I smelled and tasted the Altai long before I actually visited. In fact I had never heard of the Altai Mountains until October 2019. Then on visiting  the yearly honey market in Moscow in the large Kolomenskoye park posters of mountains and meadows caught my attention. With no Russian language skills to speak of at the time questions were answered with gestures and friendly smiles only. Nevertheless these murmurs led to a honey tasting like no other. What grapes are to wine, flowers, herbs, meadows and trees are to honey. The work is done by what must be armies of bees while their keepers only ensure that these busy creatures can do their work. 

When at last after much trepidation I arrived in the Altai Mountains themselves in August 2021, the smell of the place intoxicated me. The pull of its nature and landscapes arrived slowly and in intense little bursts. At first the dip in the cold waters of the great Katun River, when it is still a small one in Ust-Koksa. The beauty of hiking among the Multinsky lakes. The friendly face of Galina Mikhailova insisting she was to be filmed while she explained the basics of Altain beliefs at the petroglyphs of Chuy-Oozy. The Siberian landscapes while approaching the trailhead to the Blue Lake. Freshly picked evening tea  brews and chats around the camp fire. Have I mentioned the night skies yet? And so the list will go on. And slowly I realise a possible start of a love affair. 

The people I had spoken to before coming to Altai predicted I would come back enchanted and possibly in love with the place. Frankly, I was sceptical; so much of my heart lies in Norway. I feel the physical need to be there among the mountains and fjords, to fill my lungs with the cool, fresh air. Scandinavian long summer evening light, making it hard to sleep, the glorious beauty of Norway almost hurts. 

If I am honest, I wanted to say that I had been there, tick it off the list, then go back to what I know and love. But a wise woman once said to me that a mind once stretched will never be the same again. And no doubt, Altai is a stretch for the mind. It is wild and it is dangerous, it is I believe quite untameable. Unlocking some of the layers of this wilderness is possible. Full immersion though requires a level of planning, preparation, physical as well as mental stamina and self sufficiency that might not be for everyone. 

But then who is to say that scratching the surface might not already be a moving experience, one that is not easily forgotten. I met fellow Russian hikers that approached Altai in this way. Every step, they said, every day would bring them something new, something not experienced before, unseen, unknown, undiscovered. It was the way that mattered to them not the destination. And so they might go for just a day or two or maybe three. Packed up to the brim of their packs with food, ax and saw, tea kettle and pot, fishing rod and knife. In pairs, as group of friends or as a family. The contrast to the slim, light pack of the typical Norwegian hiker often with the latest technical gear could not be bigger.

If I were to write a guide book I would be aiming for a compromise, taking the best of both worlds. I cannot tame the landscape nor the weather, but being informed, knowing where you are and what to expect will help assess the risks one is willing to take and the gear needed to feel safe and ready. And I would of course endeavour to show why the Golden Mountains of Altai are a world heritage area and no matter your choice of trek or hike, you’d leave enchanted too. 

Photo Credit: Author’s own