ENILCHEK
A journey through Kyrgyzstan's Celestial Mountains
An Introduction to Enilchek
In Kyrgyzstan's far East lies the town of Enilchek. Once a thriving mining town in the Soviet Times with a population greater than 5000, since the fall of the Soviet Union and the abandonment of its Tin Mining Operations, locals began to migrate and so fell the population day by day, leaving just 70 residents in present times, along with an eerie display of abandoned buildings, large former residential blocks and car graveyards. Enilchek makes for an incredible destination for urban explorers to capture awesome photographs of this once prosperous mining town.
Abandoned Mining Residential Blocks near Enilchek Town
The eeriness of the town is matched by the surrounding barren, harsh landscapes. The town lies at the confluence of the mighty Enilchek and Sary-Jaz rivers, surrounded by steep, rocky mountains that dominate the landscape. The harsh nature of the surrounding climate allows no more than a few riverside shrubs and the occasional sporadic spruce to grow.
Views of the Central Tien-Shen during our descent from Tjuz-Pass
What draws hikers and climbers to this unique destination is the nearby Central Tien-Shen mountains, bordered by China to the East and Kazakhstan to the North. The Central Tien-Shen is Kyrgyzstan's largest mountain range, home to 2 of the 5 Snow Leopard Summits (Central Asia's 7000 metre peaks), namely Peak Pobeda (7439m), Kyrgyzstan's highest peak and the more famous Khan-Tengri (7010m). These towering peaks form an incredible range running parallel to the South-Enilchek Glacier, rising from the valley like celestial beings. The South-Enilchek Glacier is Kyrgyzstan's largest and the sixth largest non-polar glacier on the planet, running for 60 kilometres in length.
The Central Tien-Shen truly captivates and intimidates anyone that passes through this otherworldly sub-range, like nowhere else in Kyrgyzstan.
A 6 Day Trek through Kyrgyzstan's Celestial Mountains:
Created by Sam, Co-Founder at Great Goat Expeditions
10 September 2024- 15 September 2024
The Stats
Total Distance: 90km
Days spent trekking: 6 days
Highest Point: Pik Vit (4215m)
Style: Camping
Difficulty Rating: 3/5
After initially planning a longer solo South-North Traverse of the Central Tien-Shen, starting in Enilchek town and finishing in Jyrgalan, in Kyrgyzstan's North-East, I subsequently bailed from this 200km traverse after the sheer intimidation of this unpopulated region in Eastern Kyrgyzstan, where Tien-Shen Brown Bears likely outnumbered nomads, and not to mention I was massively unprepared lacking sufficient food for a 10 day trek.
Returning to Snow Leopard Hostel in Karakol, I caught up with a German couple, Florian and Samira, whom I had previously met along the Karkyra land border crossing between Kyrgyzstan and Kazakhstan. It seemed they were the only other trekkers in Karakol looking to go a bit wilder than the standard three day Ala-Kul Hike in the Terskey Ala-Too sub-range.
We agreed on a 6-7 day route that would start in the Sary-Jaz Valley at a small military settlement called Echkilli-Tash, navigating up the Tjuz Valley, over Tjuz Pass and then crossing the South-Enilchek Glacier and back down the Enilchek valley where our driver would pick us up.
Day 1: Karakol to Echkilli-Tash
With a 3-4 hour journey ahead of us, we departed early, with a quick Globus pit-stop to stock up on Kyrgyz bread, Russian Salami and a handful of Zebra Bars (Personal Opinion: They may well be the cheapest and simultaneously tastiest chocolate bars in all of Central Asia). Continuing on, it didn't take long to leave civilisation after passing Karakol. We passed several smaller villages which became smaller and more spread out the further we went. The landscapes were particularly impressive and remained consistent with Kyrgyztsans North-Eastern geography; Lush, spruce forested valleys with sharp rocky peaks emerging in every direction.
