andrew and Lori had had more than enough of their room. So they had arranged to move into another room that afternoon.

We all went into town together and Andrew rented a bike from 3 Amigos and took off. Sarah, Lori and I went to the museum. Now this was low key but it was an unexpected pleasure.

Much of it was devoted to Tarahumara life and customs and we all found this very informative. There were also a great many black and white photographs dating from about fifty years ago with captions that really evoked a way of life.

Sarah and I then took off on our own. We headed out past Sebastian's cave and walked to the Mission San Ignacio. It was a beautiful afternoon. When we got to the mission there were lots of people playing basketball - this seems to be the only non traditional game that the Tarahumara have taken to. The mission church was closed which surprised me. It was a Sunday after all. Not too much of a problem though and so we walked back the way we had come. We passed quite a large cemetery. Interestingly some of the graves had traditional crosses, some had the Tarahumara cross and a few had both. When we got back to the hotel we just chilled out.

In due course Andrew and Lori returned and Javier gave them a new room. The hot water was a trickle so I took off the shower rose. It was clogged and after cleaning it I got a stream of water but not hot. Andrew was exhilarated after a day cycling around Creel and we were looking forward to a good meal in the bar.

In due course we went over for supper and this is where the weirdness begins.

There were a couple of people in the bar. Javier asked if we could maybe get breakfast in town the following morning. We said "Sure." Our thinking was that he and his wife wanted a bit of a break.

Our meal arrived very quickly. Lori had specifically requested broccoli and Javier had obviously gone out of his way, not only to get broccoli, to provide fresh vegetables. The meal was excellent.

People started coming into the bar while we were eating, most significantly, three burly men and a teenage boy, perhaps 15 years old. All of them were dressed Mexican smart - that is dark trousers with belts and big buckles, the dress shirts that Mexican men favour, fancy boots and the three men with the broad rimmed white hats. The four of them greeted us perfunctorily and took up prime location by the fire. There was an air of expectation in the bar. One of the other patrons wanted to play music on the juke box but Lori and Andrew discouraged this, which generated a couple of looks.

Javier did not say anything to hurry us up but it became quite apparent that the Mexicans in the bar were waiting for us to leave. We could not figure out what was going on. In due course we finished our meal and left. When I got back to the room, I remembered I had forgotten my water bottle and went back straight away to get it. The door was already locked and I could not get in!

It was a very noisy night. There was an endless stream of vehicles and loud voices until about 4 a.m. It was all quite tedious.

So what was going on? This was a Sunday night and presumably most Mexicans work on Monday and it is unusual to have a wild party on Sunday night. The presence of the three men and the teenager seemed to be pivotal.

Sarah speculates that the boy was going to be initiated into something, perhaps his first sexual experience. I don't think the sex thing holds up but maybe he was being initiated into something else.

Perhaps there may have been something more sinister going on.

In general, I think tourists can visit Mexico quite safely without being touched by the drug mayhem but it is impossible to ignore the knowledge that bad stuff is going on. Javier told us that it was impossible for him to drive to Chihuahua because of bandits hijacking and kidnapping Mexicans. He always goes on the bus. One of the little towns, Batopilas, is being fought over by two cartels while being a major tourist destination. People from Creel have been implicated in many nefarious drug deals, most notably at the Olympics in Australia a few years ago. Javier has a hotel which has gone from being a very successful establishment to one that is barely surviving. Is it perhaps possible that out of need or pressure he was making the bar available to shady individuals?

Whatever the case, I did not feel like going out of my room and remonstrating with the noisemakers. I was glad that Lori and Andrew had a cabana with an anteroom which would shield them somewhat from the noise!

It was a good time to practise stoicism!

2011-03-31T12:00:00.026-05:00

TRIP TO BARRANCA DEL COBRE (COPPER CANYON)
Day 4 (Saturday March 5, 2011): Creel and surroundings - Birdwatching and "What Hot water?"

Well, we rose early this morning and had another good breakfast. Andrew and Lori reported that they still had no hot water. Javier assured them it would be fixed.

Noel came and picked us up. It was a crisp cool morning and we headed out of Creel towards the village of Cusarare. We parked at the Copper Canyon Sierra Lodge which was being managed by one of our friendly guys from Three Amigos. Lori obviously felt that this would have been a better place for us to stay as it looked absolutely charming. I, of course, felt that there was no guarantee that the water supply was any better here than in Creel and as there was no power I dug my heels in about relocating. However, it certainly was charming.

Our path took us along a river bed with pools and beautiful rock formations. Shortly after leaving the lodge, we saw some rather inferior petroglyphs. They had actually been vandalised. We then crossed the river bed on a slightly precarious footbridge.

Our objective was the Cusarare waterfall. The round trip should have taken us about 3 hours but it was more like 5 for us because of all the interesting things we stopped to see.

There were plenty of birds and Noel was adept at not only spotting interesting birds but also showing us where they were so we could see them as well.

The day grew warmer but along the river we were not uncomfortable. We saw probably 20 species of bird that I had never seen before.

There was a track and there were a couple of vehicles which passed us but we thoroughly enjoyed our hike.

Much of the rock appears to be scoriaceous tuffs similar to those around Creel. At the falls the lip appears to be a competent lapilli tuff with quite large fragments. Rocks above this appear to be fairly friable scoriaceous tuff. The valley below the falls is probably some pre-existing plane of weakness.

We could walk across the stream above the falls. It was quite a substantial drop, about 30 metres, and was really attractive. There was a developed path and a couple of strategic lookout places.

A couple of Tarahumara girls appeared. Of all the Tarahumara we saw these two were the ones who most wished to interact with us. They were very shy but Lori drew them out. I think they were fascinated by her head of red hair. Lori also had a guidebook with some basic phrases in Tarahumara and ever willing to learn another language, she launched into it. In no time they were smiling and chatting with her without in anyways compromising their shyness.

We walked back along a different route and saw a number of Tarahumara women selling things. Sarah and Lori seemed to find that there was always something to look at but I was coming to the end of looking at baskets and jewelry. That is just me, not a reflection on what they were marketing.

Noel had an excellent picnic lunch for us which we ate back at Sierra lodge. Even while we were having lunch we were seeing new birds. We were all delighted by a Canyon Wren which was very active in the eaves above the veranda of the lodge - presumably getting ready for spring!

After lunch we headed to Cusarare village. This is a Tarahumara village. We saw a number of villagers going about their business but we were left alone.

Noel has a real Tarahumara connection. One of his grandparents was a Tarahumara and his wife is also a member of the tribe. He is fluent in the language and was able to give us all sorts of insights.

The independence of the Tarahumara means that to a large extent they have avoided the scourge of alcoholism that afflicts the indigenous people with whom we are familiar. Cusarare is a working village, not particularly prosperous but tended fields and livestock. There was a lack of scattered garbage and we saw a woman clearing weeds on what looked like public land.

Noel told us that representatives from Indian bands in the US had come down to formulate strategies for co-existing with the non indigenous people. The US native people all got drunk!

In the village there is a church, parts of which date from 1741. It was enlarged in 1826. In 1969 the bell tower collapsed and part of the church was damaged. The original structure has been rebuilt along the original lines. The interior of the church is airy and light. The floor is rough planks and there is no seating for the congregation. Attractive geometric patterns decorate the walls. The Virgin of Guadeloupe is the patron saint of Mexico and there are frequent shrines along roadsides (it is almost expected that you remove any head covering when you pass one of these shrines). In the churches it is customary for a large Mexican flag to be hung behind the altar and sometimes an image of the Virgin of Guadeloupe decorates the flag. This is all most puzzling. Mexico has been quite successful at separating the church from the business of government yet here in the church is the symbol of the state given a very eminent position.

One of the church officials appeared. Andrew and Lori, as musicians, were always interested in the local musical traditions. It transpired that the official plays the chapareque. This is a strange instrument. Primarily it is a stringed instrument on a hollow tube and the musician moderates the tone of the strings by blowing down the tube. Because it does not have a sound box, the sound is quite thin. It is an interesting concept. We heard them being played elsewhere on CD's.

Adjacent to the church is is the Loyola Museum. This is a museum which contains 45 paintings dating back to the sixteenth century. Twelve of these paintings were painted in 1713 by the Mexican artist Miguel Correa. These paintings had been an integral part of the church at Cusarare but over the years had become very damaged. Restoration of the pictures took place between 1993 and 2002.

The gallery was opened in 2003 to provide a home for the restored paintings as well as others from four other churches.

I found the gallery a bit disconcerting and I don't mean that in a negative sense. The figures portrayed in the paintings would have been as alien to the Tarahumara in the 1800's as anything I can imagine. Here we have missionaries proclaiming a religion that must have been incomprehensible using illustrations that only compounded the incomprehensibility! At the same time the logistics of bringing these large paintings from civilization to these far flung outposts is also mind boggling. But then what the Spanish achieved is quite remarkable. It is easy to decry the achievement because of the brutal repression that accompanied it but I look at the places they went and the legacy they left behind them and I am blown away. These were tough, brave men, whether they were priests, soldiers or administrators. I say men because I don't believe many Spanish women experienced these adventures - and of course that is why Mexico is predominantly a mestizo country.

Our next stop was Valle de Bisabirachi or, Valley of the Monks. This is a total misnomer because it should be called Valley of the Penises but the Mexicans are a very proper people and it would be unbecoming for them to use this designation. However, the Tarahumara revere the site for its fertility associations!

The rock formations are varied and imposing. Rounded pillars of rock climb out of the underlying rhyolite. Some of these pillars may be more than 25 metres high. My guess is that the shapes are the result of both water and wind erosion. I also think that there is an exfoliation component which exaggerates some of the rounded shapes.

I really liked this place. Geologically it was very interesting but the pillars allowed one to get all sorts of different vistas and perspectives.

Our next stop was Lago Arareko, which to be fair I would say is an example of bad government planning sometimes still having a benefit! Originally a swamp, government put a dam in in the 1950's with the intention of providing a secure water supply to Creel. In the event, the lake is too small to provide adequate water so it is strictly a recreational area.

We were starting to flag but Noel had more for us to see. We declined to see the San Ignacio mission but went to the valley of mushrooms and frogs. These were more weather shaped rocks, impressive in a way but not to be compared with valley of the monks.

Our final stop was at Sebastian's cave. This is a cave which gives all the appearance of being inhabited. Inside there was a Tarahumara woman with the inevitable collection of wares for sale. At the back of the cave chickens were roosting and there were scattered accoutrements of daily life scattered around. The roof of the cave was blackened with smoke and I have no doubt that the cave had been occupied for centuries but I do have some doubt as to whether the family still live in this particular cave. Outside there were some storage sheds, one of which had some pretty impressive joinery.

I just get the sense that it is now a "tourist cave." Maybe that is what I want to believe because otherwise, I felt uncomfortable interposing my western self into someone's cave!

Noel says that in spite of the austerity of their existence, the Tarahumara are a pretty healthy community. As an example he told us that the father of the woman we saw in Sebastian's cave had died last year at the age of 101. That being said, there are concerns about TB among the children.

So back to Creel and another good meal, this time at Tio Molcas. Yet another example of why I love Mexico. At the end of our meal, we went to phone Javier to come and pick us up and the proprietor said "No problem" - her husband would take us home, and so he did.

Still no water in Lori and Andrew's cabana so we let them use our shower. Quite the treat for them!

2011-03-25T12:10:00.032-05:00

TRIP TO BARRANCA DEL COBRE (COPPER CANYON)
Day 3: Creel and surroundings or, "Hot water in every room!"

Spoiled as we are by all the luxuries we take for granted, it comes as a bit of a shock to realise that there are things which we regard as commonplace that are the exception rather than the rule in other parts of the world.

At Rio Vista in El Fuerte there was no hot water in the rooms but we thought that was a function of the fact that we were unexpected guests in an empty hotel.

When we booked into Pueblo Viejo in Creel we were assured by Javier that the supply of hot water was assured. In our room it did not appear to be the case and I bugged Javier and by the time we went to bed there was hot water. Next morning Lori and Andrew were complaining about the lack of hot water and Javier told us this long story about how insecure his water supply was and how people were stealing HIS water and he assured us everything would be fine that evening. So off we went to Three Amigos.

We had decided that we wanted to go and see the canyons but were also keen on having a guide who was knowledgeable about birds. This is how we met Noel Gonzalez Parra.

Noel was the first of a string of guides we met who had learnt their guiding skills while working for an outfit from Texas. Once we had met Noel we were comfortable in using his associates from his previous life. Not only were they all wonderful guides but really personable people as well.

We left Creel and drove back towards Divisadero along a well engineered paved road. Obviously efforts are going into making the area more accessible.

Correctly, the area popularly known as Copper Canyon is the Sierra Tarahumara. The Tarahumara being the name of the indigenous people who call this area home. It is useful to draw some comparisons between Grand Canyon and the Copper Canyon beginning with the geology.

The formation of the two topographies is very different. Grand Canyon is awe inspiring geologically because of the age of the geological column revealed by numerous layers of contrasting rocks. At the bottom of the Grand Canyon is the Colorado, a major river, resting on basement rocks that may be 1.8 billion years old. Overlying this is a vast thickness of primarily sedimentary rocks. The rocks at the top of the Canyon are about 270 million years old. The Colorado has carved the canyon over the past 5 million years with a steep gradient and heavy sediment load providing a powerful erosional tool. The maximum depth of the Canyon is about 1500 metres. What is significant in Grand Canyon that it is basically one river that has been the engine of erosion over a comparatively short period of time.

The rocks of the Copper Canyon are much more uniform. They are basically all felsic volcanics, the result of a highly explosive period in the region about 30 million years ago. It is possible to identify mega layers within the volcanic rocks but compositionally the entire sequence is very similar. Incidentally the eruption of Mount St Helens in 1980 was a small representative of this type of vulcanism. At Creel there were thick sections of scoria/pumice representing the top of one of these lava flows. Generally the colour of the rocks is a uniform greyish colour although weathering may result in attractive hues. According to Noel, the name Copper Canyon relates to the colour rather than the metal, which is a fairly minor component of the mineral wealth of the area.

Associated with the volcanic activity there was development of large faults and the subsequent displacements became the initial erosional channels.

Unlike Grand Canyon there are seven major canyons. Interestingly, Noel told us that the Spanish word Barranca refers to a ravine, with its associated rugged connotation as opposed to a canyon.

Efforts to navigate the rivers in the Barrancas have been unsuccessful - either there is not enough water or else at other times they are totally life threatening torrents.

The sides of the Grand Canyon are generally steeper. Paths to the bottom are few and far between whereas there are a number of places where the bottom of the Barrancas can be accessed, even if it is pretty scary!

One of the most significant differences is that the Barrancas are home to about 70000 Tarahumara people. Their presence adds a totally new dimension to the traveller's experience.

The Tarahumara have a long and distinguished history. The Spanish arrived at the end of the sixteenth century and the Tarahumara, rather than submit, retreated into the barrancas. They never actually submitted to the Spanish. Over the years the Jesuits attempted to convert them. This has had peculiar results. The Tarahumara revolted from time to time and massacred the priests but at some point a compromise was reached. The perception is that they are now part of the Catholic faith but they have dictated what form this takes. Two big annual festivals, Christmas and Easter, have actually become Tarahumara festivals corresponding to the solstice and spring fertility rites! The cross used in their churches has the cross member at an angle :
"The Catholic cross is not the cross of Christ. It is the cross of a severed man in space: the invisible man with his arms wide open, whose nails look at the four cardinal points."

