It’s now 10 days at Taimen Camp and I still haven’t seen an aircraft in the mostly clear and, lately, sultry skies.

Whooosh, as I step outside of the camp’s outhouse the sky sounds as if it is ripping apart. I turn my head in time to see the final speeding descent by a Steppe Eagle toward a ground squirrel breakfast.

t’s Day 3 at the Uur River and I hear a faint rumbling sound from behind a mountain. Airplane or thunder?

In swift Mongolian rivers lurks a fish with crocodilian tendencies.