above the scree field
Woke around six and made a mad dash for toileting. Came back to a cup of chai, then coffee, and curried cauliflower and pancake-type things for breakfast. Last night's cook and the might-be-son both said goodbye -- turns out they were only along to get the luggage as far as the first night's village. Snig paid them and they headed off to Jumma, the town before where the car dropped us.
Loading the first mule went quick. The second on the other hand -- no sooner was he mostly loaded up than he reared on his hind legs and bolted, trailing my backpack and Snig's and the sleeping mats behind him. Loaded up a second time, he did the same thing. So the guide and the mule handler -- Ramesh -- told us to go ahead, with directions to Snig on how to leave the village.
The first couple kilometers out of the village we followed water pipes -- both an old one that had obviously sprung leaks and a new one. Unfortunately, as we soon discovered, the new one had a bad leak as well at one point. Several times we passed elderly ladies with the most beautiful jewelry and bright-coloured skirts. Unlike the boy from the village last night, they were always happy for me to take their picture -- and eager to see the results!
The sky started out clear and quickly clouded over, threatening rain. We passed countless lightning-strike-blackened tree trunks. These mostly stunted trees would provide scarce cover in a thunderstorm. Oh, the other thing we passed in countless numbers: election posters plastered to the various rock faces. These people may be mostly ignored the rest of the time, but not around elections!
The pack mules caught up with us after an hour. We stopped for a short break -- Snig, I, guide, and mule handler, plus the mules -- at one of the periodic bad-weather shelters. The walls were covered in graffiti, as one might expect, with plenty of evidence of earlier trekkers strewn around outside. Meanwhile up the trail there were bright green wrappers from someone's favourite biscuit or sweet -- and, a while later, a scattering of squashed paper cups.
I met the ranger again that I'd met in the village last night -- sitting with four women. He asked where I was from and how many days I was out. We took another break here, long enough that I had to pull out my wind breaker from Snig's bag.
At this point we left the woods altogether and slabbed across a vast field of scree, then across a waterfall, then up across more scree and loose sand. At this point the rain started -- thankfully just sprinkles at first, picking up as we reached the campsite at the top. I sat up the tent quickly, worked out that no one seemed to need help and crawled into the tent to get dry. Ramesh just brought over a coffee - sweetened, ugh! -- but at this point anything tastes good. And, and my right shoe is certifiably no longer waterproof. Holding out otherwise though -- so far!
One of the mules came and nudged against the tent pretty hard -- twice. Took a moment to figure out what was going on. Thankfully he found better grazing elsewhere -- though not far, judging by his bells. Otherwise I hear the patter of rain on the tent roof and the quiet murmur of voices from the guide's tent. Snig hasn't brought over his stuff yet -- perhaps he's staying with the guide and mule handler? He was complaining again about the smell of my feet -- though, honestly, I don't think they smell worse than the rest of me. After nearly two days without a shower, even I can smell me, more than I can remember from the Appalachian Trail -- or any other backpacking trips I've done.
Snig was going on about the majesty of the Himalayas, spreading across four countries -- and they are majestic, in no small part because they're relatively so young. Snig was skeptical, but the Appalachians -- with traces on, I believe, four continents -- beat them hands down for age. They've been raised up, worn down, raised up again, and worn down to the stumps we see today.
Loading the first mule went quick. The second on the other hand -- no sooner was he mostly loaded up than he reared on his hind legs and bolted, trailing my backpack and Snig's and the sleeping mats behind him. Loaded up a second time, he did the same thing. So the guide and the mule handler -- Ramesh -- told us to go ahead, with directions to Snig on how to leave the village.
The first couple kilometers out of the village we followed water pipes -- both an old one that had obviously sprung leaks and a new one. Unfortunately, as we soon discovered, the new one had a bad leak as well at one point. Several times we passed elderly ladies with the most beautiful jewelry and bright-coloured skirts. Unlike the boy from the village last night, they were always happy for me to take their picture -- and eager to see the results!
The sky started out clear and quickly clouded over, threatening rain. We passed countless lightning-strike-blackened tree trunks. These mostly stunted trees would provide scarce cover in a thunderstorm. Oh, the other thing we passed in countless numbers: election posters plastered to the various rock faces. These people may be mostly ignored the rest of the time, but not around elections!
The pack mules caught up with us after an hour. We stopped for a short break -- Snig, I, guide, and mule handler, plus the mules -- at one of the periodic bad-weather shelters. The walls were covered in graffiti, as one might expect, with plenty of evidence of earlier trekkers strewn around outside. Meanwhile up the trail there were bright green wrappers from someone's favourite biscuit or sweet -- and, a while later, a scattering of squashed paper cups.
I met the ranger again that I'd met in the village last night -- sitting with four women. He asked where I was from and how many days I was out. We took another break here, long enough that I had to pull out my wind breaker from Snig's bag.
At this point we left the woods altogether and slabbed across a vast field of scree, then across a waterfall, then up across more scree and loose sand. At this point the rain started -- thankfully just sprinkles at first, picking up as we reached the campsite at the top. I sat up the tent quickly, worked out that no one seemed to need help and crawled into the tent to get dry. Ramesh just brought over a coffee - sweetened, ugh! -- but at this point anything tastes good. And, and my right shoe is certifiably no longer waterproof. Holding out otherwise though -- so far!
One of the mules came and nudged against the tent pretty hard -- twice. Took a moment to figure out what was going on. Thankfully he found better grazing elsewhere -- though not far, judging by his bells. Otherwise I hear the patter of rain on the tent roof and the quiet murmur of voices from the guide's tent. Snig hasn't brought over his stuff yet -- perhaps he's staying with the guide and mule handler? He was complaining again about the smell of my feet -- though, honestly, I don't think they smell worse than the rest of me. After nearly two days without a shower, even I can smell me, more than I can remember from the Appalachian Trail -- or any other backpacking trips I've done.
Snig was going on about the majesty of the Himalayas, spreading across four countries -- and they are majestic, in no small part because they're relatively so young. Snig was skeptical, but the Appalachians -- with traces on, I believe, four continents -- beat them hands down for age. They've been raised up, worn down, raised up again, and worn down to the stumps we see today.