The Chanderkhani Pass Trek - 2 Nov 2012

Chanderkhani Pass (3525m) – Malana (2625m)

View of the Malana side of the pass

As we move from Chanderkhani pass towards Malana, for a brief period I get mobile coverage from BSNL and I shoot off messages to family giving them my co-ordinates. The descent from the ridge is initially gradual. We reach a rock face where the path is not discernible - destroyed by goats tramping around, my guide informs me. I make my way forward taking steps gingerly.

The hill side progressively gets steeper. The road leading to the dam of the Malana - II hydro electric project, an ugly white gash doubling up on the green hill side is visible far below. Loosing height continuously, and with the advancing afternoon, we are now in the shadow of the Chanderkhani ridge.

The descent is relentless and it appears as if we are climbing down into a deep dark almost conical hole. The hill side is steep and a slip will mean certain oblivion.

Momentarily, I feel confused. Where Am I? Is this a dream or is it for real. Panic strikes me. Is my confusion because of extreme tiredness? I sit down, hailing to Hira to wait. I find something to eat in my bag, drink some water, and rest a while. Then it is time to resume. I keep my eyes focused on where I am going to put my next foot, my mind on the next step. Step after interminable step.

Compare with the first photo for a feel of the height loss

The track leads to a mountain stream, now dry, that tumbles down into the Malana River. We make our way down hopping over boulders. Looking down the course of the stream makes me nervous, for after some point, it is not visible, possibly having taken on a steeper gradient downwards. Eventually, we get off the stream and the path goes down the side of a hill more gently. Hira strikes up conversation with a goatherd, the first person we meet after leaving the pass. We are in a field of cannabis which has been harvested, only the bare stalks now left on the ground. Malana cannot be very far.

It is a little after four when we enter through the upper end of Malana village. Men standing in a group some way away stare at us unabashedly.

A thin man with glazed eyes and untidy appearance accosts me and asks in pidgin English if I would like some charas. We inspect the Dragon guest house and settle for a room with two beds for all of Rs 250, order our dinner and make ourselves comfortable in a balcony overlooking the village. 

The village is spread out on flat ground, at some height above the Malana river. The river itself is far below and cannot be seen. What can be seen is the road on the hill across from the river used to approach the dam of the Malana - II project, several km upstream, where the rivers waters are diverted into a tunnel. The high peaks surrounding the village ensure that it is in the shadow of the mountains for much of the day, like it is now.

The houses are scattered about in no particular order and it is hard to discern any streets. Only a few have traditional slate tiled roofs; the majority have tin roofs. Some are garishly painted with red roofs and walls, some in blue. In the midst of this jumble, there are a few constructions of steel and concrete with flat roofs, unfinished columns left for future expansions. Overall, the village has a far from pleasing appearance.

A group of young men – they say they are from Gujarat – are the other tourists at the lodge besides us. Surprisingly they don’t ask me my name – they only want to know my profession. They have come up from the Jari side and are clearly not here for trekking – and this becomes more apparent later that night.  In the gathering dusk a Shepard returns with his flock. It starts getting really cold and we move inside for the rest of the evening.

Malana - I project dam

Malana (2625m) – Malana roadhead (2000m)

The next morning we wake up Prem, the manager of the guest house, to make tea. Barely have we settled down with the drink, when Prem gets a call on his mobile and he is all tensed up. A rescue is to be mounted to look for a young man from Mumbai who has been missing from Kasol for a week. Prem is a regular with the rescue team composed of villagers of that area and police officials. He has been asked to report to Jari immediately from where the team will fan out to Pulga, Kulga, Josh and Kasol to look for the missing youth. In 5 minutes, Prem has dressed, has his Kulu cap on, and is on his way to Jari. 

It is just past 7 am. Before leaving for Jari, we decide to take a walk through the village. The streets are dirty with slush and the discarded plastic strewn about. The temple of Jamlu devta, the local deity is a three story wood and stone structure in traditional architecture with carved wooden panels. Signs in several places forbid visitors to touch the temple walls or even take photographs. The few villagers we pass on our way out do not greet us or evince any interest in us.

