Golden Eagle Hunters
Live among the Kazakh eagle families of the Altai and witness a partnership between human and bird a thousand years old.
A country larger than Western Europe, home to fewer people than a single city — and to the last unfenced horizon on earth. We design the journeys that cross it.
Here, a third of the people still live as their ancestors did — moving with the seasons, wintering in valleys, following the grass. There are no fences. There is more sky than land.
We do not sell tours through this country. We spend years earning our way into it — into the ger of a Kazakh eagle hunter, the migration route of a reindeer clan, the exact bend of a river where the light turns to bronze at nine in the evening.
Each is a starting point, never a package. We design the route, the pace, and the people you travel among around you alone.
Live among the Kazakh eagle families of the Altai and witness a partnership between human and bird a thousand years old.
Singing dunes, flaming cliffs, and the fossil beds where the first dinosaur eggs were found. Silence you can hear.
A hard ride north to the Tsaatan — among the last reindeer herders on earth, high in the forest above the treeline.
Ride the valley where empires were born, camping beside the Orkhon and the herders who still winter there.
Days in the field with the researchers who protect the ghost of the mountains. Patience rewarded as almost nowhere else.
A million Mongolian gazelle moving as one across the last great grassland almost no traveller ever reaches.
Our private ger camp moves with you — linen, wood-fired baths, a chef, and no one else for forty miles.
−30°C, a metre of blue ice on the Blue Pearl, and reindeer sledges. The country at its most severe and most beautiful.
Fly-fishing for taimen — the world's largest trout — on Genghis Khan's birth-river. Barbless, catch-and-release only.
The three manly games — wrestling, archery, and the great child-jockey horse race — seen from a countryside few visitors reach.
Track the takhi — the only horse never tamed — with the scientists who brought it back from the edge of extinction.
Built around the light, led by working photographers. Positioned for the moment the whole steppe turns gold.
Fly west to the Kazakh capital of the Altai. Settle, acclimatise, and share the first meal in the home of the family you will travel with.
Ride to the winter pastures. Learn the language of the hunt — the hood, the lure, the call — and watch an eagle stoop from a ridgeline for the first time.
Three days across the range, camping high, crossing rivers of meltwater, guided by families who have read this ground for forty generations.
Arrive for the autumn eagle festival — the year's great reunion of hunters — then a slow return east as the larch turns to fire.
Private eagle-hunting family · high-camp nights under the Milky Way · the autumn festival before the crowds · larch forests in full turn.
We do not hire guides. We grow up alongside them. Ours are herders, hunters and naturalists born to this land, chosen over years — and paid to stay for life.
Behind every Tengri journey is a small, permanent team \u2014 guides, drivers, cooks and camp crew who have travelled together for years. We employ them the year round and pay the herding families who host you directly. When you travel with us, you travel with people, not a logo.
Fourth-generation Kazakh eagle hunter from the Altai. Reads weather from the way the eagles ride the wind.
Naturalist and former field biologist. Has logged more snow-leopard sightings in the Gobi than anyone we know.
Horseman of the Orkhon. Trains our herd himself and plays the morin khuur by the fire most nights.
Mongolia is not one destination but four, each unrecognisable from the last. Tell us the country you want, and we will tell you the month.
Foaling season. The grass returns, the camps re-form, and you may have the country almost to yourself.
Wildflowers, sixteen-hour light, and Naadam. The steppe at its most generous and most alive.
The larch turns to fire and the eagle festival gathers. Amber light, clear air, our favourite season to travel.
The white silence. Blue ice, reindeer sledges, and the country stripped to its bones. The ultimate expedition.
The classics that define Mongolia, and the routes almost no traveller reaches. Every journey is private, never more than twelve guests, and designed around you.
Spring is Mongolia waking up. The steppe greens, foals and camel calves are born, and the travellers haven't yet arrived. The weather is changeable and the far-northern routes are only beginning to thaw — but the light is soft, the land feels newly made, and you'll often have it to yourself.
Camel-calving season and cool, clear desert light across the singing dunes and the Flaming Cliffs.
The Orkhon Valley as the mares foal and the grass returns — ride out among the season's new herds.
A horse trek among eight volcanic lakes as spring greens the Orkhon highlands.
Move with a herding family as they shift the khot ail to fresh pasture. Your camp travels with theirs.
