The Lake in the Sky

​Kyrgyzstan, June 2025. 

It’s already 4pm when I begin my ascent to Song-Köl. I left Suusamyr in the middle of the morning, but it’s a long drive down the Kökömeren Gorge, on a bumpy dirt road that seemingly never ends. The scenery was spectacular, I had to stop on several occasions… and obviously that didn’t help with the schedule.

The wide road gently climbs through pastures and agricultural fields. Old Ladas sit next to their toiling owners, and I occasionally cross paths with a truck. I see black traces on my way, I know there’s a coal mine ahead. Clouds roll in as I approach the foothills. The earth is red, tall spruces blanket the slopes.

​Landslides, potholes, dead ponds: I know the mine is near, but I can’t really see it. It seems like the road goes straight into the facility, but there’s no one to ask questions, and I find my way up the valley. From there, I can peer into the eye of the monster. It’s a scar in the mountain side, a testament to human greed. Scattered around are trucks, machines and frail trailers. What a forsaken place. I feel truly alone.

​I reach the Kara-Keche pass, but the end is nowhere in sight. Neither is the lake, at first. Green pastures left and right are grazed by horses, cows and sheep, indomitable peaks hide in the clouds, and rain looms. I have to cross a snow patch or two, but they are well packed. The road is muddy and bumpy, and I’m tired.

​The lake appears. Picture the Shire, but 3000 metres above sea level. At the centre of this basin, Song-Köl. A massive lake, almost round, right under the sky. I knew it was big, I knew roads were slow, and yet I underestimated it. It takes me ages to drive to the other side, but when I get there, the rain is gone and the sun is setting. I find a yurt to spend the night. I'm probably asked way too much money for what it is, but it's late and I can't go any further.

Song-Köl, finally

​In the morning, I sleep late. It's sunny, not ideal for pictures, but there's an Isabelline wheatear (Oenanthe isabellina) hanging out around camp. It's perched on a pile of rubbish, in typical fashion. I relocate to another camp, one that was recommended to me by a friend. They are just settling down for the season, I'm one of their first guests this year. There's an Isabelline wheatear here too, and then more in the surrounding hills. The gully nearby has Grey marmots (Marmota baibacina) poking out of a few den entrances. I wonder whether they're all connected.

I spend the afternoon exploring the surroundings. I dream about Citrine wagtails (Motacilla citreola) and Tibetan sand plovers (Anarhynchus atrifrons), but whatever I find is really far away. This place is so big!

Isabelline wheatear (Oenanthe isabellina)

​I spend a lot of time in the gully. Once you stop moving, the marmots get out of their burrow and roam around, grazing. Sometimes they sit up on their bum and watch, wary of predators. If they sense a threat, they dash back to their subterranean lair. The wheatears perch near the burrows too. They like exposed perches, it seems, and a rodent-created mound is what's closest to it in this grassy landscape where the vegetation is kept short by harsh winters and grazing cattle. In between the feeding and the watching, they also perform a spectacular song flight that sees them shoot up towards the sky and then drop back down with much flourish.

Grey marmot (Marmota baibacina)

Isabelline wheatear

Grey marmot

Black kite (Milvus migrans)

​One afternoon, I drive back to the southern side of the lake. From the road, I consider walking to the edge of the water to see if there isn't a plover or two, by any chance. It looks close, but when I check the map and realise it's a two-kilometre walk just to get there, I change my mind. Instead, I photograph a Horned lark (Eremophila alpestris) on a crumbling sign, and a massive bumblebee very busy moving from flower to flower. I chase it across the steppe, but with the altitude, this kind of photo-yoga is actually taxing, and I struggle to keep up. I console myself with the landscape, especially when clouds project their shadows on the red, green and white ramparts that surround the Song-Köl basin.

Big bumblebee

Horned lark (Eremophila alpestris)

​There's a series of small ponds where I hope to photograph water birds. I lie down on the shore with my camera, but the family of Ruddy shelducks (Tadorna ferruginea) I had my eyes on remains on the other side. It's not unexpected, these birds are really skittish, they don't like attention. I guess they are widely hunted across the region. I spend a bit of time there but it's all very quiet. When I stand up, one of the shelducks noisily takes off and flies towards me, banking along the shoreline in a show of defiance. Now that is unexpected! It lands in the water, much closer now, and I can see from its black necklace that it's the male. Well, I lie back down and start photographing!

Ruddy shelduck (Tadorna ferruginea)

Ruddy shelduck

​After a while, I go back to the car to grab my wide-angle lens. I want to capture the landscape before the sun goes down. I'm in a hurry, so I leave the long lens by the car. It's not like anyone will steal it, right? I walk back towards the lake, and then I hear a gallop behind me. There's a group of horses cantering along the road, one of many free-ranging livestock herds in Central Asia. They're running straight towards my car, I can already picture them in my head trampling my 20,000€ gear as they pass by. I try to run to scare them away, but that only makes them run faster, and still towards my precious camera... until they veer off and escape through the fields. Not my proudest moment.

​I leave Song-Köl behind the next morning, after eating breakfast in the kitchen tent with my hosts. I don't like camping much, especially when it's cold, and sleeping in a yurt is very much like camping. On the way to Kalmak-Ashuu pass, I stop to photograph a few vultures soaring in the grey sky, then songbirds hopping from rock to rock. There's a pair of White-winged snowfinches (Montifringilla nivalis) feeding babies, a number of Isabelline wheatears and even a Northern wheatear (Oenanthe oenanthe), a bird I'm used to seeing at sea level in Helsinki.

Griffon vulture (Gyps fulvus)

Bearded vulture (Gypaetus barbatus)

White-winged snowfinch (Montifringilla nivalis)

White-winged snowfinch

White-winged snowfinch

White-winged snowfinch

Isabelline wheatear

I stop at the pass and then head down into the mist. I'm going to Ysyk-Köl. There's a warm shower waiting for me there.

BIRD INVENTORY