The Tarahumara are totally at ease in the Barrancas. In recent years they have come to public attention because of their prodigious long distance running but what fascinated me was that every year they do a vertical migration within the canyons. Summers are spent in the upper levels but when winter comes they move down into the valleys.

The Tarahumara have maintained their distance from the modern world although they are now obliged to attend school and some of them are moving into the towns. It is only a matter of time before the old migratory patterns will be lost.

Our first stop was an overview of the Oteros canyon with the river far below. It was surprising that it had actually been possible to create a landing strip here by clearing some of the forest. In the maze of canyons it was almost incongruous that an area flat enough to create a landing strip existed.

The vegetation around here was open forest consisting primarily of conifers and oaks. Noel was great at identifying trees, not only the Spanish names but English and Latin as well. I found it all fascinating, particularly as I was reading "The Secret Life of Trees"by Colin Tudge. The variety trees in Mexico features quite highly in this book. For instance, there are more species of conifer in Mexico than anywhere else in the world. This is remarkable when you consider that the great boreal forest of Canada only has seven or eight species in total.

Here are brief descriptions of a few of the wonderful trees we saw over the course of our trip

Handbasin oak - an oak characterised by large rounded leaves (almost like washbasins)

Arizona pine - beautiful pine with very long needles (maybe more than 30cm long) in clusters of five. The Tarahumara women use these needles for basket making.

Apache pine - another pine with needles, nearly as long as the Arizona pine, but in clusters of three.

Sad pine - so called because the needles all hang down.

Ponderosa pine - one of the great trees of western North America with its great straight trunks and reddish bark.

Durango pine - another large pine with blackish bark. We saw some with huge girths.

Alligator juniper - so called because of the texture of the bark.

Madrone - this was my favourite. Not a very big tree but with a glorious smooth red bark and very hard wood.

The madrone occurs with a relative, manzanita, which is a bush with very similar red bark.

With all these beautiful trees, I was concerned that commercial interests might come in and clear cut because the Barrancas are not a national park. The forests are in fact exploited but it appears to be very well regulated. There is no clear cutting just judicious harvesting. It strikes me that the Mexicans are doing an outstanding job.

We had our first experience here of encountering a Tarahumara woman selling crafts in the middle of nowhere. The Tarahumara women earn pin money selling things that they make, in most cases for a pittance. They do beautiful baskets using pine needles and grass and various jewelry items. Their industry is quite phenomenal considering how much competition there is and the low profit. The sellers never seem to be close to their homes. Noel told us that they think nothing of walking several miles to their preferred selling location. At this particular location their were two low stone enclosures where some shelter could be obtained but definitely not comfort!

Our next stop was Divisadero, where we had stopped briefly the previous day. We spent sometime here. The look out over the intersection of the Urique, Copper and Tararecua canyons is truly spectacular. There are a couple of hotels here and Andrew and I spent some happy minutes watching the many birds at the strategic feeders.

There were many peddlers. Some of them were pretty ordinary vendors of generic T-shirts and the like but there were also a number of Tarahumara women selling their traditional crafts. I bought rather a nice walking stick. There were also plenty of food vendors. We bought some really tasty food for next to nothing.

After our lunch Noel drove us to the Teleferico at nearby Piedra Volada. This is a cable car which goes from the lip of the Copper Canyon down to a saddle about 350 metres below. The length of the cable is about 2.5 km and at times the cable is about 500 metres above the ground. The cableway only opened in September 2010 so it is still sparkling new but what an experience! The views are just stunning.

Because the cable is on Tarahumara land, they use the cable free and I got the sense that this was something they enjoyed! We got out at the bottom and walked around on the saddle. We were all a little bit cautious because of the topography but there was a young Tarahumara girl carrying a young sibling who followed us for no better reason than she was curious, and she flitted over the terrain like there were no precipices!

From the gondola we were able to see the steep tracks used by the Tarahuamra to access various parts of the canyon and also little homesteads. These took the form of small houses or else caves. Our guide, Guadeloupe, pointed out a cave half way up the canyon wall which was a tomb site.

We were very impressed with Guadeloupe. There were some Mexican schoolkids with us and they wanted to know the speed of the cable car. Guadeloupe said "Seven metres per second." Well, the kids wanted to know how fast that was in kmh. Guadeloupe rounded on them, saying that they could work that out for themselves. It was basic arithmetic and it was essential for all students to have good math skills! The cost of the Teleferico was 200 pesos and I cannot recommend it highly enough.

The Teleferico is part of an ongoing development project in this part of the Barrancas. The current cableway was put in by the Swiss-Austrian company Doppelmayr at a cost of about thirty million dollars. It really is a state of the art feat of engineering. There is also a zipline from the top which must be a pretty exhilarating trip. The next phase of the plan is to extend the cableway to the bottom of the canyon. Now, I am sure there will be people saying that this will detract from the natural beauty of the canyons. From my perspective it was a wonderful experience and it allows people rapid access to areas which they might not normally get to. Providing that these developments do not proliferate all over the barranca system, I think the pluses outweigh the negatives. From what I see, the Mexicans have spared no expense to make this a top class attraction and they also seem to be very much aware of environmental concerns.

We then walked back along the canyon edge to Divisadero. There was a very good trail. At one point along the rim there is a balancing rock. Apparently you can jump onto the rock and it wobbles underfoot.

None of us felt that this was an essential part of our canyon experience, particularly when we heard that recently a young woman had slipped on the rock and tumbled to her death in the canyon. It is significant that both here and at Grand Canyon there is a tacit acceptance that, from time to time, people are going to fall in to the abyss, for whatever reason.

We walked through Divisadero, picking up a little black dog on the way. Andrew had fed a scrap to this dog at lunch time and he recognised us! He was lame in one of his forepaws but he stayed with us as we walked up on to a high plateau where we enjoyed the stupendous light of late afternoon.

We got down to Divisadero as dark was falling and left the little dog behind. Sarah was glad that there was no way I could actually adopt him! We got back to Creel tired and ready for supper. We enjoyed a very satisfying meal in a spotless restaurant called Veronica. Noel joined us for a couple of beers and we met a couple who had traveled down from Tucson on a motorbike. Interesting to hear how other people do things. They have traveled all over Mexico and said there was no problem in driving down through Guatemala to Panama. My ears pricked up at that.

The only downside on the evening was the appearance of the worst itinerant musician I have encountered. I have a soft spot for the Mexican style of singing but this guy was truly awful. Lori and Andrew were seriously considering paying him to go somewhere else!

We phoned Javier and he came and picked us up. He had a party of 20-30 people staying in the hotel for a couple of nights. Some sort of religious retreat. We were ready for bed, especially as we were making an early start the next day to do some serious birdwatching. Sarah and I enjoyed hot showers and tumbled into bed.

2011-03-23T10:09:00.015-05:00

TRIP TO BARRANCA DEL COBRE (COPPER CANYON)
Day 2: El Fuerte to Creel by the Chihuahua al Pacifico Railroad (CHEPE).

We woke up in the morning to sunshine and a chorus of birdsong. Ignacio served us breakfast on the patio while we marvelled at all the birds at the numerous feeders. Today was the first day that we were exposed to all the bright coloured species with which we would become familiar over the next ten days.

At this point our plans were still pretty formless but we liked El Fuerte and Rio Vista so much that we resolved to give ourselves a full day here at the end of our trip. Based on what we had heard from other people we were determined not to get tied down by any other person's idea of how we should see the Barrancas. It made sense to all of us that we would head to Creel for a few days and take it from there.

None of us felt intimidated by being in Mexico as we all feel that the current violence is not directed at tourists. Andrew has spent quite a lot of time in Spanish speaking countries and can get by very adequately. I have lots of vocabulary and can get by somewhat but the real revelation was Lori who showed an unbelievable capacity (and zest) for throwing herself into the language. She very quickly became our point person in any situation where Spanish was required. I was frankly green with envy at the facility with which she developed her speaking skills! The end result was that none of us felt that we needed to be tied into any structured program.

So, after our breakfast we headed for the train station at El Fuerte.

No discussion of the Barrancas would be complete without some background on CHEPE.

I had no idea what a geographical barrier the Sierra Madre has presented to the development of the Pacific coast of Mexico. The mountains are not particularly high (generally less than 3000 metres) but it is the ruggedness of the topography that has hampered all communication between central Mexico and the Pacific coast since recorded history began. Even today there is a hair raising road between Durango and Mazatlan and the CHEPE between Chihuahua and Los Mochis, and that is all.

CHEPE was the brainchild of American business interests looking for an outlet to the Pacific for agricultural goods from the Great Plains. Construction of the line began in 1897 and stuttered for the next 50 years. There were problems with financing, political chaos as Mexico underwent the great upheavals of the twentieth century and also the daunting engineering problems.

In 1952 the Mexican government took control of the project and by 1961 had completed the railway. I find it significant that the part of the railway completed by Mexico comprises absolutely the most daunting part of the project. Although this section was only 258km long, it is the part that actually crosses the Sierra Madre. In this distance there are 87 tunnels and 36 major bridges. The longest tunnel is more than 1.6 km long and the longest bridge is half a kilometre long. This was a stupendous achievement. I later mentioned to one of our Mexican guides that Mexicans should take great pride in the fact that they had managed to complete the project where American capital had failed. He looked at me and simply said "We do."

The station where we boarded the train is some distance out of town but there were a number of people waiting to board. There are two trains a day - an express and a "slow", plus a number of freight trains. We were on the express which apart from very comfortable coach seating also has a bar car and a dining car.

The train was by no means full, ongoing reflection on the economic catastrophe of the "drug war" and associated violence. However there was a group of runners on their way to participate in the 50 mile race at Urique (more later). We also talked to an Australian and German couple who were doing a tour.

We quickly decided that our best place to view the scenery was in the bar car. It was perfect. For some reason we had the car more or less to ourselves. I don't know if people thought it was too expensive (40 pesos for a beer) but for us it was well worth it.

Leaving El Fuerte, Sarah and I were quickly struck by how reminiscent of Botswana the scenery was. There were acacia trees interspersed with scrubby bushes and occasional cacti. The ground had the same dry look and rangy cattle scoured for grazing. It was all very evocative.

After a couple of hours the train began to climb and we entered the first tunnel and crossed the first bridge. Between Agua Caliente and Temoris, a distance of about 50 km, we passed through 36 tunnels and the landscape became increasingly rugged. The vegetation had become tropical and we saw mangoes, palms and bananas. Temoris is the site where the railway was opened in 1961. It has a lovely location. The railway crosses the Rio Mina Plata on a curved bridge and down one of the cliffs overlooking the town the twin cascades of the Dos Colas falls plunge.

After Temoris the train continued to climb. At times the line clung to the side of the mountains. In several places there were ruined boxcars littering the slopes. This is in no way a reflection of the condition of the track or the equipment. Everything struck me as being well maintained and operated. There was an abrupt change in the vegetation. Suddenly we were confronted with a wide variety of pine and oak trees. The temperature was also cooler.

After a couple of hours winding through canyons and tunnels, climbing ever higher we reached Divisadero. This is close to the Continental Divide and is the scene of a spectacular overlook where three canyons meet. There is not much at Divisadero except a couple of upmarket hotels and lots of food stands, and of course the spectacular scenery. The train stops here for about 15 minutes so through-passengers can get a tourist view of the Canyons. We knew we were coming back on a day trip from Creel but even so we were amazed by what we saw. I will come back to Divisadero later.

After Divisadero the train left he canyon topography and after we crossed the divide the train crossed forested mountains and ridges and sometimes we had huge vistas.

The train reached Creel in the late afternoon. In many respects Creel reminds me of a real frontier town. In the past it has had a flourishing lumber industry but now it is mainly geared towards tourists. The town lies within a wide valley at an elevation of 2400 metres. We noticed immediately that the air was thinner than we were accustomed to.

When we got off the train we were beset by people trying to get our business. We had been forewarned about one hotel and we had been given a lead on another one, Pueblo Viejo. Between the four of us we had quite a lot of stuff so Andrew and I abandoned Sarah and Lori in the plaza while we went to look for accommodation. This was not the best place to leave them as they were hounded by a would be tour guide and eventually had to be quite rude to him. This is unusual in our experience in Mexico. Usually, Mexican hustlers are quite respectful but in the current economic climate, I guess, the hard sell becomes a larger option.

Andrew and I set off down the main street. Creel is not very big population wise, but it is quite spread out. We found Three Amigos and made an arrangement to return the next day to arrange a tour. Then one of the guys who had been soliciting us for our business at the station showed up and said he would take us to Pueblo Viejo, no strings attached.

The hotel was situated towards the edge of the town and had seen better days. The proprietor, Javier, was a real hustler and really wanted our business. A main building housed the kitchen, bar and restaurant and scattered around were cabanas representative of a Wild West town. Attractive tree clad slopes rose around the hotel and there were also horses and a number of agreeable dogs and cats around. Well, it looked OK to Andrew and me and we had the choice of where we wanted to stay. Andrew picked a chalet with an upstairs and downstairs. He thought that this would be ideal if Lori wanted her own space. I just opted for La Cueva.

Then, back to collect Sarah and Lori. It was turning cool as the sun set. Our rooms had propane heaters and we were able to keep our room warm but Andrew and Lori's chalet did not heat up because of the size. In hindsight we should maybe have acted on this.

Anyway, Javier told us there would be supper in the bar for us and there certainly was. The bar is a large dark room decorated with all sorts of old machinery - meat grinders, miners' lights, saddles - and incongruously, also a number of pinups of Playboy models dating from a time when Playboy did a shoot in Creel and the models stayed in the hotel. There was a HUGE fireplace and homemade wooden tables and chairs. It was all very charming. There was a small fire burning in the hearth but because it was burning oak it threw out lots of heat.

Javier's sidekick, Paolo was in charge of the cooking and the meat was cooked in the hearth on something that looked like a ploughshare - it was delicious and of course there were all the Mexican accoutrements including a really tasty salsa.

I am not sure how it happened but after supper Javier produced an out of tune guitar and he and Lori both regaled us with some tunes. It was funny but I got the sense that Lori was less than eager to play but once she did and realised that Javier and Paolo and the barmaid were an appreciative audience, it turned into an unexpectedly lovely evening. By the end of the evening Javier was playing ranchera music and Paolo was singing along.

Next morning it was surprisingly cool in the room. We had turned our heater off because I don't like going to sleep when there is a carbon monoxide source in the room although I suspect there were enough cracks to keep things ventilated. We got dressed pretty quickly and went for a walk in the brisk morning air. We both found ourselves short of breath so we did not go very high in the surrounding hills. We came back and had a really nice breakfast in the bar which was still being heated by the previous nights fire.

Then, off to Three Amigos to organise our day.

2011-03-17T11:17:00.017-05:00

TRIP TO BARRANCA DEL COBRE (COPPER CANYON)
Day 1 (March 2, 2011): Mazatlan to El Fuerte.

This was the year we went to Mexico without the dogs so it became a good opportunity to visit the Barranca del Cobre in Chihuahua state. The time we chose was during Carnival in Mazatlan. We have both reached a stage in our lives where we do not need to be around events like that.

Sarah's friends from San Francisco, Lori and Andrew, were thrilled to join us for this trip and arrived in time to explore Mazatlan's sights for a few days.

Given that the Barranca del Cobre has to be one of Mexico's premier tourist attractions it was difficult to find an itinerary that suited us. Apart from the scenery, we were all keen on the natural aspect of the area - birdlife in particular. Most travel agents seemed determined to sell us on packages staying in high end accommodation with a fairly restricted itinerary.