Malana river bed

The descent from Malana village to the road is even steeper than the descent of the previous day. The path winds down the side of a hill that falls straight to the river. The stones placed along the path are covered with a fine powder. Heavy downward steps result in a slide. I slip a couple of times and start choosing my steps carefully. A couple of girls from Malana, busy in conversation, close in from behind rapidly. Momentarily distracted, I fail to control my step, slip and land heavily on my back. I see concern writ on the faces of the girls. Hira too looks worried and offloads me of my backpack. The fall has left my palms bleeding from abrasions, but what is worse, badly shaken my confidence. 

I proceed extremely slowly from there on. My legs are stiff from the previous day’s trek. I have also managed to badly stub the toes on both my feet, and every downward step is painful. We are making our way down a sheer cliff now and there is no leeway for a mistake. I concentrate on my walking as I have never done before, testing every step before easing my weight on the leg. The descent seems interminable.

A linesman at work

At last the path levels out by a stream. I wash my bloodied palms with soap in its sparkling waters. A few minutes later, we reach Malana river and the road. It is 10.30 am.

Malana roadhead -> Jari

There are two ‘run of the river’ hydroelectric projects on the Malana river. The road going past the foot path leading to Malana services a dam several km upstream where the river water is diverted into the tunnel of the Malana – II project. The project has been completed, but the road remains unfinished. So also is a tunnel bored through rock that we walk through before reaching the site where the water after driving the turbines is released back to the river. 

The pond where water is diverted for the Malana – I project lies just beyond. After this point, the road is in better condition and follows the left bank of the river downstream. Hira tells me of his visits to Malana before the Malana – I project came up. The trek then involved walking through forest and along the river on its right bank.

The stairway down to Jari road

Walking down the road, we have company in a young man from Chamba, who is also walking to Jari to get some medicines for a sick colleague.  He tells us that he has been working as a carpenter cum mason at Malana for the past 3 months on a daily wage of Rs 350. He presents a bleak picture of life in Malana – the addiction of men to charas and drink from an early age, the lack of any outlets for outsiders to relax, the lack of medical facilities and non-availability of medicines, the lax morals concerning marriage and sex and the overall lawlessness of the place. 

The villagers are flush with money from growing Cannabis. Officials, from the police downwards, do not interfere in the affairs of the villagers, either because they are afraid to, or for other reasons, he avers. Our conversation comes to a abrupt end when he gets a lift in a truck taking other workers down to Jari.

The Malana and Parvati rivers meet just below Jari. However the Malana – I project carries the waters of the Malana in pipes downhill directly into the Parvati, some km upstream of their confluence.

Malana meets Parvati

A staircase, presumably for the use of maintenance workers, descends to the Parvati alongside the huge pipe carrying the Malana’s waters and this is our path for the last part of our trek. Crossing a bridge over the Parvati, we stand at the gates of the Malana – I power plant on the Jari – Manikaran road at 12.30 pm. In a few minutes, we board a Manikaran bus.

Back in Naggar, my host tells me that Malana used to be a pretty village with traditional structures until a fire destroyed most of the houses some years back.

Ascent to Chandarkhani Pass








Himalayan Trek 7, Nov 2012

The Chanderkhani Pass trek - 1 Nov 2012

I had already spent several days in Naggar recovering my lung capacity with small walks down to the market and up towards Rumsu and the idea of a trek over the Chanderkhani pass was beginning to get hold of me. When I sounded out the owner of my guest house, Bhalla Ji, he was initially discouraging. He felt it was too cold to camp near the pass. Instead, he suggested that I should take a day hike up to the pass and return to Naggar for the night. I however did not find the idea of returning from the pass very appealing.

View from Chanderkhani Pass

A day or two later, I was able to get a better picture of the possibilities, during a morning walk in the company of a man from Pulga, a village beyond Rumsu. Locals starting early, according to him, regularly got to Malana over the pass before sun down. He also acquainted me with the possibility of taking a pony or hiring a tent and sleeping bags – both of which could be done at Rumsu. Bhalla Ji meanwhile had arranged a meeting for me with Hira, a young man in his employ, who was also a trained guide. Hira confirmed that we could get to Malana in a day and my plans were made.

Rumsu (2200m) – Chanderkhani Pass (3525m)

We leave at about 6.30 am from Naggar. A warm-up walk to Rumsu the previous day had convinced me that it would be prudent to get a drop to Rumsu in a car, saving perhaps a half hour and a steep climb. Hira has arranged for a car and we are on our  way from Rumsu (2200 m) by 6.50 am, carrying only day bags with some water, food and extra warm clothes.

