The Daily Telegraph - Saturday - Travel
Jurassic parched: my Gobi dinosaur hunt
Harriet Compston battles intense desert heat, vast distances and Mongolian pop music in her quest to find a fossil in the land of the Tarbosaurus...
‘This is 60km from nowhere,” my guide, Byumba, proudly announced. I squinted into the sunlight across the burning red jumble of gargantuan shapes unfolding into the distance. We had finally made it to Khermen Tsav, deep (seriously deep) inside Mongolia’s Gobi Desert. One of the world’s largest graveyards of dinosaur fossils, nearly 20 different species have been discovered in this vast canyon, including the
Tarbosaurus (a close cousin of Tyrannosaurus rex), Gallimimus and Mononykus (which both made an appearance in Jurassic Park). However, this behemoth’s remote, unforgiving nature has left it almost unexplored. Shrouded in mystery, it hides a bounty of prehistoric treasures.
Dinosaur fossils are Mongolia’s main boast: scientists have discovered 76 dinosaur genera in the foreboding terrain of the Gobi. Indeed, earlier this year, a perfectly preserved complete dinosaur skeleton of a new species was unearthed here – a raptor-like order known as Gobiraptor minutus.
Our dinosaur fossil-hunting adventure had begun 620 miles (1,000km) away, a week before, when Byumba and I – along with our driver, Bilge – left the smoggy, snowy streets of Ulaanbaatar, the country’s capital, behind. We were in a UAZ, an off-road Russian van, known as “The Beast”, which excels in tough terrain.
Soon, the snow ceased. A frenzied wind arose as the road petered out into desert floor. The landscape exploded into a wild expanse under a huge, deep blue sky. Byumba smilingly explained: “This is why we call Mongolia munkh khukh tengriin oron, ‘the land of eternal blue sky’.” Caravans of sleepy double-humped Bactrian camels eyed us disdainfully, herds of fine-limbed horses grazed peacefully and flocks of cashmere goats mingled with hundreds of sheep while black-tailed gazelles leapt in the distance. Among them, nomadic herders wrapped in deels (the traditional folded tunic) kept their livelihood in check. Their gers, round tents made of felt, were dotted like white specks among the arid land. Rather extraordinarily, Mongolians have lived like this for millennia.
Before night fell, we drew up at Tsagaan Suvarga. Once an ancient sea bed, these towering white sand cliffs are rich in marine fossils and are streaked with a kaleidoscope of pastel shades as a result of wind erosion. The big escarpment was exhilaratingly empty and it felt rather incongruous picking up clam shells and smooth beach pebbles with no sea in sight.
That night, we stayed with a nomadic couple. “Sain baina uu,” (“hello, how are you?”) I chirped before being ushered into their
ger. I recalled Byumba’s ger etiquette lesson: always move “sunwise” in a clockwise direction and always back out when leaving. We were greeted with suutei tsai – Mongolian tea, made up of water, milk, tea leaves and salt. Challenging at the first sip, it was slightly redeemed by the accompanying rusk-like boortsog, a deep-fried dough. Fresh produce is limited in the Gobi so it was tinned and dried food from now on. Supper was tsuivan (noodles with canned mutton), half of which was gristle, which Mongolians believe boosts energy levels. I had the luxury of my own private ger, with the traditional, ornately painted orange support poles. There was no electricity, no running water and only a wood stove in the centre to keep me warm.
On the first morning, a stream of cold air from the ger’s open top woke me up. The Gobi is one of the world’s coldest deserts, plunging to -23C (-9.4F) in winter. After a breakfast of the previous night’s noodles, we got back into The Beast. Kicking up swathes of dust, we drove for a bone-joltingly bumpy four hours before halting atop the famous “Flaming Cliffs”. Known as Bayanzag, this fiery red creation was our first chance to find dinosaur fossils. It was here, in 1922, that the American explorer Roy Chapman Andrews (who was the inspiration for Indiana Jones) discovered the first nest of dinosaur eggs.
This discovery served as a turning point in paleontological history, establishing that dinosaurs laid eggs. Over a period of two years, Chapman Andrews went on to unearth the remains of more than 100 dinosaurs in the Gobi. Half a century later, in 1971, a fossil of a Protoceratops and a Velociraptor, locked in eternal mortal combat, was discovered. Byumba and I wove our way through the boulders and thorny branches of the saxaul trees, one of the few plants that can survive these extremes. We kept our eyes peeled for the merest hint of a dinosaur fossil. But to no avail.
