Torrock to Langtang

The soft, tiny feet caressed my forehead briefly, causing me a minor discomfort, like a fleeting spider's web. In my sleep I reached out with my right hand to remove the obstruction. My fingers encountered furry flesh mounted on four legs planted squarely on my face. I opened my eyes and found a healthy rodent staring unblinkingly at me, its stiff wiry tail quivering slightly.

I must have uttered some kind of a sound for in a flash it sprinted across the supine forms of Mohan, Pawan, Pravin, Margaret, Violet and Franklyn who lay slumbering in their sleeping bags. I watched the rat disappear at one end of the mud hut on the floor of which we lay like parallel mummies. I decided this was as good a wake-up alarm as any and squirmed out of the folds of my sleeping bag to confront Day Three of our trek into the Langtang valley, north of Kathmandu. Our sleeping quarters comprised of one section of the tea shop in Dhunche where we had eaten our dinner the night before.

Mohan walks the plank to Dhunche!

Three years had elapsed since my last visit to Nepal ( see http://accidentaltrekker.blogspot.ca/2013/10/annapurna-sanctuary.html   ) and visions of its towering mountains and enchanted valleys had sustained my soul while I juggled the mundane tasks required to eke out a living. Finally, the day had arrived in October of 1983 when my wife Margaret and I stood on the railway platform at Bombay waving a brief farewell to Violet, Franklyn and Pravin as they squeezed themselves into the train bound for Patna in Bihar from where they would board the Indian Airlines flight to Kathmandu.

The rest of us would use our airline employee privileges to fly to Delhi and on to Kathmandu. Thirty years ago, the price of air travel was prohibitive, so our friends had chosen the cheapest sector (Patna - Kathmandu) to fly into the magic kingdom of Nepal.

Two days later we all regrouped at Kathmandu airport and bundled our luggage into two taxis.

"Where to, sir?" the driver wanted to know.

"Kathmandu Guest House in Thamel," I replied.

The driver looked at me, looked at my skin to make sure it was still brown, then said confidently,"They don't take Indians in that hotel". (This confirms my theory that the Nepalese invented racial profiling a full 18 years before Homeland Security in the USA!)

"They'd better take in these Indians," I told him. We had confirmed reservations which had arrived via old fashioned snail mail a couple of weeks before our departure for Kathmandu.

Thamel in 1983 was still hung over with the effects of the heady hippie days of the late sixties and early seventies and provided us with some interesting cuisine, including Buff (for buffalo) Steak at the Govinda cafe. Mohan, Pawan and Pravin rented Alpine Lowe backpacks from one of the many trekking goods suppliers in the market. Subsequently they would spend many happy hours during the trek packing and unpacking their voluminous sacks. Their probing fingers would produce a crackling, grating sound as they explored the remote corners of the huge plastic bags in which their sleeping bags and underwear had been packed. Underwear plays a significant part in this story, as you will see.

Our little shopping forays in the Thamel market were conducted in the company of our guide Bajraman Tamang whose next task was to arrange the transport to the small settlement of Trisuli Bazaar. He came in beaming one morning while we were enjoying the excellent breakfast of porridge and eggs in the homely courtyard of the Guest House.

"The torrock (truck) will be ready to leave tomorrow from the bus stand", he told us.

The journey to Trisuli Bazaar was delayed when a lorry spilled its cargo of grains and potatoes right across the road. We waited a long time for the obstruction to be cleared. We were understandably ravenous when the torrock halted at a roadside eatery at Ranipahwa where the humble fare comprised of freshly made rice and a spicy chicken curry. Inexplicably, the taste and memory of that meal still lingers in my memory after three decades!

The route from Dhunche to Lama Lodge

Our truck deposited us a little beyond Trisuli Bazaar where the road ended then. While the seven of us strapped on our rucksacks, our porters shouldered their loads and with Bajraman in the lead we crossed the little suspension bridge to where the trail to Langtang began. There was a check post at the end of the bridge and a friendly face popped out of a window.

