Heaven, Hell and Back - a Trek Diary

Introduction

Don’t be fooled by the smiling faces in the photographs. Smiling when faced with a camera is a conditioned response that we have learned in all these years of living. Time will gradually erode and erase the harsher memories, leaving just these fake smiles in its wake. We are already witnessing rose tinted observations about the whole episode from my colleagues. So before time ‘obliviates’ me too, I must pen down my journal.

Just the way the Great War (the First World War) was a ‘war to end all wars’, this was a ‘trek to end all treks’ – for too long, Saturdays had been murdered on the altars of arbitrary ‘short treks’. So, despite it being a daunting task, one took it in the spirit of good riddance. Just how wrong could one be!

Run through

Two days in advance of the departure, the motley crew met. Hardly anyone knew anyone else, but everybody knew that they better knew everyone better, because it would decide, for better or worse, whether their coming week would be better or worse than anyone else’s.

One day in advance, the whole swarm descended on the Mussoorie town like a plague of locusts, cleaning out the shops of chocolates, medicines, sunscreens, snake oil, anything that would help one survive. The shopkeepers had a rocking time – one was able to pass off pathetic Nixon market shoes as trekking boots, at two grands ! The crowd outside his shop was a sight to behold. On return from the town, it was a race against the time to get everything packed well, while at the same time being mindful of the fact that the load was to be borne by one’s own backbone. Never was there a more straightforward problem of optimization put up to an engineer. It took its toll in time, and it was a pretty late sleep.

On the day of the departure, we rose early and came to know of the enormity of the task, while lugging the rucksack to the boarding point. The departure was smooth. The road too was smooth, till we exited the Municipal limits and started on the Surkunda – Dhanaulti route. As the road went from smooth to patchy, to rough and finally to non-existent, we discovered that the bus had no suspension to speak of. Then on, it was a desperate battle by the soul to cling on to the body, as the bus tried with all its might to shake it off. We passed the legendary Tehri lake and the new town – the lake was a beautiful sight, at least to us outsiders. We dined at Uttarkashi, the district headquarters of the various venues of our trials and tribulations for the next week. We continued with the jarring bus ride through the afternoon – when temperatures dropped in the evening, we sang our way through. We touched Harshil town by around 7:30, and there was another lugging of rucksacks to the rest house on the other bank of the Bhagirathi.

In retrospect, it was one of the most beautiful places we went to. Decently sized rooms, good facilities, a green backyard, a rushing Bhagirathi just beyond the fence. It would have been nice to stay there for a couple of days, but unfortunately, that was not meant to be. So after a sputtering attempt to start a round of dumb charades, followed by a nice hot meal, we had to sleep, to rise early in the morning and take the bus to Gangotri. It was the last ‘town’ on the journey, and we set off on foot for Bhojwasa, somewhere between 14 to 16 km uphill. For reasons innumerable, we discovered that from 10 in the morning to 5 in the evening, we could cover only the first 9 kilometres. Hence, after a very expensive tea halt at Cheedwasa, we had to trek under torch and moonlight, on a very rocky and treacherous terrain, much to the amazement and horror of Group 3, which had already appreciated the difficulty of the terrain in broad daylight. It was lucky that under threat of a freezing death or a breaking fall, the group suddenly discovered its adrenaline reserves. We moved in a train, and reached destination around 8 or so. It was a matter of minutes before the belongings were flung into a freezing tent, and we went on to dine and sleep off.

On the ascent towards Gaumukh, hypoxia hit with all its viciousness. So it was a pleasant rest at Bhojwasa, and when the hardier souls returned, we had quite a time doing just plain old heart to heart. The descent to Gangotri the next day was largely uneventful, except for the fact that we had been cleaned out of all our money by the hefty bill at Bhojwasa, and our night halt for the present day had been washed out in the flash floods. So we steered our bus to Uttarkashi town. To make matters worse, all ATM’s were out, and all impending bills appeared unpayable. It was the sheer genius of our mates that they found a small place which put us up at 100 bucks apiece. Then we wandered across the town to get some supper. Many were in the favour of giving up. The next morning, a sequestered ATM had to be forced open before time, and thus the cash problem was solved.

For the next three days it was one continuous climb from 1000 m to 4200 m. Since flashfloods had also wiped out our drop spot, we had to trek 8 extra kilometres, followed by a steep climb of 5 more, which, at one point, saw us dangling from tree branches to avoid putting our weight on sliding hill face, to get to the forest rest house at Agora(~2000m). Nothing special about the place, except that it was beautiful, and very small – 5 of us, yours truly included, had to spread the sleeping bags in the porch. Next day, early morning, after some of best aloo pranthas in the world had been devoured, we resumed on a 17 km climb to Dodital(~3000m), known by some to be the birthplace of Lord Ganesha. This was supposed to be easy, but since we had been told it was easy, we did not find it so. Still, we had enough time to click pictures on the banks of the Dodital, enjoy hot Maggi, dance around a bonfire and play another round of dumb charades. It got really freezing by the night, and we bid an early nightout.

