Majestic Birds

Maybe he is a chef. Or a fisherman. Or even perhaps an eccentric recluse.

He drove up to this meadow in a beat-up red Honda and pulled out a pail of salmon pieces from his truck. He walked up to the tree line and threw in a few pieces to the feral cats that were waiting for him. Then he walked to the other side and fed a fox that was too shy to step out of the shade.

Then he dumped the rest of the pail into the middle of the meadow.

For a few minutes nothing. Then swoosh.

Swoosh, swoosh, swoosh.

Majestic bald eagles, with wing spans as wide as six feet dove down, gliding, with their talons outstretched picked up the salmon, and clumps of grass with it, and with a few strokes of their massive wings rose to the top of the trees.

Again and again and again.

As he left, I said "Thank You".  "Enjoy", he muttered and was gone.

The Art and Work of gathering Mare's milk

It sounds so easy. To anyone who has seen a cow being milked. Passive creatures, huddled together in close quarters, connected to machines, gladly donating their elixir for the goodness of man.

Imagine however, that they could gallop. Were not quite wild, but not domesticated either. Free to roam in the open. Could buck and kick, and could only carry enough milk that they had to be milked every two hours for any significant benefit. Now you are a little closer to the reality of milking a mare.

The idea is simple. If you want to milk the mare, catch the foal. Sounds easy.

The first thing standing in the way is the stallion that leads the herd. Extremely possessive and controlling, a stallion will kill the foal from another herd if allowed to. All the foals from a single herd must be kept together once they are caught. How the Mongolians know which foal belongs to which herd was incomprehensible to me. They do not name their horses, using only colors to describe them. Its a good thing they have over three hundred words to describe the color of horses. (Maybe there is a better out there than the Hex system we have been using to manage color!) If the stallion is subdued the herd can be led into the corral and the foals can be cornered either by lasso or by crowding them.

If, however, the stallion runs wild, the foals must be captured the hard way - on horseback with a loop at the end of a big stick.

Once the foals are caught, they are tied to a harness stretched across the ground with a temporary bridle and a very short leash. This serves two purposes. First, the foals stand there with their heads down and tend to quieten themselves and often lie down. Secondly, and more selfishly, it is impossible for them to suckle their mothers, thereby leaving the mares to be milked.

Nature takes over. The mares give up the run and come stand next to their foals. One at a time, the foals are untied, allowed to drink some milk, and while they are held close to the mare, quickly a pint or two are collected in a bucket. As Tsetsgee milks the mare, she sits on her haunched with a bucket caught between her legs and is done before the mare misses the foal.

It is magic, this relationship between the Mongolians and their horses.

Life in the fast Lens

Thank you, Canon, for the 85mm f1.2L. Yes an extravagant indulgence for the trip. But well worth it.

It all started at Camera West, Walnut Creek when at six feet Hal's nose was in sharp focus but his ears were rough outlines. A reaffirmation for DSLRs. (And for my geeky friends). So I decided why not, and lugged the beast to Mongolia, where it has become one of my two "go-to-lenses" (The other was the 70-200mm F2.8L). It is a pleasure to use, reasonable fast focus and amazing image quality.

Check it out.

Naadam

Through the countryside yesterday, we happened about what appeared to be a huge number of cars collected on a section of the hillside.

(Remember that in Mongolia, a huge number of cars may be disappointingly few to many of you - it is a country whose total population is 2.7M - the same as Chicago, which is only the third largest city in the US)

It was a celebration of Naadam. While the official celebration of the festival is in June, in many places dates are set for the celebration throughout the months of July and August. This is perhaps to help better organize and perhaps also to permit the festivities to last a little longer - the winters are long!

We were very lucky. I suppose I should explain.

Naadam celebrates three sports that are important to the Mongols since the days of Chinggis Khaan- horse racing, wrestling and archery. At these smaller events only horse riding and wrestling were celebrated. They promised to be exciting photographic opportunities. What could be better for us junkies?

When we happened upon the Naadam the horses had just ben sent off to the starting point of the race and the crowd was going to reassemble around the wrestling arena. Those familiar with wrestling can imagine all the pomp and thigh banging that goes on before two people actually engage. The Mongols have perfected this. They start of by inviting people from the audience to challenge them. Scrawny chaps come into the arena in their jeans and spend the majority of time back peddling as the professionals (or advanced amateurs) take them down. It is a roundrobin competition - the winner goes on.. All the while the crowd chills. People line up around the arena - many enjoying the festivities while seated in or on their rides.

Others gather inside the arena on makeshift bleachers. Government officials walk around serving people cold fermented mares milk - ladling it from a large jerrycan into a bowl. The elders who are the first to receive it blow into it to push the fat away and then take a sip or a well meant chug. Interestingly, the bowl is always returned to the server, who pours more into the bowl before giving it to others.