"Indian?" the face asked. "Yes, yes, Indian," we all chorused as we waved cheerfully. With our nationality confirmed, we would not require a trekking permit; racial profiling sometimes works in your favour. Appearances, however, could be misleading. As Margaret passed under the window of the check post, her face was flushed red : the combined effect of the sun and a little uphill walk to the bridge. She is less brown than the rest of us and this made the guard suspicious.

"She is not Indian!" he yelled. "She is American, where is the trekking permit?"

Bajraman came to the rescue. He assured his compatriot that we were all bonafide citizens of India, whatever the appearances might suggest.

Barring this little hiccup, our walk up the Bhote Kosi river to Ramche and then to Dhunche was made pleasant by friendly folk living in a semi tropical terrain with only a distant hint of the high Himalaya whenever the snows of the Ganesh Himal were glimpsed briefly when the clouds parted.

We maintained our strict regimen of stopping at all the tea shops along the trail to imbibe the "cup that cheers but does not inebriate". We also stopped to bathe in gushing mountain streams, chat to locals and take many, many pictures.

Leaving the main valley of the Bhote Kosi after Dhunche, we descended steeply to cross the Trisuli Khola on a rickety bridge and walked for hours on end in a fine misty drizzle to finally spend the night in the village of Syabru. The next day's descent to the Langtang Khola finally plonked us firmly in the direction we were headed, which was east to Ghora Tabela and the higher ground beyond.

Route from Lama Lodge to Kyangjin

Lunch break for this couple.

At Ghora Tabela, we accompanied the innkeeper to his vegetable patch across the river where he harvested the biggest cabbage he could find for our dinner. Ghora Tabela is perched on the very edge of the upper Langtang, as the river plummets to the gorge below. One finally gets a sense of being in the vicinity of the high snows and glaciers after 2 days of trudging through damp forests where the probability of a leech attaching itself to one's anatomy must always elicit a cautionary response. This instinct must have induced Pawan to dry his underwear overnight on a rudimentary clothesline strung up between two trees at the Lama Hotel lodge. In the morning, when he was retrieving it, the cook's helper cast a covetous glance at the garment and made hand signs to Pavan indicating that he would be pleased accept it as a gift! The previous night this man had ladled out helpings of dal (lentil) from a bucket as we sat down for dinner: he was a cheerful soul, but clearly displaying signs of being the village idiot.

The one who coveted Pawan's underwear..

The vistas opened up beyond Ghora Tabela and fields of cultivation suddenly appeared as we approached the village of Langtang, dominated by the impressive backdrop of a hanging glacier suspended at the edge of a sweeping cliff of black rock. The fields were littered with sections of roof plucked off some of the houses by the wind which had recently swept through the village like a hurricane as a large section of glacier broke off and thundered down the vertical cliffs.

Langshisha Lodge in Langtang village

First view of the Lirung massif from Langtang

We spent a couple of nights at Kyangjin where the subject of underwear surfaced again, surreptitiously. A very large person slept next to us in the wooden lodge which housed trekkers from all over the world. This person was from Alaska but appeared to be of indeterminate sex.

"She is a woman!" Mohan announced triumphantly the next day.

"How can you be so sure?"

"I saw her drying her frilly undergarments outside."

If you are saying to yourself, "I thought people went to the mountains to meditate on the loftier things in life!" you'd be dead wrong. A lot of the conversation centres around the most basic functions of homo sapiens, very few of whom actually aspire to a higher plane of existence just because they happen to be at 15,000 feet!

Kyangjin Kharka to Yala Kharka

Our final goal was to reach Yala Peak, a splendid viewpoint at a little over 18,000 feet, promoted as a trekking destination. When we eventually camped near the yak herders' stone shelters at Yala Kharka below the peak, outerwear overtook underwear on our priority list as it began to snow. When the skies cleared a day later the views extended all the way east to the border with Tibet and one of the peaks in that great jumble of summits was the 8027 meter Gosainthan (also known as Shishapangma).

