Trekking through Kalajun

Day 1: Qiongkushitai to Jiasagan Camp

We left Tekes at 9:30 AM. I woke up after sleeping for about two hours in the car, finding us winding through mountain roads. The surroundings already showed signs of grassland, but what was peculiar were the wave-like rolling hills. The sun-facing slopes were covered with lush grass, while the other sides were bare piles of stones.

After dozing off for another half hour, we arrived at Qiongkushitai. The parking lot was already packed with cars. A companion pointed to the wooden houses hidden in the forest across the bridge and said, "Look, there are many restaurants inside where we can eat." Glancing around, the village sat in a low-lying valley surrounded by tall pine and spruce trees. Further out were emerald green grasslands, with a river flowing through the middle of the village, its waters babbling softly. Hikers ready for their journey walked on the gravel paths, mingled with the clip-clop of horse hooves from behind.

We were drawn to an open-air restaurant where the owner was shouting, "Freshly made pilaf!" We ordered one serving of pilaf and one serving of lamb soup for a total of 95 yuan. Behind the restaurant was a vast pine forest, surrounded by the sounds of birds and flowing water. Nuonuo pointed to the riverside and said, "The Wusun Ancient Trail follows this river."

After eating and drinking our fill, we borrowed two trekking poles from our guide (which later proved to be lifesavers). We followed the livestock migration path forward. The initial slope was gentle, and it was June, so the surroundings were lush with tender grass and dotted with small flowers of various colors (red, yellow, purple). As we climbed higher, the view gradually opened up, allowing us to look back at Qiongkushitai nestled in the valley. The distant mountains were a vibrant green, with straight pine forests lining both sides of the river, reminiscent of the scenery we saw in Switzerland last year. Eagles occasionally circled halfway up the mountains. Our guide pointed to the exposed yellow soil on the slopes and said, "See that? Above the yellow mounds are marmot burrows. The marmots are sunbathing on the rocks nearby."

As we crossed a hill, it started to rain. We put on our raincoats at the hilltop, but by the time we reached the bottom, the sky had cleared, and we had to pack them away again. From time to time, herders on horseback passed by, much like encountering riders on the roads of Hyrule. When we descended into another valley, a river with milky-white water blocked our path. I washed my hands in it, and the water was icy cold. After resting here for a while, it started raining again. Our guide said, "Cross this forest, and ahead is the 500-meter-high 'Despair Slope.'"

We continued through the forest as the rain grew heavier. The distance between our group and the others widened. Looking back, only a small team of five people remained ahead of us. When we reached the foot of a slope nearly 70 degrees steep, I checked the route—yes, we were supposed to climb up here. The originally soft dirt path had turned into a sticky, muddy mess from the rain. As we climbed, we took one step forward and slid two steps back. When we pulled our feet out of the mud, only our socks were visible—our shoes were buried. I thought to myself that without the trekking poles we borrowed earlier, we would never have made it up.

As we climbed further, I looked up and saw a Kazakh rider galloping down the steep, winding mountain path. In broken Mandarin, he asked if we wanted to ride horses up the mountain. We shook our heads and told him, "There are many people behind us who might need horses. You should go ask them." He thanked us and galloped down to the foot of Despair Slope. For them, such steep and muddy terrain seemed as easy as walking on flat ground.

As we neared the top of Despair Slope, the rain gradually stopped. The sky, which had been covered with dark clouds, now showed patches of blue, and sunlight broke through, warming us instantly. We stopped at an outward-extending stone platform with an expansive view. Looking down, we could see hikers struggling to climb up from the foot of the mountain. Halfway up, Kazakh riders led horses carrying mud-covered hikers swiftly upward. Here, we also met "Natasha," who was carrying supplies.

After a short break, we continued climbing toward the summit. Although the rain had stopped, the slope was still muddy, and our shoes were caked with thick layers of mud. At the top were two yurts, where the earlier arrivals were resting and eating instant noodles. We asked about the price—10 yuan per pack. The yurt owner, holding his grandson and leading a horse, chatted with everyone. We rested at the summit for a while as others gradually caught up.

A Kazakh rider offered us a drink from his hand. I was about to ask what it was when our guide said, "It's kumis (fermented mare's milk). Try it—it has a unique taste." I took a cup, and the sourness hit me immediately, but it was followed by a unique sweetness.

After resting for a while, we continued toward the campsite. By then, we had reached the vast, flat Kalajun Grassland. The air was fresh after the rain, and the flowers and grass seemed even more delicate under the rain's nourishment. From time to time, Kazakh riders passed by with hikers, singing Kazakh songs, much like scenes from The Legend of Zelda.

After walking about 2 kilometers, we reached the campsite. The tents were triangular and neatly arranged. We found our tent and were about to go inside to rest when a kitten appeared out of nowhere and leisurely walked into the campsite. We called to it, and it playfully jumped into our arms.

After storing our belongings and changing clothes, the other team members gradually arrived at the campsite. We sat under the canopy, eating fruit, chatting, and watching the horses grazing quietly outside. As dusk fell, the sunset turned a fiery red. While eating dinner, we couldn't resist rushing out of the campsite to admire the sunset.