The first part of the trek is through a forest. There are many paths immediately above Rumsu and I am happy that I have a guide. As we go up, the snow capped peaks of the further ranges of the Dhauladhar across the Beas valley become visible. We pass some nice camping sites. With some more altitude gain, the Beas valley right up to Manali unfolds before us. I feel the beginings of a cramp in one of my legs. We stop at 9.30 am in a nice sunny pasture at a height of 2950 m for our lunch and that gives me some time to recover.

Beas Valley extending to Manali

As we move up further, we encounter a sprinkling of snow that crunches under my boots and solid ice blocks near water trickling from a mountain spring. At a height of about 3100 m, Hira startles a Monal and it takes flight and gracefully glides over the deep valley distancing itself from us by hours in the matter of a minute. The vegetation has started changing by now and all one can see is bare Bhojpatra trees and Rhododendron shrubs.

The sun is blinding and I am thankful that I have not forgotten my shades and sunscreen. For the first time, the pass becomes visible as a long ridge almost transverse to the direction we are walking. With further height gain, only the Rhododendrons are left and still further up, only a thin layer of browned grass. We reach what appears to be an entrance gate to the Chanderkhani top area marked by piles of stones on either side at 1 pm. It has been a fairly easy trek - but tiring, climbing 1400 ms over 13 kms in a period of 7 hrs!

'Entrance gate' with the Dhauladhars in the far background

The path now follows the top of the ridge which divides the watersheds of the Beas and the Malana/Parvati rivers. For the first time, the latter watershed becomes visible. While the access to the Chanderkhani top has been gentle, on the other side, the ridge falls steeply. Rock piles in the shape of pillars mark the top at several places along the ridge. Looking north, a line of jagged rocky peaks with snow is visible, somewhere in the direction of the source of the Parvathi and Malana rivers.

We reach a large grassy open space in which are obviously planted stones of different shapes and sizes arranged in no particular order. Hira points to a stone planted by him on an earlier trip. He explains that the local villagers consider this to be a sacred area of the devtas. I sit down to enjoy the view and rest my tired legs.

A little ahead, sheltered by a rock, a group of villagers are enjoying a meal they have cooked right there. They invite us to share their lunch. I am not particularly hungry but Hira seems keen, so I ask him to go ahead and join them.

A while later I join the group. They are from a village a few kms south from Naggar and made their way here yesterday with two goats. Their night stay was planned in a cave nearby but apparently their was no water there, so they ended up melting snow for water and spending the night in the open huddling around a fire! This morning, after sacrificing the goats as an offering to the devatas, they have just cooked a meal of rice and meat and Hira gets to enjoy a part of it. Hira had guessed as much from afar and that was the reason he was very keen to join them. 

Two goat skins with traces of blood are lying on the ground near where we sit. The better part of the meat has been packed in huge sacks to be carried back to the village. Hira assures me that it will not spoil in the cold weather. The food was tasty, but would have been hot for me, he tells me.

It is close to 2 pm and I am keen to get started. I have been warned that the descent to Malana is very steep and I am more than a little worried, given the tiredness in my legs. We bid goodbye to the group and move towards a natural gateway with pillars on either side that marks the point where the path leaves Chanderkhani top.

A map showing the trek route - Rumsu -> Chanderkhani Pass -> Malana -> Jari


Part 2 - The harrowing descent to Malana

   

The sights and sounds of Naggar

I am the only paying passenger left on the bus overnight bus from Delhi as it pulls into the busy Kulu bus stand - a handful of others left in the bus after Mandi are all employees of the bus company. I climb into a brightly colored bus which is going to Manali but that is not my destination. The bus crosses over to the left bank of the Beas and makes its way up slowly on a winding road.

Naggar

We drive through the Kulu Valley, just a few kms wide, with hills rising steeply on either side. The area near the river and the lower hill sides are continuously dotted with habitations. Apple orchards fill the open spaces – the trees bare and leafless in their winter form.

A little over an hour into the ride, we reach a busy market place and this is my stop. The ancient village of Naggar, the capital of the Kulu state for a thousand years, is located up a hill a short walk from here. A road heads towards it with several switch backs. Just across from a large structure called the 'Castle', I locate a family run guest house which has a room with a view.

