01 August – Budhi-Gunji Track – Part 4 – At the Gunji Camp

We were all ravenous by the time we stripped off socks and shoes and plonked on the bed. Most of us had eaten very little at lunch. I think the altitude gain and exertion had temporarily depressed our hunger pangs and now we were famished. We opened our sacks and gave a pretty good imitation of the seven wild brothers in Satte Pe Satta (Remember the Amitabh Bachchan movie?). For a while, all you could hear was the rustling of bags and crunching and munching and “Gimme”. I guess that’s the advantage of trekking with guys you’ve grown up with. We were totally at ease with each other. Everyone ate but for Sushrut. His headache had worsened and he was resting in the hut next door. He was quite tired but couldn’t sleep.

By dinner time, he was still tossing and turning. Sudhir Uncle asked him to at least eat a little rice, since he had not eaten the whole day. We went into the dinner hut. There was papad, soya chunk gravy (we had it almost every day, actually) and some wonderful kheer. After dinner, Sahji took Sushrut to the camp doctor. Gunji is the camp where people going to Manasarovar have their final medical checkup. So they have one in-house doctor and a decent supply of meds.

The doctor checked Sushrut and found that his BP had shot up to an alarming 180/100! Diagnosis - Acute Mountain Sickness. It was because of the altitude, especially the sudden gain at Chhialekh. The doctor gave him 2 tablets and predicted that he’d be fine the next morning coz by then he’d get acclimatized. We were worried and skeptical about that and wondered if he’d have to stay behind when we went to Kalapani the next day. I then remembered that Sushrut had had the same terrible headaches at Leh too, only in that case they wrongly got blamed on a migraine attack.

As we went to sleep, I prayed that Sushrut would get better by morning because I didn’t want to leave him behind. I didn’t want him to miss out on the excitement. And it just wouldn’t be as enjoyable for me without him.

01 August – Budhi-Gunji Track – Part 3 – Garbyang to Gunji

This part of the trek was lengthy but nothing to give you butterflies in the stomach. Just keep on walking steadily in a rhythm. We reached Seti by 1:30, had some lunch and pushed off. I did not much feel like eating. Sushrut had a terrible headache. He is prone to migraines and often feels nauseous during a bout. So he had a nap instead of lunch and I woke him up when it was time to move on. He drank a small bottle of Glucon-D and began walking after splashing some water on his face.

The route was scenic and the trees gave off a pleasant piney aroma. The sand by the river looked bone dry and white. We were walking almost in 2s or 3s and Sushrut and I were pretty much alone. But there was nothing scary about it. Imagine the thrill – to be able to look up at the vast open sky, the tall green mountains, hear a few birds twittering, the river gushing close by, feel the crunch of dry twigs and gravel underfoot, and not have a single soul around! As if all of nature’s splendour were on a display just for your pleasure! It was one of the best parts of the trek for me.

By 3:30 pm, we were just about 4-5 kms away from Gunji camp. At one point, the Kali turns right and Kuti begins to keep you company. Gunji is situated on the confluence of the two rivers. In the distance, I could see the camp at Gunji. It’s across the river. But there’s only one bridge to reach it. So you keep walking and leave the camp behind on the other side, make a U-turn, cross the bridge and then cover the same distance on the other side and walk down to the camp. It seems like such a waste of time, perhaps because you keep seeing the camp but reach it after almost 1 and 1/2 hrs.

To enter Gunji, you climb a steep slope. There’s no grip to the soil and the road tilts at an angle outside as if it’s trying to make you fall into the river. In the middle of it, stood two ITBP jawans with a canteen of warm water and a flask of tea and those crunchy fat potato chips. We were eager to reach the camp but had some of everything out of respect for their kindness. They are so helpful and go out of their way to make you feel welcome that you cannot help but reciprocate. Almost all of us had now converged upon the route and made our way into camp together. Fat droplets of rain began to pitter-patter on our heads giving us added incentive to race the last few meters down. It was 5 pm on the dot when we entered the camp.

01 August – Budhi-Gunji Track – Part 2 – Chhialekh to Garbyang

There is a canteen run by KMVN at the top of Chhialekh. My aunt Lata and Pallavi had reached ahead of us coz of the horses. They were already ensconced in the tiny kitchen frying puris. They said they preferred the toasty warm room to the cold outside. I was happy to help – by eating. Hot puris, potato subzi, pickle, steaming mugs of tea. Heaven! Especially since it was pretty cold up here. There was a strong breeze.

