This sacred Mongolian website is without doubt one of the world’s oldest nature reserves

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Where a household’s prized possessions are their cows and sheep, second solely to the horses—and possibly a pair of binoculars—energy has by no means been in numbers. The world’s final nomads have lived in concord off the land for hundreds of years within the least densely populated nation on this planet, however that’s altering.

“We have never been team sports players because we can’t be,” explains Dorj Usukhjargal, a Mongolian biologist.

 On the Mongolian steppe, these minimalists race the horses they honor and eat to bulk up their kids who’ve change into world’s prime sumo wrestlers. Separated by hundreds of miles throughout the worn-out grasslands couched between the sand dunes of the Gobi Desert and the Altai Mountains, nomadic herding households bulk as much as forge on, breaking down and reassembling yurt houses they name gers, simply so their free-roaming livestock don’t overgraze. They’ve been migrating lengthy distances seasonally to guard the land since earlier than Genghis Khan unified their tribes into the most important land empire in historical past within the 1200s—and his nomad good friend, Tooril Khan, protected Bogd Khan Uul, which in 1778 turned world’s first nationwide park, a century earlier than Yellowstone.

“Long before global conventions and climate summits, Mongolia was practicing conservation in ways that still resonate today,” says Galbadrakh (Gala) Davaa, director for The Nature Conservancy (TNC) in Mongolia.

In September, I stood on the opposite facet of the world, watching an enormous flock of pigeons fly south over Bogd Khan Uul’s 1733 Buddhist temple ruins. Winter temperatures are already creeping into the outskirts of Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia’s overcrowded capital, close to the rising ger district the place nomadic local weather refugees make up a big proportion of town’s inhabitants. A quick and livid freezing phenomenon intensifying from local weather change, known as dzud, has interrupted Mongolia’s deeply cultural and sensible nomadic conservation practices.

“These shifts are not abstract—they are felt in the harsh winters, which have become more frequent and devastating, causing massive livestock losses and threatening the livelihoods of rural herders,” explains Davaa.

(The risks of dzud, Mongolia’s deadly winters)

A building surrounded by snow.

Manzushir Monastery was initially in-built 1733 and was then designated as a protected space below the Qing Dynasty.

Batzaya Choijiljav

In this one-two local weather punch, solely in Mongolia, excessive droughts and rising summer time temperatures from greenhouse gases set off heavy winter winds, blankets of ice, and adverse 50-degree climate from a weakening polar jet system. More frequent and extreme dzuds up to now decade have killed off droves of Mongolia’s livestock—about 10 p.c (8.1 million) in 2023-2024 alone—simply earlier than UNESCO acknowledged the traditional Mongol Nomad Migration as an intangible cultural heritage.

This winter, Mongolian nomads Batbayar Dashtsermaa and his spouse Dejidmaa are making ready for one more extreme dzud. Their hay provide will run out in February, and that’s when the dzud hits hardest.

“Our animals are weaker and we’ve lost 100 already,” says Batbayar, handing me a basket of dried Mongolian curd (aaruul) that Dejidmaa fermented right here inside their ger after milking the cows outdoors. “We had to take out a loan to buy more wheat and feed so the animals survive winter because they can’t live off the pastures alone anymore, but that means life gets harder for us. We won’t have any money left for healthcare if we get sick.”

Dejidmaa fills the wooden range with odorless cow dung that vents via the chimney out the roof gap, then reaches as much as take away a photograph of her daughter wedged within the wall between the ger’s orange slats and felt lining from sheep’s wool.

“She’s off at school in Ulaanbaatar and when she gets older, she can decide whether to return to become a nomad, since she knows how to do it,” she explains to me through a translator—Gan-Erdene Ganbat, a Mongolian G Adventures guide who is now my friend. But, chances are, she adds, they’ll join their kids in the city in a decade, selling their animals to buy an apartment they’ll leave to them, ending their family’s ancestral nomadic heritage. 

“Out of 10 nomadic families we know, three or four have left the steppe for an easier life,” provides Batbayar.

Nomadic routes have been central to Mongolia since 3500 B.C., and some even later became part of the Silk Road, where nomads facilitated cultural and religious exchange, and safe passage. Until Mongolia’s 1911 independence from the Qing Dynasty, nomads still made up 90 percent of Mongolia. But today, nomads only represent 35 percent of the population. 

“Mongolia stands at a critical crossroads. As one of the countries most affected by climate change, it faces intensifying threats—from rising temperatures to land degradation,” says Davaa. 

A woman holds a bow and arrow on horse back.

A mounted archer demonstrates Mongolia’s ancient horse-archery tradition, a skill that once defined mobility, warfare, and survival on the open steppe.

Batzaya Choijiljav

Bogd Khan Uul Biosphere Reserve

In a clearing from the dense woody evergreens, along the slope of Bogd Khan Mountain, I saw why this national park was prohibited from logging and hunting in the 1200s. Bogd Khan Uul is the world’s oldest nature reserve, originally preserved by an ally of Genghis Khan named Van, or “Tooril” Khan, leader of one of five dominant Mongol tribes in the 12th and 13th centuries. Worshipping the park’s Bogd Khan Mountain, Tooril Khan banned hunting and logging in its coniferous forests. By 1778, the area was home to hundreds of monks in more than 20 temples—including the famous Manzushir Monastery ruins—and designated a protected area under the Qing Dynasty.

