One Little Victory: Part 2 (Day 3: Sangla, Batseri to Rakcham)

The purpose of the break was two-fold, find a nice shaded spot and take one last big breather and refill our water bottles with the cool mountain spring/glacier water. While the former happened quite easily, as one can guess, the latter was quite nuanced, and it wasn't as simple as dipping your bottle into the stream and letting it fill up. 

Prabhakar picked up a bottle, filled it up, and asked me if I thought that the water was clean; looking at it from the side, I said yeah, it looked clean. With a twinkle in his eye, he said that learning to distinguish clean from dirty water was a nuance/trick of the Pahaadi (mountain) people. The trick was to swirl it, look down through the mouth of the bottle, and wait as the water slowed down and stopped moving: if the water was clean, you'd see only clear water, and if it was dirty, you'd see particles floating around. He was entirely spot on, and I learned something that day. The water was constantly flowing, and it did tend to pick up mud and other particles along the way, which clearly even the Pahaadis with their probably cast-iron stomachs and systems did not drink. 

We decided to shoulder our packs (not sure we could even call them that) and move on, looking for a cleaner spot to fill water upstream. There was a logging crew working just a little further up from where we were, and once we got past them, we did manage to fill a little bit of water between the 5 of us; not that we needed more because standing around and chugging water was probably the worst thing we could do to our already exhausted selves. 

Moving on, we came up to this lovely open clearing atop a hillock (well, hillock as relative to the terrain around). The best way to describe it is for those of you who have seen The Sound of Music (yes, I've probably seen the movie every day for several years between ages 2 and 6 or something like that, so I can probably describe this shot), in the opening shot when the Overture to the title track Sound of Music is playing, the camera zooms in on the truant Maria as she spins around on a hillock, somewhere on the Lower Austrian Alps: that, zoomed-in, sunny day, 5 people walking on a trail with 2 dogs literally running circles around them. Maybe even the parting shot in the movie where the Von Trapp family are in single file climbing the Alps.  

While the other 3 walked on, Prabhakar was for some reason on his phone trying to make sense of where exactly we were by using his GPS. Although he was clear about the trail ahead, I guess he was just curious. The techie + navigator in me instantly took over, and I gave him a quick 7-minute lesson on using his phone GPS/maps app effectively. In these 5 mins, the couple and the lady had walked ahead for some distance as we stood still. I looked in the direction they were going, and just ahead of them for some reason, my head switched on to another Tombraider style graphic, and I saw a nearly vertical wall that had to be climbed. Puzzled, we started walking, not that I said anything at the time, but as we got closer, I realised that there was a wall, but our path was a little to the left of it, and at quite a steep incline. It was one of those moments when you thought you couldn't possibly climb any higher, but you just had to.

At this point, the trek got a little strenuous, and the only way forward was through. No scope for stopping, photographs, etc. The couple decided to take a short breather because she was a little tired, however, the other lady had steadily walked on ahead; realising that I didn't really want to stop and break my rhythm, I decided to double my pace and catch up with her and she wasn't exactly slow, having done a few of these before apparently, albeit not for a few years. I caught up with her and matched step; the path was now steep with a few interesting (not that I called them interesting at that point, more like I christened them with enough curse words) undulations, that required some very deliberate and firm footing.

By now I was heaving, puffing, and panting, owing to my skilfully executed uphill charge, and so we slowed our steps. Suddenly, within a few minutes of the groups splitting, we reached a point where we were unsure of which way to go, because there clearly looked like there were two distinct paths, and one went in between 2 boulders, a high step-up, and back down. Having forgotten about them at the moment, to our rescue came Salt & Caramel, the former from behind us, and the latter from up ahead. Beckoning us to follow him with a light bark in our direction and then moving forward, we followed his lead and climbed through the boulder gap and moved forward. 

There on, we literally had the two of them watching and safeguarding both of us at every step of the way. Just before the final climb, after we navigated the boulder area, the path went through what looked like a rather large playground. Felled white trees, and odd structures of wood and stone, very obviously naturally formed, rose up around us as we walked through; not too high, but not tiny either. 