On the internet I found 3amigos.com who acted as brokers between tourists and guides and had no vested interest in any particular hotel. Lori and Sarah got hold of them and got all sorts of very good information - in fact they became the cornerstone of our trip even though I don't think they gained an awful lot materially from us. I recommend their assistance wholeheartedly. They have an office in El Fuerte and another in Creel.

We left Mazatlan on the morning of March 2 on the bus to Los Mochis. It is incredible in Mexico how buses are the major form of transport. Los Mochis is about 600km north of Mazatlan and there is a bus at least every hour, 12 hours a day. The bus left from the Central Bus Depot, very convenient for us and was a spacious coach. A one way ticket was less than $30 - so much cheaper than in Canada. The big drawback was the fact that we were "treated to in journey' movies at quite high volume. Apart from the fact that I would not have watched any of the three movies that were inflicted on us, it was hard to do anything other than be aware that movies were playing.

The bus only stopped a few times - once at Culiacan (the state capital) and once for 40 minutes at a little restaurant area in the middle of nowhere! This last was a real puzzlement as we were not far from Los Mochis but the two bus officials disappeared without explanation into a semi official looking building.

Anyway, finally we arrived at the bus depot in Los Mochis. Oh dear! Our bus for El Fuerte left from another station about four blocks away - too far to walk with all our luggage. I tracked down a cab. The driver said he would drive us to El Fuerte for $70 but this did not seem like a good idea as exhaust fumes were sucking into the car and 4 blocks was more than enough. As luck would have it, the local bus for El Fuerte was just about to leave so we hopped on. What a hoot.

It seemed as if the bus was being operated by a family - dad driving, mum collecting fares and the son being the guy who stashed the bags and all other chores. There was no nonsense about tickets on this bus. We just paid what we were asked. From time to time the bus would stop and pick up people vending food or candy. They would stay on the bus long enough to canvas all the passengers and then get off. All the time, we were regaled with more or less traditional music and NO movies. It was all great fun.

We arrived in El Fuerte shortly before sunset. This is when you get some idea of the length of the Spanish influence in Mexico. El Fuerte sits on the Rio Fuerte and was established in 1564. It is a delightful town. 3amigos had recommended the Rio Vista to us as good accommodation. Anyone who goes to El Fuerte should stay here!

The Rio Vista is run by three brothers, Charl, Ignacio and Felipe. The hotel oozes atmosphere as it hangs over this lovely river. We were showed to our comfortable rooms and sat and had drinks enjoying the warm evening air and the lovely view.
Done

After we had enjoyed a beer we were summoned for supper. This was a totally unexpected delight. We sat outside as evening fell. Ignacio had prepared for us langoustine and lobina. Lobina is a fresh water bass and is absolutely delicious. What Ignacio called langoustines were actually what I call fresh water crayfish, maybe 15cm long and fairly hard work to extract from their spiny shells but having a mouth watering sweet taste. The hotel also provided us with a complementary bottle of wine so the planets were definitely aligned in our favour!

2008-04-23T10:50:00.014-05:00

HEATHROW SECURITY SUCKS!!

Over the past thirty years I have travelled to Heathrow many times. It was at its worst in the 1970's and 1980's but then it went through a period when it became more user friendly. I could no longer call it the worst airport in my experience.

I won't go so far as to say that a recent bad experience has reversed my opinion of the improvements at Heathrow, but it certainly does nothing to improve my sentiments!

My wife and I had just spent three weeks in England and Wales and had our flight booked with Air Canada Flight 869 on April 14. Our flight was scheduled to leave at 8:30a.m. which required us to be at Heathrow by 5:30 a.m. This meant a pretty early start for us. We were leaving from Terminal 3 thank goodness. Anyone leaving from Terminal 5 at this time must have "terminal jitters", to make a bad pun.

When we arrived, just before 5:30, there were probably 50 people ahead of us. Nobody appeared to start processing passengers until about 5:50am. Immediate question is "Why be there 3 hours before departure if none of the check in crew are there?"

Once we were processed, there was an interminable line-up going through security and then finally we were released into the Duty Free area. At this point there was nothing to tell us which gate our flight was leaving from, so we took a seat and waited until it appeared on one of the overhead notices. At approximately 7:40am notification appeared that our flight was leaving from Gate 32. There was one other flight on the board - to Chicago from Gate 22.

My wife and I collected our bits and pieces and began the hike to our departure gate. It is not an exaggeration to say that it was a long way and I have no problem with that. Heathrow is a major centre and inevitably there are going to be large distances to be covered. However, somewhere during this I got our departure gates confused and we turned in to Gate 22. Where we turned off the main walkway towards the access to Gate 22 there was not a soul. Several hundred feet further on there was a junction, which, with the benefit of hindisght, I assume was a security point. There were four young security officials a short distance away who were horsing around, in a mild way, amongst themselves. They paid us no attention.

We turned right and within a few paces, I realised we were heading to the wrong gate. We turned back to retrace our steps. One of the young security officials now stopped us and said we could not go back the way we had come. He instead directed us down the other side of the divider running the length of the access, along which we had previously walked. He was very offhand but did not indicate there was any problem and we knew he must have seen us previously. There were no other passengers around.

We walked where directed until we came to a closed door and another young security official by himself. He said he could not open the door but pointed us towards some stairs and told us if we went up them we would return to the duty free area.

Well, we went up the stairs and then up a ramp and, suddenly, we were in the line up with arriving passengers at immigration. I knew this had to be wrong. We went back to the young fellow at security. I told him that there must be a mistake. He said that there was no mistake. When we had taken the wrong turning to Gate 22 we had not followed instructions and therefore we were in breach of security. We would have to clear security again. However, we did not have to go through immigration but if we went to the right place we would find the security gate for connecting flights. By this time my wife was in tears and I was holding on to my temper with great difficulty. I did not fancy getting into a fracas with this rude and officious young man and being detained by police!

We retraced our steps to the immigration hall where finally I found an airport employee who could direct us to the security gate for connecting flights. We cleared security quickly and raced through the duty dree area and were almost the last people to board our flight.

These are my questions.

The four security officials who were horsing around did not stop us on our way through. Why?

Why did they stop us on our way back?

I understand that technically we had breached the security system. As the breach of the system was due to the inattention of the four young officials, and I am sure they were aware of it, why did they not try to facilitate sorting things out?

I understand why the solitary young official did not let us through the closed door. He was not aware of what had transpired. However, why did he not adequately describe what need now happen?

Why were none of the security officials even remotely courteous?

Why could they not recognise that a genuine mistake had been made and try to address it in a helpful manner?

And here is a thought. Why does someone on a connecting flight have to go through security again? Surely, if you have just stepped off a plane, you are already in a secure zone and an additional security check is basically passanger harassment!

The whole debacle was exacerbated by the attitude of the officials. This was brought home to me when later that same day, we had to go through security at Winnipeg Airport.

There was a family of four in front of us. There was some problem with their papers and the first security guard, in a polite voice asked them to step aside while he called his supervisor. His supervisor arrived immediately and with a big smile asked what the problem was. After hearing it she said she would have to make a phone call to her supervisor. This she did. By the time I had passed through the security scanner the family were back in the line-up and everyone was happy.

It seems that in this current day and age airport security is a sad measure of our societal requirements. At the same time, there should be some way whereby common sense and courtesy could be the norm rather than the exception.

2007-03-03T20:55:00.001-06:00

TOTAL ECLIPSE OF THE MOON

I have been too busy to write in the blog for a while but I must get this down.

This morning when I left my gir, just after 6:00 am, it was a cold, clear morning with a stiff breeze from the north.

As I rounded the corner of the cafeteria I was surprised to see that a full lunar eclipse was under way. Stuck out in the middle of Mongolia one is out of the loop in terms of what is going on in the universe, literally and figuratively. In North America these events are always publicised and human nature being what it is, I have become blase and it is years since I last saw a full eclipse.

So to step around a corner and be confronted bY an eclipse in progress took my breath away. Standing in the middle of the steppe beneath the vast Mongolian sky I could fully appreciate the wonder that the ancients attached to these phenomona. The surprise of it enhanced my appreciation of it. What is it about me that if I had known about it, I would not have gone out of my way to see it but being confronted by it, unexpectedly, I went "WOW!" Perhaps I like surprise more than anticipation. I really don't know.

However, what made it even more remarkable for me was what I had seen yesterday morning.

Yesterday morning was also clear but there was no wind and it was several degrees warmer so I had decided to walk from camp to the mine. As I left camp, the moon was a brilliant reddish yellow ball in the western sky. As I walked it dropped below the horizon and it was as if it was being consumed by the curvature of the earth. The last thing I saw was a large bright crescent which disappeared in a moment. In my early morning dopiness I thought that what I was seeing was an atmospheric effect. But a minute or two later on the eastern horizon the sun started to rise. In spatial terms it looked almost exactly 180 degrees from where the moon had disappeared. The early morning late winter sun looked no bigger than the moon had a few minutes before. I could almost persuade myself that the moon had fallen off the disc of the earth and then magically reappeared from the opposite direction. Spectacular.

By contrast, today the sunrise was more low key.

In hindsight, from what I saw yesterday, I should have figured out that things were getting pretty well lined up and an eclipse was imminent.

People are probably asking if I had my camera with me? Of course not! But anyway, it is in my memory card!

So much to keep one interested.

2007-02-14T00:10:00.000-06:00

LONG DISTANCE TRAVEL

Well, February 11 rolled around and it was time once more to make the long trip to Mongolia. I really find it quite daunting and this time I was not a happy camper. A few weeks ago I received upgrade certificates from Air Canada which, I thought, would allow me to upgrade my ticket from cattle class to Business Class. But no. When I tried to do it, I was informed that the ticket I had was not "upgradeable". Puke.

It was all a bit chaotic leaving. We were halfway from Denare Beach to Flin Flon when Sarah asked me if I had remembered my spare pair of glasses and I hadn't. I figured I had time to turn round and pick them up and still get to the airport in time. This was actually cutting it fine. We arrived at the airport and everyone was already on the plane except for someone requiring assistance but no harm done. We stopped in the Pas and a woman sat down next to me. It turned out that she had grown up in Flin Flon and only 4 doors away from where we lived at 5 Church St. Her maiden name was Howie which doesn't ring any bells but we talked non-stop.

I got into the hotel and slept like a log. Next morning bright and early took the flight to Vancouver. Waiting for the plane I had an enjoyable chat with a woman from Kamloops who had been in Winnipeg with her daughter who was competing in a big speed skating competition. What took place on the plane was weird.

Last time I flew from Vancouver to Winnipeg, I was seated next to a farmer from Morden called Dean Hildebrand. He was a Mennonite and very active in an organisation called A Rocha, a Christian group which seeks to create harmony with nature and he was particularly concerned with farming in an ecologically sustainable fashion. Well, this time I'm sitting next to a retired couple from Morden and we started talking. I mentioned I had been sitting with this guy called Hildebrand and this A Rocha organisation. Well, the couple, although not farmers, knew Hildebrand well and they are also active in A Rocha. From what I have seen on the web, A Rocha seems to have some good objectives but I haven't been able to find out whether they are anti-evolution. I seem to remember George saying that the museum in Morden plays down evolution, which is a shame because there are some really good fossils there.

Did not have to wait long for my flight in Vancouver and although I was not able to get an exit seat, I got a bulkhead seat which gave me a bit more leg room. I had a window seat. I was sitting next to a Chinese Canadian but although I tried to make conversation, he was not interested. We had three movies. I only watched one - "Little Miss Sunshine" - enjoyed it. I was pleased to have a window seat. It was cloudy when we left Vancouver and headed north towards Anchorage but it cleared. I was on the port side of the plane so I had quite a good look at the coast line. Then we swung down and flew across China and into Beijing. The Chinese topography is really interesting. You fly over wave after wave of crumpled hills or mountains, some of them very steep. Between the ranges are quite broad valleys which appear to be intensively cultivated. Some of the hillsides were terraced. As you approach Beijing the population density increases and gradually you become aware of the shroud of pollution. Getting through the bureaucracy at Beijing was easy. It seemed like we were the only plane disgorging passengers. Everything is in a state of flux preparing for the Olympics. I knew there should be a shuttle to the hotel but I couldn't find it. A well dressed young man approached me and asked if I wanted a taxi. I said yes and asked him how much. He said it was metered. That sounded fine and also, having done it before, I knew what it should cost. Well, there was no meter, and when we got to the hotel, which is close to the airport, he tried to charge me $30. I was not having any of that and even so I think I paid him more than I should have. We did not part on good terms.

The Sino Swiss hotel is quite nice but at US$179 per night it should be. There was a bowl of fruit in the room which was very welcome. I had an extraordinary room. It had a lounge and then a bedroom and shower upstairs. I showered and went to bed. I actually had quite a good night. I slept for about 4 hours and woke, made myself some tea and read for two hours and then slept another 2 hours. The wind was blowing hard most of the night and one of the windows in my room rattled but it did not disturb me. Then took the shuttle at 6:30 am to the airport and this time it was wild. I think that there are all these make work jobs in China so there are endless forms and controls. In the morning the airport was packed and with all these bottlenecks it was a pain.

I really don't think China is geared for holding the Olympics. The airport is not great and I don't believe the infrastructure is there. I suspect that officials in the IOC got some pretty heavy inducements to award the Olympics to Beijing. I also believe that there are going to be really stupendous financial rip-offs going on. It just served to reinforce my belief that the Olympics are a cynical scam, exercised by a small bunch of IOC officials in collusion with business interests that are in line to make a financial killing. The athletes really are just pawns in the game.

Even in the hotel where people were very pleasant, I got the sense that they were not sure about how to provide real service. Another thing which surprised me at the airport. I went to the washrooms. There was an attendant and when I was coming out I was accosted for a tip. I had a $5 dollar bill and some Chinese money. He tried to pursuade me that the $5 would be appropriate. I don't think so! I am very unsettled by China, even though I have seen next to nothing of it.

Anyway, finally through all the hassles and boarded the plane for Ulaan Bataar. Know you are back with Mongolians when you see the girls with high heels (had to say that) and everyone behaving so differently from the Chinese. A small snapshot. As we boarded the plane I was behind a young woman When she got to her seat there was a middle aged man sitting in it. He did not want to move but, this being Mongolia, she had no compunction about standing up for her rights. This time I had an exit seat. Lots of leg room and I enjoyed watching the scenery unroll below. I am sure that the Great Wall should have been visible, but maybe it was on the other side of the plane. Of course it is a myth that you can see it from outer space, but I would have liked to see it. The pollution gradually disappeared as we flew north. The ground became snow covered and very sparsely populated, presumably Inner Mongolia.

Then there were the hills around UB and the coal fired power stations doing their bit for global warming. Then we were down and quickly processed and into the city which now looks quite familiar. It is a lovely day, only a few degrees below zero. Off to camp tomorrow. I feel that I have really travelled well this time. The good night's rest in Winnipeg was a real boon.

2006-12-04T21:05:00.000-06:00

REALITY CHECK

December 1, 2006 brought home what a remote area we are working in..

There is another Canadian company prospecting for uranium about an hours drive from where we are, towards Choibalsan. Recently we completed one of our drilling programs and the contractor, Landrill, moved out and went to drill some holes for the other company. I should say, although we are competitors we have a good relationship with the other company.

Western Prospector have been proactive in trying to ensure that we have a safe environment. Everyone is supposed to wear all relevant safety equipment and every effort is made to see that our conditions are safe. We even have a clinic in camp, staffed by two doctors and an ambulance. In fact, outside of Choibalsan, we are probably the best equipped facility in the aimag.