The following day found us heading deeper into the desert. We drove
Scientists have discovered 76 dinosaur genera in the foreboding Gobi terrain
across the snow-strewn mountains of the spectacular Yolyn Am, “the vulture’s mouth”, past shaggy yaks.
The weather was deceptive; one moment, torrid sun, the next, bitterly cold. So cold that in the 20th century, during the period of control from Moscow, the Soviets used this place as a butchery and walk-in freezer for meat. Side-stepping the sheets of blue-veined ice that had begun to melt, we slid ourselves along the rocky outcrop, on the lookout for an ibex or snow leopard. Four crimsonrobed monks on horseback meandered past, returning from a ceremony around an ovoo – a sacred stone heap – in the gorge. As we passed increasing herds of camels, Khongoryn Els (the “singing dunes”) loomed ahead, a wash of yellow sand painting the landscape. That evening, we stayed with a family of camel herders who moved every two or three months, raising and collapsing their gers to follow their herds. Uuree treated us to buuz (mutton dumplings) while her brother secured the camels for the night.
As the day’s heat ebbed, Byumba and I climbed the dunes; 1,000ft high and shaped like breaking waves. It was an epic trek: two steps forward, one step back, but the view from the top at sunset was spectacular as the low sun cast long shadows against the burning colours. As we moonwalked down, the dunes did indeed sing, like a deep drone from an organ.
Setting out the next day, the landscape desiccated and the vegetation thinned. After eight hours and lots of Mongolian pop music (a cacophony of throat singing and morin khuur, a two-stringed instrument), we arrived at our camp. By now, the menagerie of farming animals had gradually disappeared; only the twisted saxaul trees defiantly held on for life in the undulating nothingness.
The owner was a keen cook, startling us by producing a chicken drumstick as opposed to tinned mutton. Russian chocolate followed. Russia does “very good candy”, Byumba reassured me. No gers had been constructed yet, so I slept in a storage-type unit.
Breakfast brought bantan – boiling water, droplets of flour and mutton
– in 40C (104F) heat. Khermen Tsav was 37 miles (60km) away and as we travelled, the gravel turned into silky soft sand, which Bilge tackled like a soldier hurtling into battle. Twice, our wheels got stuck and we had to build a “road” (as Byumba put it) by piling dead branches and stones for grip.
Reminiscent of an ancient ruined city, Khermen Tsav is a mesmerising canyon. Named by Chapman Andrews as “the end of the world”, I felt humbled to have reached one of the most hidden yet greatest natural wonders on the planet – and we had it completely to ourselves. We descended, The Beast almost vertical, lurching from side to side. Desert eagles swooped and lizards darted. Then, to my amazement, we saw a pocket of poplar trees with emerald green leaves – a startling shot of life.
Byumba and I searched for dinosaur fossils, examining the rocky lunar formations. Fossils have a different texture and colour from plain rock. Suddenly, I spied a large block of what at first glance looked like petrified wood. Byumba and I bent down for a closer inspection. It was bone marrow, crystallised and purple. I couldn’t quite believe it. We brushed away more sand, using our
fingers like toothbrushes. A rib.
Another rib. And another. A tail bone. We discovered three more sets of remains (ribs, vertebrae, some indeterminate fragments), although my bone marrow still stole the show. I jabbed it with my tongue, which will stick to a fossil, thanks to the porous nature of the bone and its “sticky minerals”, unlike a stone. They were indeed fossils.
It’s highly illegal to take fossils out of Mongolia so we left them in their resting place, perhaps to be discovered again, perhaps not.
As we made our 620-mile journey back across the desert, the adventure hadn’t quite finished. Battling a dust storm, we stopped at the ruined Ongi Monastery, once home to 28 Buddhist temples and four universities. Now, it lies in piles of rubble after 200 Buddhist monks were massacred during the purges of the 1930s.
Next we stopped at the Sum Khokh Burd temple, a ruined 10th-century palace on an island that is rich in birdlife, with a surprising bevy of regal white swans.
Three days later, we arrived in Ulaanbaatar and our journey was over. It was an unnerving contrast. The Gobi seemed like a dream and our dinosaur fossils like a mirage.
As we moonwalked down, the dunes did indeed sing, like a deep drone from an organ
Wild Frontiers (020 8741 7390; wildfrontierstravel. com) offers a 13-day “Mongolia: Land of the Great Khan” tour from £2,585 per person including accommodation with all meals, guided excursions and transfers. Excludes international flights.