And what a view it is! Sitting on the balcony, I look down upon the Beas flowing far below. Across the river, the hills rise in layers with scattered snow marking the tallest peaks in the far background. It is cold inside the room but beautiful in the sun splashed balcony. One can spend the better part of the day doing nothing here.

A courtyard of the Castle

But there are many things to do and places to visit in Naggar. First on my list is to check out the curiously named ‘Castle’. In a few minutes, I stand before a dignified old rectangular structure that is entirely made of wood and stone – with no cement or iron in evidence, anywhere.  A large board explains that this was the residence of the royals of Kulu state when Naggar was the capital. It has now been converted into a state run hotel.

I discover that the best way to enjoy the Castle is to sit in its open balcony and have lunch. A corner table allows me to soak in the graceful courtyard of the palace and the vast expanse of the Beas valley below.

The departure of the Devi

On Deepavali day only a couple of days later, I have occasion to visit the Castle again. Stepping out for my morning walk, I see a group of men in traditional Kulu caps collecting at the Castle entrance. There is a perceptible excitement in the air. The sound of drums and trumpets emanates from within. I decide to abandon my walk and join the others who are now entering the Castle.

One of the courtyards of the Castle has a tiny temple with the name of Jagati Patt and this is the scene of all the action. A devi who has taken temporary residence at this temple is about to be carried back to her permanent home. I learn that it is a very special occasion for the people of Naggar for the devi has come here after 370 years. An elaborate ritual is about to be played out.

A band of musicians with long curved trumpets and large drums stand facing the temple, playing their instruments. The palki (palanquin) is taken out and readied. A white lamb brought for the occasion is sacrificed and its head offered to the devi before she is moved into the palki, now resting on the shoulders of two young men. Village elders gather around.

An elderly man takes up a litany in Kului with others responding to his supplications when he pauses. I understand enough to make out that he is pleading with the devi not to leave. The palki sways in the direction of the exit, signaling that the devi wishes to leave. Other elders take their turns, pleading. The crowd is somber, moved by the entreaties, awaiting the inevitable. A burly priest who has all along been conducting the ceremonies in a business like fashion starts sobbing. The time has come.

Youth bearing flags lead the way followed by the musicians. Then comes the palki escorted out by the people of Naggar who bid goodbye. The procession, a hundred or more people strong, marches swiftly downhill. I join in, reveling in the energy of the crowd.

The marchers are friendly and invite me to come with them all the way. It is then that I learn that this is going to be a really long march. The destination for the day is Kullu, 25 kms away! It is only the next day that the devi will reach her abode in the mountains and she has already been traveling for 8 days! Reaching the next village, I bid goodbye to my newly made friends and take a bus back to Naggar. The morning has offered far more than I could have imagined.

Art in the Himalayas

Just a km up on the winding mountain road is the house which Nicholas Roerich, the renowned painter and humanist made his home. It now houses an art gallery with several of his paintings. I spend an afternoon absorbing the works of a man who was in love with the Himalayas and conveys its mystique. I am transported to a bygone era - of poets, reformers, dreamers, philosophers – who dreamt impossible dreams.

Next door to Roerich’s house is ‘Uruswati’, an institute he established to document the traditional medical knowledge of the Himalayan peoples, among other activities. What was once an Institution with international connections is now a museum, with all scientific activity abandoned after Roerich’s death in 1947. I leave feeling sad at how the dreams and efforts of such a pioneer could not be sustained in independent India.

Rumsu

Yet another day, I set out at dawn on the road going up from Naggar. A Himalayan Thrush whistling away a merry tune is the first bird up. The brown peaks across the Beas start taking on a warm golden tinge. I confirm from two men warming themselves around a fire that I should take the steep cemented staircase leading off from the road.

As the morning advances, the range across the Beas is brightly lit up. A pair of snow peaks peeps over the brown hills in the far north. The air is filled with birdsong. A school boy goes racing past me heading downwards.

The temple in Rumsu

Walking past a neat school building, I enter the village of Rumsu. It is 7.30 in the morning and people are already out working – collecting hay for their cattle and horses, laying out the golden corn on the cob on their roofs to sun dry. I pass the village temple, a beautiful structure in traditional style and then reach the main square, a large open space with more old temples. At the end of the village there is an area fenced off with a small shrine in its midst and a sign warning people against entering the area of the devtas.

