Lake Issyk-Kul is located in north-west Kyrgyzstan between two branches of the Tian Shan mountains. It is warmed by thermal activity and as a result numerous spa resorts developed around its shores and it became a relaxing retreat for party committee members of the Soviet Union. One can also lie back on its sandy beaches gazing out into its depths for the mysterious jekai (monster) which legend has it inhabits them. A chance to rest our weary limbs on a lake-side holiday sounded alluring to us, so much so that we braved a relic of Russian aviation - the Yak-40 - to get there. After the taxi driver had bid us 'good luck', we were herded into this tiny plane along with too many others; the jump seats blocking exits were taken and there was even an Alsatian in the isle. I'm not sure whether this overcrowding was in any way related to the plane's struggle to ascend, but at least once we had made it above the mountain tops we were treated to fantastic views as we passed beside 5000m peaks and over steep, snow capped ridges. Such isolated mountainous landscape makes up about 94 percent of this sparsely populated country and as a result the major towns are resigned to the flatter corners. We landed amidst a large collection of American military hardware at Bishkek airport (now a useful base after the US were evicted from Uzbekistan) and the following day took a taxi to Karakol.

It was a relief to reach the lake, an escape from the Japanese tour groups of Osh and the menacing unlit streets of Bishkek. With shiny new Shimano components in hand, now we really could relax with no worries. However, when we realised that the valleys above the lake offered some of the finest trekking in Central Asia thoughts of a beach holiday quickly evaporated. It wasn't long before we had packed our kit and were heading for the hills in a local minibus along with a tangle of fifteen Kyrgyz villagers. We were deposited beside a track in the pouring rain and, as a thunderstorm developed overhead, our guide informed us that the shelter of a mountain hut was four hours away. With the skies already darkening and only three hours until nightfall, we route-marched our way up the valley at a frenetic pace. Thankfully, the hut appeared before we had to resort to torches and as we enjoyed hearty food beside a raging log fire the storm was soon forgotten. Kyrgyz dishes tend to consist of plenty of potatoes or stodgy rice with a noodle soup or chunks of lamb - all of which is great sustenance for walking.

Dawn the following day revealed the spectacular Swiss-style valley that had been previously masked in clouds. At its head rose a 5200m peak, framed by towering ridges on either side. We set out to trek up a tributary and towards a 3800m pass for views of an isolated mountain lake. The grasslands beside the river were an emerald green and were home to some of Kyrgyzstan's beautiful horses and occasionally a local would ride past sitting on a cushion astride one of these noble animals and sporting a comical pointed felt hat. In other countries such traditional attire is flaunted only in tourist bazaars; here many Kyrgyz wear it proudly as an ornate sun hat.

Up from the valley floor we climbed through forests of fir trees and flower strewn summer pastures. Overhead, the unmistakably dominant silhouette of an eagle circled in the blue sky. Aside from the few cattle grazing wild, a single yurt was the only evidence of human habitation we would see for the entire day. We walked behind a 17 year old guide, Ella, who stormed up the mountain so fast that it seemed as though he was on amphetamines. A medley of smells drifted through the crisp air from the fauna underfoot and occasionally our guide would pick up a specimen and nibble on it, claiming it prevented various ailments. We had a taste too, in the hope that it would give us a similar burst of speed. We pushed on higher, beyond the snow line and above 3500m. However, our progress soon fell fate to the quickly changing weather, for in the space of 10 minutes the pass became obscured by cloud and snow began to fall, meaning that we had little choice but to turn back. We were soon glad that we did so, for on the way back a thunder-like sound rang out around the valley followed by a long crashing of rocks, signalling an avalanche somewhere in the hills.

Without hyperbole, I can genuinely say this was some of the best terrain I had ever walked in - you could trek all day without seeing another soul and the complete lack of human intervention in the landscape meant that nothing detracted from the raw beauty of being surrounded by soaring peaks rising up several thousand meters from roaring streams. None of the photos will ever begin to do such a wide vista justice. Despite our aching limbs, we rose early the following day to ascend a ridge and enjoy some fantastic views of the surrounding 5000m peaks - Pik Yeltsin and Pik Russia to name a few.

Sadly we had to leave this pleasant retreat, and after lunch we embarked upon the jeep trip back down. This 'jeep' was a Russian built contraption with a notable absence of suspension. Just after we had voiced our amazement at its ability to cope with the boulder strewn 1 in 2 ascents and the driving skills of former moto-cross enthusiast Valentin, it plunged to an abrupt halt in a muddy dip and became firmly stuck. As we struggled to free it, the rear drive shaft fell straight out the bottom. 'No problem' Valentin resolutely declared, and indeed it wasn't as like any unpredictable Russian car a full set of tools were installed as standard. With the help of 5 men the semi-powered 2x4 managed to strain free of the sticky mud and, with a few more pushes, make it down the jarring decent to the tarmac road. At this point, any rational person would have steered the ailing vehicle home along the smooth surface. Not Valentin, for as he lit his fifth cigarette he dived off onto a mud track. After he had asked directions once, turned around and traversed a field we were all a little baffled as to where he was taking us, especially as we narrowly avoided getting stuck again. We rejoined the main road via a goose-filled farmyard, only a few kilometers further down, with the navigational decision remaining a mystery. Somehow we made it back to the hostel in time for a much needed beer and rest. We plan to arrive back in Osh on Monday, and from there we will attempt some equally high mountain passes in the saddle on the road to Kashgar.