Roadside scenery on route to Echkilli-Tash
As we continued towards Enilchek, approaching Chon-Ashuu Pass the green landscapes soon diminished as we gained altitude. We had transitioned into a barren wasteland. Heading up Chon-Ashuu Pass (3822m) we were promised excellent views out to the Central Tien-Shien, with Khan Tengri visible on a clear day, however for us, this certainly was not the case. We had been hit with a sudden blizzard as we were winding up the snake-like road towards the pass. Conditions were dangerous, but despite our fears, our driver seemed confident in his abilities, brushing aside the fact we were climbing a 3822 metre pass in complete white-out and unsuitable urban tyres.
Despite our fears, we made it up and over Chon-Ashuu Pass in one piece, passing through the Chinese Border Checkpoint to ensure we had the necessary border permits (thanks to Central Asian bureaucracy) and eventually arriving at Echkilli-Tash, where we would depart with our driver (and show our border permits one more time). With daylight running out we walked a short-while to an ideal campsite before our intersection with the Tyuz Valley on a very exposed, grassy riverbank, which we shared with several nomads and their many flocks of sheep.
View from our first nights campsite
Day 2: Echkilli-Tash to Tyuz Pass Basecamp
We woke to crisp, clear sky's, but left with some urgency in the morning knowing how quickly the weather turned yesterday and with 16km ahead of us we had no time to waste. The first section would prove to be very gentle as we followed the river upstream for several kilometres along an overgrown sheep trail 100 meters or so higher than the Tjuz River. Eventually breaking away from the river, the valley opened up, offering spectacular views of the surrounding mountains.
Florian and Samira Hiking alongside the Tjuz River
Our lunch spot at an emergency shepherds trailer
The second half of the day was a repeat of yesterday, except rather than in a vehicle, we were now hiking through the storm. As we continued to rise in altitude up the Tjuz Valley the rain quickly transitioned to snow, blown into our faces by the cold, dry wind, but we still had several kilometres of uphill hiking to complete before our intended camp spot.
Crossing paths with a group of nomads on route to camp - To this day we have no idea where they were heading as we didn't see any yurt camps further up valley.
Our legs felt heavy as we trudged through the thickening snow, and soon we reached our last challenge of the day—the Tjuz River. Our campsite was on the other side, and luckily, despite the heavy precipitation earlier, the river was low enough to cross safely. I waded through the knee-deep water barefoot, and the cold quickly turned my feet into blocks of ice. Once I made it across, I put my boots back on, but my feet still felt like they were made of stone. Still, we all made it to camp.
We quickly set up camp, crawled into our sleeping bags, and waited for our feet to warm up. Then we cooked some buckwheat with Soviet Salami, and even though it sounds rather peculiar, it actually tasted amazing - It must've been the extra MSG I added to the buckwheat to make things even more unhealthy.
Our second camp at the base of Tjuz Pass- A cold night awaited us
Day 3: Tyuz Pass Basecamp to Enilchek Glacier Camp
Today would mark the pinnacle of our 6 day route as we would reach our high point at Pik Vit and from what I had studied on topographic maps, we would be treated to panoramic views of Kyrgyzstan’s Central Tien-Shen and the South Enilchek Glacier. We just needed one thing, clear skies.
Much to our delight we woke to clear skies, at last the storm had finally cleared leaving a coat of 2-3 inch thick snow. I shook my tent off, releasing the snow that has accumulated overnight and then cooked up a rather disappointing stale bread and hard boiled egg combination for breakfast before hitting the trial.
Camped at the base of Tjuz Pass, we would start our day with a rather steep incline, each step zapping the energy reserves of my legs as we broke trail into the fresh snow. Whatever trail was usually present was very well-hidden underneath the snow so we had to just guess the route, at times veering too high or low, but with the pass coming into sight our success was almost inevitable.
The route transitioned into more technical terrain as we neared the pass as loose scree began to dominate the landscape, coupled with patches of almost invisible ice. Nevertheless, I pushed forward, ahead of Floirian and Samira, hoping to reach the pass before midday and catch a better viewpoint and the neighbouring Pik Vit (4210m). Just like most mountain passes in Kyrgyzstan, I reached a moraine covered plateau, which from a distance appeared to by Tjuz Pass, however the true pass would still be another 150-200 vertical meters.