The torrock that had brought us on the first stage of our trip to the Langtang valley could wait.

Bajraman Tamang trudges up to Yala Peak ( 5520 m)

Dorje Lakhpa - 6973 m

Langtang Lirung - 7234 m

The glaciers around Langtang Lirung

Gangchenpo - 6387 m

Naya Kanga (5846 m) from Yala Kharka

Stone shelters at Yala Kharka

Tsergo Ri ( 4984m ), left, and Gangchenpo ( 6387m ) right, dominate the approach to Kyangjin

Annapurna Sanctuary

In today's commercial trekking business, the hike into the Annapurna Sanctuary in Nepal is one of many products you can buy. All you have to do is Tap an App on your Smart Phone, swipe your credit card and you are on a flight to Pokhara in Nepal! Not surprising, considering you can also sign up to climb the Seven Summits (the highest points on all the seven continents) at the click of a mouse.

Machapuchare (22,958 ft) from Annapurna Base Camp

But 33 years ago it was quite a different matter. Pokhara was almost as far as Pluto for some people like my friend Franklyn, whose only trip out of Maharashtra had been to Goa! He, and some other friends with whom I had been hiking around in the Sahyadri for two years, were infected with the idea after I returned from  my visit to the Sanctuary in May - June of 1979 with tales of the sheer bliss of trekking in that part of the Himalaya. I had gone ostensibly to climb Tharpa Chuli (18,575 ft. Also known as Tent Peak), a "trekking" peak inside the Sanctuary, with Asit Gokli and his friends. As it turned out, we were incarcerated at the Annapurna Base Camp by snowfall and wisely abandoned the idea.

Annapurna Base Camp, May 1979.

Booking our considerable baggage into the Brake Van at the tail end of the Bombay - Lucknow Express at Victoria Terminus, we settled down for the long journey, playing Scrabble to pass the time. A day later we were milling around on the platform at Lucknow railway station, waiting for someone to break the red wax seal on the lock that secured the Brake Van. Nothing happened for a long time. The train had disgorged all its passengers and now wore a forlorn look, like a discarded mistress whose utility had expired. We paced back and forth, the sun began to set beyond the minarets that pierced the sky beyond the station buildings. We were nervous, as we had to transfer to the metre gauge train to Gorakhpur, many platforms away.

Finally, a railway official in a black jacket appeared. We waited expectantly for him to break the seal and open the Brake Van carriage. Nothing happened. "Aren't you going to open the luggage compartment?" we asked him. "Oh no," he replied nonchalantly, "the train is going to the yard now and the Brake Van will be opened tomorrow."

"What!" we exclaimed, "but we have a train to catch to Gorakhpur and that is leaving in another 30 minutes!" Unmoved, he shook his head and began to walk away. Raghu followed him, pleading. It was like praying to a stone idol, with the same results. Finally, exasperated, the railway minion turned to us and said in Urdu, "You don't understand.....everything here is done with love." He used the term "Mohabbat", the courtly term which was perhaps the norm in Lucknow, home of the nawabs. As we trailed behind this man, the message finally sank in - what he needed was a bribe to open the seal and release our baggage! The monetary value of this railway "love" was quickly agreed upon, ten rupees exchanged hands, and we employed the porters who had been witness to it all to load our baggage onto a trolley and the whole entourage rushed to board the Gorakhpur Express.

Fortunately, no more of the love potion was required at Gorakhpur to extricate our kit bags as we arrived at this town early in the morning. A bus journey brought us to the border town of Nautanwa where we crossed over into Nepal, our rucksacks and kit bags piled high on a couple of cycle rickshaws. Both the Indian and the Nepalese border officials provided us with some light entertainment as they questioned our intentions. We finally emerged into the October sunshine in Nepal and squeezed ourselves into a public bus that would groan over the the foothills for the next 8 hours and deliver us to Pokhara, where our trek into the Annapurna Sanctuary would begin.