The next was the D-Day of the trek – the assault on Dharwadhar. We had been told it would be tough, so we were thinking we were mentally prepared for it. Some logistics troubles delayed our start from 6 am to 7:15 am. And then it hit us.

The amazing thing about this trek was the sheer suddenness with which the troubles began – we were walking on the rocky river bed, and suddenly came these huge rocks, which we had to cross, climbing on all fours, descending gingerly, and repeating the same. Many slipped and got drenched in icy cold river water. After about an hour or so, this rocky nightmare was over. It was then that we hit the steep ascent. Just mind numbing, interminable climb at more than 60 degrees. This went on for 4 hours. We lost time because one mate lost the use of his knees. One of the doctors in the group had to fabricate an exoskeleton out of wood for his benefit – luckily I had my swiss knife at hand. Then the poor fellow had to be dragged along for a while before the mules could be arranged for him to ride on. It was only by noon that we reached the top of the ridge – our lunch, pooris, had turned into razors in the dry cold. From then on, it was a series of ascents and descents on smooth, treeless grasslands. In another location, it would have been a walk in the park. At an elevation of 4200-4300 m, people were doubling over with hypoxia. I was lucky to avoid it, since I had been knocked flat at even lesser altitude. This went on till the sun was ready to go down. It was then that we saw ‘the camp’ – a couple of tents on a very distant hill. It did give some strength to the weary limbs, and our pace quickened. However, 2 hrs later, after sundown, we were still nowhere near the camp. Radio contact was made with the camp people, who were equally clueless. The rarefied air and the complete absence of electricity made the night sky a lot more vivid. For the first time in 8 yrs, I saw the Milky Way clearly, and we were able to recognize many constellations. Unfortunately, as it always had been during this trek, we had no time for aesthetic appreciation. The ‘rescue party’ (a few cooks from the camp who were just pissed off to be there and were in a hurry to get back) had arrived, and had informed that we were 3 hrs away from the camp. If there was a worse time to spread a rumour like that, I am yet to learn of it. All order broke down, and in complete neglect of the disabled / slow movers, all started charging on. This was egged on by the ‘rescue party’, who were just itching to return. I stumbled on one of the stones, rolled off the ledge like path, down the slope, which, luckily for me, was getting less steep as it went down, so neither the torch nor the bones were broken. So, each man for himself, with my torch lit, I pushed on, on threes, to catch up with the galloping hordes ahead. Then came the final descent. It was the most treacherous of all the stretches we had done till now – stones and rocks that gave way under weight, loose earth that slipped treacherously, smooth rock faces with a sprinkling of loose sand, low hanging tree branches, and scary beasts. Worst of all, it was night, and there was no moon in the sky to aid us like the night at Bhojwasa, and many did not carry their torches too. Under this pressure, a semblance of order returned, and mini trains were formed, 3 or 4 in a sequence, the pioneer testing the terrain and moving on, the torch bearer remaining at the back, illuminating the path of all in front. It was around 40 minutes of sheer terror – there was a very high probability of serious bodily damage, if not outright death. There was a lot of stumbling and slipping, a lot of falls. Nerves got frayed. Choicest expletives were hurled in the honour of the people who were believed to have put us in the situation. There was a lot of sniping between team mates. Again, as it all had started, it ended, suddenly – the rocky chute ended in plain, smooth grasslands, with the camp visible at the far end. If I had been the dramatic type, this would have been similar to the moment when Edmond Dantes hit the shoreline after swimming from Chateau d’if – a silent prayer on the knees. The camp was freezing and overcrowded, but then, it had a fire, and the food was excellent. Best of all, what we had endured in the last 2-3 hours was over forever. A few scores were settled verbally over the campfire, and then it all mellowed down, and soon we were packed in the tent like sardines in a tin, sleeping as peacefully as we’d do on a kingsize bed.

After what we had endured last night, the descent to Hanumanchatti (13-14 km) was a breeze. Our exploits of the night had got us famous. Group 3 members commented on how after they felt pretty smug on crossing some of the most treacherous stretches, we wiped their smugness away by doing the same at night! One member of the staff was overheard describing us as ‘the special group which is always getting lost’. We did live up to our reputation that evening – on return from Yamunotri ( 5 km uphill done in the afternoon), we again managed to do a torchlight trek. For some strange reason, all the lamps lining the route were out. And some of our group mates managed to find a panther on the way! Many people were really thankful it all ended the next  day, many more than would care to admit now.