At about 10am on Thursday morning our assistant camp manager, Orgil, appeared in the office and said there had been an accident and someone was dead in the clinic. No details. I had my camera so Pieter asked me to come with him. Not something I really wanted to do but I knew it had to be done.

We drove to the clinic and were met by the doctors and the Landrill foreman.

What had happened was not anything to do with Western Prospector. Landrill had finished their program on our competitor's property and were rigging out - everyone looking forward to going home. There was a problem with part of the drill and they decided to use an excavator to free the part that was sticking. The bucket of the excavator slipped and crushed the thigh of one of the Mongolians against the drill. At this point they thought "Fracture" and decided to head for our camp. It was cold and the conditions in which the victim was transported do not bear thinking about. He was slipping in out of consciousness, sometimes lucid but by the time they arrived in camp he was quiet and the doctors declared him dead of massive internal bleeding. Obviously, we were all shocked by this. Then I noticed that some of the Landrill employees were sitting outside and one of them was absolutely white as a sheet - in a state of shock, plain as could be. I pointed him out to the doctors and he was checked out and treated. He had been operating the excavator and the victim was his best friend.

There was some discussion about taking the body to Choibalsan but the ambulance wouldn't start because of the cold. We contacted the police who said the body must stay in camp and they would come. The doctors were not happy.They did not want the corpse in their little clinic because of their regular load of inpatients so the body was put in the ambulance, in the expectation that the police would be there shortly.

In the event the police did not arrive for thirty six hours. When they did it was just before supper on the Friday night and they brought two doctors from Choibalsan.

There was much toing and froing during the night ( I know because the clinic is close to my gir). The police went to the accident site and came back and milled around. Eventually they settled down for the night. To our surprise, they insisted that the autopsy had to be done in camp, rather than in Choibalsan. Not surprisingly the body was deep frozen and had to be thawed out. They did the autopsy on the Saturday morning and a helicopter came to transport the body to the victim's home.

The police focussed on the excavator operator as being the one to blame. The young fellow did not have a permit to operate the excavator, so there is some culpability but it looks like he is going to be the scapegoat. There were all sorts of other poor practices, but it seems they are being ignored.

As is common in most undeveloped countries, you do not want to be in a postion where the police are calling the shots. There was a vehicle accident involving a minor injury before I arrived in camp. The police identified who their "criminal" was but the investigating officer was bought off by a bribe of a laptop computer. In this latest incident, because there was a fatality, the police have decided who is to blame and he is going to get the book thrown at him. The fact that he has to live with the death of his best friend and the other factors are irrelevant.

Eventually, the police left and we were left to chew things over.

Western Prospector are obviously not part of the investigation and you could say that it was an opportunity to test our resources.

We have a problem with our ambulance. Fat lot of use it is if you can't get it started. The victim died because of internal bleeding. Even if he had been alive when he arrived in camp, could we have saved him? Could he have survived another journey by road to Choibalsan?

Underground accidents, by their nature, tend to be pretty messy. The complexity of bringing an injured person from underground in the bucket always bothers me. How would we handle it? There is a lot of soul searching going on right now. As a company, it is one thing trying to do the right thing but it is another thing to deliver when the logistics are so tough. Work safely and don't have accidents is definitely the route to go.

For myself, if I had been at the scene of the accident, I would have been tempted to take the victim to Choibalsan because of better facilities. What would I have felt if he had died en route? I would always have wondered if I should have done what the Landrill crew did.

Development in Mongolia depends on bringing these projects to fruition. The vast bulk of the population knows that this is the economic way forward and it is so sad to think that along the way people are going to be injured or die in these stupid accidents.

So much to think about.

Now I am in UB on my way home. Arrived last night. There is real snow on the ground. The time in camp was kind of unreal because it was cold but there was an almost complete lack of snow.

This will be my last posting from this trip. Came across this quote from Mel Brooks - I like it.
'If you’re alive, you’ve got to flap your arms and legs, you’ve got to jump around a lot. For life is the very opposite of death and you must at the very least think noisily and colourfully, or you’re not alive.’

2006-11-27T01:41:00.000-06:00

A NIGHT AT THE DISCO

Well, nothing is advancing here. We still are waiting for parts for the generator and trying to keep ourselves busy. Of course, on the internet there has been lots of cricket. Talking of cricket, I was happy to see the West Indies finally becoming competitive again. Cricket is always better when the West Indies are competitive. Australia thumped England although the way in which they did it left a bad taste in my mouth. Ponting is such an incredible batsman but the way he did not enforce the follow on smacked to me of arrogance - let's just rub the bowlers noses in it a bit. Hopefully, England can fight back.

In 1924, the Mongolians finally threw off the Chinese yoke and established their country as the second communist nation in the world. November 26 was the anniversary of this event. Mongolia is now a democracy but the day is still commemorated, even though this it is a relic of the communist record. Yet another of the ties that present day Mongolia retains with its past.

Geomandel, our catering contractor, organised a disco to celebrate. It was a Sunday and one of the things about being in camp is how the days stretch together with not much to distinguish them. Pieter (the project manager) has instituted a different routine on Sundays. We work an hour shorter and yesterday he decided that we should also have a Mongolian lesson. This was entertaining. Our teacher was our interpreter, Bolor, who also speaks Russian and Japanese. Our lesson was really basic but we had lots of laughs. Then it was time to go and get ready for the disco!

At this time I should tell you that there have been problems with the power supply in the camp - basically the cable was not adequate for the load that was being put on it. I'm not sure whether the Mongolian electrical code is not up to snuff or whether the cable was not up to it. If it was a Chinese cable, my guess would be the latter. In the west, so much of the manufactured goods we are buying originates from China and we are finding it satisfactory. In Mongolia, the only way to describe the Chinese manufactured product is junk! I feel so sorry for the average Mongolian who uses his limited disposable income on consumer products which then don't fulfil basic expectations. It also extends to steel which stretches, furnishings which disintegrate. Really shoddy stuff. There are definitely different standards pertaining in China depending on the destination market.

Yesterday afternoon the temperature dropped to about -20 and while we were eating our supper all the lights in camp failed. Well, all the electricians (Redpath, Western Prospector, Geomandel) went to see what could be done. What a job in the cold. It seems that the cable was failing at numerous points in the camp and they worked for 6 or 7 hours to do a temporary fix. Of course everyone was concerned that we were going to be left without heat and that would not be much fun! It was remarkable how people went out into the cold to volunteer, whether it was as electricians or translating or just labouring.

After about an hour the electricians managed to restore power to the cafeteria and a couple of the other buildings. They then set about ripping up cable to the girs and replacing them with temporary, albeit sturdier cable.

In the meantime, in the cafeteria preparations for the disco went ahead. Those of us not involved with the electrical problem sat inside while this carried on.

The catering staff had made two gorgeous cakes, one in the shape of Mongolia with the provincial boundaries and prominent places marked. The other was an elaborate sculpted confection portraying imaginative flowers.

The DJ was our translator Bolor - a really good guy with an infectious sense of humour and suave manner. He spent a lot of time getting his play list set up - even though in the event it seemed to go totally by the board.

The disco was meant to start at nine and run until 11.30. Whether because of the electrical problems or because we were running on Mongolian standard time, nothing happened until well after ten o'clock. Gradually the cafeteria filled. All the pretty girls appeared made up and wearing party clothes. One young woman was wearing a pair of incredible black high heels, several inches high and with exaggerated curved toes - OK I know I'm always going on about the girls with their high heels but why would a girl come to the wastes of northern Mongolia and bring such a pair of shoes? Beats me.

The music was a mix of standard modern Western popular music as played in the clubs and covers of similar music but sung in Mongolian or Russian. The dancing style was the same as you would see in any American bar. Bolor had a blast, shrieking incomprehensibly above the music every now and again.

The people working on the electrical problem would drift in for a few minutes at a time to restore feeling to their fingers. Gradually power was restored to the individual girs.

From time to time there would be a change of tempo and the dancers would whirl around to what I think was a quickstep - no waltzes or two steps. Some of them were very good dancers (including the girl with high heels!). The MC also stopped the action from time to time to co-ordinate some sort of competition. One involved some sort of a quiz, all in Mongolian, but it generated gales of laughter, we suspect some of it was directed at the expats! There were also competitions for the best dancers, voted by popular acclamation. Finally, selected couples had to use their combined bodies to come up with some creative shape. This was a big crowd pleaser.

Shortly after midnight the expats all headed for bed with the Mongolians still whirling around the floor. At this time the cakes had still not been cut but when we came in for breakfast the next morning, they were pretty well all gone. I don't know how long the disco went on but what a nice idea.

The power was still off in my gir when I turned in. I wasn't too concerned because the gir does hold its warmth. When I got up next morning, voila, power was restored.

The electricians have been doing substantial revamping of the whole wiring over the past couple of days. It is miserable work because it has turned cold and the wind has picked up.

Now here is a poignant thing. The biggest mining development in Mongolia is taking place in the Gobi Desert at a place called Oyu Toigul. This is going to be a huge money earner and conceivably could kickstart the entire economy. Redpath are the mining contractor at that property as well and there is some movement of personnel between the two properties. A couple of weeks ago, one of the Mongolians working for Redpath at Oyu Tougul was killed in a nasty accident in the shaft. Redpath employees here held a whip round for the victim's family and today, at our morning meeting, a large parcel from the victim's family to the contributors was opened.

The parcel contained a jar of coffee, some matches and a packet of incense for all the contributors. As they received these offerings the Mongolians lit a match.

Of course none of the expats had a clue what this was all about. It turns out that in Mongolian society it is not unusual to give gifts to the family of the deceased who then reciprocate as described. The matches are lit to speed the dead person to the afterlife. The recipients will later make themselves coffee and burn incense while they reflect on the dead person. It was very moving.

2006-11-22T20:34:00.000-06:00

MONGOLIAN NIGHTS (OR MORE ADVENTURES WITH CHUKA)

In a field camp a long way from anywhere things rarely go according to plan. For starters we had all the problems associated with dewatering the mine. Finally, in the middle of November we were in a position to start the underground sampling program, several months later than planned.

The underground ore exposure can best be described as patchy. The ore zone is very broken and the Russians had installed steel and wood sets (support) so that in nearly all locations the ore is not visible. This makes sampling tough.

We hit on a plan to drill holes through the wooden planks at regular intervals and then using a little coring drill take samples of the rock behind the support. The theory being that if we took enough samples we would be able to corroborate and enhance the existing ore reserve estimate. Sounds pretty straightforward. The best laid plans and all that.

We are restricted to one exposure ore heading underground because along with all our problems we have been trying to eliminate (or bring down to safe working levels) radon gas. We have to do this by manipulating the mine ventilation. Consequently, in the heading in which we are working there is a brisk breeze and the temperature is only a couple of degres above freezing. Definitely encouragement to keep moving!

I turns out that coring the rock is v..e..r..y slow for a variety of reasons. It has been extremely frustrating for all concerned and for the Redpath miners who are doing the work, very fatiguing as well. For the geologist, taking samples it is a battle to keep warm so we were thinking about what we could do to improve things when another of fate's fickle fingers pointed and everything changed. A really serious potential mechanical problem in one of the generators manifested itself, shutting down the mine ventilation and the sampling program with it.

In North America a mechanical problem like this would be resolved in a couple of days at maximum because of access to suppliers and infrastructure. This is not the case in Mongolia. The parts have to be located and then shipped. At the end of 36 hours we had identified the supplier (in France) who will despatch the parts by courier to Mongolia. Hopefully, they will arrive in UB over the week-end and be cleared through customs on Monday (always problematic). Then, the parts can be shipped to Choibalsan on Tuesday afternnon and be in camp on Tuesday night. By Thursday the generator can be up and running and we can set about lowering the level of radon in the working place again. Hopefully, by Saturday we can resume the sampling program. This timetable depends on every thing running smoothly. If I was a betting man, my guess is that something will happen that extends my forecast.

All of a sudden my work load dropped to zero. Thank goodness for "Cricinfo"! I can follow cricket on my computer - West Indies in Pakistan, India in South Africa and England getting whipped in Australia. But time does hang heavy.

Pieter (project manager) was going to Choibalsan yesterday with Tuuru (one of the Mongolian geologists) and Chuka. They were going to deal with permitting issues for drilling a hole in the coal fiel near Choilbasan. Tuuru is the geologist in charge. Pieter asked if I would like to go along with them for the ride. Now, the trip to Choibalsan involves being thrown around for somewhere around two and a half hours with not much excitement at the end of it. It says how time hangs quite heavy right now, that I leapt at the chance!

Everyone is probably getting sick of me rhapsodising about the light in Mongolia. It doesn't seem to matter what time of year or what time of day, as long as it is not overcast, the light is always breathtaking. Yesterday was no exception. The steppe rolling away on all sides bathed in soft pastels. Occasionally we would see livestock and the occasional horsemen with steam snorting from the horses' nostrils. Also saw lots of large unidentified (need I say it) raptors. As we approached Choibalsan we could see the plume of smoke rising from the power station and the town itself was partially covered by what looked like mist but I suspect was actually smoke from the powere station (temperature inversion?). It looked pretty and dissipated as we approached, presumably because the breeze picked up.

Our first visit was to the mayor's office. This was situated in a building obviously constructed during the communist era, dilapidated on the outside and inside signs of water damage on the ceilings and battered concrete steps. Altogether a building that has seen better days. The mayor's office was down a long corridor of offices with rather nice pine doors. The mayor's office was large with all the accoutrements of a modern office. We sat at a long meeting table while Tuuru explained what we wanted.

The mayor, a swarthy, burly man of middle age, dressed in a suit and obviously very conscious of his position, listened impassively. For a while I thought there was a problem but it all turned out to be fine and the mayor unbent a little bit as he took us over to one of the walls were a town planner's vision of the development of Choibalsan over the next twenty years was laid out. Of course we were looking at an artist's impression but it would be interesting to see how the town changes over the next twenty years. One interesting thing I found out recently was that the population is sixty thousand - hard to know where they all are.

We left the mayor. On the stairs and in the foyer there was a variety of plants in pots. Obviously somebody wanting to see things grow but rendered a bit incongruous by artificial flowers being incorporated in the greenery!

We then went for lunch to "Winners". This was a small restaurant and I told Tuuru that I wanted to eat Mongolian food. He ordered kushuur. These are, yes you guessed it, pieces of mutton in a fried pastry envelope. The pastry is not the same as with a samoosa and they are not spicy but I found them to be very tasty.

At the table next to us were three young women speaking English and we struck up a conversation with them. They were all with the VSO's. One, a visiting co-ordinator, was Dutch, one was from England though born in Zimbabwe and educated at Eshowe in South Africa and the third was a young woman from Kenya. It turned out that Tuuru and Chuka had never seen a black African in the flesh before. I found it interesting that a Kenya would wind up in Choibalsan with a volunteer organisation and I wonder how she will handle the winter.

After this we went to the company apartment where Pieter had some business and then we decided to see a bit more of Choibalsan. Tuuru suggested the museum and that is where we headed.

Outside the museum there is a Mongolian war memorial. It is flanked by an armoured car and a Russian tank, both dating from WWII and looking rather insignificant and battered. The monument itself features a very splendid stylised representation of a Mongol warrior on horseback. Tuuru told us with pride it was a Mongolian tank! I took a photo of the memorial as two cows ambled across.

