To get back to my previous route, I needed to get to Iskanderkul. Early in the morning, I drove to the taxi stand where you can hire a car for trips north of the city. The difficulty was that I was alone, and drivers prefer a full car. Of course, I could buy out all the seats, but for long distances, that gets expensive. I could pay, but such behavior is unusual, so I decided to look for fellow travelers.
After about an hour of waiting and searching, a group of seven people showed up, also wanting to get to the lake. I quickly struck a deal with them and the drivers, and we set off for Iskanderkul in two cars. The journey with the cheerful company passed in a flash. But as we approached the lake, I needed to be more attentive — I didn't remember exactly where the trail to the small pass called Observation Point branched off from the road.
The trail was easy to find, as it was quite visible. I asked the driver to stop, said goodbye to everyone, and got out. The driver handed me my backpack from the trunk, and they drove on — they didn't have far to go, as Lake Iskanderkul was already clearly visible.
I climbed up to the pass along the trail fairly quickly and took a break — not to rest, but simply to enjoy the view. The view from the pass was excellent: the entire Iskanderkul was visible with a panorama of the mountains surrounding the lake. It's no accident this small pass is called Observation Point — it's located on one of the spurs that extends into Lake Iskanderkul. So, the pass is directly above the lake.
If you look at the lake from the pass, the road I came on and the Iskandarya River run to the right. To the left is a bay with the Khazormech stream flowing into it, which is where I'm actually headed. Incidentally, this spur comes from the mountain also named Khazormech.
After sitting on the pass for a while, I started descending. My target was the spot where the Khazormech River flows into Iskanderkul. A cozy beach with white sand had formed there. No, I wasn't planning a beach holiday — it was just a convenient place to camp. I decided to spend the night there so I could climb Isterek in the morning — that's the summit of a mountain connected by Alexander's Saddle to Mount Dozhdemernaya. Right below Dozhdemernaya, on the other side from Isterek, is the abandoned settlement of Kanchoch, which I reached last time. This way, I was conditionally rejoining my previous route. I saw no point in going all the way to Kanchoch itself — the mountain where it's located is visible, so that's fine. I could consider myself having reached it.
I wonder what joker came up with the name "Alexander's Saddle"? He wasn't a horse. Or did they mean some part of Alexander's body? The logical name would be "Bucephalus's Saddle," after Alexander's horse. For those who don't know, legend has it that Alexander the Great visited this lake, which aligns with historical accounts of his campaign to India, which passed through these areas. It's believed the lake Iskanderkul is named after him — Iskander Zulkarnain, meaning "Iskander the Two-Horned," due to his unusual helmet resembling two horns.
There are several legends associated with Alexander the Great. One of them mentions the horse Bucephalus. The legend says that after a long march, they washed the dusty horse in the cold water of the lake, and the horse fell ill. But the army couldn't stop, so Alexander left Bucephalus at the lake with a couple of grooms and a small detachment of soldiers to look after and care for the horse. He apparently planned to return from the campaign by the same route and hoped to retrieve the horse on his way back. There's even a cave on the western shore called "Bucephalus's Stable."
When Alexander died on that campaign, the horse, which had long since recovered and was only waiting for its master, suddenly neighed, ran, and jumped into the lake, sinking immediately to the bottom. Since then, they say that at midnight on the fourteenth day of the new moon, a white-maned horse emerges onto the lake shore, grazes, and wanders along the shore until dawn, and with the first rays of the sun, it runs and jumps back into the lake.
There were still a couple of hours until sunset. I busied myself preparing dinner. I could take my time, there was plenty of it. I even lounged on the beach a bit. I had dinner before dark, cleaned everything up, and as it got dark, crawled into the tent to sleep — I needed to wake up early tomorrow.
In the morning, I got up before dawn and made breakfast. I didn't dawdle, ate quickly, and packed up right away, as a long trek lay ahead. And right from the start — a steep climb. But that was good — I'd gain altitude immediately, because from Isterek onwards, I could walk almost on the same level, with minor changes in elevation.
I walked along the shore at first, followed it to the foot of the mountain, and began the ascent of Isterek.
What can I say… After the break and the relatively long period of inactivity at home, it was tough, but good — genuinely, truly good. I felt my body awakening, my lungs expanding, my senses sharpening. When I spend too long in the city, I also get a sort of… I don't know how to put it… muffling, for lack of a better word. Apparently, surrounded by concrete and asphalt, part of my sensitivity switches off due to disuse. And when I start a hike, it doesn't kick in on the first day. But usually, by the second day, everything starts happening.
