My friend Stephen thinks Izzy named Steve the Yak after him. Perhaps she did. He didn’t start off as part of the Yak Pack though. This is the story of how he joined us.
We first met our yaks in the village of Langza. They were huge shaggy beasts with bright black eyes and neatly braided tails which swept the ground. Fred and Izzy watched intently as the yak men laid colourful woven rugs over the saddles, the yaks standing placidly. The donkeys were more frisky, wandering off and nudging each other playfully as our props and costumes were strapped onto their backs.
After some whispering the children announced that Fred’s yak was called Chucky and Izzy’s was called Norman. Claiming them in the act of naming. The older children shrugged, accepting the inevitable. The yaks are a vital part of this week in the high villages. There is nothing on our route from village to village, no shops or people or houses, no phone signal, no 4g. Only rocks and dusty paths. The yaks are our safety net, to catch us if altitude sickness or accident befalls us. They will make sure that the children, especially Izzy and Fred, have energy left to perform a show at the end of the days trek.
Our guide Tenzin told us that yaks are scared of umbrellas. And tarpaulins. And loud noises, chattering, people coming up behind them and anything that’s a bit sudden. They are endearingly timid for all their size. I thought about riding the yaks along the narrow mountain paths with those stomach churning drops, and resolved never to startle the yaks.
We got to know the animals during the first couple of days’ walking. Chucky was a calm contented character, whereas Norman was more excitable, rolling his eyes at flapping coats and anyone walking next to him. The three donkeys seemed cheerful little souls, bumbling along the path together, usually leading the way, their loads bobbing up and down. Yaks are comfortable to ride, walking at a deceptively gentle pace which effortlessly eats up the miles, a rolling gait which is (luckily) easy to ride without reins to hold onto.
By the halfway point of our village tour, we had reached Komik village, one of the highest villages in the world where people live all year round. We got up early and prepared for the longest days walk of the whole week – 7 hours to Demul village crossing a pass at 4,700m. Today of all days, we needed the yaks.
The donkeys were quickly loaded up at the homestay, but there was no sign of the yaks. Tenzin indicated they had run off somewhere and were meeting us just outside Komik. He seemed to think this was no big deal and perfectly normal yak behaviour, so we set off, yakless, out of the village and up the mountainside.
No yaks in sight, we kept on walking. And walking. Up and up, and still no sign of the yaks. After a good hours breathless uphill walk we finally spotted our yak man on the trail ahead, with Chucky, waiting for us. No sign of Norman, although Tenzin assured us that he would probably be just a bit further….
Half hour later we came to a lovely valley, a green gem in the bare rocky landscape, lush with grasses and flowers fed by a boggy streambed which meandered along the bottom. Yak heaven. There was a herd of 30 or so yak grazing quietly at the top of the valley. They were all owned by Komik villagers who leave the yaks to spend their days here, coming to fetch them when they’re needed to work in the fields or for transporting things. Norman was with them.
We sat down for a rest, nibbled on chocolate bars and drank in the tranquillity of the mountains. The air is so clear here, you can see peaks for miles all round, the sun is unfiltered and pitiless, and the sky is a rich blue that reminds you that you’re closer to space. At night the stars are the brightest thing for hundreds of miles, and it feels like you can see every one of them.
Time to get going again. Our two yak herders started to edge towards Norman, but he had long spotted them coming. Clearly he was unimpressed that his morning spent frolicking in the meadow with his girlfriends was about to come to an end, and had decided to resist. He ran for it, and all his friends joined in for the mindless fun of it.
In a hairy riot they circled the head of the valley and came rollicking down towards the strip of green where we all sat relaxing. Suddenly we weren’t simply observing from afar, and Ben leapt up to present a more obvious obstacle. The herd continued unswerving towards us; Ben started to shout and wave his arms about. Just as they were upon us, the herd split into two, streaming either side of us and joining back together again in a glorious confusion of shaggy hair and flared nostrils. We let out our breath as they passed safely by, visions of the Yak Pack coming to a sudden end in a yak stampede fading in the exhilaration of the moment.
The yak men chased after the herd as they galloped madly round the valley as if they’d never been outside before. It was almost impossible to spot Norman amongst the throng. Tenzin hung onto Chucky with grim determination not to lose him to the maelstrom.
After some time it became very obvious that Norman REALLY didn’t want to be caught. The yak men decided to bow to the inevitable, and instead corralled a new yak that was much more accepting of his fate. Quite who the new yak belonged to was unclear, but people are quite relaxed about that kind of thing in the mountains. Everyone knows that if you need something, there are only your fellow villagers to help you, so everyone looks out for their neighbour. These people might not have many material possessions but they know important things about living well.
Our borrowed yak was quickly saddled up before he changed his mind. Izzy christened him Steve, swung herself onto his back and we were off again.
The hardest part of the day’s trek still lay ahead, but relieved to have two yaks in the team again, we strode on upwards to the pass, towards Demul. Norman quickly became a black dot far below us, a pinprick of rebellion left behind in the valley of flowers.
[photo credit: Ollie Lindsey-Clark. Steve crossing the pass]