To celebrate one year as a working adult, rather than kicking my feet up in some villa, I decided to torture my body again, setting off on a two-week adventure in Central Asia, with the main goal to tackle an eight-day, 120km trek in Kyrgyzstan’s Alay Mountains. Unfortunately (spoiler alert), I did not finish the trek. At around the halfway point, I fell ill and had to evacuate myself off the mountains. It’s a shame, because I had been journalling my thoughts each day to try and craft some epic narrative about perseverance, despair, and finding and pushing my limits. However, with my trek prematurely ending, you’ll now only get half a story.

Day 1

I met up with the rest of my trekking group for a briefing at the tour company HQ in Osh (the second largest city in Kyrgyzstan), before getting into a van heading for Sary-Mogul, a village which would be the start and end point for our trek. There were eight of us of varying ages and nationalities (excluding me, there were three Italians, one Polish, one Australian, one Kiwi and one Canadian). About two hours in, we stopped at a yurt camp for a quick lunch, before an “easy” acclimatisation hike to Isumrudnoe Lake. We were less than 3000m high, and the hike was less than 8km. Should have been easy, right? Nope. I was completely gassed out. Maybe it’s because I’ve become a sedentary office worker, but I remember my spirit breaking when I, gasping for air, looked at my Strava and found that we had walked a single measly kilometre. In what became the norm for the trek, I found myself lagging behind, questioning why I continue to do this to myself. We eventually made it up to the Lake, which was picturesque if not spectacular, and after a brief snack break, we returned to the van and carried on to Sary Mogul. A LONG ride (and road closure) later, we arrived at our homestay in sleepy Sary-Mogul.

As we prepared for the upcoming journey, I savoured my last night with creature comforts like WiFi, a hot shower and a temperature controlled room. I’ll be honest - that evening, I could feel myself start to panic and was worried that I was in over my head. Whatever confidence I had brought with me to Kyrgyzstan was left at the Lake. The thoughts of the distance (this would be nearly double the distance of Salkantay in Peru) and the altitude were overwhelming. With a heavy heart, I made the call to pack away my precious 50-140mm lens, my most used lens in Peru. While I knew it would be dearly missed, the hike earlier had told me that I needed to shed as much weight as I could, and that an extra kilogram was not a luxury my body could afford. I ended up stuffing it into my sleeping bag, praying that would be enough to keep it safe.

Day 2

We left Sary-Mogul just after 9am, and with only about 14km to cover on pretty flat ground (it was only 300m of elevation), it was quite a relaxed day. Unlike the day before, I felt like I could breathe, giving me the chance to properly chat with my new companions and to soak in the environment around me. The mist covering the mountains had slowly begun to dissipate, revealing postcard shots all around me. Shooting opportunities were rife, with the clouds and their shadows dancing along the valley walls.

We managed to reach our yurt camp just before lunch, and when we were told we were done for the day, my mind raced with potential shot ideas. My body, however, had different plans, because I ended up falling asleep for a fat three hour nap in my yurt. Honestly? No regrets having spent the afternoon curled up on my mattress (I know at some point it started to drizzle, further vindicating my decision). As the sun set and temperatures began to drop, someone from the yurt camp came in to light the stove. It didn’t do a lot but smoke up our room, but the whole day had given me some much needed self-belief. Even if I wasn’t going to be flying up the mountain, I was going to be okay. Just one step at a time.

Day 3

We woke up to the rather unfortunate news that two of our party were unwell. One decided to head back to Sary-Mogul and to rejoin us towards the end of the trek, while the other decided to ride on the horse (out of eight of us, I think only one was not afflicted by some illness or issue at some point during the trek). It was unfortunate to lose a party member, but given that it was going to be arguably the toughest day with the highest elevation during the trek (4,300m), it was probably sensible.

Marmots!!! These adorable little guys were everywhere.

The morning trek was tough but enjoyable. From our camp close to the river bank, we slowly ascended into the mountains, meandering our way off the valley floor. We were greeted by spectacular views at nearly every turn, as well as a number of furry friends, including cows, goats, yaks and marmots(!!!) Though my knees were starting to act up, I took it slow and was still enjoying myself. We eventually stopped for a picnic lunch about 1.5km away (200m elevation) from Sary-Mogul Pass, the highest point during the trek. I wish we hadn’t. Trying to restart after all the momentum from the morning had disappeared, my legs felt like concrete blocks. The final ascent was an hour-long slog, with progress up the gravel bank feeling like ten steps up nine steps down.

I do not understand how some people were carrying their bikes up and down the mountain. This is a different level of insanity.

The views from the Pass itself were great, but I did not have the time to fully explore the viewpoint before being asked to move on. I would have loved to have spent a couple of hours up there, picking out shots with my telephoto lens. Alas. Instead, I hoped that a hastily shot pano would do the trick. The way down felt like we were running off a cliff face - let me put it this way: I don’t think I’d have skiied down such a slope.

Said hastily shot pano - you can clearly see there is a lot of potential in this location, and it is somewhere I could have just sat at and picked out compositions from all afternoon.

After nearly 9 hours on the go, the the distant white yurts were a sight for sore eyes.

The final 5km or so were objectively the easiest - it was flat, relatively smooth and slightly downhill. To be honest though, by this point I had checked out and lost interest. I had a throbbing headache, my knees ached and I had major blisters on both feet. All I wanted was to get off the mountain. The guide had told us it was 15km, so the moment I saw the number on Strava, I became a petulant child, throwing a small funk with each step. Walking along the ridgeline, every turn and ledge gave me false hope that a yurt camp with hot tea and snacks was waiting for me. For nearly two extra km, I felt I was battling demons in both my mind and my body. The eventual sight of the yurt camp was the best view of the day. I ended up getting in more than half an hour after the first members of my group. In my head, the question I was asking was: I can finish this, but will I enjoy it?

