One steppe at a time
Tim Cope crosses ‘Hell’ with a dog and three horses and discovers the enigma that is Russia, writes Bron Sibree
TIM Cope was a little-known 25-yearold Australian adventurer when he set out on his journey across the Eurasian steppe on horseback, retracing the hoof-steps of Mongol warrior Genghis Khan. Accompanied by three horses and a dog, Cope set out from Kharkorin, the ancient capital of Mongolia, in 2004, armed with little but his fluency in the Russian language. “All I could think,” he recalls, “was that ahead lay 10 000km of this open land to the Danube and across all of these empty horizons, not a soul knew I was coming.”
By the time he reached Hungary three and a half years later, Cope had become a folk hero among the peoples of the steppe and beyond — lauded not only for being the first person in living memory to complete this gruelling journey, but also for his championing of the heritage of the nomad. As Cope explains, his adventure was not about firsts but about arriving at a deeper understanding of the cultural heritage of the steppe, and of its peoples’ precarious position in the modern era. “Their perspectives fascinated me.”
The Russians call the terrain he crossed “Hell”. “The sheer size of the region is un- fathomable. For most of us in the modern era, let alone 800 years ago, it’s a kind of black hole in our geographical knowledge. I began to imagine, as I rode further west, that when the Mongols appeared on the fringes of consciousness of the Europeans, the Chinese and Central Asians, these groups wouldn’t have been able to guess at the achievements involved in reaching socalled civilisation. Of course, one of the Mongols’ secrets was their horses.”
He calls his own “little family of animals” the real heroes of his epic trek. “The sheer endurance of the steppe horses is unimaginable. They’re much closer to the Przewalski, the only surviving wild horse, and never went lame, could eat anything and dig for fodder in minus 50 degrees.” The animal that stole his heart, and which became a celebrity in its own right, was Tigon, a type of ancient Kazakh hunting dog, given to him as a pup by a disabled Kazakh boy. “I thought he’d be a liability but a very special bond developed between us, and I couldn’t live without him.”
Also integral to survival on the steppe is the nomad tradition of hospitality. For Cope, who was welcomed into hundreds of nomadic gers and steppe dwellings, this was overwhelming. Not least when those extending him succour were a band of colourful, hard-drinking criminals, as happened in Russia, or when they’re a wholly-broken people, as in Kazakhstan.
“Russia is an enigma with many faces,” says Cope. “But Kazakhstan was the most confronting. It’s where I saw the most cruelty, the most difficulty. Even now, trying to comprehend how their lifestyle was destroyed within the space of two or three years as a result of Stalin’s industrialisation policies, it’s impossible to see how a culture can overcome that.”
Cope speaks passionately of the “duality” of the steppe, the extremes of its weather, its history, the cruelty and kindness of its peoples, as well as the marginalisation of nomadic culture. He now conducts tours of Mongolia that mirror his journey, which changed forever the way he views people in the world.
“I’m taking people through the history, the culture, the environment and the issues facing the nomads. And the rewarding thing for me is seeing how people’s perspectives and mindsets change.” —