I still saw the occasional ger and animal herd and I often sighted upland buzzards and steppe eagles scouring the plains for food.

Happy families. Like other host families, Graham's hosts at Mt Batkhaan, on the Tov-Ovorkhangai border, insisted on dressing up for a photo session (right). Photos are rare for such isolated people, so Graham collected addresses to mail them back after his journey. Stories were later shared over a traditional snack of dried curds, cream and AIRAG. Porridge and coffee warm Graham (below) after he awoke on cold-hardened ground to an unexpected autumn snowfall in the mountains near Tsetserleg in Arkhangai province. Fortunately, the snow melted a few days later.

I now felt like a real horseman - falling off and losing my horses had become vague memories. To my relief, I was blessed with cool nights and warmish days of cobalt-blue skies. At last, on 22 October, after riding more than 1000 km, I arrived in the capital's centre to be confronted by a mass of television cameras as I made a victorious circuit of Sükhbaatar Square. News of my trek had spread far wider than my travels and when my friend Batkhuu alerted the local media it turned out they'd already heard of my venture.

Heavy snow about 400 km out of Ulaanbaatar (above) urged Graham on towards the capital. These conditions brought home to him the protection GERS offer families, and the herders' hardiness. Irrespective of conditions, herders' cows are milked each morning and horses attended to as required, while children (inset) enjoy protection inside the warm GER. Winter struck with a vengeance as Graham (left) rode south from Ulaanbaatar - the next day, chilly northern winds pressed the mercury to below-20°C. A week later he'd fulfilled his ambitious dream of spending an inspirational Mongolian summer on horseback.

After a few days in Ulaanbaatar, I made the final leg of my trek to Umjil's family home, where I planned to leave Samson and Goliath before returning to Australia. On the way, winter arrived with a vengeance - the thermometer on my rucksack read -20°C and each morning I had to force myself to leave the warmth of my sleeping-bag. These conditions reinforced in my mind the protection represented by herders' gers in the rural areas - they're the only signs of civilisation and their hospitality is a godsend.

Umjil's family had moved camp since summer but the Ger Positioning System didn't fail me. I returned like a long-lost son - they were amazed that this inexperienced, over-equipped traveller had survived the ordeals of riding through their country's distant provinces. And as I regaled them with tales of my travels I revelled in the realisation of my dream.