Note: Don’t forget to read the prequels to this: Trek Tales #1 and Trek Tales #2!
In 2009, one of the greatest poets of our times, Eminem, had said:
Be Careful What You Wish For
'Cause you just might get it
And if you get it then you just might not know
What to do wit' it, 'cause it might just
Come back on you ten-fold
I couldn’t agree more.
As I have recounted in an earlier edition of this newsletter, until February of this year I had never seen snow and was desperate to experience it. Fast forward a few weeks and I found myself cursing its very existence. Being stuck on a snowclad mountainside in the middle of a snowstorm when you’re tired, hungry and not averse to dying if it means getting to warm your feet in the fires of Hell, can have that effect.
The trudge back from OG Kuari Pass was torture. The weather showed no signs of improving and the snowfall steadily increased. The mountains we’d seen crammed into the horizon on our way up, were now wholly obscured by a wall of grey clouds.
The return leg to camp was all downhill but the snowfield had become icy quicksand. Every few steps, we would sink into the snow, sometimes waist-deep, and it took monumental effort to haul ourselves back to our feet. Also, this ungainly walk-fall-rise-fall-walk routine had to be conducted without straying too far from the narrow path marked by our guide. The snow hid boulders and crevasses underneath, and falling through the snow into a crevasse would be much worse than our comical, but largely pain-free, floundering through the assigned route.
By the time the six of us reached camp, it was late evening. The eagle-eyed reader may be wondering about the sixth member of our party. Let me introduce, the rather unimaginatively named, Blackie:
Blackie had joined us on our first evening on the trail. He had sauntered into our campsite, frolicked in the snow for a bit, posed for a few pictures and then made himself comfortable next to our tent. We had assumed Blackie would be more interested in hanging around the campsite (and the varied feeding opportunities it provided) but he was no fair-weather friend. He accompanied us to Kuari Pass, through the snow, wind and rain. The only time he seemed to have misgivings about us was when our guide had unsheathed the ice-axe, but one can hardly blame him. Let’s say you meet somebody at a party who seems nice and personable. You’re engaged in pleasant conversation with them, perhaps explaining why you do not care about Alia and Ranbir’s wedding and wish people would stop talking about it. Suddenly, this person pulls out an axe and starts hacking at the ground, without a word of explanation. Would you politely enquire if they were pretending to be Ranbir at a wedding? Or would you quietly, but swiftly, take a few steps back to position yourself outside their arms’ reach? Once our guide had put away the ice-axe, Blackie had deemed it safe to engage with us again. A dog without this keen sense of self-preservation could hardly survive in the wilderness.
I had always fancied myself as someone who would be comfortable in the rugged outdoors. As a man of limited needs, I’d thought I would thrive in nature. It took less than 36 hours of camping for me to realise the value of: a hot water bath, fresh clothes, dry blankets, a room heater and a decent mattress. Not quite a man of limited needs, after all.
The inclement weather had forced a change in our schedule. Our original plan had been to make a push for Pangarchulla Peak on Day 4, but our guide felt it would be better to wait for a day and let the storm pass. To be honest, this was a blessing in disguise as it gave us a day to recuperate before another long, gruelling day of hiking. I was probably at the lowest point, mentally and physically, at the end of Day 3. Hiking 11 kms over more than 8 hours had left me exhausted and being cold, and wet, and windswept, didn’t help. The only positive thing to have happened that day was our trek guide grading me an A on “snow walking technique”. (Shouvik got a D minus.)
Wearing all available dry clothes to keep us warm, we zipped ourselves into our sleeping bags and just wanted the day to end. I was on the edges of sleep, fitful but welcome, when a howling pierced my soul and prised my eyes open. Blackie was inches away from my head, just outside the tent, exercising his vocal chords with gusto. I do not know what had set him off but he seemed to be in the middle of a duet with his echo. He would howl-bark at the top of his lungs for a few seconds and pause. The mountains and valleys surrounding our campsite would echo his efforts back at him, at a volume only slightly diminished. Thus encouraged, he would belt out another verse. We had become very fond of Blackie but at that moment - I will not lie - dark thoughts started entering our weary, sleep-deprived minds. It was only our aversion to stepping out of the tent into sub-zero temperature that stayed our hands, and finally, Blackie wore himself out and we drifted off to sleep.
We woke up, on Day 4, to a different world. The replenished snowbanks around our camp bore witness to the storm of the previous night. Even our tents were lined with frost. But the sky was the clearest shade of blue, with a smattering of wispy, cottony clouds. Taking advantage of the sun being out, we decided to dry our damp clothes by arranging them on the boulders around us. Unfortunately, the boulders we wanted to use as clothes racks1 had previously been used as manure sites by, based on the samples available, goats. Yet again, we had a difficult choice in front of us. Would we rather wear damp clothes untainted by goat poo or dry clothes gently brushed with it? We chose the latter. We had not showered for 3 days so a little bit of manure was not going to make much difference.
There wasn’t much for us to do on Day 4. We ate, whiled away our time, tried to sleep (and failed), and generally pottered around waiting for the day to end. The only noteworthy occurrence was Blackie’s sudden disappearance and seamless replacement by Brownie. Thankfully, Brownie was not given to singing duets with his echo.
We went to sleep quite early as we’d planned to start our summit push to Pangarchulla Peak at 2AM. The plan was to cover most of the ground while the ice remained solid. Once the sun got too high, the ice would start melting and make walking more difficult.
