A Fishing Trip

            This weekend I went on a fishing trip. Now, of course since it’s Tajikistan, a fishing trip would be a very different experience than it would be anywhere else. First of all, a national friend of mine invited me to join him. I met him over a year ago, when Cindy and I were walking back from the local bath house, he stopped us and asked if we spoke English. Apparently we blend in that well with the locals. He worked for the Drug Control Agency and wanted someone to practice his English with, so every week or so I go over to his house, drink tea and play chess. He goes by Raul, and invited me to “go fishing” with him in Murgob overnight. We could ride his horse, do some shooting with a friend’s rifle, and maybe even hunt wolves (there are lots of them here and they are pests, as well as animals that attack people occasionally, hunting them is encouraged).

Off on the road to Murgob.

            Now, a few things need to be cleared up to share exactly what this invitation means. First of all, in Tajik, fishing is literally “getting fish”. This is important later in the story. Murgob is a district in the northeast of the country. It is sort of a tourist destination, mostly because it was considered one of the most remote and desolate outposts of the Soviet Union. They had Siberia, that’s saying something. It’s populated mostly by yak and sheep herders who are semi-nomadic, not because they particularly like that lifestyle but because nothing by scrub grass grows up there. Winter temperatures regularly reach -40 degrees or lower. This isn’t a typical winter destination, but I have wanted to go and an invitation from a national isn’t to be lightly turned down. So, I packed up my down sleeping back and got on several layers, prepared to take off on Friday after language class. 

            Of course we didn’t leave at 11, when class was over. I was supposed to pick him up near a local store, but he was running late, did his shopping, then asked if we could meet again in an hour. Three hours later, I called him and he finally said he was ready. So we were on the road by four instead of eleven, not too bad. The person who was supposed to bring the gun along couldn’t join us, so the hunting and target shooting wasn’t going to happen.

            It’s still heavy in winter up here, so as we drove the road is still covered with snow. The higher we got the colder it got, so that it wasn’t long before the water splashed from the melting slush on the road started to freeze on the car. I grew up in Africa, it doesn’t get that cold. I didn’t realize that at around -20 C the water makes the suspension freeze, so it makes a brand new SUV sound like a 50 year old farm truck creaking and groaning over every bump. If I happened to splash water on the windshield, it would just be on there because my windshield wipers had frozen to the car and wouldn’t move, not to mention that the water immediately froze to the windshield as well and needed a good amount of time with a defroster to melt. All of this on roads that don’t get cleared from snowfall, so it’s a bit slick at times. Fun times.

Frozen Suspension.

The road.

First time I had seen that temp that I know of.

            One nice feature of this part of the world is that there are numerous hot springs dotting the mountains. One nice one was on our way, so we stopped off there for a little tea, splashed some hot water on the car to see if we could melt it (no luck, it just froze again) and took off again. We crossed over the pass into Murgob district, about 14,000 ft above sea level, stopped to take a look at some truly incredible stars, then down into Alichor, the little village we would spend the night. We made it about nine in the evening.

            My car has a thermometer on it, so I got to watch the temperature drop as we drove. I had never really seen anything below -20 C (-4 F). When we got on the pass and saw -21 I decided to take a picture, just to mark the low point. Then it kept dropping. And dropping. As you can see from the picture, it got a bit chilly before we stopped. I think that is -25 F. That was nine at night, I stopped being interested at that point, but the evening got close to -40 I was told. As an odd aside, -40 is where Fahrenheit and Celsius meet up, it’s the same temperature on both scales. It’s also known colloquially as PRETTY FREAKING COLD.

Seriously? I grew up in Africa. We think temps like this are like the Loch Ness Monster, some people say they have seen it, but no one really believes it.

The thing about that cold of weather, you don't notice how much colder it is, but you only take about 30 seconds outside to start to go numb. It was beautiful outside, but I didn't stay out in it much to take pictures.