Night fell, and the stars in the sky were exceptionally bright. The Milky Way hung high above. We fell asleep to the sound of insects chirping.

Jiasagan Camp to East Kalajun Camp

The second day's route was the longest, about 22 kilometers, covering the core section of Kalajun. We traversed various pastures, but shortly after starting, heavy fog set in, followed by heavy rain. With yesterday's experience of climbing Despair Slope in the rain, today's rain was nothing to fear. After walking in the rain for about two hours, we reached a rest stop—a herder's yurt.

Everyone was cold and hungry. The herder said he had instant noodles for 10 yuan per pack. Although we had brought some dry rations, after being drenched, everyone longed for something warm. So, we sat around the stove in the herder's round felt tent. The herders welcomed us warmly, bringing us hot water and milk tea made from their own cows. We gathered around the stove, warming ourselves and chatting until our bodies were warm again. Our wet socks and shoes had dried, and the rain outside had gradually stopped, giving way to clear skies.

In the second half of the journey, we passed through many more pastures, with flocks of sheep, herds of cattle, and horses either lazily lying down, leisurely grazing, or running to new pastures. We even saw a family of three marmots sunbathing. Around 5:40 PM, we finally reached our destination—the East Kalajun Camp. This campsite was nestled in a valley with no signal. To get online, we had to climb a 50-meter hill behind the camp, nicknamed "Telecom Hill Internet Slope"—only China Telecom users could get two bars of signal.

After resting for a while and having dinner, it was still bright at 9:30 PM. We climbed the hill behind the camp to watch the sunset. At 10:20 PM, the sun began to set, and the sky turned from purple to red. By 11:00 PM, the sun had completely set, and the sky grew dark. We descended and returned to the campsite to rest.

The next day, we continued exploring around the East Kalajun Camp.

I was woken up early by the sound of cows. I wondered which one was being so inconsiderate, making such a racket. When I stepped out of the tent, I saw a cow calling to its calf not far away. Seeing that it was still early, I decided to climb "Telecom Hill" to watch the sunrise. At that moment, the shepherd opened the sheep pen near the campsite and rode a motorcycle to herd the sheep to the mountaintop.

When I reached the top, the warm, soft yellow sunlight streamed over the distant mountain peaks and into my eyes. Before me was an open expanse, with sheep moving under the golden light. Two shepherds, one on a motorcycle and the other on horseback, guided the flock from the front and back.

On my way down, I encountered the shepherd milking the very cow that had woken me up. The shepherd had two buckets beside him, already full of milk. During breakfast, everyone complained about being woken by the cow's noise. I pointed to the delicious milk tea in front of us and said, "We're drinking her milk."

At 10:00 AM, we set off for the mountaintop to camp. As soon as we sat down, a group of Kazakh riders swarmed over. We asked about the prices: "20 yuan for a photo on horseback, 50 yuan for a ride, but you need a guide." I chose a horse and asked the rider how old it was. He said, "20 years old." The rider sat behind me and urged the horse to gallop with a "Giddy up!" It was a feeling of freedom you can only experience on the grasslands.

Today's planned route was about 8 kilometers, but we felt it wasn't enough, so we decided to go down to the river valley. We followed a winding path for nearly an hour before finally reaching the valley. There was a family living there, with a small horse and a puppy. The puppy, however, seemed preoccupied with its own play and didn't bark when we arrived.

Further in was a horse pasture. We stopped by the bridge and washed our feet in the meltwater from the snow-capped mountains. Soon, a shepherd arrived with a horse. We asked him about the cost. He didn't speak much Mandarin, so we communicated with gestures. It was 20 yuan for a ride.

By the time we returned to the campsite at 4:00 PM, the weather had suddenly changed, and a heavy rainstorm began. Taking advantage of the cooler temperature inside the tent, we went back to sleep soundly. When we woke up, it was already past 8:00 PM. The grass in the campsite looked exceptionally fresh after the rain, and the air was clear and bright. We saw groups of riders galloping along the mountainside and learned that it was the rare "Buzkashi Festival." After slaughtering a sheep, riders take turns grabbing it, and whoever holds it the longest within the time limit gets to keep it. Nuonuo said, "This is like soccer on the grasslands, but with a sheep instead of a ball."

East Kalajun Camp to Tarim Forest Park

After spending another day at the campsite, it was time to descend. Today's descent was about 20 kilometers. After crossing a few small hills, we reached the continuous downhill section. The first half of the descent offered excellent scenery, as we walked along the ridge with towering cliffs and valleys beside us and distant snow-capped mountains in the distance.

As we continued downhill, the soil became noticeably harder, and the grasslands disappeared, replaced by thorns and weeds.

As we walked, I suddenly missed the lush grasslands at the summit, the leisurely herds of cattle and sheep, and the horses that were sometimes calm and sometimes galloping. Before coming to Xinjiang, I could never have imagined its beauty. At first, I thought Kalajun's scenery resembled Switzerland, but after completing the