Boats on Phewa Tal

Machapuchare (left) and Lamjung Himal from Pokhara

On a clear day, Annapurna (on the right) is visible from Pokhara

Pokhara is surely one of the most spectacular towns in the world: where else can you gaze at the summit of a peak of over 26,000 feet from the lush tropical world barely 3000 feet above sea level? I was thrilled to be back here in a little over a year. It was the perfect place to recover from the rigours of our overland journey from Bombay. In between preparing for our hike into the mountains, we enjoyed the boating on Phewa Tal, the lake with a host of excellent eateries lining one side of it.

Franklyn (left), Raghu (squatting), Margaret, Kerman and Dianne pose at the start of the trek with our porters and guide Man Prasad Gurung (hands in pocket).

Franklyn (right) and I cross a stream beyond Suikhet, before the climb up to Dhampus.

The first day's walk was level to Suikhet, where we promptly sat down to eat lunch. It consisted of a deliciously hot and spicy curry made with fresh and tiny fish the size of a thumbnail, accompanied by steaming rice and lentils. This would be our routine for the next couple of days: stopping at all the tea shops along the way, then enjoying a dal-bhat lunch (sometimes supplemented by potato and vegetable curries) which would slow down our subsequent march considerably, and arriving at our next halt many hours after the European trekkers who overtook us, fuelled solely by all kinds of Trail Mix ( in those days we had not even heard of the term!), and whose fear of catching some debilitating bug kept them away from the local cuisine.

Looking forward to a hot lunch!

A steep climb after Suikhet to the ridge where the village of Dhampus was located took us quite by surprise. I rested my rucksack on the stone platform to catch my breath. Very soon I was joined by a gentleman in his fifties who nonchalantly lowered a sack of Portland cement to the ground, pulled out a bidi from the folds of his clothing and lit up a smoke. The sack weighed 50 kilos but apparently it made no difference to this man. As we chatted, he told me about his life as a soldier in the Gurkha regiment of the British Army. He had served in Singapore, Malaysia and Hong Kong, had retired and was now hauling the bag of cement to Ghandrung, his village, for some construction work that he had planned. As I staggered to my feet with my relatively puny load, he hefted his sack, bade me a cheerful farewell, and almost sprinted up the trail.

Machapuchare from Dhampus. The north summit at the back is the higher of the two.

Dhampus provided a great night halt, with its dramatic close-up view of Machapuchare, the elegant peak which dominates the Pokhara region. We were thus little prepared for the descent the next day to Landrung and then again the steep ascent to Ghandrung. But the Fishtail Lodge provided us with a wonderful night's rest. While we were admiring the rising sun's slow transformation of the snow fields high up on Machapuchare, the morning idyll was shattered by a scream emanating from the outhouse at the corner of the field. Madhu emerged from the makeshift stone structure, blood dripping from his inner thighs, his cigarette still dangling from his lips as he announced, "I think I've got my period!" Madhusudhan, a chartered accountant by profession, had a weird sense of humour. Of course it was the work of a couple of leeches who had attached themselves to his limbs while he was absorbed in matters more urgent...

Waterfall in the Modi Khola

Dianne (foreground) and Margaret emerge into the sunlight below Machapuchare Base Camp

Our next dose of excitement would come a couple of days later as we finally emerged from the confines of the Modi Khola gorge and into the ablation valley which borders the South Annapurna Glacier. It had been a tiring day and we were about to pitch our tents on the first bit of level ground that we found when a very tall man who was camped with two of his buddies about thirty yards away approached us. At first he appeared very civil, but the moment our porters began to unburden themselves of their loads and began to pitch our tents, something snapped.