Even after the park’s temples were destroyed in the 1930s, locals regarded the mountain as a holy site. Finally, in 1957, the government announced the official protection of the park, increasing its safeguarding in 1974 and again in 1995. A year later, UNESCO designated the site a biosphere reserve.

Gazing out the window of a centuries-old meditation retreat filled with colorful flags and Buddhist heads that belonged to Mongolia’s last monarch, a Tibetan spiritual leader who lived here in 1911, I understood why. The “Sacred Mountain” now offers hauntingly beautiful stupas and Bronze-age nomadic petroglyphs and this remaining intact temple–once home of Mongolia’s last monarch, a Tibetan spiritual leader. Hikers climb to the 7,418-foot summit of Tsetsee Gun for breathtaking views reaching over Mongolia’s sprawling nearby capital city of Ulaanbaatar and the vast Gobi Desert steppe.

Atop of the nation’s tallest mountain lies temple ruins of the 18th century Mongolian authorities chief who was instrumental in defending Bogd Khan Mountain, and in the valleys and winding rivers you’ll find petroglyphs and inscriptions on cliffs, ancient human settlements at Zaisan Valley, and the 1653 meditation site of Zanabazar.

Make sure to visit the sacred Bodhi tree landmark historic meditation site, ancient rock art in caves of Nukhte Valley, and the astronomical observatory on Camel Cliff behind Khurel Togoot. And around the outskirts of the park, you’ll find 70 seasonal nomadic herding families still tending to their livestock.

A 2024 initiative by the Mongolian government, The Nature Conservancy, herding communities, and others dedicated $189 million to protect 30 percent of Mongolia’s land and freshwater by 2030. This initiative vows to expand community-based conservation across 84 million acres for 24,000 herding households by 2040 in the face of climate change and economic challenges.

(Mongolia became a global leader in conservation by returning to its Indigenous roots)

“For Mongolians, these grasslands are more than ecological assets. They regulate water cycles, store carbon, and buffer climate extremes across Central Asia, says Davaa. “They are the backbone of nomadic heritage and a centuries-old way of life.”

A cat with long thick fur steps on a flat land.

A Pallas’s cat in the Hustai Range Nature Reserve, which is adjacent to Bogd Khan Mountain, where long-standing protection supports native wildlife.

Batzaya Choijiljav

Visiting Mongolia

By the end of this two-week, life-changing trip, where I herded and milked Batbayar and Dejidmaa’s cows, ate Mongolian cheese, fermented mare’s milk, and sipped a homemade vodka called arkhi, I used to be prepared for something.

Down limitless bumpy stretches that felt like roads to nowhere, we visited most of the nation’s 24 nationwide parks past Bogd Khan—the Flaming Cliffs of Gobi Gurvan Saikhan National Park the place the primary dinosaur eggs ever had been found, and Hustai National Park, the place the final dwelling actually wild (Przewalski’s) horses got here again from extinction.

Horses are so intertwined with Mongolia’s national identity, that when they die their skulls are wrapped in Buddhist scarves and placed on a mountaintop.

Along nomadic routes, we slept in visitor ger camps, which started covering the steppe when Western visitation opened up in the 1990s. Now, tourism is experiencing another boom—a record number of visitors in 2024 (808,000) and another 21.5 p.c enhance throughout the first half of 2025. After United Airlines launched the primary repeatedly scheduled flight between the U.S. and Mongolia in May, by way of Tokyo, the Mongolian authorities introduced its plan to draw two million guests yearly by 2030, with a pointy give attention to American vacationers.

“We saw the demand and a way to seamlessly connect by flying through Newark and Narita, Tokyo to Ulaanbaatar,” says Matt Stevens, vice president of United Airlines’ International Network. “We’re seeing travelers trendsetting to find the next big thing in adventure and culture tourism, also with Greenland. They want to immerse themselves in an experience and Mongolia has one of the most incredible landscapes in the world.” 

With a Mongolian authorities promise to extend advantages to local communities via tourism, time will inform what it means for the way forward for the nation’s nomadic folks and its pure panorama, which is now 77 p.c degraded. 

A sky with stars.

Under clear winter skies, stars shine brightly above Bogd Khan Mountain.

Batzaya Choijiljav

Days earlier than Batbayar and Dejidmaa pack up their cheese cloths, vats, and wooden range and break down their felt and slats to herd their animals throughout the arid high-plateau to their winter spot, I ask a final query and Batbayar responds that what he liked most about being a nomad is already gone. 

“The best part of this lifestyle is behind me. It was when I rode my horse to herd the animals before motorbikes were used. That’s when I felt most proud and happiest,” he says. “But in Mongolia we have a saying. As long as you follow your animals, you will always have food to eat.”

(Why Mongolia must be your subsequent wellness escape)

Anna Fiorentino is a journalist of 20 years who earned a 2025 SATW Lowell Thomas Award, amongst others. Her science, outside, and journey tales have appeared in National Geographic, TIME Magazine, AFAR, Outside, Smithsonian Magazine, BBC, Travel + Leisure, Boston Magazine, and Boston Globe MagazineAnna additionally writes and edits articles and reviews for main analysis institutes. She lives in Portland, Maine. Follow her on Instagram.




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