We walked through this section in thorough amazement, neither of us ready to stop and lose our rhythm, but at the same time conflicted enough to want to pull out our phones, or cameras and just go nuts taking photographs. There was also a sudden deafening silence in this section: it was loud. Maybe it was the sudden reduction in heavy breathing and the sound of your heart pumping blood reaching your ears that brought about this silence, but I'm not entirely convinced. Far enough from the water, and no wind at all, the dogs were eerily silent as well. 

Exiting this section, almost as if stepping out of a vacuum, we suddenly came to a spot a little above the flowing river, and the noises resumed as we began the final undulating stretch, up and down, but for the most part, up; high 'steps' crudely cut into the dry ground making for a steep climb, and shrieking quads and hams. The right was all mountainside, and the left was almost a sheer drop down to the river, with enough chances of slamming into enough undergrowth and breaking bones in the event of a misstep. And so this is how that last bit played out: Caramel took the lead and the lady in front of me; still catching my breath after my attempted sprint a little while ago, I was walking  slowly, deliberate steps, much the same as she was ahead of me. A little behind me, and to my left, was Salt, making sure that I didn't fall behind, or fall. Every time I slowed down or stopped for a breath (because by this time it got pretty steep and high), she stopped, waiting, patiently, nuzzling against me lightly, reminding me that she was there and that I had to keep moving. I cannot explain how blown away I was. The love, care and guardianship displayed, was just..... no words to describe it, just my jaw hanging wide open, figuratively.

I've grown up with a slightly crazy but very loud and protective Doberman in my early years and known various dogs along the way. I've heard stories from my father of how dolphins have guided ships away from treacherous rocks and whales have provided separation in shipping channels. Also, the apparently vicious Leopard Seal who thought the diver + photographer was a wounded animal who couldn't eat has been in the news ample times. But each and every time you hear of things like this, and even more, experience them, the gestures just have no equal, and you're just touched beyond belief. 

Finally, we completed the climb and emerged onto what was plateau with a field on it. There was some sort of a radio antenna station, and there were some farmworkers taking a break from what was obviously a tedious digging job. The path was clear through the field and on to the other side, and it was at this point that the dogs charged ahead, down the path as if they were fresh of the blocks and hadn't been doing anything at all. 

 Emerging from the field at the other end, we saw the dogs, the path down, and our final descent toward the bridge over to Rakcham, that marked the end of the trail. A little pagoda with some prayer flags on our left, we saw the dogs going towards a little tap that obviously was a source of drinking water from the river. As we filled our bottles, the other 3 caught up with us, refilling and sipping as well.

 Executing what was now considered the norm, they charged ahead of us across the bridge, and into a field to frolic and play around. It was once again obvious as to which dog was male and which one was female (cue Wily E. Coyote expression).

And that was it, both Salt & Caramel charged off while we tried to locate our car & driver. There was no coming to us in the hope of biscuits or other tidbits or anything of the sort, they were just gone, just as they had appeared. That experience, apart from the unbelievable scenery, had been made a  little more magical by those two, and to be honest, we all felt a little empty as we piled into the car, everyone looking for a glimpse of them to maybe give them one last cuddle and show a little love, before we drove on. 

One Little Victory: Part 1 (Day 3: Sangla, Batseri to Rakcham)

Morning came as it does when you sleep very soundly, with the reasonably jolting sound of a not too harsh alarm, because that's simply what it takes to be woken up at a decent hour when you're all tucked in and sleeping like a baby. About 0700 was the wake-up call, so that breakfast, freshly brewed coffee (yes, they had a nice big Moka pot and I asked them to brew the coffee that I had carried, their coffee was a little old and over-roasted), and other processes could be completed so we were all set for the trek ahead of us.

The plan for the day was to trek upwards from Batseri to Rakchham, about a 10 km trek through thoroughly varying terrain, through about 120 metres or so in altitude; in reality, this was to take us through a variation of up to 150 metres, and then 30 metres down to our destination. There on, our car was to meet us and drive on to the village of Chitkul, which is the last village before the Indo-Tibet border.

