A walk on the wild side

Several years ago, I had read the immensely popular book, ‘Annapurna: First Conquest of an 8,000-metre Peak’, by the French mountaineer and explorer, Maurice Herzog. This was a gripping first-person account of his pioneering expedition to the Annapurna North peak, one of the highest known peaks in the Himalayan range, in 1950, three years before Edmund Hillary and Tenzin Norgay scaled Mount Everest.

The approach to the Annapurna North Base Camp in Nepal’s Annapurna Conservation Zone, which Maurice Herzog had traced 75 years ago, had been mostly closed to trekkers and allowed to be taken over by the lush vegetation of the sub-tropical region. In this 75th year of Herzog’s expedition, the trail has been re-opened and re-laid for trekkers.

A marathon has been planned later this year to mark the occasion and honour the memory of Herzog. This being a new route, I decided to explore it mainly because it promised to be a trek through some wild, remote and pristine terrain, before it was taken over by lodges, eating places and eventually by luxury guesthouses and hotels. This is what has happened to the more popular trek to the Annapurna South Base Camp, known as the Apple Pie trail, which is dotted with homestays and eating places, which have western-style toilets and both local and western food on the menu. You need only to carry your personal trekking gear and nothing more. During the season, the trail is crowded with trekking groups from around the world.

The Annapurna North Trek has no such infrastructure. I had to camp along the route, which meant that I had to have a supporting team of a local guide and team leader, a cook, his helpers and three porters to carry tents, kitchen equipment and my personal trekking gear. Along much of the trail, there was no signal and therefore no calls to make or receive. I had my regular guide, Rajendra Rai, who has accompanied me on earlier treks and who is one of the best guides I have had on my various treks.

I flew from Kathmandu to Pokhara in western Nepal in the morning on May 18 with my guide and we drove in a four-wheel jeep to our overnight stop at Tatopani, where the rest of our crew waited for us. The route is mostly along the Kali Gandaki river and runs all the way to Mustang and on to the border with Tibet. Not far from Pokhara, there used to be only a walking trail to Mustang. Or one could, as I did in 2003, fly north to Jomson, which lies just beyond the Himalayan range, and then trek to Mustang.

Jomson is also the base for the day-long trek to the once remote but sacred shrine of Muktinath, which is now very popular with Indian pilgrims because of its current accessibility. Tatopani has become a convenient destination for — as its name indicates — its several hot springs. Thanks to a large number of Indian pilgrims bound for Muktinath, Tatopani boasts of several hotels and guesthouses with 24X7 power and all amenities an urban visitor would expect. I stayed overnight at one of the larger hotels and found that most of my fellow guests were compatriots. They would end up the next day in Jomsom, travelling along the highway which the Chinese have built.

The next day, accompanied by our six-member crew, we drove on a narrow gravel road to Hum Khola, from where we would begin our trek. Hum Khola is a tributary of the Nilgiri river, which originates from the snows of the massive Nilgiri mountains. The gravel road has been constructed thanks to several medium-size hydro-electric power projects which are either operational or under construction. The route was littered with heavy construction equipment and thick cables. Much of the construction material was being drawn from the riverbed, both sand and stones, leaving behind gouged out shallow pools of stagnant water. And the forests in the command area had been wiped out to make way for the projects.

Hum Khola itself is home to a medium-scale hydro project under construction. It was a relief leaving this denuded scenery behind as we headed into the thickly forested hills. We were now walking alongside the Nilgiri river, which is also known as the Mystik river among the locals. Perhaps this was a name given to it by Herzog? One may never know.

The next three days of trekking were magical, with the raging tumult of the Nilgiri river keeping us company as we headed upstream. Its crystal waters swirled over massive boulders and rocks, all smoothed, like with sandpaper, into myriad shapes and textures. Once in a while, where the eddies were gentle, I would soak my tired feet into the freezing water and be instantly revived, body and spirit together.