Florian preparing for the final ascent
One final push, and I had reached the top of Tjuz Pass (3,900m). I was met with arguably the most impressive alpine landscape I had witnessed in Kyrgyzstan to date—perhaps even in the world. The mountains running parallel to the southern side of the Enilchek Glacier were truly awe-inspiring, a testament to nature’s imperfect beauty.
I scrambled up the scree slopes another 100 meters to a local high point, hoping to capture the perfect wide-angle view. From there, I had the clearest view of Khan Tengri, towering above the range like a celestial being. Its nearly perfect triangular peak was truly breathtaking.
Descending back to the pass, I caught up with Florian and Samira, who were more than satisfied with the view and had little interest in climbing any higher. We found shelter from the bitter wind, boiled coffee, and cooked lunch. Once again, Soviet salami was on the menu, accompanied by a side of plastic-tasting cheese.
Together, we began our descent into the Enilchek Valley, initially navigating steep, loose moraine scree. However, what first seemed treacherous turned out to be surprisingly easy once I started scree-sliding down. The trail then transitioned into a gentle, single-track sheep path over a beige, tussock-like surface, with the view remaining just as impressive and expansive as it had been from the pass.
I was surprised by how clear the skies remained so late in the day, with not a single cloud in sight—quite the contrast to the previous two afternoons. It was as if Tjuz Pass marked a natural border between two distinct regional weather patterns: the dry Enilchek Valley, without a millimeter of snow, and the much wetter Tjuz Valley.
Our view from Tjuz Pass
Reaching the base of the pass, we took our first steps into the Enilchek Valley—wild, barren, and vast, to put it briefly. Upon arriving at our intended campsite, it quickly became evident that we were in for an uncomfortable night. The winds were picking up, and the best shelter we could find was a small cluster of waist-high shrubs.
It’s fair to say that, in that moment, I wasn’t feeling particularly confident in my $150 Mongolian NatureHike tent.
As the evening progressed, thanks to Kyrgyzstan's predictable continental weather patterns, the skies cleared and the wind died down, making for a surprisingly comfortable night. My tent would survive another night!
Day 4: Crossing the South Enilchek Glacier
We packed our gear and set off early, with Central Asia’s largest glacier standing between us and our campsite for the night. Our route began on the north side of the glacier, following the valley parallel to the mighty Enilchek River. Even this far upstream, crossing the river on foot felt like a near-suicidal mission—its icy torrents were simply too powerful. Our only option was to cross via the glacier, navigating the treacherous, scree-like moraine deposits.
At 1.5 kilometers wide, the crossing didn’t seem too daunting at first. However, like any glacier, the landscape was constantly shifting. Following Maps.me KML trails was useless—in fact, doing so would have led us straight into freezing glacial ponds. We had to rely entirely on our own navigation, attempting to stay high to avoid unnecessary climbs and descents.
But the moraine walls had other plans. Time and again, we found ourselves clambering up 50-meter-high, unstable ridges, only to descend immediately after. We repeated this exhausting cycle a dozen times, feeling the fatigue creeping into our legs with every step.
Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, we scrambled over the final wall and stepped off the glacier. For a mere 1.5-kilometer crossing, it was one of the slowest, most grueling hikes I had ever done—taking nearly two hours in total.
Looking up to a moraine covered glacial wall
At last, we could continue down the valley. While the terrain ahead was far from perfect, it felt like a welcome relief compared to the brutal glacier crossing we had just endured.
We passed Iva Camp, a small, rocky, and exposed campsite used by several expedition companies en route to Khan Tengri Base Camp. Though far from ideal, it was still the best available spot in the area.
Tempted as we were to stop for the night, we pushed on. I had spotted isolated patches of green on Maps.me further down the Enilchek Valley, and that was enough motivation to keep moving in search of a more sheltered campsite.
With storm clouds gathering and still no ideal place to pitch our tents, we collectively picked up the pace, covering 13 kilometers in just 2.5 hours. Finally, we reached a small forested zone—exactly what we had been hoping for. A cluster of spruce trees provided shelter from the wind, and a stream trickled down a rock face nearby, offering a perfect water source.