The sacred forest

A shopkeeper points to the path that leads to Chandar Khani pass - with its reputed views of the Dhauladhar and Pir Panjal ranges – that I will take tomorrow. But for today, it is time to return. On the way back, a flock of magpies in an orchard tease me, always managing to stay out of reach of my camera.

Chanderkhani pass trek

An old piece on Naggar from the Deccan Herald 

Birds - Seraj Valley, Himachal Pradesh

Oriental Turtle Dove spotted on the Jibi - Gad Gushaini road - late Sept 2012

White Wagtail on the Tirthan river at Gushaini - late Sept 2012

Dayara to Dodital - 4

Dayara to Dodital - 3

The pass near Darwa Top

As per our original plan, we should progress on the Dodital - Hanuman Chatti leg of our trek today. However, for the last few days, our guides have been hinting that it will not be possible for us to make our way over the 4000m Darwa Pass that lies on the route. The problem they say will not be so much the snow at the pass as the snow on the steep western face of the range that we must descend from the pass. We have already had a taste of this while descending from Dayara Bugyal down western slopes and that was at a 300 m lower elevation. My own enquiries at Manjhi and Dodital convince me that it will be highly risky to attempt the crossing. The last group to cross over had done so nearly three weeks ago and since then there has been a prolonged spell of winter with fresh snowfall every day. J is also reconciled to the idea that we will not get to Hanuman Chatti. 

Kanasar Pass and beyond

Having dropped the idea of crossing the pass, we set out carrying only a few essentials, to check out the pass. The path to the pass follows the stream that is the main feed for Dodital, crossing it several times along the way. We walk along a narrow and steep gorge ploughed by the stream. Water birds flit about the rocks in the stream and I get a lovely picture of a white capped water Redstart in striking black and orange. At some point, we leave the stream and see the first traces of hardened snow on our path that we judiciously skirt. After we have climbed 300 m, the only trees seen are the short buransh (rhododendron) with pink flowers, and bhojpatra (birch) bereft of all leaves. We climb another 400 m, the last part trudging through snowfields, for our first views of the Yamuna watershed.

Kanasar Camp Site below the pass

The pass that my guide says is more correctly referred to as the Kanasar pass, is completely under snow. Patches of green and a few trees mark the Kanasar camping site, some way below. 

I spot a ladybug in the snow – red with black spots on a relentlessly white carpet – and wonder what it is doing here. The heights of Darwa Top are shrouded in white with angry dark clouds for a background. Surveying this snowy wasteland, I am glad that we are not going any further. Back in our tent in Dodital, we have a sumptuous lunch that Sur Veer has prepared. 

The next morning, we start our long march back. We take a couple of breaks for tea, first at Manjhi and then at Dharkot. Dharkot has a single tea stall and nothing else. The tea stall boy arrives after us and quickly pulls out his rations from a tree trunk where he has hidden them. Tea follows in a few minutes. We hear the sounds of a large group climbing towards Dodital. Several khacchars and their handlers arrive. On making inquiries, we are told that a group of Japanese – 4 in number - is on its way.

Bridge over the Dodigad near Bevra. 

Two girls with large ear studs, cropped hair, and wearing shorts arrive. They are surprised when we ask if they are Indians for they are from Mumbai! They are followed by two more girls who collapse on arrival, too tired to take any interest in the conversation. These girls with their large retinue – 7 khacchars and their three handlers, a cook, a guide who is an outsider and his local assistant – have been on the same route as us from Barsu. Their story is that after descending from Dayara at a point known as Dev Kund, they reached Satgadi. Unable to cross the Dodigad there with their Khacchars, they went all the way back on the old logging road and crossed the stream using the pucca bridge near Bevra and then   returned on the regular track to Dodital.

The tea stall boy learnt in Bevra that this group is heading up. He has come to Dharkot just ahead of them in the expectation of some business. We owe our tea to this happy coincidence.

