Day 0 – One less, One more
This is the story of my week-long trek in the Uttarakhand part of the Himalayas, in North India. As you'll know, trekking can be quite busy these days, so I specifically chose a remote trek that's not crowded. We hardly saw anyone else. It was one of the best trips I've ever done.
However, there was one less person on the trip than planned. My partner could not join, as we were delighted to discover she is pregnant with our first child! While she is very fit and healthy, the medical guidance recommends against multi-day treks above 10,000 feet, and so she stayed behind. Maybe we'll do it again together, one day. So I'm writing this for her, so she can vicariously experience it through my diary notes, and hopefully, you can too. Enjoy!
Day 1 – Delhi to Kathgodam
It was noon, and a long seven hour road trip lay ahead of me.
Slowly grinding our way out of the choking city traffic, we eventually accelerate out onto the open road, the engine wheezing in the 45°C heat. When I say ‘open road,’ it’s really anything but. Just as we reach 60 mph, we pass a double horse and cart coming the opposite way down a three-lane, one-way, motorway. In the fast lane! Of course, India’s crazy driving and complete lack of road rules are old news.
After several hours, there a quick stop at a South Indian place for some masala dosas and hot chai before we’re back out on the highway. About halfway through, conditions begin to deteriorate markedly. The asphalt disappears and the carriage way appears to be closed. Everyone ignores the signs and we begin an hour’s bumpathon across what appear to be lunar craters - dusty depressions as long as a truck. I’m amazed the little car is even up to it, and we struggle to get over 10 mph, as my head repeatedly knocks against the roof. To add an audible discomfort, the driver has a tiny iron bell glued to the dashboard. It’s like a mediaeval cathedral bell in miniature. Every time we go over a bump, it rings; which means it rings consistently, for hours on end.
The road smooths out again and we pass a patch of motorcyclists with heavy rifles thrown across one shoulder.
They erupt out of nowhere, from land that is otherwise snooker-table flat.
As the sun sets we reach a large town. As we negotiate a busy roundabout we slam on the brakes to give way to a blind man walking round it in the middle lane with his hand on the shoulder of a friend, leading him in front. It’s a heartwarming scene.
As we reach our final destination, the hot, dry plains have now given rise to some mighty large foothills. They erupt out of nowhere, from land that is otherwise snooker-table flat.
I end up at a simple riverside homestay, absolutely shattered. Tomorrow I shall be meeting up with my group of twenty or so fellow hikers.
My journey starts in New Delhi
Day 2 – Kathgodam to Gogina: Guru Troubles
Yes - more road travel. Twelve hours to be precise, but this is the start of the Himalayas, so I’m keen to see what’s in store. It also reminds me of just how remote a place we are going to, just to start the hike.
As we wait outside the train station, in the taxi rank, all is calm at 5am, before a gang of monkeys turns up and makes their way down the road, jumping between roofs of the parked cars. Men with sticks pester them away.
My travel companions are a diverse bunch of people, from all over India. For example, there’s a lady who is a doctor from Kerala, two 16-year-old lads who’ve just finished their exams, a man with a fantastic knowledge of the night sky from Chennai, and many others in-between. I am the only foreigner, and despite my half-Indian ancestry, and lots of time spent in India, I’m still very much a Brit. As such, I’m met with all sorts of questions about life back in the UK.
But back to the road: I pop in two motion sickness tablets. It’s not something I usually have an issue with but there’s winding roads and then there’s Himalayan winding roads, and we’re advised to take them.
After a couple of hours we’re suddenly stuck in a huge standstill traffic jam and we all just get out and walk into the cramped little town, whilst we wait for the bus to catch us up. It’s chock-full of people all visiting the temple of some popular modern-day spiritual guru. His grinning face adorns every last telephone pole. One of my travel buddies was here last year with her grandfather, who was a passionate follower. However, she’s quite mocking of the guru and I ask why.
"Guess how my 90 year old grandpa found out about this guy?”, she asks me.
In the same breath, she laughs and says “Well I’ll save you guessing: he started following him on YouTube. Before 2018 this place was deserted”.
If there’s one thing I’ve noticed about travel in the last 5 years it’s that otherwise pristine, remote places can suddenly get rammed (ruined) with hoards of people. It’s all driven by social media. But I’m not going to bore on about that so back to the road.
The storm has knocked out all electricity and we go to bed in a tiny stone hut
The mountains become steeper and more rugged and pine trees now shroud the road. Their dried needles flanking the barrier-less tarmac cause the van to slip, as large trucks hurtle down in the opposite direction. We all feel a bit sick, and are soon in a trance brought on by bend, after bend, after bend.