"You can't camp here!" he yelled. "We were here first, this is our space, we need our privacy! We have been humping huge loads for the last couple of days, unlike you wimps who have porters with you. Go and camp somewhere else!" He had a strong American accent. He began to bounce around on his feet, flailing his arms and looking as if he would punch me in the face.

After I had recovered from the shock, I told him calmly,"Listen my friend, this  spot does not belong to you and we are not in your way. And do try and remember that our porters have first claim to this land if you want to argue on the subject. Both you and I are foreigners on their turf and it would be well for you to keep that in mind."

The porters, who were watching and listening to this exchange, were incensed at his behaviour and ready to tackle the obnoxious man.  It was getting dark and cold and it was certainly not the best time to ignite an international incident. We moved a few token feet away and camped while the angry man's friends calmed him down. It was indeed a very sad incident, the like of which I had never before nor since encountered. I wonder how he would react in today's crowded world of mass trekking on the popular trails?

Annapurna South (also known as Ganesh), 7218 m / 23,675 ft dominates the area designated as the Machapuchare Base Camp on most maps, the place we camped on the first night.

The splendour of the sunrise the next morning, briefly tinting the snows of Annapurna to a burnished gold helped to banish the memory of the evening before and very soon we were on our way up the  valley to finally camp at what has traditionally come to be known as the Annapurna Base Camp, at approximately 13,500 ft.

Annapurna Base Camp

Map from the Alpine Journal 1971. Peak heights in metres.

The Annapurna Sanctuary totally lives up to the hype. The 10,000 ft south face of Annapurna is a glittering curtain of ice, rock, snow, gullies and ridges. Having read Chris Bonnington's "Annapurna South Face", I was excited to see it up close. I had tucked a copy of the book into my rucksack so I could reread and relive the story of the first major Himalayan wall to be climbed, ten years earlier in 1970.

A link to a short clip of the 1970 film about the climb : http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uCn_NvXWgDg

The 10,000 ft south face of Annapurna I (26,545 ft / 8091 m), 10th highest peak in the world. This photo was taken from the lower talus slopes of Hiunchuli.

We spent a total of ten days in the Sanctuary, exploring the slopes below Hiunchuli, walking about and crossing the glacier to the other side as well to the base of Tharpa Chuli. We made friends with a group of warm and friendly Polish climbers, a couple of English girls, and people from other parts of the world and soon the unsavoury experience of our first evening in the Sanctuary was a thing of the past.

Tharpa Chuli (Tent Peak), 5663 m / 18,575 ft.

Singu Chuli (Fluted Peak),  6501 m / 21,323 ft

Annapurna III ( 24,858 ft ), seen here from the Modi Khola

Autumn was slowly but surely moving in, turning the grass yellow and the forests of the Modi Khola gorge were beginning to wear patches of russet and brown as we walked out of the Sanctuary. We passed a group of seniors on their way up and were quite impressed when an old lady refused Margaret's help to negotiate a slippery, rocky section of the trail. "Oh I can do this on my own, thank you very much!" she said, as we slithered down past her and her group. Thirty three years ago we personally did not know many Indians past the age of 65 who would have chosen to trek to the Annapurna Sanctuary!

Hungarian lady with her guide

That same day we passed another woman on her way up with a solitary guide-cum-porter. We stopped to chat and she told us she was from Budapest and she was 62 years old. Her guide did not seem to be carrying much baggage. "I do not have a tent," she told us cheerfully. "I will sleep under a boulder in my sleeping bag". We wished her well, shook our heads in admiration, and continued on down.

The owner  (second from left) of the Hiunchuli Lodge at Chomrong poses with us as we leave his establishment.

The mountains from Chandrakot

After Ghandrung we changed our route slightly to descend via Chandrakot and Naudanda to Pokhara, enjoying the warmth of the paddy fields as they ripened in the late October sun. The villagers would be reaping the harvest soon while we would be dreaming of the bounty of Annapurna and her sisters as the winter snows would slowly but surely shut down the trails.