An artisan of Bevra carving Rhododendron wood

 We cover the 14 km to Bevra, the first populated village on this route, in six and a half hours. We stop at a wayside hotel in Bevra that offers food and rooms and even has a proper toilet that can be flushed with water. Dinner ordered and a ‘magie’ consumed to stave off the hunger, I step out to explore Bevra. The village is set in a dramatic location, next to the glacial waters of a stream (the Bevra gad) at the point where the steep and narrow gorge through which it flows opens up, cradling a small valley. The cliffs on either side of Bevra rise vertically. The stream flows down to soon confluence with the stream from Dodital (and beyond) that we crossed earlier to become the Assi Ganga which flows into the Bhagirathi.

A Gujjar man and son with their khachhar

I walk to a wooden bridge over the Bevra Gad. Water birds – Redstarts, Dippers, Thrush - are busy flitting between the rocks on the bed of the stream. The steep almost vertical banks of the stream studded with rocks and greenery offers ideal nesting spots. Birds disappear from sight near the banks only to reappear later.

I return to have my first bath – and that too, in hot water – in a week.

The next morning, after a luxurious toilet (the first time indoors in a week), we take off early towards Sangam Chatti. The walk leads us past fields of mustard and wheat and patches of vegetables. A group of women in colorful dresses is harvesting jowar.

Sur Veer

We stop in the wayside village of Dandalka at a two-story house made mostly of wood. The ground floor houses the animals while our guide and his brother have their rooms on the upper floor. It is a house with a grandstand view of the fields on the gently sloping hillside and the forested hills on the other side of the Assi Ganga. The river itself, cutting a deep gorge through the mountains, is hidden from view. Sur Veer makes us black tea and shows us his son, just a few months old. 

We take a ‘short cut’ – a rapidly descending path - to get to Sangam Chatti quickly. A shared jeep has just the right number of seats to accommodate us and we are in Uttarkashi at 11.45 am. Our bus for Haridwar leaves at 12.30 pm. There is time for a parting drink with Sur Veer and then a quick bite. His brother is a teetotaler and we have already parted with him. With 10 minutes left for the bus to depart, we walk into a dhabha. Sur Veer stands outside keeping the bus in view while I try to establish a speed eating record. J is beginning to enjoy the meal when Sur Veer hurries us out and into the bus just as it begins to pull out. There is no time for a proper goodbye. 

For a report on this trek with day wise progress, please see this link 


Himalayan Trek 5, May 2012

Dayara to Dodital - 3

The forest around Morapla

Previous post Dayara to Dodital 2

Lying awake in a tent pitched in the midst of the forest, I am aware of myriad bird sounds – hoots, whistles, calls and chirping – from 4.30 in the morning. Eventually, I bestir myself and walk out into the cold and crisp air. A tribe of Langurs runs down past our camp in the half-light. Climbing to a point where I can look out north, I see the eastern face of Banderpoonch lit up by the sun still below the horizon. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I sense some movement in the undergrowth. A furry four-legged creature, in grey-brown-black and white, with a long bushy tail, short legs and ears sticking up like a rabbit, stops to stare at us. Sur Veer looks at a photo and says it is a Ban Chaura.

The old logging road from
Sangam Chatti to Satgadi

 Today, we would like to get to the settlement of Manjhi, located a little higher than where we are, but on another hill, separated from us by a deep valley. We must descend to the valley floor, cross a stream - the Dodigad, that carries water from Dodital - and then make the steep ascent on the other side. 

We walk through a beautiful forest of tall trees that block the bright sunlight, accompanied by birdsong and the sound of the yet unseen stream. My guide names the different trees we pass – Kharsu, Malak, Kanjal, Pangar, Morind. After a short descent, we reach an unpaved road that was at one time used for logging. The logging road connects the road head, Sangam Chatti to the forest interiors and eases our progress, but not for long. A massive rock fall has obliterated the road at one point and we need to take a long detour on a pag dandi that takes us close to the stream that we must cross, its blue waters visible through the trees. 

The path leads to a slippery downward sloping rock and vanishes. I look downwards and see that it will be a long fall if one were to slip. I let the guide carry my haversack across and then study the toe and finger holds that I must use to move sideways over the rock face. Then ever so gingerly, I make my moves.

Looking back at the rock face we descended from Dayara

 After this traverse, there are no more terrors on this road. We soon reach the camping site of Satgadi, where there is a bridge made of logs and rough cut stones across the Dodigad. We have reached the lowest point in our trek for today. From here starts a backbreaking climb zigzagging up the hillside. Three hours later, after climbing 600 ms, we reach Manjhi completely exhausted.