Like a fool, I had not thought to carry a windcheater. The guy who ran the canteen had a few woolen caps for sale. I bought one and pulled it low over my ears. I wore the raincoat in place of a windcheater and we moved on towards the meadow.
There was an ITBP check post as usual. They thoroughly examined all our documents and waved us on. The next few kms to Garbyang were a walk in the clouds. I felt as if I had died and gone to heaven.

Low clouds, lush green meadows, occasional patches of snow visible in the distance, cows mooing softly, dry firm path and millions of wild flowers. Sahji had said earlier that we would walk in a valley of flowers. But this? This was paradise. I think it would be more appropriate to say I floated down towards Garbyang. There were a few tricky patches, but they did not register much in our euphoric state.

The path goes downwards pretty quickly. Milind pointed out that we’d find it difficult on our way back. But we were not interested in thinking that far. As we neared Garbyang, the path underfoot became slippery, made of white sand and mud. Like chikni mitti.

Garbyang is an ancient picturesque village on the old Indo-Tibet trade route. All the houses have beautifully carved wooden doors and windows. It’s more popular as the ‘sinking village’. Scientific reason for this is the location of the village over glacial lake sediments. The sinking is unique because it is continuous and records show up to 20m of sinking in a span of ten years. There are houses which were originally on the same level and are now on three different levels! We passed another checkpoint ahead of Garbyang and continued towards Seti.

01 August – Budhi-Gunji Track – Part 1 – Budhi to Chhialekh

The next morning dawned cool and fresh. As we looked out from the camp, we saw blue skies sprinkled with gray clouds, and lush green mountains dotted with icy patches of frozen streams. Feeling invigorated, we left camp at sharp 6:45 am after downing glasses of hot bournvita and glucose biscuits.
Today, I decided to get rid of the backpack. I only carried a waist pouch filled with candied sweets, nuts and chunks of crystal sugar. The pockets of my cargo pants bulged with bottles of water and Glucon-D. My raincoat was tied around my waist. But I found it easier to walk this way.

As Sahji had promised, the climb was steep. I could feel the blood pounding at my temples and my breathing grow laboured. There was no let up in the gradient. I paused from time to time, but just for a few moments. I never made the mistake of sitting down; even at the little tea stop midway thru’ the climb. I wasn’t sure that my legs would support me again once I sat down.

On the way we saw colorfully decorated mules, bells jingling around their necks, making their way down the slope.

Pallavi finally asked for the remaining third horse. I believe that riding the horse must be worse punishment on the back and tush. In a way, walking is actually kinder to your body. And I guess I have trouble giving up control of myself and being at the mercy of the horse and groom. So I walked every single km of the trek, never riding the horse once.

As we neared the end of the climb, Sahji caught up with us. He said, “Just a little bit more. Then you will see a meadow full of the most beautiful flowers. Yakeen maniye, saare dukh dard bhool jaaoge”. As we turned the final corner, there was a sign painted in Hindi which said something like – The flower filled valley of Chhialekh awaits you after your strenuous climb. Finally after almost 3 hours of laborious climbing, we reached the Chhialekh meadow at about 9:30 am.

31 July – Part 6 – Preparations for the Next Day

That night we hung up all our jackets and socks and shoes to dry. Our sacks had arrived by mule. We unpacked, pulled out dry clothes to wear. As we packed our bags and prepared for the next day, almost all of us had the same thought, “Will tomorrow be as bad as today?”

Sahji answered that question in the nightly meeting. “Tomorrow,” he began,” we will again cover a distance of 18 kms.” A collective groan went up. “Plus, in the first 3 kms itself, there is an altitude gain of more than 650m”. What? “So, do not attempt any heroics. Take it at an even and steady pace. But do not loiter. Today’s performance left a lot to be desired. It was the first hard day, so let's make an exception this time. But reaching camp at 7 pm is not what I want to see again. 5 pm is the latest, get it?”

“Can we take a break tomorrow?” a voice piped. “Since we have anyway planned for an extra day in our itinerary”. Sahji looked aghast. “The extra day is for emergencies. And every single day is planned thoroughly in advance. This is not some picnic that you can reschedule according to your choice. Tomorrow you start at 6:45 am and reach Gunji at 5 pm. Period!” Feeling properly chastened, we made a beeline for bed immediately.

31 July: Gala – Budhi Track – Part 5 – Lamari to Budhi

Puran Singh, the guide, was quite ahead of me when he suddenly halted, turned around and beckoned me forward quickly. “Kya hua?”, I asked as I started running. He put a finger on his lips and asked me to be quiet. When I reached him, he was crouching on the ground. He pointed underneath the bushes on the side of the road. I first saw a flash of yellow. Then I saw a little face topped by 2 tiny ears. What a cute cat! I must’ve said that aloud. Puran Singh was scandalized. “Cat! That’s a leopard cub!” he exclaimed! “Wow!” I was fascinated.