The lush forests of the tropical and sub-tropical zones blended into the sparse temperate vegetation, of oak and cedar and an occasional maple tree. The river valley is nestled between high mountains, some clothed in green, but mostly dry and craggy at this time of the year.

I was lucky that it did not rain while I was walking but the skies were overcast most of the time, providing welcome shade.

The first day’s camp was at Sandikharka, a small village on the riverside where a guesthouse was already under construction. There was a narrow patch available for our tents, though it was strewn with wood shavings and splinters from the nearby construction. But we had the lush forest behind us, the sound of the river and of birds returning to their nests in the late afternoon.

It was half-way to our next camp the following morning that we had our first sight of the high snow-capped mountain range in the distance. The track was on a steady incline and the weather much cooler. The camping site, at Busket Mela, was much more spacious with a lone tea stall. Four large tents had been set up with several mattresses and quilts inside to accommodate larger groups. But they were unoccupied at this time. We were told that large trekking groups were expected particularly for the forthcoming marathon.

I slept in my own tent and had a sumptuous meal served by the cook. I felt guilty having a whole entourage looking after my needs. This was a hard-working and pleasant group, at home in these mountains and always solicitous.

The next day, the ascent was steep through a valley with different vegetation, more grassland and shrub, and strewn with odd-shaped rocks and boulders. High up on the mountain slopes were several natural caves and an occasional pendulous beehive hanging precariously from the vertical slopes. The snow mountains loomed large in front of us and the river seemed to gather both speed and intensity. We were entering an arid zone and the temperature dropped sharply. A gentle rain began to fall and clouds from nowhere filled the valley and obscured the high mountains.

While I took shelter in one of the shallow caves en route, one could see icicles hanging from the mountain-side as water streaming down the slope froze in mid-flow. When the rain stopped and the clouds cleared, we found ourselves at the edge of an open valley with a blue lake at its centre and an amphitheatre of high mountains framing it on all sides. On one side is the vertical face of the Nilgiri Central; on the other the Annapurna North Face. The still waters of the lake reflected the mountains so vividly that it appeared they were silently sliding into the waters of the lake.

This final camp site at the Annapurna North Base Camp is at a height of 4,060 metres. The lake is called the Panchkunda — lake of five springs.

The next morning, I trekked further up to the Annapurna North High Camp, from where the mountains are really within touching distance. One crosses a flat expanse of gravel and scree which must have once been under an ancient glacier, now melted, and receded into the distance. There is a small memorial to Maurice Herzog on its edge, marking the camp he set up before ascending the Annapurna North peak. The proposed marathon will end at this spot.

Further ahead and at a higher place is a chorten or pile of rocks, decked with prayer flags. This was the highest point of my trek at 4,190 metres. Behind me were the massive walls of ice of the Nilgiri Central Range and in front, was the majestic spread of the Annapurna, with its jagged stretch of beige rocks, the Barashikhara, looming over the lake below. At this time of the morning, it is bathed in a golden light, sparkling as the rays of rising sun strike its serial peaks.

The final night at the camp was fierce and turbulent, in contrast to the serenity of the lake and the profound silence of the mountains. We were hit by a massive storm with gale force winds and pelting rain and hail. The porters had to secure my tent by placing several heavy rocks on its edges. But the kitchen and dining tents were blown some distance away and could be retrieved only in the morning.

When I woke up and peeped out of my tent, all was calm and peaceful. The air was clean from the rain, the mountains were clothed in fresh, pure white snow and the lake had an edgy brilliance I had not seen before. Nature was bidding me farewell with an ethereal display which will remain embedded in my mind. Its memory will uplift my spirits and remind me that rivers and lakes and mountains and forests are as much living entities as we are, and that our lives will always remain intertwined.

The trek back to civilisation was mostly uneventful but the after-glow of the journey remains.

— The writer is a former Foreign Secretary and an avid trekker

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