The museum is the former government house and has a large statue of Marshal Choibalsan outside. Choibalsan was the Mongolian strongman in the 1930's and 40's. He orchestrated purges which decimated the clergy and intelligentsia and political opposition. Not a nice guy. However, he is still held in quite high esteem in Mongolia. He stood up to Stalin about preserving a measure of Mongolian autonomy. He also invaded China, with some success, to try and reclaim Inner Mongolia. He only gave up this effort in the face of very severe pressure from Stalin.

The museum was locked but on ringing the bell, a custodian appeared and we were admitted to a dark interior hallway with a long corridor with rooms on either side. We paid our admission and a young woman appeared to guide us around. We were informed that she spoke English very well. In the event the limit of her English was to say "Thank You" and "Bye Bye" at the end of the tour. Tuuru was called on to interpret and he struggled manfully. He was tickled that I knew who the Buryats were. They are a group that straddles the Mongolia Siberia border. Although part of Mongolia they have cultural differences that separate them from the major Mongolian group, the Khaliks (as in Incredible!). As it happens, Tuuru is a Buryat and part of the museum was devoted to them.

The museum was very uneven. What was interesting was absolutely the biggest cooking pot I have ever seen. This was not your single missionary variety but rather "The Entire Missionary Family" model. It came from one of the old monasteries and could feed five hundred people!

There was a room devoted to Marshal Choibalsan. I got to sit in his chair while Tuuru took a photo of me. It was an eerie feeling to sit in the seat of the tyrant from whence I imagine some pretty ruthless directives were issued. There was a typewriter with Mongolian script keys, as opposed to the modified Cyrillic alphabet, that is in use now. It had been manufactured by Remington and I cannot imagine that there was much call for typewriters with Mongolian script keys. This is just the sort of thing that whets my interest!

Another point of interest was a poster depicting the Mongolian musical instruments and the stringed instrument that had fascinated me in "A Night at the Opera - Mongolian Style" turns out to be a ёoчин (yochin) which is equivalent to a hammer dulcimer. Well, I was raving to Tuuru about how much I had enjoyed hearing this instrument in UB and lo and behold, this morning the Redpath translator, Anka, appeared at my desk and told me that she plays the instrument so I am trying to get her to bring it to camp. Not really practical as it is very bulky but it was very interesting talking to her about it. I was bugging her that she speaks three languages fluently, plays the yochin and yet she is working as a translator in the back of beyond. Of course, the reality is that Redpath pay her a decent wage and she is actually enhancing her English language and administrative skills.

After the museum, time head back to camp and the fun began.

It was already dark and the thought of the drive back was not very attractive. Chuka is a native of Choibalsan and when he left town by a route that was unfamiliar, we were reassured when Tuuru told us that Chuka knew a short cut to our road. It was a lovely starlit night but quite cold - not the sort of night to be stranded outside but amazingly we saw two young men riding a motorbike. They stopped us and asked for directions. We couldn't help them and in the event, that was probably fortunate for them! They were unconcerned about being out at night on a motorbike in the endless steppe.

After heading down a typical Mongolian track for about 15 minutes, Chuka suddenly swung right and we started driving across the steppe in the dark. did not have a warm fuzzy feeling about this. My feelings became even chillier when we had to take evasive action to avoid one of the tank traps that the Russians excavated around Choibalsan!

Chuka ploughed on. Pieter observed that the relative location of the Big Dipper was changing but he couldn't be sure what it meant in terms of our direction and hey, Chuka knows the countryside. Suddenly we crossed two nondescript tracks and shortly afterwards a more substantial track appeared. Chuka made satisfied noises and turned left which is what we would have expected. Away we trundled.

In the distance a light appeared. This was surprising but we knew that the lights of camp were visible from a very long way off. But "Oh, oh, What was this?" A whole plethora of lights and the awful truth dawned that we were once again driving towards Choibalsan! No problem. Chuka wheeled the vehicle round and we headed back down what was after all "our own road."

I was musing how we could possibly have headed back to Choibalsan when we turned on to the road that Chuka knew to be our road. My musings meant nothing as it became apparent that we were on a totally different road. A couple of lights appeared in the distanbce and all of a sudden we were surrounded by habitation, mostly in darkness. Chuka proudly told us that this was the soum of Sergelen, a village I had never heard of. Pieter and I were starting to have visions of becoming apparitions like the Flying Dutchman and travelling the steppe forever without ever finding our destination.

At this point Tuuru pulled out his GPS and quite firmly told Chuka which of the innumerable tracks offered us the best chance of finding camp which was still 45km away.

Finally about an hour later, we reached our proper road and a few minutes later we rolled into camp. Pieter and I made our way into the cafeteria for a very belated bite and shortly afterwards Chuka appeared and dropped the vehicle keys on on the table and said very sheepishly "Sorry!"

We have determined that henceforth a shortcut is to be termed a chukacut!

Today's safety topic at the morning meeting covered the inadvisability of deviating from the known road at night time in winter. At this point it is funny but if anything had gone wrong, no-one would have had a clue as to our whereabouts. It was not cold enough that we couldn't have huddled together and stayed alive but it would have been a very uncomfortable situation.

So that is the story of yesterday. Today, I introduced our translator Bolor, Tuuru and our draftsman Demid to the wonderful world of Ebay. They had never heard of it and they have been happily scouring it for bargains!

You can see how everything has ground to a halt.

2006-11-03T18:44:00.000-06:00

HOOKING IN MONGOLIA

Now, that got your attention didn't it? But I am not talking about the delights, or otherwise, of mercenary sex .... but rather the function of the well paid expatriate in a third world country and specifically Mongolia

For me, I have always been uncomfortable being the well paid and obvious white face in a society where the vast mass around me are living on what I regard as a subsistence wage. The fact that I marvel at how cheap things are for me in Mongolia, does not mean that I don't know that the local population have the same pressure to make ends meet that I experience in Canada but, unlike me, they don't have the opportunity to go into a less affluent culture and exclaim at how cheap things are!

There are different issues at play here. Mongolia is a third world country and this is evident in many places. It is a country that is opening up to new ways of thinking. Whether this is good or bad depends on individual perspectives. For myself, although I find the nomadic way of life charming and it has obviously been a pillar of Mongolian society, I don't believe it is sustainable. Young people always want to move forwards and the perceived way forwards conforms more to the technological world rather than the simple life.

So here am I working in an industry which really offers an opportunity for Mongolia to acquire wealth and help fulfil the aspirations of the population.

Do Mongolians have the expertise to develop and operate the natural resource sector? I think most Mongolians recognise that there is a requirement for external assistance here. They also expect that there is a timeframe in which the assistance will take place.

This is how I see my role here. No Mongolian geologist has underground experience. I can provide training to allow Mongolians to assume leadership roles in the future. I have no doubt that the capability is there. In the meantime I am earning a wage that is far in excess of any of the Mongolians on the property. But let's put this in context. The Mongolians on the property are earning salaries that are higher than Mongolians elsewhere. My salary, although good, is comparable with what I could command as a consultant in Canada. The money that I am paid is not detracting from anything in Mongolian society because I am paid out of the funds raised from investors in the North American market. I am not providing any drain on the Mongolian economy. In fact, on an individual basis, the money that I am paid does become a positive in the Mongolian economy in that I do buy items which, to me, are bargains. This holds true for many of the expatriate employees here.

I am fortunate in that I am working for a company, Western Prospector, whose principals seem determined to see that any benefit they derive from this venture extends to the Mongolian people. Already they have a nucleus of senior Mongolian staff. In camp, the same facilities exist for all employees. The only different is the remuneration. All the expatriates here are working with the philosophy that we are here to train the Mongolians.

This is a far cry from the exploitation of resources in Africa where the principal beneficiaries were the shareholders and the expatriates. There was no thought that the indigenous population would ever benefit in any substantive way. Thank goodness those days are long gone.

Here in Mongolia I am very aware that there are expatriates in many fields: resources, aid agencies, manufacturing and evangelical. All of us are earning more money than the Mongolians (even the missionaries I'm sure). Within this influx of expatriates are people who will change how this country goes forwards. I like to think that my function is to see something positive results. Nothing would make me happier than to hear in ten years time that the geologists at the mine here are all Mongolians.
In the meantime, I consider myself lucky to have the opportunity. If Western Prospector sees fit to pay me what seems like an inflated wage, then like any good hooker I will try and ensure that they are satisfied!

2006-11-02T20:41:00.000-06:00

EATING CHINESE IN MONGOLIA.

Yesterday was a funny day. We had some problems underground so I had to stay on surface.

Two of the other geologists, Baggi a Mongolian, and Denis from Washington, were going out in the field to find a site to drill a projected coal field. So I decided to tag along with them and we set off with our driver Chuka.

The projected coal field is near Choibalsan. There is an existing colliery at Choibalsan which produces the fuel for the local power station. It is a pretty prospective area.

After we had picked a location for the drill we were going to take Baggi to the airport to catch the flight for UB.

It was a fantastic day with very little wind and the air pristine in the autumnal light. We stopped to take photographs of a gir encampment being packed up and loaded on camels. There were lots of raptors around, big and small. I am also amazed that some of the smaller birds are still around. I can't believe they stay through winter. Even the road to Choibalsan didn't seem as awful as it usually does!

We found the area of the projected coal field and walked around (in shirtsleeves) on the steppe for about an hour trying to pick the perfect location. In true geological fashion there was no outcrop and any site would probably be as good as the next for a preliminary hole.

We then took Baggi to the airport. On our way we passed close by the old reinforced hangars where the Russian military kept their fighter planes during the Cold War with China. There were 500 planes here when the Russians pulled out so you can imagine the size of the infrastructure.

When we arrived at the airport the fun began.

Our camp manager, Nyema, was also waiting for the plane and she directed Chuka to take us to Choibalsan and then come back to the airport. We thought we had to go back to the airport to collect returning employees for camp. Besides we wanted to go into Choibalsan and buy junk food for various people so we were happy with the arrangement.

Now Chuka had other ideas. We must want food. Chooka does not speak English and Dennis and I speak no Mongolian so before we knew it we found ourselves sitting in Choibalsan's Chinese restaurant which appeared to be staffed by Mongolians. Neither Denis or I were hungry but the red carpet was rolled out and we thought we had to have something. We were presented with elaborate menus. The only words I could understand were the words for food and the word for red.

Chuka ordered without looking at the menu and the waitress stood expectantly waiting for our order. We both guessed and selected something. No-one batted an eye. We waited and drank copious cups of pleasant green tea while I longingly eyed the fridge full of beer. For those of you who don't know, I am in a dry camp and liquor is verboten once you leave UB. If I had been by myself this is a prohibition I would cheerfully have ignored but Denis is senior man in camp and he has to enforce the rules.

After some time Chuka's order arrived, a mountain of dry short ribs (mutton) which he indicated we were to share. Now these were very much my style with lots of flavour and lots of fat but honestly there was more than enough for the three of us.

Eventually the waitress appeared with a colossal bowl of red soup which was my order. We all had a large plate full which scarcely lowered the level in the bowl at all. It was very tasty. The soup, slightly spicy and loaded with mutton. There was no way that we were going to be able to finish it.

Finally, Denis's order appeared and what you guessed it? Another huge bowl of soup. This time an equal admixture of potato and more mutton. We felt terrible leaving most of this untouched. I don't know why the waitress didn't try and point out that we were ordering essentially the same thing and how much was involved. Maybe she thought crazy white people liked soup! Anyway Dennis pointed out that our leftovers would probably be recycled.

The restaurant was very nice and spotlessly clean. It is always surprising how unprepossessing some places look and yet how clean they are inside. Why it was called a Chinese restaurant I am not sure. I have never thought of the Chinese as being big mutton eaters. Of course, I am in my element but if you don't like mutton, you might find some of the Mongolian cuisine a bit limited.

We still had to go and buy our junk food and it became apparent that Chuka was getting a bit agitated.

The road from Choibalsan to the airport is terrible. To give you some idea, no-one drives on the actual road because it is a minefield of craters. Vehicles whizz along the narrow shoulder sometimes dropping down off to the side and at other times crossing the abandoned road. Everyone drives at a speed which the surface does not really allow so at the best of times it is quite an ordeal. Well, Chuka drove like he had been possessed by some malignant spirit. Suddenly, we had traffic coming towards us which in hindsight, obviously signified to Chuka that the plane had arrived and his driving became even more frenetic. After a particularly nerve wracking aerial episode I couldn't take any more and gesticulated that he must slow down. I think Denis had his eyes closed! Chuka grudgingly slowed down slightly so that we were on the road more than we were off it.

Finally, we reached the airport and Chuka slammed on brakes and flung open the doors thrust Denis's packsack and jacket at him and started herding him desperately into the airport were the plane was just starting to taxi prior to takeoff. Chuka was frantically tugging at Denis and shouting in Mongolian at airport staff standing by.

It all became clear.

Poor Chuka, had thought that Denis was meant to be on the plane and there we had been dawdling over our meal and on top of that dragging our heels around buying junk food when he had to see that Denis got on the plane!

After this we had to go back into Choibalsan to do some camp errands before heading home. I don't know what it means but I now see something quaint in parts of Choibalsan whereas my initial impression was that it was a truly unattractive place. Denis told me it is not quaint, I have spent too much time in Mongolia!

Then it was the long drive back to camp. We could see the lights of camp shining 35 minutes before we arrived. Camp is elevated a bit but that is still a long way. Another thing I like about Mongolians. There were lots of rabbits on the road. Chuka, without doing anything stupid, was careful not to hit them. It is the same with dogs in the towns. Drivers slow down. Mongolia has a Buddhist tradition but they are not shy about eating meat. At the same time it seems they don't want to kill carelessly. A far cry from some of the people I have driven with who think there are points for road kill!

As I said the weather is still fabulous. How long will it last? That is what we are all wondering.

2006-10-30T00:40:00.000-06:00

UNDERGROUND IN THE RUSSIAN MINE

So what is it I'm doing in Mongolia?

About 30 years ago the Russians discovered uranium in this part of the world and did a lot of exploration and developed some mines, one of which is the mine at which I am working - Gurvanbulag.

When the Soviet Union collapsed, the Russians pulled out and the mine was allowed to flood. The company I am working for, Western Prospector, hope to reactivate the mine and I am here to give Mongolians some training in underground geology.The project is behind schedule because of problems with pumps and also there was more water to pump than anticipated. So, I was only able to get underground for the first time last Wednesday.

It was a raw morning with the wind whipping across the steppe as I climbed into the bucket for my first underground trip. I should say that the bucket is exactly that but very big. It is about five feet high and can hold 3 or 4 people. Some protection is provided overhead but it is certainly not your deluxe elevator. It takes about six minutes to get to the working level 260 metres below surface. For some reason there was no heat coming down the shaft and while we were underground icicles started to form on the level and in the shaft. Although I was wearing more clothes than I normally wear I was cold and I was decidedly unimpressed with the whole setup. It is not safe when ice is forming in the shaft.

Last Friday, I went underground again and we were able to get into the workings proper. There was heat and the ventilation is excellent. Because the level is still draining we were wading through water and mud for much of the time. I wound up with boots full of water and covered in mud but it was a good day. I now have a much better idea of the magnitude of task ahead of me.

It is all very interesting. The mine had been developed with the backing of the Soviet defence ministry and boy what amazing workmanship. The shaft is concrete lined and needs absolutely no refurbishment. There is track and pipe on the levels. It appears that we will be able to use just about everything down here. The switches on the track still operate and the valves in the pipeline still operate. Most of the ground support is in place (for the laymen that means the support so that the rock doesn't collapse on top of you!)

