By far the greatest pleasure of the recent scientific trip was hanging out and riding around with the horsemen of Mongolia.
First a cautionary tale: how many times are we told not to waste our time on social media?? A stray FB post caught my eye, I had been tagged in by a friend:
“Wanted, horse-riding doctor for an expedition to Mongolia”
It’s like reading the small ads in the local paper; once in a while, there will be something far too good to pass up. Who could possibly say no to the opportunity to ride with the horsemen of Mongolia, and call it work?
The trip was organised by John Blashford-Snell, 
of Blue Nile fame, (a climbing community legend through his partnership with Bonnington on that trip)
https://www.johnblashfordsnell.org.uk/biography/
and was facilitated through the Scientific Exploration Society
and fixed by Great Ginghis Expeditions
The purpose of the Expedition was to carry out archeological, botanical and zoological surveys in the West of Outer Mongolia, as well as performing local community aid: simple medical and dental clinics, handing out reading spectacles, and presenting books to the local schools and colleges.
Horses were to be the main form of transport in the mountains, which meant we would get to ride with the horsemen of Mongolia, over their beautiful and rugged country.
The briefing document had all sorts of cautions about the horses (horses, not ponies, the Mongolians demand respect). They are semi feral, liable to kick and bite, and bolt off if spooked. They were only to be approached with caution, only in the presence of herdsman or groom, and might need to be re-broken before we got on them. We would be in Australian stock saddles, not the Mongolian wooden treed saddles, as these would apparently offer more support.
The horses arrived in small groups, the evening after the local Nadaam festival, to our camp site high in the mountains. The drive in, sandwiched inside the Russian mini-buses with their beefed up suspension and four wheel drive, had been quite trying.
I’m not sure which we were more pleased to see, the cook truck, always late, or the herdsman bringing in the eagerly awaited horses, as the light faded.
On first impression, they are small, sturdy, stock horses, a lot like Icelandics or Exmoors. They tolt like Icelandics, a lateral trot which is easier to sit or half sit too than our English diagonal trot which needs rising to. Even this would get wearing after several hours. On arrival, the herdsman hobbled them and set them loose around the tents.
The next morning we each got allocated a saddle and a horse. These horses don’t have names, they are working animals that may end up as meat so don’t get names from their Mongolian keepers. After a few days the herdsman started giving the horses names, mainly as an excuse to start giving us Europeans special Mongolian names. Our herdsman was called Munkbhat, and the horses he brought for us to ride were all from the same family group.
He gave me his wife’s horse, of whom he was obviously very proud, a good horse. The horse was quiet, dignified, self contained, didn’t bite or kick when tacked up, and easy to steer and stop. A great start.
The horses wear a rawhide bridle, with a simple metal bit, and a long lead rope attached to the noseband. The lead rope acts as a tether, a caching rope, a set of basic hobbles and a lariat to use as a waving, slapping encouragement to go faster.
The horses are not trained to move off the leg: the Mongolian saddles actually had long saddle flaps to protect the riders legs from the horse’s sides, or vice versa. The stirrups were very wide, round platforms, to support the feet over a long day, they could put their toes or their heels on the foot rest, relieving different muscles as the day went on. 
The horsemen, and horsewomen of Mongolia ride with short stirrups, reins in one hand, and the horses are trained to run into a high hard contact. To go faster one said “Cho” quite sharply, and waved the lariat around, or tapped a bum with it. Turning was neck reining, but again with hands quite high and bit quite tight, and stop was hands up and “Drrrr”.
To canter the good horse that belonged to his wife, one simply stood up in the stirrups and turned slightly to the right side, and the horse cantered. I didn’t work that out, my friend did, after we had swapped horses because I thought the wife’s horse too slow and boring when he wouldn’t canter despite all the flapping and Cho! Cho! I could muster. His younger brother was a bit more clumsy, but a lot more sprightly, or maybe more forgiving, and cantered on a thought.
We talk a lot about aversive training, positive reinforcement, and +R training here in the UK. The Mongolian horses did not get any positive reinforcement. I never saw a Mongolian pat or reward a horse with a quiet word. They aren’t nasty people, it’s just not in their training vocabulary.