I waved my arms to ask the others to hurry up. As 3-4 of the others caught up with us, the cub defiantly stared back at us. But when Puran Singh lifted a few branches to get a photo the cub disappeared into the bushes. I was suddenly struck by a doubt. “Puran Singh, if this cub’s here, where’s his mom?” “Must be round somewhere”, he replied coolly. “What!” I squawked. “Have you gone nuts? We are standing here admiring the cub while his mom must be licking her chops!” I now remembered Man-eaters of Kumaon and Jim Corbett and realized only then that, hell, we are in Kumaon. Brilliant, Watson!

We saw neither hide nor hair of a leopard again. But that evening, the sight of that cute little cub acted like a shot of adrenaline and I literally flew over the track.

But I was stumped when we reached the rock slide. A furious mountain stream had already changed course and was now directly flowing across our route. It was at least 10 feet wide and so fast that to step into it would’ve been suicide. There were 2-3 big rocks jutting out of the water. Puran Singh pushed another rock into the stream close to the edge and jumped onto it. “Now step on this rock when I go to the next one,” he said. “And hurry; there may be a fresh slide any time.” He gave me a hand as I followed him. Sushrut was right behind me. I was scared. Period. The gradient was so steep it was difficult to stand up straight. I kept expecting a rock to fall on my head anytime. The whole ordeal must’ve taken 2 or 3 minutes, but it felt more like hours.

Once we’d crossed the stream, we could see the original track somewhere ahead but there was no way of reaching it directly. Puran Singh told us to descend along the rock slide and climb up zigzag from the river side. “And be quick. Before this thing moves again. Go in twos, don’t wait for anyone else. Stop only after you reach the track. Go!” Sachin and I raced down and then up and finally halted, clutching our sides and panting. We waited only to see the next 2 or 3 heads appear and started moving immediately. We were still far from the camp.

We trudged along the track as it got darker by the minute. Everyone was nearly exhausted. It was only the 2nd day and we had yet to get acclimatized. The Malpa camp being inoperative, there was no option but to cover the distance in one day. By the time we saw the sign post for Budhi, we were at the end of our tether. Even then the camp was a km away. Finally we touched base at 7 pm. The glasses of orange Rasna seemed like nectar.

But the 2 senior members had yet to come. When they arrived at 7.30 pm we gave them a standing ovation.

31 July – Gala – Budhi Track – Part 4 – Malpa to Lamari

The next 2 hours were as harrowing as the previous two. Walking on narrow ledges, the cold wall of the mountain on the left, and the chilled fury of the Kali on the right. By now I had almost become used to the roar of the river. Whenever I needed to catch my breath, I chose the widest possible spot on the ledge to pause. As far as possible I avoided looking at the river. It almost made my head spin to look at the current for longer than a few seconds. I had jokingly remarked to Sahji at the start of the trek, when he warned us about getting too close to the side overlooking the river, that I didn’t even know how to swim. He had given me an odd look and said, “Honestly speaking, if someone had to fall into the river, he wouldn’t get the chance to swim”. Brrr! It sent a shiver up my spine.

By 4 pm we reached the ITBP (Indo-Tibet Border Police) post at Lamari. The ITBP officers and jawans are very helpful people. They are trained in disaster management. They are on the scene the moment there’s a landslide or rockslide. If a mountain stream has flooded, they arrive with ropes and help you across. They offer you tea and fat crunchy potato chips and warm water to drink. That’s another thing. For the rest of the trek, we drank warm water. You can catch a chill from the regular water.

They were waiting for us with hot tea when we reached their post. “Arre, aap toh saare jawan log ho! Hum ne socha abhi tak nahin aye matlab sab buddhhe honge.” Very funny! They had been expecting us since 2 pm. Once you enter the inner line area, the ITBP keeps tabs on every single person going to and fro. By the time you cross one post, the next post is informed about how many people, from where, how old, what names, everything. Your permits are checked thoroughly. Since the Tibet border is close, they are extremely vigilant. But absolutely polite. No arrogance while following procedure.
They said we were running at least 2 hrs behind schedule. In addition, there was a live rockslide just up ahead. “Please hurry up now. And walk with a gap of 15 feet between two people.” That begged the question “Why?” from me. “So that if anything goes wrong, you minimize the risk of losing too many people”. Very nicely put that.