In North America mining is done on a system where there are incentive bonuses. I doubt this happened here. The railbed is level and perfectly laid. There are lashings of underground survey control points. One gets an insight into a vanished world. We have found safety equipment and safety posters, mine clothing, teapots, mugs, wine bottles and a beer bottle and lots of Russian signs. There is no grafitti. We all get the sense that this was a very well conducted and operated mine.

I think in the west we were brought up to be dismissive of the Soviet Union and obviously conditions in many places were grim but in places where they figured it was important, they could do everything the west could do. I know this was a defence department project but it must have been a state of the art operation in many ways.Seeing things like this makes me very glad that the west managed to avoid going to war with the USSR because I don't think the Russians would have been a pushover. They obviously had a better rifle in the AK47 than the west had. Their trucks run forever and my guess is that everything else in their military machine would have been a surprise.

Here is something really neat. We keep finding light bulbs that have filled with water during their long immersion.There is a lot of cleanup to do before we can actually start doing any coherent sampling but the Mongolians are not slackers. They are really working hard so hopefully we will be underway in a couple of weeks.

Since I was here in the summer a new camp has been built. I am in my own gir - talk about luxury. The weather has been pretty good. We had a couple of absolutely pristine days with spectacular sunsets. At night the skies are filled with stars - almost as good as Botswana. A couple of people in camp and me walk to work in the mornings. It takes 50 minutes and is a lovely walk as the sun bathes the steppe in golds and pinks. There has been some snow but all that is left is isolated pockets. Snowfall here is not substantial.

A couple of other notes.

The traffic in Ulaan Baatar is nuts. For a city of under a million people there seems to be an inordianate amount of traffic. Traffic lights are respected and people do drive on the correct side of the road but it is a constant melee. One of the things contributing to the chaos is that there are almost as many right hand drive cars as there are left hand drive cars. How can this be? Well, in Japan people drive on the left hand side of the road and it is important for the Japanese economy that people keep buying new cars but this means there is a very limited market for second hand cars. Answer: sell them in Mongolia! The government here recognises this is a problem and they introduced legislation to restrict the import of right hand drive cars at which point the Japanese government indicated they would be suspending a substantial aid program. End of legislation.

We have two doctors in camp. One of them is from the Phillipines. He was cold in August so I don't know what he will make of December!That's all for now

2006-10-22T02:50:00.000-05:00

A NIGHT AT THE OPERA (MONGOLIAN STYLE)

Yesterday we had a bit of snow. Weird, how as part of the Russian heritage, one encounters the odd paving slab of highly polished stone. Coupled with a little bit of ice things are set up for Keystone Cop action. Walk very carefully.

We have four consultants in the office and a tour was arranged for them to go up to the war memorial. I had been before but I tagged along. It is a stiff climb and unlike when I was here in June, only Mongolians were present so there were none of the hawkers but still lots of people. The last couple of flights of steps were quite icy. At the top there is a shamanist shrine set among rocks. We had a Mongolian girl, Bayarmaa, from the office in high, high heels and she picked her way around the shrine and across the icy steps like it was nothing. When I told her she amazed me, she laughed and said she was born in high heels. Certainly women here tend to wear heels much higher than are commonplace in Canada.

In the evening I had a real treat. We went to a concert of Mongolian singing and dancing by a group called Tumen Ekh at the Mongolian National Recreation Centre.

Now the Mongolian National Recreation Centre is a very splendid building. I am sure it would not pass fire safety standards in North America but that is totally beside the point. One enters the theatre through ornate gilted doors and cross the carpeted stage to the seating area which was raised and one sat on thin cushions - not comfortable but we soon forgot that. The inside of the theatre is like the inside of some exotic marquee and brightly coloured. The performance started when the doors closed and the master of ceremonies, a very beautiful Mongolian girl appeared through the same doors. She welcomed us in English and the show began with three men in splendid costumes doing an elaborate dance that must have been portraying something from Mongolian folklore. Two of the men were wearing huge headresses of mythical beasts.

The show lasted an hour and dance routines alternated with music and singing. One of the items played was a Mozart adagio on traditional instruments by a quintet. Three of the instruments were the horse violins or morin khuur. One of the other instruments looked like something out of India, a tamboura perhaps, and was a plucked instrument with a sound like a banjo on the one level but it also had a strong drone capacity. The girl playing it really knew how to make it sing. The fifth instrument was a stringed flat lying instrument that was played percussively and it seemed to me that it was the lead instrument much of the time. Just fascinating. (I found out subsequently that this was a ёoчин (yochin) which is equivalent to a hammered dulcimer. More about this in "Mongolian Nights or More Adventures with Chooka)

We were also treated to traditional folk songs and throat singing. I found it interesting that the female manner of singing sounds stylistically similar to the Chinese singing I have heard even though the Mongolian music does not sound like Chinese music. Throat singing is altogether an eerie experience. The performer was a great big man. Throat singing is the articulation of sounds in the throat allowing a wide and expressive variety of sounds to result. Significant that it is practised by the Inuit as well. Obviously one has no idea of what the singer is saying but one really gets a sense of something magical going on. Some of the sounds were so high and yet gentle it was hard to believe they could emanate from this great big man.

Five young girls (all under fifteen I would guess) gave a wonderfully choreographed dance. It was rendered amazing by the fact that they were contortionists and they basically proceeded to tie themselves in knots to music. That sounds trite. It was a spell binding performance.

By the end of the hour we had been exposed to an enchanting and mysterious side of Mongolian culture. The presentations were all slick, the costumes splendid and the enthusiasm and vigour of the performers was captivating. Great stuff.

Subsequent to the performance we went to an Indian restaurant for supper. Strange to think of an Indian restaurant in UB but it has been here for many years and been acclaimed as UB's finest restaurant some years. The ambience was lovely. A very shabby room but made to seem exotic and intimate but the use of canvas and tentpoles, in effect creating tented semi-private dining areas. The cuisine was north Indian and to my taste it was not as hot as I would have liked but it was OK. There was lashings of the most delicious pan bread. I am already planning to get George making it on the fire pit next summer!

2006-10-19T21:19:00.000-05:00

RIPOFF IN SEOUL!

So here I am back in Mongolia - light skiff of snow on the mountains and a chill in the air.

What a long trip from Winnipeg to Ulaan Baatar - about 25 hours and I find it tough to sleep on the plane so I was pretty bagged when I got here.

The Air Canada flight had a few empty seats and I was fortunate to have one next to me so I was not too constricted. I drank everything they offered me knowing that I am going to be in a dry camp! I actually watched one of the movies "Take the Lead". I guess it would be easy to dismiss it as a feel good movie but I enjoyed it. The premise is that through circumstance a teacher of ballroom dancing in New York starts teaching delinquent kids in a public school ballroom dancing. Of course there are problems and it all ends happily but it is based on a real story and it makes me think of George and the troubled kids at Sandy Bay and what the key to their future is. I reccommend it.

I also read "Under the Greenwood Tree" - one of the few Hardy books I had not read. As always, I was captivated by it. Even more than some of his other books, this is one in which the action is minimal. It really is a portrait of individuals in a community with all their strengths and failings and the dialog is so captivating. Really enjoyed it.
In the introduction Hardy describes how an observer would react to some sort of self contained nurturing society by writing "He would have learnt that wherever a mode of supporting life is neither noxious nor absolutely inadequate, there springs up happiness, and will spring up happiness, of some sort or other. Indeed, it is among communities such as these that happiness will find her last refuge on earth, since it is among them that a perfect insight into the conditions of existence will be longest postponed."

Incheon airport is some distance out of Seoul but I see I will be able to take a tour on my layover on my way back which will be good. The airport is huge and well laid out, consequently easy to get around although you do have to walk. Officials are very helpful. But here was the downside.

As a transit passenger there were signs directing transit passengers to two transit lounges next to two cafeteria areas. I had changed some dollars into Korean won and went to one of these transit lounges. There was not much visible in the way of food but I ordered a beer and the girl asked if I wanted a snack so I said I would take some peanuts. I tendered a 10000 Won note and waited for my change. "Oh no, it cost 10000 Won." Of course when travelling the different exchange rates are always confusing but I did think this was a bit excessive so I asked for a receipt. It turned out there was a problem with the roll so she could not give me a receipt. Anyway, I was tired and not sure where I stood so I went and drank my beer and ate my peanuts and figured out that they had cost me about $13 Canadian! Definitely my most expensive beverage! Anyway, there I was sitting there pondering when the girl came up to me with a cup of coffee which she was at pains to point out was part of the service. This was patently not true as none of the other patrons got coffee brought to them! I think she realised that I knew she had ripped me off and was trying to cover it up. I didn't know what to do so I did nothing. Another annoying thing was that when I went to wait for my flight on the next level there were all sorts of places where I could have eaten Korean food and had a beer for much less. One tries to put these things behind one and not form prejudices.

I flew to UB on Korean Airlines. What is it with the Asian airlines as opposed to Air Canada! The cabin crews on Air China, Aeromongolia and now Korean Air Lines all go out of their way to make the passengers feel special. The attendant on Calm Air between Flin Flon and Winipeg was great but the rest of the Air Canada crews did the bare minimum to enhance my flight. I am sure it is a lousy job but I don't think they improve it by their approach.

The flight to UB was packed. As soon as you get on a plane where there are lots of Mongolians you are aware of what cheerful people they are - shades of what Hardy wrote. I was sitting next to a female Korean doctor who was part of a 50 strong church group coming to UB for a conference. It was 10.30 when we landed and closer to midnight by the time formalities were processed and my bags collected. Always a lengthy process getting through UB airport. Thank goodness the worthy Ganzorig was waiting for me - what a good guy he is.

Here is my ranking of how airport officialdom handles people in Asia at present
Seoul
UB
Beijing

However, I don't think anyone in Beijing airport would have done the Seoul rip-off trick!

I fully anticipated the dreaded early morning flight to Choibalsan but it was not leaving until midday. So I was able to have a decent night's rest. Came into the office this morning and Gerald wants me to stay in UB until Tuesday as there are some consultants in. That's fine with me.

2006-09-16T13:19:00.000-05:00

MONGOLIA - SPRING ON THE STEPPES

In the spring Of 2006 I was fortunate to be offered contract employment in Mongolia. How did this come about?

One day in February I got a phone call asking if I was interested in doing some contract work. My initial reaction was to say "No" but then the caller said "In Mongolia"

Now to me Mongolia, like Timbuctoo and Tamanrasset, is a place whose very name promises a world of mystery, and so at the end of May I found myself on the way to Dornod aimag in the north east corner of Mongolia. These are my impressions.

NEWS`FROM`OUTER MONGOLIA

There, I never expected to say that!

Trip from Vancouver to Beijing was packed. Air Canada is not great but most of the passengers were Chinese going home and all very excited. It was fun to see them. I sat next to a pleasant woman going to see her mum for the first time in 5 years. Interestingly, I had thought we flew direct across the Pacific but we more or less followed the North American coast line and then down the Asian coast line.

Beijing was shrouded in smog. There were numerous controls to go through – really not sure that they weren’t just make work things. I took a cab to my hotel. Amazing. The city is being prepared for the next Olympics construction everywhere but I was too tired to take it all in and went straight to my bed.

Next day my flight to Ulaan Baatar was supposed to leave at 9.00. I was at the airport in plenty of time and checked in. Here is strange serendipity. Our plane was due to board when I found my wallet was gone. What to do? Board the plane or try and find my wallet. Then there was an announcement that our flight was delayed because of bad weather in UB so I went looking for my wallet. No, I hadn’t left in in the coffee shop so I went back to the security check and yes, they had it. I had had to empty my pockets when I went through security and overlooked my wallet subsequently. Talk about relief. Then things got better (or worse). We were told that our flight was indefinitely delayed and were taken by bus to a hotel and given rooms. The official was quite explicit that we would not be called before 5 in the afternoon. I was really impressed how China Air handled this. Firstly, they did not keep us hanging around for hours at the airport (remember Vancouver Sarah). Secondly, they took us somewhere and thirdly they indicated some time frame.

I took this as a golden opportunity. I got myself a cab. A guy who didn’t speak English, had no meter but with the help of one of the hotel employees I negotiated for him to take me to Tianamen Square. Now I’m not sure how it happened but somehow between the two of us we negotiated that he would take me to several places for what I think was a good price.

The airport is 40 km from the city. Beijing is something else. Everything is going up, cranes everywhere. Traffic weaving, hooting and scraping through tiny spaces. Bikes are everywhere – Russell could be an entrepreneur – I think I know where the green bike went! Along some of the major streets there are attractive trees and flowering plants and lawns. Elsewhere you can see the narrow alleys of old Peking sprawling. Construction may entail high rise cranes (Beiging’s national bird) or honeycombs of scaffolding crawling with labourers. That being said, in spite of all the workers there seemed to be an awful lot of sitting around going on!

Tianamen Square is huge. The overall size dwarfs the palace of deputies and Mao’s mausoleum which are huge in there own right. Lots of people and not much in the way of police or military. I should say that it was a very hot day and the pall of smog was quite oppressive. You could taste the acidity. I don’t know how they can clean it up for the Olympics without shutting down the industrial machine.

My cab driver was waiting for me where we had arranged and we went on to the Temple of Heaven. This is set in huge grounds and dates from 1420. There are a number of buildings of what we would consider classical Chinese design. Refurbishing is going on and the buildings that are compete are stunning – so are the others but the fresh bright paintwork is most dramatic. The grounds consist of acres of trees and unkempt grass – presumably some sort of plan is in the works.

By the time I had walked through the grounds and found my cab I was beat so I told him to take me back to the hotel. It is amazing how much greenery there is in the city. It would be pretty intolerable without it because of the smog.

Back at the hotel it was time for a brief nap, a couple of beers and supper and we were called for our flight. While waiting for the flight I got talking to an American woman who is a dry range ecologist and works extensively in Mongolia and Tibet. What was also interesting is that her husband is a prof at Tromso university in Norway. She was amazed that not only did I know where it was but also had a close relative who had studied there.

After take off from Beijing we flew over characteristically rugged Chinese landscape but visibility was not great and did not see the Great Wall.

Was met at Ulaan Bataar at close to midnight. It had been raining and there is virtually no street lighting. This is a city of perhaps half a million people. My hotel was a funny place. A relic of the years when Russians were the main European power in this part of the world. Everyone was very nice – they even opened the dining room early so I could have breakfast before my early flight. It was wet and overcast driving to the airport and I got some sense of the city. Set in a valley more or less surrounded by high hills (or low mountains), some trees. There are four coal fired power stations so I suspect air pollution is a problem. Not much in the way of trees.

We flew to Choibelsan, which is in the north east corner of the country. It is close to China and Russia and until 15 years ago there was a strong Russian presence. During WW2. the Mongolians and Russians repulsed the Japanese near here in a battle which is regarded as being quite important in limiting the Japanese advance. There is an operational coal mine and the Russians were actively mining Uranium and exploring for additional resources. On the collapse of the USSR the Russians pulled out very quickly and according to a very pleasant and articulate Mongolian, the entire economy collapsed. The Mongolians are proud of their history and ambivalent about the Russians. On the one hand their association with Russia meant that the Chinese were never to expand into Mongolia but on the other hand the withdrawal of the Russian presence was obviously very traumatic. All infrastructure was basically destroyed when the Russians left except the airstrip which is pretty good.

Choibalsan is a desolate place. Roads are cratered potholes and buildings mosaics of broken windows.