Track the takhi — the last truly wild horse — with the scientists reintroducing it, as the first foals appear.
Red-rock canyons and the argali and ibex of a little-known desert reserve, with the researchers who study them.
The warmest, greenest, brightest months — sixteen-hour days, wildflower meadows and Naadam. Everything is open, including the far north and the taiga, which is exactly why July is the busiest window and brings the occasional afternoon storm.
The three manly games at a countryside finish line, far from the stadium, with the grand opening as overture.
Ride and kayak the great northern lake through wildflower meadows and sixteen-hour light.
Our private ger camp moves with you — linen, wood-fired baths, a chef, and no one else for forty miles.
The hard ride north to the Tsaatan reindeer clans above the treeline — passable only now.
The gazelle migration — up to a million animals — and white-naped cranes across intact grassland few ever see.
Trek to Mongolia's highest peaks and the great Potanin Glacier, among Kazakh and Tuvan herders.
Many travellers' favourite season. The weather turns stable and clear, the grasslands go amber and the larch to gold, the crowds thin, and the Golden Eagle Festival gathers the Kazakh hunters. The window is short, and the nights cool quickly before winter closes in.
The Altai, the autumn eagle festival before the crowds, and the larch turning to fire.
A light-led photography expedition timed to golden hour across the Orkhon and into the Gobi.
The great desert set-pieces under the crisp, clear light and long shadows of autumn.
Fly-fishing for taimen, the world's largest trout, on the Onon — expert ghillies, strict catch-and-release.
Back to the taiga as the reindeer rut and the first snow dusts the treeline. Fewer travellers than summer.
Ride the sacred Khan Khentii — the wild taiga-and-steppe heartland where Genghis Khan was born.
The most demanding season, and for some the most rewarding — deep cold and deeper quiet, with the country almost entirely to yourself. This is the true eagle-hunting season, the blue ice of Khövsgöl, and Tsagaan Sar. It asks for the right kit and a real sense of adventure.
Winter is the true eagle-hunting season — ride out as the eagle takes fox across the snow, then a heated camp.
The Blue Pearl frozen a metre deep: sleighs on the ice, the Ice Festival, and a real chance of aurora.
Snow-draped granite, cliff monasteries and reindeer sleighs an hour from the capital — winter made comfortable.
Inside a herding camp for the lunar new year — the year's most important gathering, and its most private.
The cold Gobi in March: camel racing and polo among a thousand Bactrians, under the year's cleanest light.
Days in the field with the researchers who protect the ghost of the mountains — patience rewarded as almost nowhere else.
The nomadic way is not a performance for visitors — it is a living economy, and a fragile one. A fifth of every journey goes directly to the families who host you and the rangers who protect the wild.
It funds winter fodder in the harshest years, veterinary care for the herds, and the community patrols that have helped snow-leopard numbers hold steady in the south. Your journey is the reason a child of the steppe can afford to stay on it.
Tengri began with a single winter spent in a herder's ger in the Arkhangai, and a conviction that Mongolia deserved to be travelled slowly, and on its own terms.
For more than fifteen years we have earned our way into this country — sharing the migrations, the hunts and the long silences until the families who host you became friends, and their world became one we could open, carefully, to a very few travellers each year. We employ our guides for life, pay the families who host you directly, and cap every journey at twelve. We would rather turn away a booking than dilute a place.
Fewer, deeper, and always on Mongolia's terms.
Three days on horseback above the treeline, to a people whose whole world moves when the moss runs thin.
How herders forecast a week of weather from the colour of the moon and the behaviour of the horses.
Reading a hundred million years in the flaming cliffs — and the eggs that rewrote what we knew of dinosaurs.
“We have travelled everywhere. This was the first place that made us feel small in the way you hope to feel small — and the first team we trusted completely to take us there.”
“Not a tour. An expedition, in the true sense — and the most beautiful eleven days of our lives.”
“I have photographed forty countries. Nowhere has light like the Mongolian steppe at nine in the evening.”
Every journey is private, or capped at twelve guests. Small by design, always.
Wilderness-medic guides, satellite communications and medical-evacuation cover on every trip.
Your booking is secured through recognised traveller financial protection.
24/7 on-trip support and one dedicated specialist, from first enquiry to homecoming.
Every Tengri journey is built from a blank page. There is no catalogue to choose from — only a conversation. Tell us where you'd like yours to begin.