            Remarkably enough, the little room we found ourselves in was warm. All they have to burn is the aforementioned scrub grass and dried yak dung but the little stove kept us warm. Electricity was from a solar panel or generator, but they still had satellite tv with good old Russian movies. We had tea and bread, talked for a while, then they decided it was time for the foreigner to get to sleep.

            Now, just because I laid down, admittedly tired after a 5 hour drive, doesn’t mean that anything else stopped. Everything happens in one room in the winter, so the lights stayed on, the tv kept going, and conversation at a normal level continued ‘til 3:30 in the morning. Sleep wasn’t so easy coming.

My hosts, with me and my new suit.

            Our host was a fun old man, chain smoked from our arrival until our departure, and was one of the first people I have met here who hated Russians. His grandfather was eliminated by Stalin during the purges of the 30s, so I guess he had plenty reason. This old man whose only income was yak and sheep meat, told me to thank the Americans when I went home for all the help we have given them in their lives. By morning, they decided I was a favored guest, gave me yak milk and cream, a national hat and robe, and a rather large amount of meat from two sheep they slaughtered that morning.

            Apparently slaughtering in -30 C is also a challenge. The sheep were killed outside, bled, and brought inside to finish the slaughtering so they wouldn’t freeze midway through. The porch was warmer than outside, but not much as the steam coming off the bodies testified. Before the dogs outside could finish lapping up the blood which was left in a pan outside, it had frozen so they gave up. You have to be quick out there. 

Slaughtering a sheep.

The dog getting to the blood before it freezes.

Oh yeah, and they gave me a Marco Polo sheep head.

            It was time to get going, so I went to start the car. Apparently that is also a slight challenge in -30. It’s not that the battery went dead, it’s that the oil froze so the car wouldn’t turn over. Hm. Now, in the US we would put a block heater on the car. In Murgob, you need a torch and a metal bucket. As you can see, we did manage to thaw the engine out enough to get it started, after bringing in a truck battery to charge the one we drained trying to start the car. Open flame under a gasoline engine, what could possibly go wrong with that?

Did I mention it was cold?

Normally it would be a bad thing for someone to torch your car.

Nothing to see here folks.

Pool in -30? No problem.

Yaks. It's all they have up here, yaks and sheep.

            Our next stop was the lake where we would “get fish”. We drove through desolate plains with mountains all around, turned off on a little track through the snow, and after a 15 minute drive we saw tiny houses off in the distance in a valley. We stopped off to talk to some people about getting fish, dropped off some of our gifts for people there (oranges and candy, along with some bread bought in Khorog were dropped off at every stop, if all you had to eat was yak and sheep, oranges would be a pretty big deal to you too) and made our way to a house even further out of the village.

On the left of this lovely chalet, you can see the all natural fuel, direct from yaks, good for both heating and cooking.

            Here a Pamiri man with two college degrees, disgusted with the civil war, decided that particular village wasn’t remote enough for him, so he built a couple miles away on the edige of, what in the summer, would have been the lake. When we arrived, it was ice and snow, like everything else around us. Raul kept his horse there, along with one of the biggest dogs I have seen in this country. Varsik, the pup you can see in the pictures, fights wolves apparently and comes out on top. Not too surprising. He is friendly for being half bear. 

One awesome dog.

            We had some more tea and bread, talked a little more, the hosts all dug into the vodka we had brought along as a gift. By now it had warmed back up to a balmy -20, so we were planning on taking the horse out on a ride. He had decided to explore the surrounding mountains for some food and was nowhere to be found. Such is life.

            Now came the “getting fish”. Now, a fishing trip in the US would likely involve at least a line, fishing pole and a trip near a large body of water. Most of this particular lake was frozen over (it was only -40 the night before, shocking that it would freeze so easily) so the plan turned into just getting some fish that had been caught earlier and putting them in the car. Like I said, getting fish.

            I was a bit disappointed to not be any part of the getting fish. It caught everyone off guard that I would actually want to go fishing on a fishing trip. So, change of plans, it’s time to take the weird foreigner to “get fish”.

