Mike Novacek, Mark A. Norell

Today we broke our three nights' camp next to the giant ancient volcanic cone called Dosh. Silhouetted by the evening sun, the trapezoidal hugeness of Dosh looks like a set piece for "Close Encounters...." Our truck driver, genius mechanic, Temur won't even utter the name of the place for some superstitious reason. Maybe this is Mongolia's answer to Roslyn, New Mexico.

What's on today's clipboard of fun? The plan is to strike due South about 36 miles toward a small vegetable station, a town, not far north of the Chinese border where there is reputedly fresh water. En route we will prospect Cretecaeus aged rocks flanking the road. Our goal is to find a particular brilliant red rock unit called the Djadokhta Formation. This rock is our favorite -- it preserves oviraptorid dinosaurs, eggs and embryos, as well as important mammal and lizard skeletons. Most of the rock in this region is a bit younger than the Djadokhta -- a unit called the Nemegt Formation. The dinosaurs from here are big and charismatic, like Tarbosaurus, the Asian cousin of Tyrannosaurus. Just the same we favor the exquisite preservation and the excellent array of creatures preserved in the Djadokhta Formation because these fossils tell us more about the great transition between the age of the dinosaurs (the Mesozoic) and the age of mammals (the Cenozoic ). The fossils of the Djadokhta also have the intricate skeletal information important for considering questions about the origins of groups like birds and mammals.

As we struggled down a corrugated road in the kind of heat (101¨F ) unfortunately more characteristic of this region of the Gobi, we realized that we were overwhelmed by miles and miles of Nemegt Formation. No Djadokhta in sight. This is an important scientific discovery: It means we won't have to come back here next year. After a brief roadside meeting with Dashzeveg we pushed on to the town of Ichin Gol for a bath and fresh drinking water. Then we struck on farther southeast, toward the vortex of a ferocious sandstorm incubating over the Chinese border...............

Like people, nature has its intricities. Three hours ago we were enjoying a swim, our first bath in a week, in the aqua waters of Itchin Gol are nourished by an artesian well. While Dashzveg talked to the local secretary about our route and why we were here, the locals occupied themselves looking at us, while we looked back. Throughout Mongolia, every house or ger that is visited is papered with photographs. Consequently as soon as our Polaroid camera emerged, children metamorphosed from brown, nearly naked tots and toddlers (a condition which suits this climate) into neat, colorfully dressed pixies. These pictures will form family heirlooms. We regularly see pictures of children we knew as infants adorning a place of honor in nomadic gers. Now these kids are accomplished horsepeople helping with the herds.

Our dunking in the cool water was a welcome respite after days on the road. Our dusty bodies almost seemed to leave brown vapor trails in the water. In addition to this recreation we filled our plastic tanks from the all too livestock laden water. Moving Southeast towards this oasis was quite a drive. Terra incognita for much of the crew. Much of it looked like the surface of the moon. We looked at a few localities, nothing to write home about so I won't belabor the point.

Now we are moving eastward-- toward Ukhaa Tolgod, our base camp of the last six years. Although harsh by some standards, it is something that we are acquainted with and we all look forward to the easy pace of having a sedentary life in camp-- putting in long hours at our work. But, just as fast as we got clean, we got dirty again. Now we are camped about 20 km east of Itchin Gol. We have a lot of driving to do before we get to Ukhaa Tolgod including one 80 km stretch of roadless, uninhabitated desert. Prodding our heavy fuel tanker across this wilderness of sand and zak (a kind of central Asian mesquite) will be no easy feat.

Now it is 9:45. Dinner is served. After waking this morning to a lavender sunrise with a few puffy clouds against the bluest of Mongolian skies, we are sitting in the car writing this with Bob Marley playing in the background, making rhythm to the gentle rocking of the car. We are being pelted by a sandstorm, and there is some pretty funny stuff going on. Amy Davidson's tent has already been blown down and we expect other victims. Sand is everywhere; our colleagues struggle with their hats, plates and food. The sky looks like something from Dune, a large, colorless orb still way above an indefinite horizon. There is Jim Clark, attempting to separate tortellini from sand, as Pete, Peter, and Sainbaier futilely attempt to pour parmesan cheese that forms a fromage/sand aerosol in nanoseconds. Looks like a good night- time for some food and a cigar (if we can get them lit.)

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