Five-year-old Ulemj rides reindeer through Mongolia’s northern taiga with the casual ease most children reserve for bicycles. Wrapped against the cold, she follows her parents through the forest, weaving between larch trees and snowdrifts beneath an endless winter sky.

Yet Ulemj is equally at home in the nearby village of Tsagaansaar. There, she attends kindergarten near the small shop where her mother, Zulaa, has recently begun working. She plays with friends, glimpses the world beyond the taiga through the screens of mobile phones and, when asked where she would rather live, has a simple answer.

“I like city life,” she says. “I don’t like the countryside.”

For generations, the Dukha have migrated through Mongolia’s remote northern taiga with their reindeer, following seasonal rhythms shaped by the forest and the needs of their herds. Known in Mongolian as the Tsaatan, or “those who have reindeer”, they are one of the world’s last reindeer-herding communities and the only people known to ride reindeer. Today, only a few hundred remain.

I first travelled to the taiga in 2022 and have returned repeatedly over the years, building relationships with families living in the East Taiga. What struck me most was not a community clinging stubbornly to the past, but one negotiating its future in thoughtful, often contradictory ways.

Ulemj’s father, Erdeneochir, lives in the East Taiga with Zulaa and their two daughters. Together with around fifteen other families, they care for a herd of forty-two reindeer. Yet Erdeneochir himself did not inherit this life in the way outsiders might imagine.

Before marrying Zulaa a decade ago, he raised sheep, goats, cows and horses. It was only after selling his livestock and joining Zulaa’s family, who are Dukha, that he too became a reindeer herder. “I chose to be a reindeer herder,” he tells me. “I’m so happy with my life here.”

His days move between old routines and modern realities. He rides reindeer through the forest to check the herd, trimming patches of fur to distinguish his animals rather than branding them. Snow is melted for water. Solar panels charge mobile phones. During the quieter winter months, he often spends nights in the village repairing the family home or visiting relatives before returning to the forest.

By night, beneath the canvas walls of the ortz, another side of Dukha life unfolds. When temperatures plunge too low to spend long outdoors, Ulemj curls up on her father’s lap, playing games on his phone and insisting he watch alongside her. Erdeneochir scrolls through social media until close to midnight, the device powered by a solar panel outside. Their laughter fills the small space. The smiles they exchange are captivating: a reminder that, despite the extraordinary setting, the rhythms of family life are often universal.

The women describe changes that stretch far beyond a single generation. Darimaa, 70, has spent her entire life in the taiga. “When I was a little girl, life was so different,” she says. “We wore traditional clothes made from reindeer skin. Nowadays they’ve lost a lot of the culture.”

As a child, her parents owned more than two hundred reindeer. Today, most families have between thirty and forty. Winters, she says, are warmer than they once were. “-50C was normal,” she recalls. “But today it’s not too cold.”

Warmer summers bring clouds of biting insects that torment the reindeer. The grass dries more quickly. Calves are sometimes born prematurely and die. Climate change is altering the fragile ecosystem on which both people and animals depend.

But environmental change is only part of the story. Wolves remain a constant threat. “The wolf is very dangerous,” says Zulaa. “Last winter, they took seven adult reindeer and ten calves.”

Yet perhaps the greatest uncertainty lies elsewhere. Older Dukha speak openly about wanting opportunities for their children that life in the taiga cannot always provide. Education, healthcare and paid work offer a sense of security that reindeer herding often cannot. “If I had a son, he might be a herder,” Erdeneochir says. “But I have only two daughters, so it will probably be city life for them.”

Zulaa sees it differently. “I want her to choose her own life.”

Tourism has become an increasingly important source of income, alongside handicraft sales and government subsidies. Visitors arrive seeking an experience of one of the world’s most extraordinary cultures, helping families remain economically viable while inevitably reshaping the traditions they have come to witness.