Central Asia Five Countries Trip Part 13: Kyrgyzstan Ala Archa Hiking Journal

【Central Asia Five Countries Trip Part 13: Kyrgyzstan Ala Archa Hiking Journal — Turning a Walk into a Natural Practice in the Tianshan Canyon】

In September in Kyrgyzstan, the most comfortable exercise is not in the gym but in Ala Archa National Park, 40 kilometers south of Bishkek—when I stepped into this 200-square-kilometer canyon with morning dew underfoot, I realized that a "walk" could become an outdoor practice of dialogue with snow-capped mountains, forests, and glaciers. This natural secret realm, established in 1976, hides the Ala Archa River Canyon and the continuous mountain ranges, from the 1,500-meter valley to the 4,895-meter snowy peaks, where every step is a dual feast of geology and ecology.

Starting from the park entrance, the path underfoot winds along the Ala Archa River, and the starting altitude of 1,500 meters makes breathing especially smooth. At 9 a.m. on September 25, 2025, the sunlight poured down in an almost luxurious way. As a travel enthusiast, I have seen many autumn scenes, but Ala Archa’s autumn has a breathtaking grandeur. The primeval forests on both sides of the valley are quietly changing colors; pine needles still hold deep green, while poplars have turned light yellow. The wind rustling through the leaves, mixed with the babbling of glacier meltwater, forms the most natural "sports ground."

Golden birch forests and dark green Tianshan spruces intertwine like a huge jacquard carpet. Sunlight penetrates the layers of leaves, casting mottled, flickering light spots on the forest clearings. This brilliant autumn color is actually a survival strategy of the trees— as daylight shortens and temperatures drop, chlorophyll breaks down, revealing the carotenoids and xanthophylls that show golden and fiery red hues. The spruce’s evergreen nature is a tough adaptation to the harsh mountain environment. Every breath is filled with intoxicating scents of decayed wood, pine resin, and earth.

As a regular fitness lover, I deliberately chose a moderately difficult hiking trail to enjoy the exhilaration of exercise without missing the scenery along the way.

After about an hour of climbing, the altitude gradually rises to 2,500 meters, and the view suddenly opens up—a vast alpine meadow spreads before me like a green carpet embroidered with wildflowers. In the distance, mountain peaks reveal gray-white rocks topped with perennial snow. The guide pointed to a faint peak at the highest point, saying it is one of the main peaks at 4,895 meters. These majestic peaks are part of the Alpine-Himalayan orogenic belt, still slowly rising. Among the more than 50 peaks, over 20 glaciers hang, serving as the "solid water reservoirs" of this land. I could see the typical U-shaped valleys formed by glacial erosion and the moraines deposited at the mountain foot by glacier transport. The rushing Ala Archa River before me originates from the meltwater of these glaciers.

My pace unconsciously slowed—not because of fatigue, but to take in more: there were wild goat tracks on the meadow, and snow leopards might be hiding in the pine forest (though the chance of encountering them is slim, just knowing they inhabit this place makes the land feel especially alive).

Just as I was immersed in the grand geological scale, a faint rustling sound brought my attention back to the present. At the root of a spruce, a brown-gray, bushy-tailed little squirrel was cautiously watching me with bright eyes. Its tiny paws held a pinecone, which it was quickly nibbling. I immediately stopped, afraid to disturb this native resident.

From our mutual gaze, we both sensed curiosity. Its presence indicates the forest’s health and integrity and provides the food chain foundation for more mysterious and elusive residents—like snow leopards and wild goats. Sharing a sunny autumn morning with such a small life was the most precious gift of the journey.

At the midway viewpoint, I stopped to do some stretches. The mountain breeze, cool against my sweat-dampened forehead, was so comfortable it made me want to sigh. There was no city noise here, only the sound of my heartbeat, the wind, and the water; even my breathing deepened. I felt that the meaning of exercise is not just sweating but connecting with nature—in Ala Archa, every step is on real land, and every glance upward meets snow-capped mountains. This kind of "movement" is not resistance but integration.

On the return trip at noon, the distant glaciers were dyed golden and radiant. September in Ala Archa lacks the bustle of the May Alpine Festival and the thrill of winter skiing but offers the most suitable temperature and scenery for walking—it made me realize that the best exercise might be just this: walking slowly in nature, listening carefully, and becoming part of the landscape.

The Ala Archa hike has no heart-stopping challenges but offers healing scenery at every step—18°C autumn days, layered snowy mountains, colorful forests, and that little squirrel that accidentally crossed my sight all became the most unforgettable footnotes in this natural appointment.

When I looked back again at the snow-capped mountains shining under the sunlight, I knew that the autumn memories of Ala Archa had been deeply engraved in my life’s trajectory, like glaciers carving the canyon. This was not just a hike but a pilgrimage resonating with the Earth’s pulse.