We set off with our young guide Prabhakar, a native of Batseri village, and all of 18 years old. His uncle was the head of the camp's administration and activities, and thus the young lad was learning the ropes in pretty much every sphere, right from being on the hospitality staff to being a trekking guide. The real credit lay in the fact that this was his summer/vacation job, as the whole family encourage him to study, and he wanted to become an automobile engineer.

The warm-up was our walk to and through Batseri village, for which we had to go down to my spot at on the bridge from the previous evening, and cross over to Batseri. An entirely different set of colours greeted us in the sunshine once we broke from the tree cover before crossing the bridge.

There's an ancient tree that is on your right just as you cross the bridge, and it is considered sacred and is worshipped by the inhabitants of Batseri, for the belief that it prevents evil spirits from crossing the bridge and coming to their village. As you go to the left, there is a 'Ma ka Mandir' that serves as protection for all the womenfolk of the village and surrounding areas. Not to sound like a skeptic, but the mountains have always been a source of faith, religion, folklore, myths, and legends, as, by human logic, they're so high and hence closest to the heavens, where the gods reside; so it is only natural to expect such intense displays of faith and worship.








Interestingly enough, Batseri village is supposed to be the first modern village in the surrounding areas for miles around.






























They have a reasonable sized solar grid that is served by small solar panels mounted on poles across the village so that they aren't entirely dependent on the power grid. They also have granaries that are ornately carved and ready for storing harvest for the winter months, during which apparently the snowfall is so high that they literally walk through paths with snow walls.




There was also the interesting enough anecdote of how every once in a while this particular Snow Leopard shows up during the winter and makes off with a dog, coincidentally enough, the dogs that our guide fosters.






















Their temple, dedicated to the deity Badri Narayan, is decorated with effigies and representations of all other religions that they know exist; why? the answer is simple. They know, that their 'God' has an understanding, agreement, or some sort of wonderful relationship with all other "gods' that are said to exist, and so in order to honour his relationships, they pay homage to all the others through these representations. Truly fascinating, and in contrast, our so-called knowledgeable, educated, and progressive city folk are such fools.

Exiting the village, we began the ascent, going in the opposite direction from obvious trail markers that we later found out were for those taking part in the local ultra-marathon, which was, in fact, a speedy descent along the very same trail.

Our first breathtaking view was among the closest points that we got to the river, and felt its flow and might running right below us, in a sense. Advised not to go too far to the edge, the river had actually worn away a part of the bank, so that the edge of the overhang could possibly give way with even a little of weight on it.

So we trod on, slowly, controlled breathing, climbing at a slight angle, easy ascent, taking in the views, the sights, the sounds, the river. About an hour in, we took a short break to sit down, drink a little water and catch our breath. Not really being 'mountain' people, the thinner air definitely wore us down a little more than a seaside climb would, not that any of us were peaking in terms of fitness. We looked ahead and saw where our climb was to take us, after which, it was supposed to be reasonably flat ground.

The ascent got steeper, the breathing was more laborious, and now we could feel the blood pumping through our muscles, needing more and more to focus on our breathing, finding dry ground beneath us, and watching our step as we climbed with very light packs that contained only basic refreshments. We trekked on and suddenly exited the foliage into a wide-open space, with a very obvious mostly frozen glacier not too far in the distance. This was the Nav-Surang glacier, as it was locally called, and it was a prominent tributary of the Baspa.

A short stop for photographs a couple of sips of water, and we went on, being greeted by these two short, but extremely good looking mountain dogs. Initially, Prabhakar thought that they were sheepdogs, who looked friendly, but were ready to snap as we got closer, given that their only task was to guard their sheep, of which we could see none. As we proceeded to cross the flowing section of the glacier, slowly, step by step, trepidation as we walked across branches, finding our footing one step at a time, balancing our weight, one at a time, across the logs, in a total 'wtf' moment, these 2 dogs were just going back and forth multiple times. Amused enough, the only expression I wore, was the one that Wily E. Coyote has every time he's been foxed by Road Runner.

After braving the raging river tributary (read as 5-foot wide stream probably no more powerful than a good shower), we came across a little pond where apparently, Prabhakar and his friends, as kids, would play truant and run away to frolic around in, and of course. get into trouble for doing so. For us city slickers, all this way to play truant and jump into a pool, hmmm (cue Wily E. Coyote expression).