Manjhi has a row of huts but these are now empty as the villagers who occupy them are still waiting for the warm weather and availability of fodder for their cattle and goats before moving here. There are two dhabha's in the village; we crash in the first one. We order a luxurious meal of roti, sabji, dal and rice. Too tired to pitch tents, we accept the dhabha owner’s offer of a place to sleep near his fireplace, but then wonder if we have made the right decision. The dhabha certainly has a roof, but the long winter has taken its toll and the owner, it seems, has not had the time to renovate the place. The plastic side covers, in taters, flap noisily in the howling wind. The only redeeming feature is the crackling log fire.

West view on the Manjhi - Dodital route

 Sur Veer has taken off with J uphill to show him Monals that he believes live around here. I am too tired for another climb and prefer to stroll around near the village. I see a Monal in the distance and try my best to get near enough for a photograph, without luck. In a while, J comes back triumphant – he has not only captured Monals, but also a bird known as locally as Koklach (the Koklass Pheasant).

The forest around Manjhi is throbbing with bird life and we spend a few hours the next morning trying our luck with the camera. An easy trek after a late start gets us to the beautiful lake of Dodital, at a height of over 3000 m. Just after we reach, the rain begins, soon turning into hail. A foreign couple – a young Israeli and his Italian girlfriend - arrive soaked and bedraggled. Sur Veer has the stove going already and we offer them tea, which is gratefully accepted. When the rain and hail finally end after noon, it is time to pitch our tents and explore the lake.

Dodital from above

Dodital

Dodital lake is a fair sized natural water body surrounded by thickly forested hills. A paved walkway extends all around its perimeter. The waters are clear and foot long golden hued trout are plainly visible in large numbers. Water flows from the surrounding heights into the lake in several small streams and flows out more substantially at one end. I ask Sur Veer about the name. He says it was originally ‘Dhundi Tal’ and a British corruption of the name made it Dodi Tal. There is a lone dhabha, a little temple, a forest rest house, and two small houses occupied respectively by the forest guard and a holy man known as Maharaj or Burfi Baba  (which would translate as Ice Baba).

We visit the Burfi Baba’s abode. Several people are sitting around a log fire in a dark room, warming their hands. We exchange greetings and the baba, an old man with a flowing white beard, invites me to sit by his side on a mat. I ask the baba how long he has been here. 17-18 years, he replies. He belongs to Uttarkashi. He stays here round the year; even when Dodital becomes completely snowbound and cut off from the villages below in deep winter. At that time, even the forest guard moves to Agoda, leaving the baba alone here. That is, except in the last year or two, when he has been traveling to different places across India at the invitation of his friends. The baba gets up, mounts a raised platform, and starts his evening prayers after lighting a lamp to the gods on a mantle piece. Presently, he starts singing a popular bhajan and the others join in. I sit for some time and then leave.

View from our tent

 The dhabha is the other place where people congregate. The temple priest, the dhabha owner, a bunch of workers engaged in making a new building for the tea stall and the foreign couple who arrived today are all sitting around the fire. The new housing under construction for the dhabha is right across where we sit. The dhabha owner looks no more than a kid and is obviously blind in one eye. He is also the sole worker in the dhabha, washing, cooking, and settling accounts with his patrons. The others kid him by calling him a thekedar – for he is also managing the construction work going on for the new stall. He has obtained the right to operate the stall here for a year by agreeing to pay Rs 100,000/- to the Forest Department. He needs to recover this money from sales before he can make a profit.  

What has motivated us to come here, is it a religious pursuit, the priest asks? I struggle to explain why I like trekking in the Himalayas. The conversation drifts to a comparison of public morality in Delhi and Uttarakhand. I have a separate conversation with the Israeli. He is 28 years of age has completed compulsory military service and now is planning to enroll for graduate studies in astrophysics, his passion. He tells me about the two months he has spent teaching village children in Pondicherry and how he has introduced them to the great Indian astrophysicist, Chandrashekar.

That night, we go to sleep in our tents under a star-studded sky.


Continued.....Dayara to Dodital - 4

Dayara to Dodital - 2

Dayara to Dodital 1

The day dawns clear and cold. Our guide believes that we may be able to obtain rice from another group that has camped on the route we will take today. If that does not work out, we will have to manage without our staple for 2 days.