I don’t notice how cold I’m getting until it’s too late, and I begin to shiver. It’s on with the fleece, jacket, hat and gloves, and a thunderstorm cracks loudly from the charcoal-grey skies overhead.
We finally arrive in Gogina, and are greeted with broad smiles. It’s a tiny village and literally the very end of any roads. The storm has knocked out all electricity and we go to bed in a tiny stone hut with no windows and a door no higher than 5 feet tall.
In my room, the sleeping arrangement is for 5 men, in a kind of giant bed, comprised of a hard stone floor and a warm but grubby cover. It reminds me of the origin of the English phrase ‘strange bedfellows’. In pre-Victorian England, highway lodges would have you sleeping in the same bed as people you had only just met, or worse still, complete randomers. Luckily, I’m going to get to know them all over the next week, and they’ll prove to be a great bunch of people.
In the background there’s bleating sheep, and the room is full of flies and insects. They keep landing on my face and waking me up. My solution is to sleep with my bobble hat pulled all the way down over my chin l, and enjoy a thoroughly uncomfortable night.
A very warm welcome at base camp.
Our room for the night
Day 3 – The Hike Begins: Balconies, Cricket, & Snake Berries
One of my roommates wakes me at 5:30 a.m. to ask for an iPhone charger. Thanks.
After a delicious breakfast - one of many - we meet our tour leader, Ankit. A slim, energetic man in his 30s, he’s originally from Andhra Pradesh but has been stationed in the mountains for the last couple of years, doing this. The other four men helping him are all Kumaoni people. Visibly different from Ankit - and everyone else here - they have more Nepali-like features and are no doubt better suited to the mountains than the rest of us.
Kitchen supplies are carried by mules, and once loaded up, we’re off. Much of the route is on an old India-to-Tibet mule trail, which is well marked and easy to follow. Before the next few days of ‘pure uphill’, we have to cross the valley, so we plunge down to a hulking iron suspension bridge. It’s my first glimpse of the furious Ramganga River: wide and immensely powerful, with turquoise-blue water racing down the mountainside, sluicing around boulders the size of houses. Despite its giant size, the bridge bobs up and down as we walk across it. A welcome patch of flatness before the big ascent.
The rest of the day is spent climbing up to Namik. It’s a very sharp ascent from the valley floor but the rock steps are well-cut as they zigzag up rock face. After several hours we enter a high altitude forest of Green Oaks, Maple, Ringaals (dwarf bamboos), and chestnut trees. The fragrance of Deodar - the native Himalayan cedar - hangs heavy in the air. Its invigorating yet calming scent is often used in spiritual rituals.
Above the forest, the trail is fringed with lovely long ferns and some wild snake berries. These are easily confused with strawberries but are not, and can be toxic if eaten.
“Your tents are expedition-grade and have two balconies” Blimey, I thought.
As early evening approaches, we enter Namik village. We are greeted by young kids and their grandparents as they look up from their crops. The steeply stepped terraces here are full of potatoes, wheat, rajma, pulses and millet, according to the season.
We cross the Balchan temple arch, above the village, and within a few kilometres reach a large grassy clearing. Fortunately it’s flat, as this is our campsite for the night. As the Namik glacier shines brightly to the right hand side, we sit down for an equipment talk by Ankit.
“Your tents are expedition-grade and have two balconies” Blimey, I thought. The tents were indeed of very high quality but ‘balconies’ was purely a case of Indian English using a different word. In the UK we call them tent porches. A simple flap of fabric designed to keep your boots dry. I would love to see a tent with a balcony, one day. It would be quite the feat of engineering! I do love Indian English, but for a different reason: it's full of old fashioned words that wouldn't sound out of place in Victorian London. The word 'bamboozled' is perhaps the most famously cited example of this. Perhaps these old words will make a come back, globally. There's already 129 million English speakers in India - twice the UK population - and that's only going up, fast.
So once we had waved a few poles around, our tents were up and we sat drinking some excellent chai and eating samosas. As the sun set we played some mountain cricket and, later, a strange game that involved kicking some pebbles around. I couldn’t possibly begin to describe it but it was great fun. It felt like our group was bonding well already.
A few scenes from the lower altitudes. One of our Kumaoni guides point out the paper-like bark of the Himalayan birch, upon which some of the original Buddhist and Hindu texts were first written down.