Day 4

The morning sitrep was that I still had a mild headache, but my knees seemed better and the blisters did not hurt as much. Nearly everyone else also seemed to be in less-than-optimal condition, so I took solace from the fact that I wasn’t alone in my misery. The morning trek was rather uneventful - we were descending into the valley, where we would hit a village for lunch, before climbing back up in the afternoon. At a break 3.3km in, I made a note on my phone: “feeling ok! Not last which is nice”. At lunch, we got cell service for the first time in days, and I was able to send off a few messages to tell people that I was (just about) still alive.

Once again though, the after-lunch trek was miserable. It was another 900m ascent up to the next camp. If the first half of the day was a gentle descent, the second half was an endless rollercoaster - no longer thrilling, but just a lot of ups and downs. Lagging further and further behind, at some point Asan insisted on giving my backpack to the horse - my ego didn’t love that, but it make a big difference.

Having eventually made it to the camp for the evening, Osmon asked us if we wanted to play a bit of volleyball. I was dead on my feet and had no functioning knees, but sure why not. It was a fun half an hour or so, but as more of the locals started rocking up, I was more than happy to excuse myself and watch the action from a distance. I know that I’ve spent a lot of time complaining and whining over this trek, but these quiet moments in the mountains, camera in hand, were very much the moments I had spent months yearning for. Little did I know it, they were not to last.

“Please only hit the ball to exactly where I am standing, thank you very much”.

Day 5

I had taken some drowsy meds, so I was trying my best to hang onto my horse. Most people come to Kyrgyzstan to ride horses, so I guess mission accomplished?

Well… damn. Without being too graphic, overnight I came down with food poisoning. Bad enough when you’re at home, I was stuck 3,000m up in a yurt with a single toilet stall, constantly shuttling 100m up and down between the two. Needless to say, I did not sleep that night. By dawn’s break, I knew that I was done. While over the previous few days I had spent a lot of time mustering up the willpower to power through the trek, at this point I knew it would be dangerous for me to even consider carrying on. Fortunately, I knew that we would be passing through another village at lunch, where I’d be able to hitch a ride back to Osh.

Having told Osman and Asan of my decision, I was put onto one of the horses, which carried my half-alive body to the village in the valley. I could see that this was one of the more scenic days of the trek, but by this point I had no desire or energy to pull out the camera, and was longing for a warm shower and to lie in a comfortable bed at a lower altitude. Even clinging onto the horse was tough, with every bump and jitter threatening to expel whatever was left within my body. Thankfully, we eventually made it down to the village, and thanks to Osmon, I was able to find a willing driver. Saying goodbye to my group, I got into the van for the three-hour journey back to the city, thereby prematurely ending my adventures in the Alay Mountains.

Post-Trip Reflections

Between the horse ride, the van journey and my days of recovery in Osh, I had a lot of time to think and reflect. Did I overestimate myself and/or underestimate the difficulty of this trek? Probably. Was my fitness a limiting factor? Yes. Even before falling sick, I was very clearly struggling, and even if I had finished the trek, it would have been purely due to ego and willpower. In the end, It was definitely the sensible and correct call to pull out of the trek - had I tried to carry on, there wouldn’t have been any real possibility of evacuation, and I would have had to travel 50-60km by foot or by horse.

I also had a lot of time to think about where I am with my photography, and my honest assessment is that I feel that rather stagnant - for the first time in a while, I don’t think I’m necessarily a better photographer than I was a year ago. I always figured that there would be a slump post-Last Order as I tried to find new meaning for my photography, but the reality is that beyond occasionally shooting some rugby, I have just barely picked up my camera over the past year. I think that I have been so caught up with work and putting the building blocks of my life together that I’ve not been in the right headspace to shoot, and have “engaged” with photography through consuming a lot of photography content online or helping to critique friends’ work, none of which is a real substitute for being out with camera in hand.

For the first time in a while, I am starting to feel the desire to go out more regularly and to shoot, even if it is “just for fun”, or to keep the fire warm and work on various skills/techniques. I have been thinking a lot about what I have previously said (and written) about intentionality with photography, and while I don’t have any firm answers, I feel more ready to just go out and shoot for the love of photography, and not to think so much about “how does this fit into some broader narrative” or “what can I make out of this”. Perhaps this desire will subside soon, and the next time I upload anything onto this page is after my next trip (when/wherever that may be), but I wanted to capture this moment and state of mind, even if just for myself.

Lastly, did Kyrgyzstan live up to my expectations? Yes and no. Off the bat - the country itself was stunning. There is really nothing else like being in the mountains, and I can see why there has been so much hype about Kyrgyzstan recent times. On the other hand - I felt this way a bit in Peru, but definitely over this trip - it is incredibly hard to shoot while also doing a multi-day trek. Beyond the toll of trekking and just how much it takes out of you, you also just lose any control over where you are and when, making things inherently more opportunistic. As such, I am wondering for what I want to do, whether I chose the right plan to shoot and engage with the country. Despite only finishing half the hike, I surprisingly don’t feel any desire to go back and conquer the other half - if/when I return back to Kyrgyzstan, I might choose to drive, which should give me a lot more control over where I want to be and when. With limited leave days now, I’ll probably need to consider whether these long multi-day treks are what I truly want to be doing, or if I should reconsider how I want to be spending time in nature. I don’t have answers yet. We shall see.

Struggles in the Alay Mountains