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