A trail dog called Sioma

I’m not a dog person. At all. I think dogs smell, always need attention and are too dependent on their humans. So, I’m not sure why I let this puppy dog tail me when I started my first recce adventure in Tajikistan, the Hissar Range to be more precise. But I did. And it was kind of fun. And kind of a pain.

Dogs need food and generally don’t bring their own. I planned my four-day trek meticulously, bringing the minimum amount of equipment and food as I wanted to go for a light-weight approach. I took out my inner tent and slept under the fly. I left my proper camera and shot all my pictures on an iPhone 8. I only took pasta and pesto and super noodles for the three camping dinners. My route was in proper wilderness and there were no shops to resupply. Allowing this canine to tag along was, mildly put, a massive disruption in my already tight food plan.

Sioma checking how to set up camp

This dog is going everywhere I go. Sometimes when I look back I think I lost her, only realising she is straight behind me. When I cross a river and she is determined to get across, even if it involves a swim. When I go to the loo, I have an audience. The good thing about dogs is that they are pretty alert animals. Over the years, I have been warned about wolves and bears in the Tajik mountains. Although I have never felt unsafe, it might be handy to have a live wildlife alarm system with me.

I start cooking my pasta and the already skinny pup is looking at me with classic puppy dog eyes, clearly starving. Damn, only now it really dawns to me that Sioma (as I call her after the valley we where she adopted me) is in it for the long haul. And that this means my food supply will be cut in half. Sending her back is probably not going to happen, she seems pretty determined to stick around. So, rationing food is the only option.

You’re feeding me this?? Thankful pup…

Day two. After grumpy growls at the donkeys that joined us last night we are headed to the end of the Sioma Valley to tackle an almost 4000 metre pass. It isn’t quite clear how difficult this pass is going to be. The terrain is rough, the Sioma River is still a wild river and higher up there is a glacier, its state unknown. I secretly hope Sioma won’t be able to cross the main river so she’ll head back to where she came from. Where there’s a will there’s way and the young dog manages to hop across. The final climb up the pass is terrible and quite frankly dangerous. Some sections are prone to rock fall. Despite trembling on her feet, she does continue. We are being watched by a shepherd on the top of the pass. If something happens, at least somebody knows. A quick chat with the shepherd teaches me that my intended route across the Anguisht Pass to Iskanderkul is never done by shepherds. They tend to go the long way round via the Mura Pass. There is no margin for hick-ups and I have this dog with me. If I can’t cross this pass I would run out of food and there is no way to contact my driver for the change of plans. I decide to loop back to the M34 road across two other mountain passes. It is a part of the Pamir Trail I wanted to check anyways. And it is back to where Sioma and I met.

The view from the Khanaka Pass

I pitch my tent, cook some pasta for the both of us and enjoy the amazing views across the Payron Valley. The nearby shepherd camp is empty but later in the afternoon the shepherds return, including their feisty shepherd dogs. One of the shepherds summons me, convincing me it is not safe with bears and wolves in the vicinity and that I should stay with them. I hesitate. The one thing I am actually afraid of is the Tajik shepherd dog, Alabai the breed is called. They are trained to fend off predators including wolves and snow leopards, to protect the flock of sheep and goats. Their owners cut off the ears and tail to get them as “streamlined” as possible to avoid getting hurt in a fight.

The dogs find Sioma mighty interesting, sniffing her bum incessantly (another reason why I don’t get dogs). Occasionally they growl at me, but the shepherds tell them off with force. Just as I doze off, I hear loud barking and one of the shepherd dogs launches at the tent. I lay frozen in the tent, heart beating in my throat. The shepherd gives the dog a whack with his stick. Man, I hate these dogs….

Selfie with my favourite trail dog ever, Sioma

Another day and this time two fairly big mountain passes. The flock and their managers have already gone up the green pastures. It’s a chilly start at 3100 metres of altitude. Sioma and I head up the pathless pass. It’s steep but technically not too hard and we reach the pass fairly quickly. Does this trail dog enjoy these views as much as I do I wonder? Mmm, it seems I’m really starting to get into this dog.

We enter the valley of thistles. The moment we enter the bottom of the valley, a dense field of spiky thistles covers every inch of soil. My trail runners are far from ideal here but I fear for my trail buddy. She is suffering and tries to find a way around it, to no avail. Also the approach of the next pass is agony and I choose a line up a dry riverbed. Blocky but anything better than the field of pain. With scratched ankles and paws we reach the final big pass. On the other side we drop towards the headwaters of the Luchob River, that flows passed the capital Dushanbe 40km downstream. We steer clear of a shepherd camp with three fierce canine guardians and find a sweet flat spot of grass with a small stream. This little dog is a tough one!

Tent life, with a fearless vicious guard dog

The final day will be hot and long so we leave early and drink whenever we can. It’s a stark valley with semi-wild horses and a well-worn trail. 21km and 6 hours later we reach the sanatorium Hoji Obi Garm. This is goodbye to my favourite dog up to this point in my 45 years on Earth. If I had lived in Tajikistan, I would have adopted her. It wasn’t to be… I treated Sioma to a big fat liver sausage and said a somewhat tearful farewell.

Some dogs aren’t too bad.