As a contrast to three decades ago, it is interesting to see the changes time has wrought on the Annapurna trek, illustrated by the links below:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lNxmKfM1sd0  BBC documentary hosted by Michael Palin

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KgqaZRCcJl4  French team spends 2 months without climbing the South Face of Annapurna!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8MX1Tn5sOpM Trek in 2011

Recommended Reading :

Climbing the Fish's Tail by Wilfrid Noyce - A fascinating account of the first attempt to climb Machapuchare                                                                   in 1957

Annapurna South Face by Chris Bonnington - A landmark in the history of mountaineering.

Both books available at http://www.pilgrimsbooks.com/outdoors_adventure.html#anchor407426

Across the Jalsu

"Uncle! Uncle!", the shouts were shrill and loud and full of excitement. I glanced up the trail and saw the kids swarming around a large boulder embedded into the grassy slope. One of our guides was with them and he was poking around in a small crevice in the rock with a twig.

"We have discovered a new species of snake.....! Come take a picture and send it to National Geographic!" I knew I was in trouble: a couple of days earlier I had confidently stated to them that serpents were rare in the higher altitudes of the Himalaya and if they actually did find one they might be rewarded by some elite international organisation like the Smithsonian Institute for their discovery.

We were a couple of kilometres above Hadsar on our way back from Duggi. I scrambled up the slope, asked them to step aside and began to probe the shadowy depths of the crevice inside which the snake was ensconced. After a few attempts, and helped by the curiosity of the reptile, my lens picked up an image. The children cheered. We left the nervous snake to its sinuous adjustments and resumed our journey.

But the topic was not yet closed. Gavin walked beside me and asked very earnestly,"Uncle, how much money do you think National Geographic would be willing to pay for this picture of a newly discovered snake?" The question threw me off, but I hazarded a guess anyway, "I'd say $ 10,000 at least!" I was going by the lavish production qualities of the magazine and its international standing.

"How much would that be in rupees?" Gavin wanted to know. When I converted the money into the then prevailing exchange rate, the kids let out whoops of joy. "We'll be rich!" they shouted and went prancing down the trail.

Alas, we had not really discovered a new serpent on the planet, so the children had to be content with the ten rupees that they charged us for putting up an impromptu play that evening when we reached Hadsar! While everyone took the next day off I set off on the trail to Manimaheshwar lake. The trail was well signposted, with helpful distance markers and even more helpful exhortations for the faltering pilgrim!

"There is strength in devotion"

"The Almighty's Mill turns slowly but grinds very fine"

In spite of the signs, I did not quite make it up to the lake, but had to turn around at the spot ravaged by the passage of hundreds of pilgrims who make the annual pilgrimage to the lake. I could see the trail snaking up to the ridge behind which lay the sacred waters. There were permanent platforms which had been carved into the slopes to accommodate temporary shelters and tea stalls.

Turning my eyes to the ground, I found relief : there were wildflowers everywhere, and my ears were soothed by the reassuring sound of waterfalls cascading over rock.

That evening's entertainment at Hadsar was organised by the kids : they put up an impromptu skit for which they extracted a princely fee of ten rupees from us. Some of that income was used to buy bidis (a cigarette made from the tendu leaf) from a little shop and I caught them smoking and coughing and giggling all at the same time as they tried this new experience! I wondered what they would have done with the big bucks from National Geographic if we had really discovered a new species of snake!

The cast exits the stage! L to R : Tim, Gavin, Sanal, Adele.

The plot, as I recall, revolved around an itinerant street entertainer with his performing monkey and it was conceived and directed by Adele, who has since gone on to make theatre her profession in Canada!

After this performance, we were ready to move on to Phase II of our trek : to hike over the Jalsu Pass ( 3600 m / 11,800 ft ). We had a jeep drop us off at the small village of Deol in the main Ravi valley  where we spent the night in a room kindly offered to us by a lady who owned a little shop on the road. She absolutely refused any form of payment for her kindness. This form of universal generosity that characterises most of the hill people is what draws me back again and again to the Himalaya - the old fashioned values which are not governed by filthy lucre!