It was going to be a 13-14-hour long day of trekking. I had prepared myself for a taxing day but nothing could have prepared me for what happened in the early hours of morning. We had to - my fingers still tremble as I type this - we had to eat oats porridge at 2AM before beginning the hike. Oats porridge. Two of the most gruesome things in the world combined to form one unholy mixture. The trek guide waxed lyrical about the nutritious qualities of oats porridge as he urged us to finish our bowls. The man was a mountaineering champion but had absolutely no taste buds2.
We set off from camp around 2:45AM, with the temperature hovering around -4°C. Within a short while, we were back on the mountainside we had climbed on Day 3. Only this time, it was bathed in moonlight creating a surreal, unearthly vista. It truly seemed as if we had been transported to another world; a world with barren mountains coloured silvery grey by a beacon in the sky, a world bearing no trace of civilization, a world of stark, ineffable beauty, a merciless world with no place for humans.
We didn’t have our rucksacks to weigh us down, but it was still tough going. The inclines were never-ending. Our guide shared a hack with us: instead of climbing in a straight path, it is easier to climb in a zig-zag pattern. I diligently started zigging and zagging on the mountainside but I can’t vouch for it being any easier. For about a couple of hours, we followed the trail we had taken to Kuari Pass and then veered left. Soon, the trail ended and we were in uncharted territory again. Since we were the first group trying to reach Pangarchulla Peak during this trekking season, we would have to make the trail ourselves. By we, I mean of course, our trekking guide. The guy was in his element.
At 5AM, we stood in a train behind him as he hacked at a slope with his ice-axe to create a path for us. It was bitterly cold. I had lost all feeling in two of my fingers and every ounce of my energy was focussed on placing one foot in front of another. I cannot begin to imagine the mental and physical fortitude he would have needed to single-handedly carve the trail in those conditions.
As dawn broke and colours started leaking into the sky from the mountains to the east, we found ourselves (quite literally) at a crossroad. Pangarchulla is a mountain with two crests, or summits. To our left was the route to the sharper and primary Pangarchulla summit (elevation: over 15,000 feet), which involved crossing a nearly vertical cliff-face followed by a path through snow-covered boulders. We had crossed challenging terrain to reach this point but the route ahead, unmarked and untested, gave us pause. To our right, was a more amenable route to the more rounded, secondary Pangarchulla summit (elevation: over 14,000 feet).
It was a tough call. We were within sight of our target, it loomed in front of us. We had spent weeks looking forward to the moment when we would reach the mountain top and now, it seemed to almost be in our grasp. Almost, but not quite. Prudence, is not a quality generally associated with us (prudent people wouldn’t have chosen this trek in mid-March) but we had to face the reality of the situation we were in. The risk of venturing into an obviously precarious route, without any technical training and in the absence of an established trail, could spell disaster. Even with our guide creating a path for us, the possibility of one misstep, leading to a serious accident, was extremely high. Every trekking and mountaineering story has a common theme: one must respect the mountain at all times and know when to draw the line. We couldn’t let adrenaline cloud our judgment. We decided to head towards the secondary Pangarchulla summit. It was disappointing to not follow-through on our original plan after having come so close. But we had the conviction of knowing we’d made the right choice and the satisfaction of having given it our all.
And, truthfully, once we made it to the secondary summit, we didn’t care. The views were far too magnificent for us to think about anything else. We had summited a 14,000 feet high mountain. At that moment, it was all that mattered.
The high you get when standing on top of a mountain, is incredible. It has an almost electrifying effect on your body. A surge of endorphins wipes away any disappointment, any tiredness you’d been feeling moments earlier, and replaces it with a sense of euphoria. You feel invincible, capable of achieving anything. Here’s proof: It had taken us over 6 hours to climb from our camp to the summit. We made it back down in less than 3 hours.
In fact, the high we were riding was so intense we took a snap decision to pack up camp and go back to our homestay that very day. It would mean another 3-4 hours of trekking (with all our luggage) in the afternoon sun. But knowing that a warm room, a bed and a hot water shower would be waiting at the end of it, made it difficult to say no. We’d had quite enough of nature by then and were desperately looking forward to enjoying some man-made amenities.
The last leg of the trek was expectedly painful. The fact that none of us stopped to take any pictures during that segment, should tell you all you need to know about how we were faring. We went back down the forested trail we had climbed on Day 2. Going downhill is generally faster, but not when you’re carrying 10kgs on your back. Our legs were feeling the strain and every muscle was in agony. Each one of us plodded on in quiet contemplation, focussing on the most important thing drawing us back to civilization. Personally, I thought about how I would soon have the use of a commode. The thought steeled me and urged my legs forward.
By evening, we reached the village where we’d been dropped off on Day 2. The car we’d hired was waiting for us. We put our bags in the car and settled into a tea shop. The trek was over. We had spent 4 days and 3 nights on the trail. We had scaled a 14,000 feet high mountain. We had been caught in a snow-storm and been roasted by the relentless afternoon sun. We had seen unimaginable views and learnt lessons along the way, which we’ll remember on the next trek. Because, despite all the whinging and whining, the complaining and suffering, the pain and torment, you knew there was going to be a next time all along, didn’t you? And, if I had to be completely honest, yes, I knew it all along too.
Fun fact: clothes racks are also called ‘garment donkeys’. I know what you’re thinking. This newsletter is not only entertaining but also informative.
He had also criticized people who drank black coffee without sugar, so there you go.
Late to reading this, but lovely post! Lovely descriptions :)
The Moonlit trek at 2 am or the Oats porridge : couldn't decide which was more touching.
Congratulations for following through your goal