Day 4 – Kharaks, Sustainability, & Watery Mishaps
This morning, we fill our bottles directly from a stream next to the campsite. We are told here that the water is as clean as it gets, with no other humans between us and the melting glacier at its source. I believe it. However, I can be a bit overly cautious. There’s still the chance of an upset stomach from even a small animal dying in the water upstream. Rare, but it does happen, and I don’t want to ruin my trek. Furthermore, everyone else has cast-iron Indian stomachs, with a lifetime of exposure to the country’s bugs. Mine’s not quite at that level yet.
Into my bottle, I pop a tiny water purifying tablet. I’ve used them before, but these ones give the water a slightly yellowish tinge. I think nothing of it, and continue to pop in the little pills for most of the week. After the trek is over, it will be pointed out to me that I’ve been ‘purifying’ my water with hayfever antihistamine tablets! I did think I was feeling a bit sleepy in the afternoons - how ridiculous. Fortunately it did prove that the water really was as clean as everyone said. In my defence, the two tablet types (and their packaging) just happen to look identical. Tiny writing too. Maybe I need glasses.
With my allergy-proofed bottles full, we start the morning’s ascent. Coming out of the village, we notice a little bit of rubbish, so we stop to collect it. That’s one of the great things about hiking within India Hikes. Everyone is provided with a special litter bag and told to collect any trash they come across. For us, there was hardly any, as the route we were taking was remote, yet it feels good to pick up even the smallest amount. I love that we’re helping the litter problem rather than adding to it. Tourism can sometimes feel ‘extractive’ or ‘consumerist’. This feels anything but.
I find myself thinking of my grandparents growing up in 1920s India
So where does this trash eventually end up, since there are obviously no bins up here? Well, it’s not just taken back to the base camp, but right the way back to the big cities, well away from the pristine mountains, where it’s properly recycled. This is so important in a country like India - with the world’s largest population - and a plastic-pollution problem to match. It’s very hard for any developing country. The real culprits are the international corporations behind the plastic industry, which in itself is a direct byproduct of the oil and gas industry. People call plastic pollution a ‘wicked problem’ - I.e, one that’s very hard to solve. In reality, it’s not. It’s the plastic industry, and its immense power to lobby and bully governments. They’re the real reason the litter mountains keep growing.
I find myself thinking of my grandparents growing up in 1920s India, and how ‘pollution’ wouldn’t have even been on their radar. No air pollution, and no plastic either. Foodstuffs wrapped in banana leaves or other natural products. It’s too easy to romanticise the past, but some things were better. Anyway, let’s get back to the joy of the trek.
During the ascent, pretty dwarf rhododendrons flank either side of the stone trail. As our elevation increases, the flowers change from a deep red to a more pinky hue. There are many reasons for this, but in short, it’s an adaptation to the ever thinner air and colder temperatures. I start to wish I could ‘adapt-on-the-go’ as the air on the shady side of the mountain really is quite cold - and I’m soon putting on my gloves for the first time. Along the path we notice much more European-looking plants: Juniper berries, that key ingredient in gin. I could drink a G&T now.
The largest of the oaks is worshipped as Golu Devta - a local god of justice, and an incarnation of Lord Shiva.
The warm sun reappears when we get to the high ‘Kharaks’ a couple of hours out from our next camp. These clearings in the forest are essentially high altitude meadows, complete with lush green grass, and we are encouraged to walk barefoot for a while. We could indeed be in Switzerland here, as cows and sheep graze with little jingly bells attached round their necks. Scattered around are a few oak trees, both upright and alive, as well as lying down, having passed on. All are covered by thick green lichen that hangs down handsomely and tells us that the air here is as clean as it gets. The largest of the oaks is worshipped as Golu Devta - a local god of justice, and an incarnation of Lord Shiva. We pad about and find a comfy spot to sit down and get out our tiffin boxes, brimming with a lip-smacking chana masala. I’ve never had such good food camping. It’s a testament to the kitchen team who pop up a tent and cook up a feast in all manner of weather conditions. All of it is carried on a few mules and every meal is nutritious and delicious.
Feeling full, we lie back and stare at the sky. We see (and hear) all sorts of birds. Verditer Flycatchers, woodpeckers, barbets, laughing thrushes, and more. All this bucolic bliss does not last long, as the clouds bubble up and a front of cold air moves in. We stand up and strap on our heavy packs once again. The sheep in the corner of the Kharak are woolly and look cosy. Their shepherd soon comes over to us, clutching his best lamb to his chest, eager to show it off. We coo over it, share some smiles and laughter - but no words - before our heads turn towards the next challenge that lies ahead - the col named ’Thal Tok’. This bit of topography is essential in connecting us to the mountains beyond, and our ultimate destination. It’s a narrow pass between two towering peaks, the whole thing acting like a crazy wind tunnel as we plod on through and up.