At Deol, we spent the night in the house on the right

The walk from Deol to Surai was quite pleasant, many times in the company of shepherds and their flocks and it was enlivened by a steep climb up to a ridge before dropping down again. The evening's entertainment was provided by Franklyn's sleeping bag rolling off the hillside as we unpacked to set up camp. Fortunately for him, it came to a stop just above a raging torrent and could be retrieved.

Trail between Deol and Surai

The camp at Surai

Tim finds the spotlight at Surai...

Adele became my faithful camera assistant after my near fatal fall at the Yara Got campsite -  http://accidentaltrekker.blogspot.ca/2012/08/life-begins-at-10000-feet.html . She cheerfully carried my spare lenses while I hiked with one arm in a sling. The team made it to the Jalsu Pass and we posed for the mandatory photos before beginning the long descent on the south. Gavin left his camera on the pass and hurried down the trail. Hours later, and a couple of thousand feet lower, he realised his loss and was thrown into a panic. He was sure his parents would chastise him for the loss and he was ready to climb back up the slopes to retrieve it. He had started back up the trail when we stopped him - I pulled out the camera from one of the pockets on my backpack and handed it to him: the sense of relief on his face was quite something to see!

Approaching Jalsu Pass

Climbing up to the pass

Mandatory photo on Jalsu Pass
Standing L to R : Margaret, Franklyn , Aloke and our two guides
Sitting L to R : Adele, Sanal, Gavin, Timothy

I sensed an immediate change in the environment : the cool dry air of the northern pastures gave way to the rather more moist air on the southern slopes of these hills. The soft, pale lighter shades of rhododendron changed to  saturated crimson and a tropical  green began to overshadow the alpine shades. We found a great swimming hole later in the afternoon and a dip in the cool waters refreshed our bodies and our hearts.

We camped on a field at Parai where the only tea shop served up fresh eggs while the children amused themselves by chasing the chickens down the rutted path outside.

More excitement followed the next evening at Uttarala where we foolishly pitched our tents, on the advice (which we should have ignored) of our guides, right below the head wall of a concrete dam holding back millions of gallons of water in a reservoir upstream: I dread to think about the consequences if there had been an earth tremor or quake......

As if camping in harm's way was not enough, the boys decided to hide the little steel tumbler containing the caretaker's chai while he was busy explaining the controls of the dam machinery to Franklyn and me. When the man discovered his loss, he was incensed and chased the kids right down the walkway on the dam wall! Profuse apologies later, we managed to redeem both the tumbler and the situation and grounded the lads in their tents. Adele came into our tent later to mediate on their behalf. More impressed by her negotiating skills than the lack of remorse on the part of the guilty, we agreed to lift the curfew with some clauses attached!

Thus ended a memorable mountain holiday. All that was left was to walk down the road and hop into a bus and then make our way back to Bhagsu, above McLeodganj. Bhagsu was home to Narendra, a mountain guide and climbing instructor I had come to know during an expedition 8 months earlier in the Kumaon Himalaya. He invited us for a simple but sumptuous dinner prepared for us by his wife and we were pleased to meet with his family.

Narendra and his family

The mandatory visit to the monastery at McLeodganj followed. Unfortunately, the Dalai Lama was away at the time but we did get a sense of how a government in exile has functioned successfully for over 50 years and how a people displaced from their homeland in the high mountain plateau of Tibet have coped in a host community.

With a heartfelt Om Mane Padme Hum ("Hail to the Jewel in the Lotus") we bid farewell to the mountains.

Adele and Franklyn cross a stream after descending the Jalsu Pass

Margaret stops to chat with a Gaddi woman

The Good Shepherd ensuring his little lambs don't get wet!

All creatures great and small sleeping the sleep of the just!

Butterfly spotted between Duggi and Kugti village