However, it was entertaining. The vehicle that met me had some errands to run in the town. There was an active market where the highlight for me was the “pool hall”. This was a collection of pool tables outside, all being used by a variety of ages. We had to get a tire fixed at an extraordinary hole in the wall tyre repair place. Outside were three Bactrian camels hitched to carts loaded down with scrap. In spite of the desolation of the town it was a bustling place and people looked well dressed and quite happy.

Leaving Choibalsan we took off across the steppe on a very rudimentary track. It’s 130km to camp and it took the best part of 3 hours. On the way we saw lots of cattle and the occasional nomadic encampment. People riding ponies or gleaning anImal dung for fuel. The steppe is rolling grassland with occasional rocky ridges. Surprisingly there was more water around than I expected. Very few trees and those that were present usually indicating moisture in the ground.

There was much of interest. We saw lots of Mongolian gazelles which are abundant in spite of being shot with gay abandon over the years. Very special for me were the splendid black and white cranes, either singly or in small groups. There were other good upland birds – a rather splendid plover and another larger crested bird which I have no idea as to its identity.

Camp consists of a cluster of about 26 gers (pronounced gear) ablution block and canteen and recreation room. I am in a ger with a French geologist and a Canadian geologist. The ger is very spacious and ventilated through the roof. It is covered with thick felt and the door and internal structure are gaily painted. The floor is wooden. It is very comfortable. **For the record – a ger is not the same as a yert. A yert is the heavy wooden cart used for transporting gers. There are more than 100 people in camp. About a dozen are expats and also probably a quarter of the camp are women. Some of the Mongolians speak very good English and some have a bit..

The food in the canteen is interesting. The catering is done by a Mongolian company and obviously some attempt has been made to match expat and Mongolian tastes. A lot of meat is prepared and salads which are quite surprising. Today we had devilled eggs garnished with caviar. What I have found I like is the Mongolian tea. This is a very weak milky brew with butter and some salt. When it is very hot it is excellent – not so when cold! There is always fruit and nice little sweet things. There is always a big platter of prunes and dried apricots. Lots of meat but to date no mutton.

The office is 4 km from the camp. We work from 7.30 to 7.00 with a break in the middle of the day. The Canadian geologist and I tend to walk back at lunch time. Round here the topography is very hilly (the project is called Saddle Hills) and it is good exercise. The good walk and prunes are keeping me regular. I was very constipated when I arrived! Sure you all enjoyed that info.

As far as the job goes – not so good. The project is way behind schedule and they are nothing like ready for me. I have already let them know that I will not be coming back until they are ready for me – which I think`will be middle to late August. In the meantime there are things I can do to help out and I am enjoying being involved in a project again. In reality, I should not be here at this time but I am and so I will try and help where possible.

Working these long hours – days just merge intone another. Weather is unbelievably changeable. It has yet to be really warm and the wind has a tendency to howl out of Siberia but there is a charm to the area. I am lucky to have this opportunity. Am taking pics but I don’t know when I will get around to downloading them.

**Totally out to lunch here – I found out later. Gir and yirt are the same thing in different languages.
MORE NEWS

I’ve been here for 10 days now. It is truth to say that the weather is the biggest surprise. It changes all the time but the key component is wind, usually from Siberia and cold. We have also had a fair bit of rain which makes everything very muddy. Roads are nothing but tracks anyway. Today started off with a lovely soft mist, then rain and then cleared into a lovely day – sort of reminiscent of Scotland with the stark rolling countryside – no heather or bracken – but lots of pretty flowers are starting to appear. Three nights ago we had a fearful wind in the night. The gir has a flap on the roof which you can pull back for light and ventilation. Ours was closed but not tied down well enough and I had to go out in the wind to secure it. Bit like trying to control a sail in high wind.. The gir itself is quite remarkable – draft free and doesn’t move. When the felt gets wet it has a strong smell – I say it’s a bit like the inside of a horse. In any case, wet dog smells good compared to it!

Last week I went on a field trip. I told you before how the Russians mined uranium in the area just before the collapse of the Soviet Union. The built a complete town called Mardai with a population of about 15000 people. I told you previously that when the Russians left they destroyed everything. That is not strictly true. The Russians did take most if the movable stuff but they left infrastructure in the way of towns, railway line and water supply system. The collapse of communism left Mongolia in desperate straits (no more so than in the aimag of Dornod which is where I am). An aimag is a Mongolian province. The people round Mardai were marginalized and in their desperation for money turned to the scrap business. The pipeline is gone, most of the railway is gone and the buildings are being destroyed bit by bit for whatever is salvageable. Over the years the Mongolians remaining in Mardai appear to have become increasingly out of the mainstream. This is without any doubt, the most depressing place I have been in my life. I always thought that the dumping place near Nqutu was awful but there, there was some glimmer of the optimism that Africans manage to have in bad situations. One of the guys in camp compares Mardai to a war zone were instead of the destruction being done by outside forces, it is being done by the residents themselves. I think when the Russians created the town they must have had some sense of making a place where people wanted to be because although there are typical megaapartment blocks there were also green spaces and the town is in a pretty location. The final nail as far as I was concerned was to see that the trees, which had reached a decent height over the 35 years since the town was founded, were now being felled. This was the low point of my trip.

Near Mardai the Russians had an open pit mine. We could drive down in the pit to where it was flooded. The pit design was very good. The walls were still stable. In fact, one has to admire the Russians. The detail of the work they did in this area is phenomenal. One of the Mongolians said they prefer Russian machinery to US machinery because you can fix it. American industry has really lost its way in some regards. We have a number of Russian trucks in camp. They really take you back in time. Quite a lot of the Mongolians in camp speak English. Most of them have what I call a Russian inflection. We have one young fellow, Orgil, who studied in Manchester for three years. He is very excited about the World Cup and I will be able to catch one game a day late at night on the camp TV.

I see similarities between Botswana and Mongolia. Both are large landlocked countries with sparse population and a pretty homogeneous ethnic make up. Both are fortunate in that during the colonial experience their mineral wealth remained largely undiscovered. Botswana has managed to use its wealth to substantially improve the lot of all citizens (except Bushmen, perhaps). I really think Mongolia has the same opportunity. There is an incredibly high literacy rate. I am amazed how good some of the young guys are with things technical. What is really impressive is that women seem to be treated as equals. There are a number of women in camp in supervisory positions. Benefits of socialism are definitely the education, status of women and diminished role of religion. Unfortunately there are corruption issues in government, also a legacy of socialism and there is also a manana syndrome (marghaash in Mongolian). However, I sometimes think manana is not such a bad concept (I know Russell agrees). People are very good people – generally cheerful and helpful. As an aside – marghaash is described as meaning manana without the sense of urgency!

I regret I am getting nowhere with Mongolian. As the guide book says, pronunciation is incredibly complicated. However, I have pretty well mastered the Cyrillic alphabet which means I am getting to a point where I can take a stab at understanding some words, particularly in all the volumes of Russian maps we have with Cyrillic legends. This is all fun.

The camp has about 130 people of whom about 16 are expats. The expats are from Canada and France primarily with a couple from Australia and South Africa – no Americans. We work from 7.30 to 7.00 every day. At lunch I walk back to camp. It is 2 or 3 km and is a lovely walk. Great place for a dog. Mongolians like dogs but they love horses. The other evening I saw a Mongolian on his pony loping over the hills looking like the world was his. Most evocative. In some ways it is sad that this is a society that is on the edge of a huge transition. In 40 years time, I think the nomadic lifestyle will be a thing of the past.

I do feel underemployed. The project is not running according to schedule and they have yet to start dewatering the workings. I don’t think they will actually be ready for my expertise until the end of August.

Next week I am going to Ulaan Bataar for a meeting. It will be fun. Hey, I will get to drink alcohol which is forbidden in camp!

That’s all for now – in spite of Mardai, I am having an interesting time. Taking lots of pics but I don’t think I will be able to send any until I am back in Canada.

PING PONG IN MONGOLIA

Well, halfway through my time here. The last couple of days have been really out of this world. It has been 40 years since I last rode a horse but this landscape just cries out for being on a horse. In the next couple of days we are supposed to get into the 30’s but I expect we will have a breeze to cool us down – it is rarely calm.

I go to UB on Tuesday. I have to spend a night in Choibalsan, which is the principal town in our aimag(province). There was a Mongolian stooge of Stalin called Choibalsan from the town. However, unlike Stalin he is quite well regarded because he is seen in some sense as having preserved a distinct Mongolia. I will be in UB for 3 nights. I am going for a meeting – not sure how necessary it is but I’m not complaining! I will be able to do some of the touristy things.

Evenings are taken up watching the World Cup. The first game starts at 10pm our time so I am only up to one game a day. There is a fanatic in our office who sometimes watches through to the early hours of the morning, which is totally beyond me. We get a satellite feed from UK which is great because it has no commercials but TV Mongolia also carries the games. I hadn’t realized this because we were always watching the English feed but one evening when I went in they were watching the Mongolian feed and switched to the English for me. I told them I was only one and I didn’t mind what language I watched in so they switched to the Mongolian channel which has commercials. There is a certain novelty to watching the commercials and trying to figure out what product is being sold and also how different the style is. Anyway, now we sometimes seem to watch Mongolian and sometimes English.

The TV is in the recreation room where there is a very dilapidated pool table and a ping pong table. The two games tables are in non stop use. When I passed through Beijing table tennis was a principal feature of the TV. Mongolians, male and female are passionate about it but they play different rules! For some reason the game goes up to 22 and service is done by whichever person has the ball. So when I was being whipped 22-3 by one of the female translators I actually served most of the time because I was retrieving the ball from behind me or from the net! Playing like this games go very quickly. The girl who beat me, the camp doctor and one of the cooks play at a different level altogether. It is all very good natured and nobody hogs the table although sometimes the winner keeps playing until someone beats them.

The project geologist and his wife left today. They are a French couple and had worked here since the project started. Basically, I think they were given too much work because in addition to being the project geologist Dominique was also the project manager and dealing with the minutae of daily camp life took away from his geological time. He was obviously a very competent geologist. I think I mentioned before how most of the contractor expats are Canadian. It really makes one proud to be a Canadian – almost without exception they find positive things in working with the Mongolians. None of the derogatory comments that one would hear in Africa.

A couple of really neat things. The infrastructure here is non existent and getting things from UB is always guesswork. People have the propensity to make things work. I mentioned before about the big Russian trucks that lumber around. Well, one of the contractors told me they don’t have batteries and they have to be crank started. He said it was a sight to behold. The last vehicle I had with a crank was the Toyota Land Cruiser and I could not turn the motor over. Well, half an hour later, what should I see but a Mongolian getting ready to crankstart one of these behemoths. I had my camera with me, but before I could get the lens cap off, turn it on and shoot, he had the truck going. Really amazing.

The other thing is that we are building an office complex with change house. Of course, everything has to be ventilated and in Canada we would go to the hardware store and buy all the galvanized metal ductwork required. Here, there are a couple of Mongolians working with sheets of metal and minimal tools and producing these really well crafted ducts. They have beautiful seams and I swear because it is custom built it will all fit together better than an industrial counterpart. What really impressed me is that they recognized that some parts are prone to movement and they have incorporated canvas gaskets.

So that’s this episode – a bit short but really the days run together. Attachng a couple of pics of camp. Next time it will be the saga of UB and BEER!

PS Sorry no pics – our server can’t handle them today!

TRIP TO ULAANBAATAR

There are two flights a week from Choibalsan to UB and they leave at about 7:30am. Given that camp is nearly 3 hours from Choibalsan and a ridiculously early check in is required, I left here on Tuesday afternoon and spent the night in an apartment in Choibalsan that is maintained by the company.

I saw a different side of Choibalsan. This is not to say that the appearance of the town improved but rather I got some sense of a functioning community. There are a number of Russian built apartment complexes set around living spaces. There were playgrounds and pedestrian areas. No gardens or attempts at beautification but all being well used. It was a lovely evening and kids were playing happily and families out together. I found a place to eat near the apartment called the Nice Café. It had been mentioned in the Lonely Planet guide and it was actually very nice. A couple of cold, cold beers and an interesting beef dish, all for less than five bucks!

However, that was the end of the day. Driving from camp was really interesting. Herds of sheep and cattle grazing over the steppe but what was best of all was the horses. There were masses of them. One herd we saw had between 3 and five hundred animals (I said 3 hundred, the driver said five hundred) all being controlled by a young woman on horse back. Just magic. Also saw the cranes again and tried to get some pictures but I couldn’t really get close enough.

Next morning – bright and early to UB. I went to the office but they didn’t need me so I went to check into the hotel and do some sightseeing. The hotel was in walking distance of downtown. Traffic in UB is wild – you see the most incredible things. Pedestrians have no rights. It took me back to Johannesburg and I slipped quite easily into jaywalking and dodging traffic. Downtown UB has things in common with any big city – new buildings, crowds and traffic but it is also very different. Very few streets are named and the ones that are, are in Mongolian on the street and in English in the guide book or map!

My first stop was Sukhbaatar square. Sukhbaatar was the hero who led Mongolia (with help from the USSR) to liberation from the Chinese in 1921. There is a very fine equestrian statue of him surrounded by an attempt at a flower garden. The square is surrounded by an assortment of buildings of different styles and colours, all rather attractive in an odd way except to the north where there is the most unbelievably ugly parliamentary building I have ever seen. I think it is best describes as Soviet monumental drab. To the north of the parliamentary building there is a very sorry public garden.

I stopped briefly in a store where they were making traditional Mongolian musical instruments. Music is alive and well in this country. Across the road was my objective, the Natural History museum. Mongolia is one of the great repositories of dinosaur relics and also a number of large meteorites have been found here. As a whole the museum was not great. The lighting was indifferent and some of the displays lacked imagination. There were some interesting meteorites and some very good fossils (not enough) and they had a collection of stuffed Mongolian birds. They were not very well preserved but as I have not been able to get a bird book, it was invaluable for getting some idea of what I have been seeing. A big plus in the museum was that many exhibits had English labels.

After lunch (and beer) I was not sure what I wanted to do. In two minds I went into the Museum of Mongolian History. This was an absolute winner. From stone age to modern Mongolia there was a non stop succession of interest including of course a wonderful section on the Mongol empire. (Incidentally, this is the 800th anniversary of the founding of the Mongol empire). Although Mongolia is essentially one language group, there are sub divisions within the whole. One gallery was devoted to different traditional costumes worn by the different groups. It was spectacular. Lovely rich colours and intricate jewelry. Just a fabulous afternoon – so glad I didn’t miss it.

For supper I went to a restaurant called The Silk Road and sat out on an upstairs balcony. In front of me was a Buddhist temple with all the intricate roofwork and decoration and to the sides, in the distance, were the mountains that surround UB a lush green in the evening light. There was a cool breeze and the meal was OK, but really it was the ambience that made it memorable.

And so to bed in a hotel which was not really my cup of tea. Huge and trying to be North American opulent but it was OK. It was a bit stuffy and the hot water was unreliable (a perennial UB problem)

Next day I was collected by the company driver. Two more geologists were staying in the hotel – Yevgeny, who has immigrated to Canada from Russia quite recently and Kirstine, a girl from New Zealand. The company arranged a tour of UB for us in the morning which was great. First off we went to a monument built by the Russians to those who died fighting for Mongolia and the USSR. The monument is on one of the mountainsides and is a stiff climb. The view from the top is very expansive and you get a good idea of the layout from the modern city to the more traditional girs. (By the way, I totally misinformed you when I said that girs and yurts are different things. Gir is Mongolian for home, hence the structures they live in. A yurt is exactly the same thing but it is in one of the neighbouring languages, not Mongolian). Below the monument was an enormous Buddha glistening in the morning sunshine. The monument itself is quite dramatic. I am struck at how different the relationship is between the Russians and Mongolians, and the Russians and Poles/Czechs/Hungarians. Yevgeney has immediately been made to feel welcome by the numerous Russian speakers.