Dayara Bugyal (3350 - 3600 m)

After a three-hour climb, we reach another cluster of empty stone walled huts near the approach to a meadow known as Dayara Bugyal. We find the perfect chaini – with waterproof roofing, a door, and a wooden floored sleeping area – and quickly lay claim to it. Procuring rice is our next priority and we venture out to find out if we locate other campers. When the expanse of the bugyal comes into view, it is mainly a study in white – the white of the thin layer of snow covering the bugyal, the white of the snow clad Himalayan peaks in the background and the white of the thick clouds gathering over them. Climbing a hump, we see the camp – colorful tents in red, blue, and yellow standing up on a white carpet.

 Our guide is quick to spot the man in charge and strike up a conversation with him. Around us, boys and girls in colorful dresses are making their way unhurriedly across the snow towards the campsite. We learn that these are the eighth class students from a well-known residential public school, on a camping trip. I sheepishly tell the group leader about our “forgetting” to get rice, and he immediately agrees to help. Lighthearted after collecting a generous quantity of rice that will keep us going for the next two days, we explore the snow bound upper reaches and the clear lower reaches of the bugyal, unmindful of the gathering dark clouds.

Banderpoonch Range

The next day promises to be a tough trek. We have to climb a few hundred meters to the northern extremity of the bugyal before making the descent to a camping site below the snow line.

We make an early start under clear skies. The ridge of the Banderpoonch range rising 3 km above us, stands glistening in the sun. Behind it, is visible the unmistakable profile of the even taller Kala Nag peak. 

As we gain altitude, we encounter more snow on the ground, smoothening over the uneven ground. We march in single file, each one following the man in front, matching step to step. We come across a steep hill that must be climbed before the descent begins. I would have easily scrambled up this hill but for the snow cover and the 12kg weight of the haversack on my back. A slip on this slope would take me down perhaps 20 ms and would leave me bruised if not worse. The guide is sitting

Descent from Dayara

at the top of the hill maintaining a watch. If I fall, he will come to pick up the pieces. My legs feel drained of strength and I would feel much better with the weight off my shoulders, but pride stands in the way of my asking the guide for help. There is nothing to hold onto, no alternative except to I inch my way up with long pauses to steady myself and plan the next step. After what seems like an interminable length of time, I reach the top.

Descent from Dayara

The real test is yet to begin. Our guide points to the route down from the bugyal. It is a steep snow covered boulder strewn slope. There is no trace of any path. Sur Veer takes the lead, sure footed despite the heavy load he carries. I make my way down the gully behind the others through foot deep snow, using a long stick to arrest my downward slide.


The gully leads to an open slope and we take a zigzag route through the snow. The traverse is not difficult, but requires total concentration. Before each step, I plunge the stick into the upward slope to get a strong purchase. I match each step to the imprint left in the snow by the others. A misplaced footfall could mean sinking in the snow up to the knees or worse; a slip could mean an uncontrolled slide down the slope a few hundred meters. (J's amazing video of the descent from Dayara)

Ghola Top, part of the ridge dividing the watersheds

Eventually we reach relatively level ground and the first trees, rhododendron and bhojpatra (birch), make their appearance. 


We take a break for tea that Sur Veer prepares in the open. Our shoes are wet and the socks drenched, but there is nothing to be done until we reach the campsite. For the first time, we can see the mountains that divide the Yamuna watershed from the Bhagirathi watershed, now engulfed in angry clouds. It is another three hours before we reach the camping site of Morapla, set in a beautiful mixed forest. Sur Veer immediately finds a suitable chaini, gets water from a stream nearby, and gets the kitchen up and running. We decide to sleep in our tent for the first time in this trip.

An old man and his son who are taking their khacchars down come and share tea with us. It begins to rain and we all settle around the fire in amiable companionship watching Sur Veer cook. The old man maintains that this rain will not last and that it will clear up before evening. He has several tips to offer Sur Veer on how to make a better dal with the limited ingredients we have and how to prevent the cooker from spilling the dal. For us, he has a puzzle. How can we make three log fires with three logs, with two logs available to each fire? 

The rain stops, and father and son resume their journey politely declining our offer to eat with us. The weather clears up.


Continued .....Dayara to Dodital 3