The rain starts to come down hard as we march up a series of switchbacks that zig-zag up the mountain. Near the top, the steps are enormous, and with the altitude, we have to take them one step at a time. Even at 6ft 3, the steps are too big for me and I lever myself up them on my hiking poles. After what seems like an age we reach the campsite; wet, cold, and a bit miserable. I get straight into my tent and attempt to nap as the water bounces loudly on the canvas above my head. When it’s finally over, I emerge and the kitchen team has once again pulled a blinder. Hot, sweet chai and a plate of creamy pasta with chilli. Later in the evening, the clouds part and we are greeted by another superlative: the brightest stars I’ve seen in years. It’s made all the better by one of our fellow hikers. Sriram is a physics professor from Chennai and spends a good while pointing out constellations to us all.
Despite a warm sleeping bag, I began to sleep in more and more clothes, the higher we got.
Day 5 – You're on Your Own. Hail, Hail, Hail
After a restorative night’s sleep, we start the morning with a gentle walk down to Balchan kund, a remote lake set in a meadow, with great spiritual significance for local pilgrims. It feels like a very restful place, with sun rays passing through the trees like pillars of light and hitting the pondy marsh. Above the trickling of water, we hear the rapid-fire of woodpeckers, as well as warblers and other water birds. Our Kumaoni guide tells us there is sometimes a pair of yellow-throated martens playing near the water’s edge, but this time they elude us.
After a sunny and civilised breakfast of sabji with pooris, washed down with chai, we begin our self-guided day. This is all by design. Our guides will accompany us but say nothing. We each have to take a role - food, navigation and so on. My role is the warm-up, and after I get everyone doing a few lunges and wheeling our arms around over our heads, we begin what is to become quite a tough climb. Easy to start with, until the weather closes in and the path rises up. We have to don our full-length ponchos as big hailstones start to pummel us from above.
one hailstone cannons into my ear and makes it ring.
The path is steep and particularly treacherous. At each turn, it’s hard to look up through the hail. Some of the hailstones are big, so they really hurt. There are many cries of “OOOUCH” all over the mountain. If you’ve ever been paintballing, it’s a bit like that. I think my poncho hood gives me good protection, until one hailstone cannons into my ear and makes it ring. This is tough going. We battle up through the blizzard and halfway up, turn around and see the meadows below us; they look tiny now and are no longer green, but covered in a carpet of white. When we finally reach the top, we see a spur trail leading off, seemingly into the eye of the storm, but we take another that drops down just a few feet to our campsite for tonight. The campsite is a rare bit of (relative) flat, in an otherwise very wonky terrain. High peaks surround us and it looks precarious. The only water source is a hike away and a single stone shelter in the middle is where we aim for. As we enter its dark interior, we try not to look at the nearby wreckage of a tent that has blown clean off the mountain. All of us sit on the rough wooden planks in the pitch black. After some time a gas camping stove is lit and all twenty of us take it in turns to warm our hands above its tiny blue flame.
The storm eventually subsides and gives way to the deep clear indigo of dusk. The air is totally still and we venture out and along the spur to a viewpoint. The scenery is already even more stupendous than the night before. The sun's last rays touch the mountain tops and we turn in for a very early night. It’s a 4am start tomorrow.
The work of a woodpecker: horizontal line of holes on a tree.
Day 6 – Ranthan Top Summit. Just Let Go
Today we summited Ranthan top. When I say ‘summited’ my mind goes immediately to Everest. Delusions of grandeur. Calm down, calm down.
Slept in all my clothes. 3am rise. 3.30am choked down some hot millet porridge. Who eats at this time? It’s bloody cold and we begin the trudge upwards. Rocky switchbacks galore and our headlamps strapped on to lead the way.
**SEVERAL HOURS LATER...
The air is getting thinner and thinner. I know that’s obvious, and overmentioned, but at this altitude, each vertical foot of gain feels all the more taxing. My heart is going like the clappers and it’s hard to settle into a heavy breathing rhythm - say like on a bike - as the terrain is so changeable. There are giant steps one minute and flat connecting paths the next.
There’s a sub-summit first, which is where we arrive for sunrise. We get there after a one-step-at-a-time final push. There’s no red alpine glow because these mountains are so enormous, the sun is pretty high - and therefore yellow - by the time it peeks over the peaks of the massif (a mountain of multiple tops).