We also visited a huge Buddhist monastery. It had been destroyed by the communists but now rebuilt. Mongolian Buddhism is close to Tibetan Buddhism. We went in the main temple where there was an enormous gilt covered Buddha and thousands of small Buddhas in slightly different poses stored in glass fronted cupboards around the main Buddha. I did not understand the significance. The temple had prayer wheels everywhere you looked and the devout circled the Buddha all the time rubbing the prayer wheels, There was a pall of incense in the air which I found rather oppressive.
Another temple we visited had some sort of singing practice going on. There were a number of monks sitting and lounging around, all of different ages and singing, chanting, droning what appeared to be some sort of part song. I thought I could have fitted right in because it wasn’t particularly tuneful and yet they all looked like they were having a good time. Went in to the office in the afternoon and back to the hotel before supper. I was amazed to see a hoopoe outside the hotel – what a splendid bird. In the afternoon it had absolutely deluged with rain – UB is not geared for rain. All the potholes filled up and “sidewalks” were lakes.

The three of us, Yevgeny, Kirstine and me joined some of the senior people for supper at a German restaurant. The clientele was Mongolian and we had a good meal.

The next day was my reason for being in UB – a meeting. However, still some time to see UB. One of the guys in camp had asked me to buy him some work socks. In the city this was easier said than done so I asked the driver, Ganzorig, to take me to the market. Yevgeney was busy reading Russian reports on uranium in Mongolia but Kirstine was at a loose end. There have been instances of Westerners being robbed in the market but having Ganzorig with us meant we had no trouble. I am surprised that anyone has any trouble with the Mongolians anyway. The market is large and varied – very colourful as these places always are. It was actually difficult to find work socks and I wound up buying the best I could, thicker short socks, 3 dollars for six pairs. I could have bought bras in all the colours of the rainbow and then some but work socks are obviously not part of the wardrobe. There were fascinating areas in the market where they were making and selling traditional Mongolian furniture with all the bright colours and what I loved was the saddlery. We didn’t make it to the food market, which I think would have been interesting. In the market we visited we were a bit disconcerted by a large hunk of camel foreleg just lying in the passageway with people picking their way over it!

The big Mongolian festival takes place at the beginning of July and is called Naadam. It is a cultural festival much of which revolves around horse races, archery and Mongolian wrestling. (Incidentally, the Japanese sumo wrestling champion right now is a Mongolian!). On our way back from the market, Ganzorig knew where the archers were practicing. This was wonderful. Men and women archers, dressed in traditional clothes, were shooting at targets. The target, a red block of wood about 9 inches on each face sat on the ground. The men were shooting from 75 metres away and the women were shooting from 65 metres away. Close to the target was a young woman, essentially a spotter. After each shot she would indicate by signals how the archer needed to compensate to hit the target. I was amazed how close she was standing to the line of fire but what was even more astounding was the accuracy of the archers. Hitting the block of wood from that distance seemed like an impossibility to me, not at all. In a sense, it was much more interesting seeing the archers practice than watching the competition – just somehow felt more part of it, standing next to them as they fired. All in all, a truly memorable experience. For some reason, I did not have my camera but Kirstine took lots of pictures, one of which is attached.

One of the less attractive features of UB is the open manholes. These present a real hazard to the unwary, particularly at night. The reason for their existence is depressing. Street kids have taken to living in the sewers which provide some shelter and some relief from the winter cold. There are groups trying to remedy this but it is a sad commentary. In general one is not aware of grinding poverty. The people are very family oriented and personal appearance is obviously important even if physical surroundings may not be that salubrious. People seem to age well. The older people are very often in traditional dress whereas the younger ones are very westernized. Many of the women are immaculately turned out – some of them are drop dead beautiful! What is somewhat incongruous is their attachment to stiletto heels with incredibly pointed toes, oblivious to the state of UB sidewalks. You see these demure women walking gracefully through these uneven minefields of rubble and potholes! This conjures up another image. The police are noticeable by their absence but at Choibalsan airport I saw this female policeman who looked straight out of some SM fantasy – tight short skirt and high, high heels!

In the evening we had an excellent meal at an Italian restaurant. I would have preferred more ethnic but the boss was calling the shots!

Next day back to camp – early start and yet again the bone crunching drive. Saw a big bustard along the road. I know that in Africa these are now incredibly scarce so that was a thrill.

The day before yesterday we finally started pumping water out of the mine so hopefully by the time I come back in mid August, I will be able to do what I was employed to do.

Yesterday morning woke and on the brow of one of the distant hills, was a herd of camels, about 40 of them. After Breakfast we tried to get close enough to take pictures but they were too far away. A herder was with them. Interestingly, the girl with the 500 horses had nothing with her to control the horses but the camel herder had a great long pole. Saw a hoopoe near camp as well.

Interestingly, wild flowers come out gradually here so there is always something to see. There is lots of carragana but it is lowlying even though it looks exactly the same as what we have at Denare Beach. It is much drier here and also I think that the young plants probably provide decent grazing so it doesn’t get the chance to become a noxious weed like it does with us.

So there you have it. Two weeks time I will be home, so I think this will be the last of my impressions. Wonderful experience. I hope I have conveyed something of it..

NAADAM IN DASHBALBAR July 3,2006

I had thought my observations of Mongolia would be at an end after the trip to UB but yesterday we had an altogether unexpected and wonderful bonus.

I think I mentioned that the big Mongolian festival is called Naadam. It takes place in July and celebrates the national past-times of Riding, Wrestling and Archery.

Mongolia is divided into a number of provinces called Aimags. Each aimag is divided into a number of districts called soums. Naadam takes place at different times in different places and one of the neighbouring soums, Dashbalbar, was celebrating their Naadam yesterday. The company I am working for, Western Prospector, was invited to attend. The geologists all went plus a couple of the Mongolians and two of the contractors.

Dashbalbar is about 50 miles away (two hours) and we had to drive through awful Mardai but after that the track was quite good and passed through lovely rolling hills. There were occasional gir settlements and plenty of livestock, all in good shape.

Dashbalbar is close to the Russian border and has a population of a couple of thousand, a large portion of whom are Buryats. Buryats are primarily based in Russia and although they are thoroughly accepted they have their own language and costume. The most noticeable thing about Dashbalbar was that there were no girs – it is a town in the sense that there are houses of a sort with defined boundaries and apparently some sort of power supply. It did not look prosperous but neither did it look like Mardai. People appeared to be healthy and happy. There does not appear to be any culture here of planting flowers or beautifying lots. Wildflowers are appreciated but you don’t see anything being cultivated for aesthetic reasons. I noticed this in UB where the public spaces that called themselves gardens were very nondescript.

We arrived while the wrestling heats were in progress and were greeted by Tsolmon, one of the Western Prospector employees who calls Dashbalbar home. There was a raised covered seating area and we were ushered to the front and generally made to feel welcome. All around us was the local population, all ages and many of them dressed in all their finery. Some of the Mongolian finery is very fine indeed. We think that much of it is made of silk and wonderful colours – absolutely luminous. Some of the women were wearing chiffon dresses with beautiful patterns and of course just floating in the breeze. The men also wore very splendid clothes. Young children were in their best as well. Like young children everywhere they were getting filthy and I can imagine their mothers despair today at all the dirty clothes. The teenagers wore a mixture which can best be described as Mongolian modern! Some of them in the gorgeous robes that their culture calls for but topped off with a cap advocating Pepsi! Others looking like teen-agers everywhere. The big difference being that virtually everyone was either with their own horse or else attached to a group on horses. I saw an old woman, in all her finery, swing off her horse, no side saddle here, as light as a feather, and then hobble slowly into the covered stand. Many of the older people were profoundly bow legged – I’m not surprised!

Finally, I got to drink araik (fermented mare’s milk). Well, it sounds pretty awful and there are horror stories around it but it was better than I expected. The initial sensation is a sharp, sour taste but subsequently there is quite a nice nutty flavour. It will not become one of my staples but it is OK. On the other hand we were also given dried milk curds. These I did not like at all.

The Mongolian horse – what can I say. It really is not like the horses we know. In many cases they are little more than ponies in size but the Mongolians take exception to their horses being called ponies. They actually have a wide size range and colour range. Some of them are fully as large as western saddle horses and very handsome. They all seem to be unshod which is not surprising when you consider the nature of the steppe. They are unbelievably well adjusted to people. Over the course of the day we must have seen thousands of horses with not an instance of bad behaviour. They would be in tight groups, mounted or unmounted, no snapping or kicking. After horses the most popular mode of transport is the 125cc Chinese motorbike that you can buy for about $800. These are noisy, dirty and invariably the drivers behave like maniacs weaving in and out among the horses, who are totally unfazed by them. Remarkable. Tsolmon, on occasion rides his horse from Dashbalbar to camp. It takes several hours. When he arrives at camp he tells the horse to go home and it does – usually arriving a couple of days later! Unlike the way I learnt to ride where there is a right length to have your stirrups, Mongolians, if they use stirrups at all, have them at a length that suits them – so you see some with short stirrups like a jockey and others with long stirrups and everything in between.

The highlight of the day was the horse race. The race began 10 km outside of town and there must have been between 75 and 100 participants. The horses are all different sizes and ages – there were a couple that were scarcely above foals. The jockeys were all children ranging in age from about 5 to early teens. There was one little girl, maybe 6 years old, brown as a berry and riding bareback. Some used saddles and stirrups, some just saddles and lots rode bareback. All totally comfortable. The contenders all cantered out to the start, accompanied by throngs of motorbikes, minibuses and cars all hooting and hollering. We were in there too. Along the way there was a Buddhist shrine, stuffed with banknotes and the riders all stopped and circled their horses round the shrine for luck. We waited at the shrine. Then they were off and racing towards us. We leapt into our vehicle and raced along trying to keep ahead of the field, bucketing over the steppe while motorbikes and vans hooted and roared next to us – all of us trying to get back to see the finish. We were amazed how fast these little horses ran. It was all we could do to get to the finish before the winners raced past. The crowd was really excited as the horses came in. Some of the horses were played out. Not surprising when you think they had been milling around for hours with their riders then had a 10 km canter followed by a 10km gallop. One little boy fell off right in front of us – he just picked himself right up even though the ground was pretty hard and stony by this time. Everyone looked so amazingly at home on their horses you could almost sense the genes of the Golden Horde coursing through their bloodlines. Are Mongolian horses pampered? No, I don’t think so. They are valued partners in what is a hard life but they have a part to play and the deal is that they play that part. I think this is why they are so accommodating and attuned to the people. I suspect that a horse that habitually misbehaves winds up as supper!

We drifted back to the arena. All of us ventured on to horseback – not to do anything equestrian but just so we could say we had done it. The saddles are different from what we are used to, made primarily of wood and look very uncomfortable but I can believe that you get used to them. Some of the saddles and some of the bridles have quite ornate silverwork. The reins are a single leather strip and bits look much like we are used to. I didn’t see anyone having difficulty controlling a course. We had a Mongolian girl, Tuul, with us. She is charge of the catering in camp and hails from UB. About one third of the population lives in UB and I think that Tuul probably epitomizes some of the changes taking place in this country. This was the first time she had been on a horse. It was the first time she had seen a naadam outside of UB. Yet she speaks Russian and English and is learning French. For her break in a couple of weeks, she is going to Moscow and for her next break she is going to France. This is a world from which the young in Dashbalbar are far removed. She was almost as out of place as we were, except she could speak Mongolian!

Prize-giving for archery and horserace were next on the agenda. The prize-giving for the horserace was really special. There were a number of categories, based on the age of the horse. The master of ceremonies, robed in red and mounted extolled the virtues of the contestants and then sang in this peculiarly Mongolian technique called throat singing, the virtues of the horses. It is hard to describe but it was very moving. Each age category had five winners. The horses were garlanded with a medal and a ribbon and the riders were given a certificate and something more tangible. Among the winners was the little nut brown girl. All the riders looked incredibly blasé as if doing well in a horse race was no more than they expected. Western Prospector was sponsoring one category of prizes and we got a nice appreciative round of applause. As each group received their prizes, the master of ceremonies took a bowl of fermented mare’s milk and drank some. He then poured some on the forehead of the winning horse and passed it to the winning rider who drank some, poured some on the rump of his horse and some on the forehead of the next horse. The procedure was repeated for all the placing horses. When all the prizes had been awarded, the horse that came last was recognized in exactly the same manner – almost as if signifying that “they also serve who only stand and wait”. I should add that the last horse was a bit of a rascal – he really had an air about him that said this was all nonsense and he was not going to exert himself in any way! It is considered good fortune to anoint yourself with sweat from the winning horses but also with the sweat of the horse that comes last.

The archery prizes were awarded next. Us non Mongolians were asked to make these awards, which was a nice touch. The prize winning woman, had also been the champion at Choibalsan and because of her win here qualifies for the national naadam in UB next week. Her costume was absolutely stunning. Attached is a picture of me presenting a prize to one of the runners up.

The last item was the final of the wrestling. There is a great deal of ceremony before anything happens. One of the wrestlers was a short, stocky man - no fat on him at all – just muscle. His opponent was a much taller man, also very strong.

They pushed each other around for quite some time without much happening. Everytime one tried to achieve some advantage, his rival was up to the challenge and amid yells of encouragement the pushing and shoving resumed. There were many old women sitting near us and obviously, watching young men dressed in little more than tight underwear pushing each other around was very much to their liking. It started to rain and we were glad to be undercover but in typical Mongolian fashion it did not last long but it was very blustery. Finally the short man wrenched his opponent into the air and flung him on the ground. Roars of delight all round and enthusiastic spectators rushed down congratulating winner and loser alike. They both put on their ceremonial hats and together with the beaten semi-finalists came to receive their prizes. An announcement was made that all four of them were to be known as elephants (the ultimate rank in Mongolian wrestling) and there were roars of applause. All the wrestlers congratulated each other and then it was all over. We thanked the dignitaries who had invited us and made us feel welcome and ran for our car as the rain really started coming down.

We drove back to camp in the lovely evening light washing the hills in shades of dappled green and yellow. Even Mardai could not dampen my spirits after this truly memorable day. Hard to believe I was paid to do this!

One of our translators, Orgil, spent time in Manchester and is a soccer fanatic. In the evening he had organized a competition amongst the Western Prospector employees and the various contractors we have working here. The pitch is set on a distinct slope so virtually all the play takes place at one end and from time to time the ball would disappear a couple of hundred yards down the valley. I was a bit put out when I was not invited to represent Western Prospector but when I saw the robust level of play I was glad not to be part of it. Western Prospector did not fare well and the team that won was the contracting firm, Geomandel, who look after the camp and all the catering. Geomandel had the largest contingent of pretty Mongolian cheerleaders so we think that was the difference! The enthusiasm of the Mongolians compared with the most ardent South American fan. Great fun.

Today I was horsing around with one our young Mongolian draftsperson and he called me a “bad grandfather’. In the context of the horsing around I took this as a complement but all of a sudden I realized that Orgil thought that I was too old to want to play soccer and I am sure I must look old to the Mongolians who don’t turn grey and who don’t have beards. Yet, I don’t feel old. In fact I feel invigorated by this entire experience.