They were slightly fearful of the horses, as befits their semi-feral status. They understood the importance of habit, and had set ways of doing things: first catch the horse with the ground rope, bring it closer, tack it up with the rope tight and the head turned away, so the horse couldn’t bite them or run away. The men were very wary of the back feet, never standing behind the horse, between two horses, or in the kicking zone. The bridles had the bit permanently attached but the throatlatch was undone and bits slipped under the chin at night. In the morning, the bit was then slipped into the horse’s mouth, the throatlatch done up again and the long rope used for leading, steering and creating speed.
The horses weren’t shut down or suppressed. They didn’t look for affection but did connect when asked, and quite liked strokes and a bit of cranio-sacral or back massage. 
The horses were all good at voicing displeasure; one day the girth strap was twisted when our esteemed quartermaster got on his horse and the horse bucked and bucked. The herdsmen quickly got Stuart off, checked the girth and it got sorted out. The horse was then back to his quiet sensible self. We had another team member who was quite heavy; when his horse had carried him far enough, it simply sat down and demanded a rest.
When travelling long distances, the horsemen of Mongolia sing, folk songs and love songs. When the horses heard the singing, they all bunched together, and marched on more smartly. They were beautifully behaved as long as we travelled in a group. Some were better than others at leaving the group or going from front of the line to the back, and all found a burst of speed when left too far behind.
The funniest thing was on one of the long days, when we crossed from one mountain range to another. There was a road through the middle of the valley. These tough sure footed horses, that had done ditches and boulder and river crossings without hesitation had no idea how to touch tarmac. One in particular was quite firm in his no- the herdsman got off and tried to drag him across while his colleague slapped the horse from behind with the long rope.
The interesting thing was there no frustration or malice or viciousness in the use of the rope; it was simply a signal of coercion. As soon as the horse moved onto the tarmac, the use of the aversive stopped. Loading the horses onto the cattle truck at the end of the trip was very similar; they absolutely understand the use of pressure release, and because there was no ill intent or malice used, the horses absolutely understood pressure release too. They stood on the truck quietly, once they were on, with their mates, and travelled easily.
The horses’ basic needs are met every day: we talk often of #friendsforagefreedom. They didn’t seem stressed or unhappy. They took every opportunity during the day to drink, graze, stopped for a wee when they liked, lay down at lunchtime, napped when we stopped. They were all remarkably self contained. When they were not working with us, they were turned out around camp with hobbles on, to graze and roam, and in between big trips they would have been out on the hills with their mates, in a big herd, grazing up high during the day and coming down to the valley at night.
Winters are fierce in Mongolia, with up to 3m of snow, and the herdsman move their animals to the lowland corrals and feed them precious hay through winter. Not all the animals will be kept all winter, some will end up in the pot, but the oldest horse on our trip was 25, and the two brothers I rode were 12 and 13. Munkbhat was proud of his horses, and he told me I am now the proud owner of a little bay horse in Mongolia that I can go back and ride anytime!!
My favourite moments of the trip were sat around with the horsemen of Mongolia, at the end of a long day, sharing a cigarette or a beer and asking them, via the young interpreters, about their country and their way of life.
The Mongolians are very proud of their heritage, and traditions, and somehow have managed to find a way to combine the best of the old and the new. The winner of the horse races at Nadaam wins a motorbike! The herdsmen all had very good mobile phones, tucked into their deels, with the hard yak’s milk cheese and the cigarettes, and took lots of selfies with us. The drivers could also change a tyre and strip an engine, in the middle of nowhere, in lightning quick time. The gers all had solar panels and satellite dishes, and the literacy rate in Mongolia is very high, over 90%. Yet the horse remains the best mode of transport for much of the terrain, and a ger is moved from camp to camp strapped to 3 camels. 
The Mongolians loved sharing the beauty and splendour of their country, and made us very welcome. And riding with the horsemen of Mongolia was an experience I will never forget.
A little film from our trip by the talented Matt- check out other snippets on his YouTube channel
I’m a surgeon- to know how to operate on a human, one needs to know the anatomy, the physiology, the function, and the likely effects of intervention. When we are schooling our horses, we are doing daily mini operations, working to improve the form and the function. To do that we do need detailed knowledge.
