The dawn woke us up early and our thighs still ached from the 9 hours of riding the previous day. The prospect of another day’s riding was daunting. Unfortunately our original plan to go to the Chatyr Kol lake and stay the night on the shore, was scuppered by the fact that it was too cold (yes that’s right in the middle of June) and there were no yurts that had settled there yet. Instead Heinz proposed that we do a 26km trek to a pass that overlooks the lake. This seemed a reasonable alternative and we were so enthralled by the scenery that it somehow didn’t seem to matter that much. Plus it meant that we would get to stay another night with the lovely family at Tash Rabat.

Leaving a little later meant that I had some time to study the Tash Rabat Caravanserai. Despit e aterrible Soviet restoration in the early eighties it still gives a good impression of what life would have been like for caravan traders in this remote and harsh branch of the silk road. The gatekeeper, Nazira, explained the history as she understood it. It seems to be mostly shrouded in mystery with some people dating it to the 10th century starting life as a military fortification, with others dating it to the 15th century as a caravanserai and others still claiming it was a monastery. Either way and given the desolation it is an impressive monument set at some 3,530m in the mountains.

As we got off on our horses the weather had cleared and the sun was shining again. We felt very lucky indeed to be experiencing such indescribably wonderful feelings as we rode gently along. Even the pain was becoming more and more bearable and by the end was hardly noticeable, lost amidst the awe of the dramatic scenery before us. We were so high that there were no more yurts or grazing animals could be seen and despite the shining sun, it was pretty chilly.

Once again we had lunch on the mountainside next to a small mountain stream and an hour later set off to climb the hardest and steepest part of the trek. It was a 25-20% gradient up a scree-strewn side of the mountain. This was the very pass that silk road traders coming from Kashgar used and it was tough. These days engineers have chosen the Tourugart pass instead which goes a longer way round, but to build a road along it is much easier. Our horses strained under the effort and we felt enormously sorry for them. We decided to leave our horses grazing and walked up the last part to the ridge, expecting to see a glorious view. An icy cold wind blew and it was time to don my jacket and pull on the hood, only for Tom to dub me Edmund Hilarious, which it was. Still it was welcome protection and the only piece of suitable mountaineering equipment I actually had!

Out of breath and exhausted, we made it to the top only to discover that there was no view. Angrily we approached Heinz and almost demanded that he make the view appear. We’d just climbed seriously hard under his directions and all for nothing! He clearly had no idea where the view was. I was stubbornly determined to see this damned lake. He too seemed determined not to lose face and suggested we climb another few hundred metres to a peak from where we could see it. I agreed and we set off up more steep slope and through patches of snow and jutting rock. It was ridiculously dangerous, one slip and you’d tumble hundreds of metres. We had no climbing gear and Heinz admitted that this was his first time. Great! We stumbled on, hideously out of breath, before finally realizing that it just wasn’t sensible or possible to do it.

We returned disappointed and I was, frankly, pissed off. We’d taken a guide precisely so as not to get lost and yet here we were, lost and freezing cold. In a sullen and grumpy mood we returned to our grazing horses and made our way back. But as things always do around here, we were greeted by Obyrbeck from the family we were staying with in Tash Rabat. He was coming up with a French girl, Thecle, to see precisely the same view. Only he knew where it was and so we joined him.

If we thought our original attempt at climbing the pass was tough then it was nothing compared with what Obyrbeck took us up. Tom’s horse threw him off in defiance and Tom decided to stay down. Heinz looked up at what we were trying to negotiate and stayed down too making a worrying sign that it was madness to be going up. But Obybeck’s experience and confidence oozed and Thecle and I continued incredulously just praying our horses would make the journey and not stumble. This, to their credit, they did and we were greeted with the most surreal and magnificent view. I don’t know enough adjectives to describe it adequately and the photos don’t do it justice. The distant Chinese mountains jutted out with their snowy peaks, below which turquoise-blue Chatyr-Kol lake lay calmly. There was not a soul in sight, not a building, not a single car, yurt or person. We were isolated. It was a day’s trek to anything resembling help. It was a day’s trek to China. And yet here we were on the Silk Road as it had once existed, here we were our very own caravan or horses, carrying nothing more than our cameras but experiencing the same conditions as the caravan traders would have once felt.

The risk had been worth it going up. But would it be worth it going down? My horse at first was tentative and then just refused to descend. He continuously slipped on the scree and Obyrbeck had to come and grab him by the reins, forcing him down. One stumble and we’d both tumble headfirst into uncertainty. Still we made it back down in one piece and smiling constantly. Now all we had to do was to get back 13km to Tash Rabat. But with the feeling of what we’d just accomplished fresh inside, I didn’t mind the pain anymore and spent a lot of time galloping back on the plain enjoying those moments of freedom that a horse gives you. Despite being evidently knackered, the horse too enjoyed it, needing little encouragement to break out into a gallop.

We got back to Tash Rabat and supper was waiting for us. It was a feast of local Kyrgyz Laghman (noodle and meat soup) and endless cups of tea. We were exhausted but chatted away, invigorated by the trek. Even so by 9.30 the sun had set and we had been tucked into bed by Obyrbeck’s wife. It was warm inside the yurt as the fire petered out and we slept snugly under our covers.