It was very striking to me that the act of pouring more was the sign of respect that freshened the bowl - not the use of a new bowl itself. Simple kind gestures that mean a lot more than it takes to perform them.

Suddenly there was a rush. The trucks and motorcycles revved up and races across the hill side. Word had come the the horses were coming. People raced back to line the finish corridor. It was madness. Imagine a free-for-all, across the field, rear wheels spinning in place, cars, motorcycles and horses swerving as everyone made their way back. And each vehicle leaving behind its signature plume of dust for us to make our way through.

The lead horses, ridden by children standing astride, were flanked by flashing lights on a Toyota, as they came into view. As they crossed the finish line the owners of the horses took the wooden saddles off and wiped the horses down with spatulas.

Then back to the wrestling. By now all the walk-ups had been dispensed with and the real men were out. The thigh banging and the Mongolian eagle-wave was at its best. But these were real men - an as far as I was concerned could thump their chests as much as they wanted. One by one they dispensed with each other - a single bout where the winner had to force any part of the opponents' body (other than soles of his feet or the palms of his hands) onto the ground. In quick succession we were left with the two biggest men facing each other. The crowd was surprisingly calm through it. Not much cheering or taking sides, it was as if the outcome was less important than the process. (Author's note - Very appropriate for this blog). To wit, there were no bets exchanging hands.

Greetings from UB

Ulan Bator, it turns out is just like you would expect. A big urban center in a developing country, until recently heavily influenced by Soviet communism. Cookie cutter apartment buildings, statues at squares and crossroads, and construction projects that will get finished when they do. What you would not expect is the view you get as you disembark, enter the tiny customs hall and look back at the plane. The backdrop is gorgeous, with one tiny house at the top of the hill.

All of UB is like that. From anywhere it appears that the country side is a few miles away. I am told tomorrow the tarmac will stop two miles from the city and then we will drive as the crow flies!

At the heart of town is Sukhbataar Square (pronounced "su-qattaar") which appears to be the happening place. Kids playing, couples getting their wedding photographs in front of the huge Chinggis Khaan statue, surrounded increasingly on all sides by the western gods Svarsky, Apple, Mont Blanc, Armani. Mini skirts and traditional garb, seemingly a peaceful coexistence.

As a cultural introduction we were treated to a medley of traditional entertainment; folk dances, Shaman dance and the amazing throat singing before an authentic Mongolian dinner, with Buuz and Chinggis Beer.

Tomorrow we are off to the country. The main purpose of the two day drive is to make it to the two homesteads where we want to spend time - the horse herders in the Steppes and the camel herders in the Gobi. On the way we will stop and make pictures as the opportunity arises. Aah - everyone should have a holiday like this.

More then....

Preparing for Mongolia

आज आंखों में काट लो शबेहिज्र
जिंदगानी पड़ी है सो लेना

So if it is about the journey, then anticipation is definitely the best part.

The trip has been a long time in the making and anyone who knows me knows that I am going. What can I say, I am excited. Its the first for me and the first of many I hope. The world is changing and I want to see it before it is our children's world.

It all started at the EG conference. Chris Rainier was the speaker and he was showing these wonderful pictures of people from the world over. Hmmm. And then there was Rachel McKinley from BBC and the Human Planet team with pictures of the tree people in Africa. But mostly it was Liz Scanlon - "Really Madhav, you should go on such a trip"- she instigated. So one thing led to another and I found myself committed to a trip to Mongolia with Timothy Allen, the lead photographer for the Human Planet team - two weeks in July-August. And here we are.

What to take?

That was the preoccupying question. I decided that food would be nixed and clothing would be minimized in favor of the equipment. Mongolian airlines apparently has a scrupulous weight limitation and why take an extra shirt when you can pack a reflector instead? Gurleymon was kind enough to loan me the second camera and much deliberation later, I settled on the stuff below. No Film.

The 300mm did not make it as did not the 40D. The 2x multiplier would have to do if I get lucky and see the Argali or Ibex mountain sheep. Also decided against the Leica and Tri-X, even though I might go to the Ger camps in Ulan Bataar on my way back.

I also decided to invest in the Blackrapid DR-2 double strap so I can carry two cameras on my shoulders without worry. I am sure I will look like such a dork that my daughter will never go anywhere with me again.

From SFO to Beijing, non-stop and then after a long wait on to Ulan Bator. UB is one of the the highest capital in Eurasia and cold in the winter, though at this time I believe quite pleasant. And it is famous for the its sloping runway. Apparently as you land it runs away from you. Here's to a window seat.

OK I'm off. Next - Greetings from UB.

Ride Anyone?

Mid afternoon lull.