The dogs had now decided to join our little pack, and one of them bounded up the path ahead of us and stood atop a rock (think council/Akela's rock from Jungle Book), like some sort of Seer, and beckoned us along a path that we already knew we would take. We decided to name him Caramel.

This trek had now developed predictable character, every time you thought you couldn't climb any further up, some hidden route would emerge, and we'd go higher, and just as we were pumped up to climb, the trail descended.

During our next descent into a clearing (where I could totally imagine some secret council meetings happening, with lookouts posted at the only 3 or 4 access points to the clearing), we came across our first Himalayan Birch tree, the bark of which peels off naturally to provide a sort of parchment-like sheet of paper to write on.

The clearing, apart from the whole secret council feel, also looked like something straight out of a Tombraider or Uncharted game, with little water puddles here and there, that potential had hungry crocodiles waiting to chase you around. There were none, and I will not lie, it was truly a relief.

By now, Salt(the other dog, the female) had taken charge of guide duties, remaining with us while Caramel charged ahead and then sprinted back when he probably realised 'oh wait, not locals, dammit, fine, I'll sprint back, wheeeeee'. Stopping for another short breather and sipping break, we went through our next climb and descent (predictable right), and once again came out of the tree cover and into a clearing which was almost plain-like, but then, of course, rose steeply to a mountainside, and what was probably a tiny glacier. In what was obvious evidence of an avalanche, the trees ahead of us had been bent almost 90 degrees, and essentially looked like a whole ton of people who had just lifted something too heavy and were struggling to stand straight.

After braving another 'treacherous' stream crossing (yes, just about as treacherous as the previous one), we walked straight through some very sharp and thorny shrubbery. At this point, we learned that this was Prabhakar's first time on this trekking route, and so he was a bit lost, but not too badly. Another break ensued as he went to make a call (modern connectivity, what can I say).

From what seemed like a logical explanation, we learned that the lay of the land changes with every season due to the intense snow and rain experienced by the region for about 6 months of the year. Nevertheless, we backtracked a little, he found his marker, and we trudged on, quite literally, through some low trees, and eventually out into another clearing.

What lay ahead, was an awe-inspiring sight. Tall trees, gorgeous, intimidating, yet beckoning, and a little path going straight into the heart of them. A few deep breaths and gasps later, we walked on, and into the trees. About a hundred metres in, we found a nice little shaded spot by a cold mountain stream, where we sought to stretch, breathe, refill our water bottles, and prepare ourselves for what was to be the toughest of our, albeit a beginner's, intense trek.


We also learned that one dog loved dry fruits, and the other absolutely despised them and was happier drinking cold water.

The Trees (Day 2: Sangla)

With almost no sign of the poetry that played out the previous night, we woke up to this view, and as you can see, it was simply beautiful.

Much as I wasn't keen to pack up and roll out, because it was one of those places that you could just kick back and relax in, I managed to get myself to get on with it; and somewhere between sipping my morning glass of hot water, a shower, and a slightly creepy encounter with a large brown spider that looked like it was giving birth to a white ball of putty, I did get the job done.

Considering it had been way over 2 hours since I last ate, we had a long journey ahead of us, and that missing breakfast isn't really an option as far as I'm concerned, the four of us then loaded up on a nice and wholesome meal. In true 'me' fashion, I had carried my own coarse ground, 20 day supply of coffee (yes, it was a 12-day trip, but I was prepared for the eventuality that the people I was with were worth sharing my coffee rituals with), and a travelling french press mug. The hotel had an electric coffee filter so I just used that, and that already beautiful and sublime morning instantly became better by more than just a few notches (yes, I will always take the time for coffee-related details because, well, coffee is coffee, and there's a rampant ongoing love affair between coffee and me).

Bidding Thanedar adieu, we set off in our car, with our very good, but absolute twit of a driver who suddenly became the most brilliant local tour guide when either of the ladies asked him questions and was the source of so much random bullshit entertainment for the days that followed.