            It was another drive through snow tracks to the lake. It was apparently fed by a hot (or warm) spring, so about 10% of the lake was still water. Fishing here was a bit different from my fishing trips in other places. First of all, we had to go out in a boat. They pushed the little tin boat out in the water, and immediately I noticed that there were around a dozen holes in the bottom of the boat. Amazingly, the boat started to fill with water. Then I realized we had no bucket to bale with. Ah yes, and we don’t have an oar either. Once again, what could possibly go wrong? 

Our sturdy craft.

Can you see the water pouring in? I could.

Pulling in the haul.

Can you tell there is water in the bottom now? I was seriously happy I wore hiking boots with a high top, I only had about an inch before my boots filled up.

You think Toyota will pay me for the picture?

Seriously, I think I should get an ad campaign going for them.

            We did find an old paint can for a baling bucket and Raul ripped part of the boat off to row with, and the three of us started out. In a leaky boat. On a frozen lake. With no oar. In -20 C.

            Fishing here is still just “getting fish”. The village laid drop nets in the lake, so we moved out to the nets and pulled them up, untangled what fish that were stuck in the net, and dropped them in the bottom of the boat. After a minute, there were several inches of water in the bottom, so that kept them fine. Raul baled and rowed, our host pulled the fish out of the nets, and I stood there and tried to keep from falling in the lake and dying of hypothermia, not to mention losing the really cool pictures I had taken.

            Of course, being the foreigner, I was not allowed to do anything. Nope, I can’t help get the fish out of the nets, help row, help bale, since my hands would get wet and cold. I agreed to go fishing in Murgob in the winter, but I can’t be allowed to get cold. When we couldn’t quite get to shore with the shard of metal we used for an oar, both the others in the boat jumped out and waded the boat to shore, but I was still not allowed to do anything. It’s amazing how easily they can make you feel 12 years old, not allowed to touch anything. You can’t. You will be cold. Such is the life of a foreigner.

We are all alive! And we have fish!

            Finally we made it to shore, went back to the car to keep, started back up to keep my companions from freezing to death. Now we have a couple dozen fish and 20 pounds of fresh sheep in the back of the car, that’s going to smell good soon. That and the skull of a Marco Polo sheep I was given as a gift in Alichor. We started for home, back through the snow tracks, trying to make it back before dark.

            We crossed back over the pass, this time in the day. The downside of the crossing in the night is you can’t see anything. The advantage though, is that you can’t see anything, thus don’t know what happens if you do happen to slide off the snowy road. Let’s just say you wouldn’t stop for a rather long time.

            We had one more stop to make, back at the hot spring. There are several closed in pools for swimming, which we had to experience for a few minutes. Hot springs here are supposed to be good for ailments, eye illnesses or infertility for instance, so they are rather commonly frequented by nationals and tourists both. A hot spring in the winter is rather nice, even though the facilities are from the Soviet era, and probably weren’t in great shape then. Swimming is strictly non-coed, since it is done au natural. No pictures for that experience, this is a family friendly blog after all.

            We had a bit of meat and tea after our refreshing dip, then washed the car off with hot spring water. This at least got the main ice off and made visibility better, even if it didn’t eliminate the icicles hanging off the undercarriage. Fresh and clean, we finished off our drive. We did get a little more snow and slid out pretty bad twice on the road, but I managed to stay on the road and get us home in one piece.

            I had a great trip overall, even though I didn’t shoot, ride or a horse, and very nearly didn’t come anywhere near a live fish. This story isn’t quite over yet though. Remember all that meat in the back of the car? Now we have to somehow make it edible.

Now what do I do with all this meat?

            I am sure many of you have gutted and cleaned fish on your own. Some of you may have even helped butcher a lamb and separate the meat from the fat and bone. As of two days ago, I had only cleaned a fish once, in 1996, and never butchered a sheep. Hours of work later, we now have Murgob sheep and fish in our fridge. Our lunch on Monday was even fried fish and cornbread, a good southern meal. Sort of.

            So that’s a fishing trip in Tajikistan. Nothing like a little -40 degrees to make you appreciate a weekend.