Those rays are a welcome relief from the sharp cold of morning, and our frozen faces start to thaw and glow with the warmth of the sun. Behind us, it illuminates the sleeping giants of India’s highest mountains - Nanda Devi (‘Goddess of Joy’), and her companions. The sheer ice-walls of their pyramidal peaks now dazzle with a hue of warm white.
Ankit calls us over for a symbolic exercise.
Soon, we begin our final ascent. A few people decide they can’t go further and descend. It doesn’t look far but it takes us a good hour. The trail is steepest here, and I lever up big boulders with both poles. Pellets from yesterday’s hail storm have glued together into crunchy waffle-like plates underfoot: fortunately they’re surprisingly grippy. Pale straw-coloured grasses flank the narrow path as it winds its way up, around the back of the mountain, and so we plunge back into the shady dawn. The clouds of my breath are visible once again.
After much huffing and puffing, I’m on the flat top of... Ranthan Top - we have arrived!
It’s a big area and as just a few of us wait for the rest of the group to arrive, we spread out and sit down. It feels special to have it all to myself (nearly). In fact it’s why I chose the trek in the first place. It’s far less busy than others, and in the last 5 days we’ve only seen one other small group of trekkers.
I have half an hour to myself, just staring at the incredible view before me as a bird of prey wheels overhead. It’s the most epic sight I’ve ever seen. I’m on the roof of the world here, and I can’t help but shed a tear of happiness at sheer beauty and specialness of it all. I pop a headphone in one ear and listen to The Lark Ascending, by Vaughn Williams. It’s the my favourite elegy to nature ever written, and so nothing else will do.
Once everyone has arrived, Ankit calls us over for a symbolic exercise. Standing around in a circle, on the crest of the peak, we grip our 'chosen stones' we had each picked up at the start of the trek. With our arms outstretched we are then told to observe a minute’s silence and meditate on the climb we had just completed. We then grip our jagged rocks so hard until it hurts too much, before dropping them to the ground. Ankit begins his simple teaching:
"It gives us great pain if we hold onto things too tightly, even things we really love, whether that be people, careers or anything at all. Sometimes we must just let go of them, and that’s what we have done with these stones."
To some it may seem a tad random, yet all I can say is that it made total sense in the moment. A lovely touch and a meaningful end to our summit, before we head back down.
After a 3am start, we eventually reach Ranthan top. At most other times of year it's blanketed in snow.
Day 7 – Descent to Gogina: The Simple Joy of Washing
Camp was packed away for the last time and we began our mammoth descent. It takes very different muscles to go downhill, and after a few hours, my quads are completely cooked, and my knees are a tad tender. Unlike uphill, the lack of cardio means you don’t really do any huffing and puffing, and so there’s no pleasant endorphin rush. It’s just draining, tiring, and takes an awful lot of concentration on where I’m putting my feet. Personally, I’ve always found it much harder than going up.
As the hot sun beats down, we eventually arrive back at the suspension bridge by the Ramganga river. We climb right the way down the water itself. The water is so fast and deep, it would be suicidal to swim, even for the best of swimmers. There is some relief though, as I take off my shoes and my feet breathe in the un-socked afternoon air. I take a step further, onto a rock overhanging the fast water, and lower my body down into a press-up position. It sounds acrobatic, but it’s far from elegant. Doing ‘the plank’, I hold my breath and dunk my hot head into the cool water. It’s ice cold but glorious. Weirdly, it makes me feel a bit faint and dizzy and I almost topple into the river as I stand back up. Worth it though.
It sounds acrobatic, but it’s far from elegant.
And with that we head back across the bridge, bobbing up and down, following the mules who have gone ahead. As we come back into Gogina we are met with smiling faces. A special Kumaoni puja ceremony has just finished and many people are beautifully dressed in colourful outfits, trimmed with gold. Soon after, we do find a spot where we can swim; a smaller waterfall, just beyond the village. I plunge in, and it feels great to wash after not properly washing for so many days. Surprisingly, I didn't smell as bad as I imagined I would!
Back at the lodge it’s chai, snacks, then a well-earned dinner
It’s been a glorious week. Right up there with one of the best things I’ve ever done, out there in the natural world. The Himalayas are always spoken about in lists of superlatives, so my expectations were high. The reality was even better than I could imagine.
Getting back to civilization. We see village women home after attending a Kumaoni puja ceremony. Scroll down for the rest of the photos of the whole trek.
Lawrence D'Silva
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