I started off with the guide ahead of me while the others were still drinking their tea. I have jolly good stamina, but I can only walk so fast. I followed the tortoise principle thru’ out the trek. Slow and steady, but no race. And I am happy to say it worked for me. I finished the whole trek on my own steam, and was completely fit and peppy thru’ out.

31 July – Gala – Budhi Track – Part 3 – Lakhanpur to Malpa

We continued on our way to Malpa, much more cautious and serious. The barely 2-3 feet wide ledges high above the snarling Kali reduced our speed. The stones were smoothened out because of the constantly dripping water causing our boots to skid. The floor of the ledge was slippery and mucky. The raincoats were back on because we were constantly walking in and out of waterfalls. The roar of the Kali drowned out all conversation. Not that anybody was talking.

We now stuck close to each other. No one voiced out the worry that a slip and fall here would not have any kind of a happy outcome. There were no railings to speak of. A few relics from long ago remained. But they had rusted and would likely have fallen over if a butterfly had landed on the thin iron rods.

We clung to the cliff face on the left. The feel of the cold moss covered rock beneath my fingers gave me a slight sense of stability.

In places the overhang shielded us from the cascading water. It was unnerving to look out of the waterfall from the inside. The whole journey was fraught with risks and unrealistic beautiful moments. It seemed as if we were being teased by Mother Nature who alternately shone a hot bright light on us, dazzling our eyes, and then pushed us into a dark recess in the mountain, dunking us in chilled waters.

By 1 pm we had reached the halfway point. We would have lunch at Malpa. According to the original itinerary, this day’s trek would have ended at Malpa. But since the tragic landslide of August 1998 that killed more than 200 people, no one is allowed to stay there at night. All that’s left of the camp is a massive rocky patch and an icy stream that rushes down over a steep gradient. It’s a sobering thought, the fact that you are actually walking over the grave of hundreds of men, women and horses.

The stream that flows keeps changing directions. So we had to walk over a make shift bridge. It was actually nothing but a girder used in construction thrown horizontally over the water. Two 2-inch wide iron rods connected by wires. One foot on the left rod, one foot on the right rod. Throw out your arms and balance over the water. I gained a new respect for acrobats. When my cousin caught me on the other side, I nearly buckled in relief.

We had a quick lunch, being aware that we still had a long way to go. We wrung out soggy socks, shoes and hair, soaked up a little sunshine and pushed off once again in the direction of Budhi.

31 July: Gala – Budhi Track - Part 2 - Mishap on the way from Lakhanpur to Malpa

By this time, the sun was burning fiercely overhead. I’d taken off all those layers of sweater and raincoat and wore a thin cotton jacket over my t-shirt to protect my arms from the blasting heat. Later that night, I discovered angry red blisters on whatever patches of my hands were exposed.

At least I was no longer carrying my backpack. Thankfully, the third remaining pony owner agreed to tie our sacks onto his pony since no one was sitting on the pony anyway. The next patch of the track was risky enough without having to deal with the added weight of the backpack.

We were walking in loose groups of 3-4 people. Sushrut and I were the first to reach a rickety old wooden bridge on a U-turn, over a milky white, foaming waterfall. I paused to get my snap clicked over the bridge with no railings, made up of a few planks of wood nailed over a few logs of wood. I could see the water crashing a few feet under my shoes, through a few holes in the wood. I gritted my teeth and posed.

By then Sachin, Aditya and Pallavi had reached us. Aditya too wanted a few snaps so the 4 of us stood on the bridge and bared our teeth while he clicked. Disaster! No, the bridge didn’t crash, Aditya did. Right before our eyes, he missed his footing and went over the side of the narrow path. I heard a scream not realizing it had come from me. Aditya’s wife Pallavi was rooted to the spot.

In the next instant we raced back to where he had fallen. The water roiled sickeningly close. Just then, we heard his voice, “Don’t panic, I’m ok”. He had fallen into a few tall shrubs that grew by the side of the river. They broke his fall and he landed on the rocks by the water instead of in the water. He had fallen about 15 - 20 feet below the path.

Aditya climbed up a little over the rocks, Sachin flattened himself on the ground, Sushrut grabbed his ankles, and Aditya was pulled up to the path again. He had scraped his arms, legs and back, acquired an impressive egg on the back of his head and a few bruises. But he was lucky to be alive. He didn’t seem to have any serious injuries, but it was only thru pure, sheer luck.

Aditya’s fall shook us all up. We told the rest of the team as they came up, so everybody’d learn to be more careful and less breezy. But we kept it from my uncle and aunt, since they were anyway not running around boisterously and we didn’t want to scare them. Of course, it had nothing to do with the fact that we knew uncle would tan our hides if he found out how careless we’d been.