Just as the rain began to fall, we set up camp—exhausted but relieved.
Our Camp-Site inside the spruce forest
Day 5: A long walk back to Enilchek Town
We woke to a dusting of snow on the mountain tops—a clear sign that winter was closing in. It was now late September, and the harsh Central Asian winter crept closer by the day. Nights were frequently dropping below freezing, and our tents had frozen over.
If we were going to make it to Enilchek today, it would be a long haul—42 kilometers, to be exact. Given the terrain, we figured it was doable, as the route followed the Enilchek Valley downstream for the entire distance, with nothing more than the occasional rolling hill.
After our morning coffee, we set off. By this point, I was running low on food, my gear was wet, and I was more than ready to sleep under a roof again—Florian and Samira felt the same.
Looking back up the Enilchek Valley
We pressed on, racing against the fading daylight, but uncertainty grew—we weren’t sure we’d reach town before sunset. The rocky moraine and occasional river crossings only slowed us down further.
After 10 kilometers, I split off from Florian and Samira once more. I still hoped to make it to town, but they were less optimistic and content to camp out for one more night.
The scenery remained spectacular, though slightly less intimate now that we had gained distance from the towering peaks. Yet, the Enilchek Valley was still a force to be reckoned with. The river sprawled into dozens of branches, weaving through rocky moraine fields, while I followed a well-defined path. The trail alternated between narrow traverse sections along the valley’s edge and flat riverside segments, dictated by the curves and flow of the Enilchek River.
As I continued, vegetation became more abundant—more than we had seen throughout the entire journey. The iconic Northern Kyrgyz Spruce Trees began appearing in sporadic clusters, bringing a sense of life to the rugged valley.
For the first time in days, Nomads and their settlements began to appear. Kyrgyz men on horseback called out in Russian, “Kuda payedesh?”—“Where are you going?” It was then that I truly grasped how inhospitable the Enilchek Region was. In most parts of Kyrgyzstan, you can hike for days and still come across Nomad camps, but here, the land was a barren void, untouched by nomadic settlements.
As nightfall approached, I pressed on, though my legs were utterly destroyed. I had heard rumors of a guesthouse in Enilchek Town, and the thought of a warm Kyrgyz meal kept me motivated. But it wasn’t meant to be.
By the time I had walked 39 kilometers, it was pitch black, and exhaustion had set in. I had reached Enilchek—sort of. At 10 PM, I arrived at the abandoned mining residential blocks and quickly realized any guesthouse would be long closed. With no other option, I decided to make camp beneath the crumbling structures.
At first, it was eerie, but the constant rumble of Chinese mining trucks in the distance provided an odd sense of comfort. Just knowing others were nearby put my mind at ease. First thing in the morning, I would pack up, hike the final three kilometers, and finally reach the guesthouse.
My final, not so spectacular campsite
Day 6: We made it!
After a rough night’s sleep—with only my half-deflated mattress between me and the cold concrete floor—I was kept awake by the constant rumble of Chinese trucks passing by. It turns out the Chinese now operate a mine here.
At sunrise, I walked the final 3 kilometers, reaching what once would have been the town center before its abandonment. To my relief, there was a guesthouse, though poorly advertised—so much so that I accidentally knocked on the wrong door and was met by a very confused Kyrgyz child who had clearly seen few tourists. He pointed me toward the actual homestay, where I was warmly greeted by a friendly old man and his adult son and daughter.
The homestay was one of the few intact buildings left in Enilchek, and surprisingly, the food was great—especially for such an isolated place. Later in the day, Florian and Samira arrived, along with a Belgian couple who had agreed to drive us back to Karakol the next day.
And so, our Enilchek adventure came to an end—one of the wildest treks I had undertaken in Kyrgyzstan. Perhaps not the most physically grueling, but still a demanding five-day journey, from crossing the Enilchek Glacier to near-40km days and freezing nights in the snow.
Enilchek is a true Kyrgyz adventure—rugged, unforgiving, and not to be underestimated. The peaks here tower higher than anywhere else in the country, and Nomads remain few and far between.