Our next stop, this time for 2 nights, was to be in Sangla Valley, at one of the more polished campsites, Kinner Camps.

As we proceeded deeper into the folds of the Himalayas, they literally rose up around us, engulfing us with their majestic, ancient, and everlasting presence. There were breathtaking views at literally every point, where one wanted to stop and take photographs.

The whole idea of capturing everything on camera was a new one to me. I've always thought of myself as a little stunted when it came to visual aesthetics, and I feel like I'm a lot more well-versed with things that have to do with the auditory senses; but on this trip, I was determined to visually capture what I could, and possibly write about it too, and it seems like I did decently on both fronts.
However, the reasoning behind me not being trigger happy with a camera in the past stands true till date: you simply CANNOT do justice to what the eyes see when you try to capture it on camera (and I'm not referring to the pros and junkies who literally travel with an entire store full of lenses and cameras with them).

Two initial stops, one for a quick bite (yes, two hours after the last meal), and the second while we were queued up, waiting for the HP roadworks to clear debris after they were done with some blasting. There was some serious roadwork happening throughout the region and we did traverse some pretty dicey looking roads. Needless to say, I was completely trigger happy, shooting every snow-capped mountain in the distance, and I'm not really sure how much of that footage actually made it to my trip archive.

Our main meal happened a little after what one would normally consider lunchtime, at a rickety little dhaba in a town called Tapri. The place looked like it would fall apart any second, served very basic food, but that meal had us ensnared, in its clutches, and by telling ourselves that we didn't know when we'd eat next, we went full-frontal assault on the unlimited thaali style meal. Eventually satiated, we did manage do get back into our car and plod on. From here on, the slightly straighter and simpler roads gave way to the more twisting, narrow, and rough mountain roads.

As we crossed JSWs gigantic hydroelectric plant at the confluence of the Baspa and Sutlej rivers, marked by the very sophisticated Karcham Wangtoo Dam, we took the right fork to Sangla Valley, and our destination, Seringche.

Driving down an extremely steep incline, we reached the campsite which was pretty much on the banks of the Baspa river. Greeted at the entrance by this grumpy old man, we checked in to our tents, and that 7-hour journey had us all wanting to stretch out and sip on some coffee.

My plan, however, was to head down to the riverside and sit on a bridge over the river Baspa (see what I did there) and marvel at the mountains, the sunset, listen to the flow of water underneath.

The reasonably dry day was more than amply made up for by the surroundings of the campsite. A few steps down and I was walking almost on the river bank itself, with tall, ancient fir trees lining the bank itself. Almost as it is with the mountains, these trees were high, in some cases gnarled and twisted, as if nothing at all could ever have hindered their growth, because nature always finds a way; and ancient in their own context, once again filled with stories, tales, and a very different and real take on how history, myths, and legends played out.



I walked quietly along the river bank towards a bridge that would take me to the other side. In a case of something that was quite the opposite to my norm: no trademark earphones were sitting in my ears, no music playing, no bobbing of my head to whatever the beat was, and however intense.
It was just me, walking, listening to the river flowing: quick, determined, unstoppable; and the light swishing of the trees every time the wind puffed or gusted through them. A bird made its presence known now and then, here and there, but each time I looked up, I didn't see anything.

Eventually, I reached a solid little bridge, spanning the width of the river, with prayer flags on it. The foliage cover was a lot wider now that I was literally in the centre of the river, and I felt the might of the mountains even more, as they rose up around me, behind the tall trees that were the immediate line of foliage. 








I turned to face the sun, already on its descent, casting the most amazing light on my surroundings, and bathing what I later found out was the rear side of the Kinner Kailash range, in a warm, engulfing, and absolutely stunning glow.

Sitting there, quietly, watching the sun go down, while the river flowed beneath me, there was a sense of calm, and peace, with everything else left behind. It was almost as if in a moment, I was saying, "Here, ten days, I'm yours now, show me the magic, show me the wonder, show me the beauty. Be kind and show me peace".

         

The night that followed was all about planning a trek the next day, a couple of drinks to go with the ambience, the customary bonfire, a good hot meal, and what would be a much needed night's rest to be fully ready for the morning trek.