The price of armchair planning

What struck us the most was the sheer datedness of the planning. Many of the routes and halts had been washed away in the recent flashfloods – but the planners did not have a clue – leading to a lot on the spot diversions and improvisations, which usually meant extra trekking on an uncomfortably tight schedule. They can always claim that this was a test. Then there was the lack of preparedness for dealing with medical emergencies. When the ‘poor guy’ lost his knees, we were totally clueless and stalled. It was lucky that the chaos of that evening did not descend on us in the morning itself – or he may have been left to freeze on the slopes itself. A satellite phone would have been really appreciated, for being able to convey about this type of situation to a competent entity. Again, they can always claim this was a test. Finally, the briefing advice about taking less cash – we were promised food at 20 bucks and bed at 100 bucks. What we actually found out was 40 gram Maggi at 60 rupees, bottles of water at 75 rupees. At Bhojwasa, the bill was Rs.32000. It was joked on how such a bill could be raised without meat or booze, but there it was – and not wrongly so – these places are totally inaccessible by vehicles, and mule packs take half a day to get there. Anything had to pricey there. We had wiped out our cash by day 3, and then we had to do a lot of things to get cash at Uttarkashi, which included pulling rank on a bank manager! Again, this can be claimed to be a test. In that case, I must congratulate all of us on clearing yet another daunting stage of the CSE.

The 'vectorial' mountains
Another funny thing was the strange geometrical shenanigans the mountains played on us. On the climb to Bhojwasa, I remember asking a local how far Cheedwasa was, and he had told it was 2 km. After an hour or so of walking, and still no Cheedwasa, or any wasa in sight, I asked another person – pat came the reply – 3 km. This was a phenomenon that puzzled, vexed and later amused all of us. Distances just did not seem to add up, or subtract – you may be ‘6 kms’ from the destination at a moment, and ‘8 km’ from it after an hour of walking. It looked as if the hill people simply did not have an idea of the metric system of length! Another frequent reply was – “Bas, yahin pe hai” (It’s just round the corner ), which turned out to be ‘2-3 hrs of trekking’ away. Of course, in our free time, we had a lot of laugh on this. Many faux theories were passed around explaining this, including ‘worm holes’. Finally, we settled for vectorial explanation – where 3 + 3 can range from 6 to 0!

The mule

On these hills we discovered that of the whole equine family, the horse has been wrongly romanticised a lot. For what has a horse led to – wars & speed junkies. The real champion is the lowly mule – the khachchar. An offspring of the horse and the ass, it is the lifeblood of the mountains. Whatever little of modern amenities reaches these hell-holes reaches there on the sturdy backs of these quiet beasts. I really wonder if any other animal has such a rotten life. Climbing the bouldery and slippery paths, on hooves, no less, bearing quintals of load, day in and day out. Being sterile, it does not have access even to conjugal pleasures! Just a chomp off the grass and shrubbery here and there is all that’s good in its life. I salute thee, o mule.

The equality of the sexes

If anybody had any doubt on the equality of the sexes, it should have been wiped clear during this week. The contingent had 6 ladies. They matched the ‘gentlemen’, step for step, joke for joke, song for song, wit for wit, climb for climb, kilos on the back for kilos on the back (or they may have even surpassed us there, as they seemed to carry everything that was needed!). And they did not ‘be girly and delicate’ – in hardships, all inhibitions were gradually dropped – the loos were shared at Bhowasa, and we all had to ‘rough it out’ unabashedly. And despite all that, they managed to remain all cheerful. While the ‘gentlemen’ shed all signs of gentility in a day or two, they continued to remain all radiant and pretty – the oases of beauty in the bleak landscape! Before one of the men was immobilized by the knee failure, all the ailments and physical ills seemed to have struck our ladies alone. One developed serious hypoxia and one sprouted blisters, a couple every day! Yet, never did we feel ‘slowed down’ on their account. After this week, I have no doubt on the ability of women to serve in the combat forces.

The judgement

So how would I judge this whole episode of my life. Not favourably. I would beg to disagree with most of my mates, who seem to have put on rose tinted glasses on return. I would like to remind them of the night of 5^th October, when they had nearly met their maker. Did we have fun? Yes, we did  – but we might have had more of it sitting on a beach! Did we build camaraderie and esprit de corps? Yes, but only in those few waking hours when we were not trudging up like mules? Did we ‘get fit’? I doubt that – the climb from hostel to classes is still as daunting. Was it all brave, heroic and adrenaline charged? Yes, it was – but so was ‘the charge of the light brigade’ at the battle of Balaclava. Make no mistake – one had volunteered to join the armed forces straight after the school, and may have been there, but for some medical disqualifications. So one is willing to die for a cause decent enough. What one would hate is to die, on someone else’s compulsion, in vain. The famous quote from ‘A Wednesday’ comes to my mind – “Koi m******* button dabake mere liye ye faisla nahi karega ki mujhe kab marna hai”(No 'personal maternal expletive omitted' should decide the time of my death for me  by pressing a button) With this, I lay my keys to rest for now.