As I walked, along with the tension and growing heaviness in my muscles, I felt the wind carrying barely perceptible smells and sounds to me. All that slightly buzzing, scurrying life around — I felt it all at once and individually. A herd being driven on the other side of the slope, which I couldn't see yet — I felt it. And the bear observing them — I felt it. On the slope to the right and above, about a hundred meters from me, a group of snowcocks froze, naively thinking I couldn't see them. And I couldn't — I just felt them. In a barely visible gully with a stream, about five hundred meters from me, now to the left and lower down, from the shadow of a bush, some being with a distinctly otherworldly aura was watching me.
But it wasn't worth paying attention to such things now — if they noticed you first, that was it. All subsequent scenarios would be played out by this… well, whoever it was. And the chance of falling into a trap was very high. I just needed to remember the spot for next time. I even stopped. Well, well… Truly, once bitten, twice shy. I'd noticed that lately on hunts, I'd become overly confident in my bear, thinking it was invincible. But the Jondor had clearly demonstrated that these beings also had something to counter me with. Luka was right after all — my run along the borders was useful.
I laughed out loud. The snowcocks took flight. The sensation of the foreign gaze from the gully vanished. I laughed, feeling the wind and sun on my face. And then, unexpectedly even to myself, I threw up my hands and yelled: "Good!" This made the bear observing the herd first flinch, then slowly scuttle off somewhere. Wow, that was a moment. I stood for a bit, calmed down, and, smiling like a polished brass button, trudged on upwards. Walking somehow became easier. Yes, I was back.
After a break, this is usually the best part of a hike — if, of course, you don't encounter something truly extraordinary along the way. So, buoyed by this spiritual uplift, I easily conquered the entire path to the summit. I sat for a while, surveying the surroundings. But it's not good to sit too long — you can get stiff. Now that the climb was overcome, it would be even easier.
To the south of the summit lies the Soming Pass. From the pass, I descended to a trail running along the Seridevol River. This river, like the Khazormech, also flows into Iskanderkul, but from the south, from the Angisht Pass. After descending to the stream, I stopped for a snack. I decided against a full lunch because a significant stretch still lay ahead, crossing two passes — the West and East Buzgovat passes. But these passes are quite nominal — everything here is practically on the same level, so they appear as minor rises and falls on the trail.
After snacking a bit, I started climbing the first pass. But there was nothing interesting here anymore — a herd had recently passed through, probably more than one, as everything around was trampled and the smell was appropriate. I didn't want to stumble upon their camp, or there would be noise, commotion, dogs.
But I was out of luck — right where I planned to spend the night, that herd was camped. It seemed like there were even several of them — too many animals were wandering in my field of view. A pity, it was a good spot — the confluence of several streams from the surrounding peaks into the Khazormech River. And so, in a roundabout way, I came back to the Khazormech River. Plenty of trees here, could have made a fire. If I'd stopped now, it would have been just right for the duration. But tonight, I wouldn't be resting here.
Making a wide detour, climbing slightly up the slope, I bypassed the stationary herd and climbed higher along the Khazormech River. I had to push myself to get further away from the herd. I climbed up to the confluence of the Obiborik and Rakhib rivers. Here, near the Mazari Khojiekub, the Khazormech stream ends — or rather, begins from this confluence. But for me, it ended here.
Of course, I could have gone to the shepherds and spent the night at their camp. They are always happy to have guests, new faces, and are very hospitable. But I was very tired, and there I'd have to sit and talk. The morning's spiritual uplift had completely vanished — the long trek at altitude was taking its toll. Overall, it was even good that I went further — from here it would be closer to the pass.
I found a suitable spot on the Obiborik stream as dusk fell. I needed to hurry — night falls quickly in the mountains. While there was still light, I set up the tent, changed clothes and footwear. I started cooking dinner on my stove. Although I didn't really feel like eating — I wanted to lie down and rest. But it's not good to relax and indulge yourself, or tomorrow would be worse.
In the pot, I rehydrated some porridge, dumped in some canned meat, and brewed tea. For something sweet, I had Amosov's Paste. It's a mixture of ground dried fruits with nuts and honey — cloyingly sweet and very high in calories. Academician Amosov recommended it for just such cases, meaning during heavy physical exertion, and for recovery post-surgery. All in all, a good thing. But there's an inconvenience — it needs refrigeration. But I only take a little, just for the first few days, so it doesn't have time to spoil.
I didn't bother with a campfire — there weren't many dry branches around anyway, and it would have taken time. But I had a pleasant evening nonetheless under the starlight. I had dinner, sat for a while, listened to the silence. No, nobody was looking for me yet. And I didn't feel anyone around — I mean, anyone suitable. There was plenty of other stuff, but it was just background.
I remembered the creature I'd sensed on Isterek. Too bad I couldn't identify it — next time I'd have to deal with it. Well, you know, figuring out what it is and how to overcome it. Here and now, nothing large or unusual was perceptible. Well, good — I'll sleep. Tomorrow, another pass to climb.
