A night on the mountain... PART I

Last Saturday, My friend Eamon and I went out for a hike. We left our hotel in Mussoorie at 5AM and we were going to try and reach the mountain of Nag Tibba by early afternoon. After a short taxi ride down to the wayside village of Suakholi, we found a trail that had been described to us by a friend. This trail lead north down the back side of smaller mountain. The views on this expedition were simply spellbinding. Being able to see the true Himalayas off in the background resting high above the peaks of lower mountains, was simply amazing (someday soon I will be in the Himalayas, on an expedition to Everest's base camp). After two and a half hours of hiking down, past rice paddies and wheat field, we reached the Tathyur. We stopped and ate an early lunch of Hakka noodles and extra Hakka noodles and of course Chai, at a roadside cafe. After this tasty lunch we started making are way up towards the village of Dewals Sari. 

Not knowing much about where we were headed, we had a plan of making it back to Tathyur for a shared Jeep by three that afternoon. We had previously talked about staying a night up in the hills, but our program advisor said that we needed prior approval of where and how we were staying. Finding it difficult to contact a hotel up in the mountains and make reservations  this was almost impossible where were was going, because they don't have any hotels, almost impossible. My friend Eamon, if we found a place for me to stay, would head back to the hotel and cover for me for the night. 

On our way up this road, we saw many more rice paddies as well as remnants of landslides onto the road. Heavy machinery was clearing away the remnants of the slides flattening the road out. We reached a sort of fork in the road. The road should have continued straight, we tell this because we could see the road on the other side of this large rock field. The road had literally been washed away by water and boulders. Amazing site, but the way people were acting, it was almost as if this were a common occurrence.

Making our way through past the boulder field we continued to hike up, except, now we really were going up! The slope of the incline was growing and we were getting tired. Dewals Sari was supposed to be about 8km up the mountain. Nag Tibba peaked out at 4500 m or so. This would be the highest point I would have ever reached, outside of an airplane. Taking a short cut pointed out to us by some locals, we reached a small village situated on the side of a mountain. To the rear, the south view was stunning, being able to see the road stretch out before us, it was unbelievable how far we'd come in such a short time. To the east there was a large coniferous forest, with row after row of trees at least 100 ft tall leading up the face of another few peaks. To the west and north the mountain face climbed with more fields and eventually broke away to open rock, peaked by beautiful clear blue skies. Nag Tibba was tucked out of site a four hike around and up another valley, or so said the map, it didn't look like we were making Nag Tibba today.

At this point though, I really had to use the restroom. Those noodles from before were starting to catch up with me. We walked around this village for some time, looking for place where I could use the toilet. When we rounded a corner and walked into a small courtyard, I asked an elderly gentleman if there was a toilet I could use. He told me no, but what appeared to be his grandson, a kid my age, came down and showed me to their toilet. After using the facilities, I came out and was offered some tea and place to sit down. I could really use a break, I was a bit rusty, as I had not being hiking since last summer when Abi, Spencer, and I went out west to Yellowstone, the Grand Teton's, as well as the Badlands on an 'Adventure.'  ;-)  Eamon however, knew that he would have to head back shortly, and I wanted to make it up to a temple we had seen a little more up the valley. So I took tea while Eamon went up to the temple, and would meet back up shortly. 

Sitting and chatting with this family (the grandfather, mother, son, daughter, a female cousin, and a man they had hired for the day) ending up being great practice for my hindi. They found out the reason for my trip, and told me that it was a long way up (too long for what remaining sunlight we had). They also said that without a permit, I would be unable to stay in the government owned and run campground, which was located on other side of the river located in the forest.

Kaldeep, the young son, then offered and invitation to spend the night in their comfortable abode, as his guest. Their house, sitting above their grain/rice/etc shop, was beautifully crafted out of local wood and painted green and styled with many colors. Their doors were hand carved and richly decorated with different symbols. Eamon came back a few minutes later and said he was heading back down to catch a taxi back for our hotel.

After about another ten minutes of relaxing, the son, two young women, and worker all got up and said they were off to work. I was not about to stay at this house for free, so I told him I would help work with them, whatever they were doing, I would do. I am not one to take advantage of someone's hospitality, plus I didn't have a gift to share with them for my intrusion, so I figured work would be the best substitute. After much insistence on my part to help, he didn’t want me to help as I was a guest, he let me follow. 

With the recent rain this area received, much of the ground had been eroded away, and some of this ground was connected to the families wall. This was wall was where they tied their livestock for the night (A few cows, some goats, and two water buffalo). There was a foot crack in the ground where the wall was surely to fall further into the valley some date in the near future. 

The work we had set before us consisted of hauling rocks up from a creek bed and placing them in the yard for later concreting. The creek was located about a 4 minute walk down into the valley, and by hand picking out flatter rocks to and carrying them up the hill. The rocks ranging from 15-40 pounds were wet and difficult to grasp. The young women placed the stones on the heads (on top of a towel for padding) well we carried them on our shoulders or in our hands. I was typically carrying two at a time, while everyone else would carry one or two small ones. This was  especially grueling work, after a 15 km hike, that started at 5AM, and I couldn’t happier. 

Using this heavy labor to clear my mind and escape my own thoughts, I worked diligently and tirelessly for two hours. Every time I came up to the house to drop the load of stones I was carrying, the grandfather would call out for my to stop and come up for tea, but I only smiled and waved at him, and the look on his face made it all worth it. He would put his hands together with a knowing smile a make a blessing toward me. I accepted his grace, if not his requests for a halt to my labor, and continued working. 

Finally, completed with carrying rocks up the hill, we took another short break before starting a new task. The next task we had before us was to carry bags of sand up from a river down deeper in the valley. The hike to this river was about twenty minutes. We had to cross the river on a bridge, only to cross back to the far side further down river. After putting the small Indian man on my shoulders and walking across the river without a problem (being 5’2” or so he would have been washed away in waist deep water, knee deep by my standards), we found a pile of dark sand and small stones, to be used as concrete with the recently picked rocks. Filling burlap sacks with this heavy stone, we started working our way up switchbacks back toward the house. 

Initially, before we even made it a hundred yards, I accidently touched this stinging nettles sort of plant, and my hand immediately began to sting and become inflamed. The pain was not that overwhelming, but for my hand it was quite intense. :-) My new friend, Kaldeep, saw me go back and wash my hand in the river. He had a bit of a worried look on his face, as if just because my hand was thrashed I would give up on him and India and leave. 

After reassuring him that this was not the case, I showed him the plant that stung me. He understood, and seeing my hand, which was now beginning to show signs of inflammation, he took me to another plant, which I realized was a large sized Cannabis plant. He then began to take leaves from the plant and rubbed them into the rash that was starting to form. The relief was instantaneous. The stinging went away and the red welts the were forming stopped throbbing and slowly retreated. The hand still had a pins and needles kind of feel, but no where near as intense as before. An amazing local remedy apparently lost to the modern world. Nothing like rubbing a little pot on it to cure it. 

Carrying these bags of sand up the side of a hill was much more difficult then I would have assumed, but not because of the awkward burlap sack filled with 50 lbs of sand thrown over my shoulder. The difficulty lay in the size of the path. My shoe size is a size 12, my assumption that the average show size of a full grown Indian man is between sizes 8-9. This trail was about 6 inches wide and on one side was the gorge, a steep cliff face, while the other was a just as steep grassy slope covered in small bushes threatening to push you off the trail to a quick drop below filled with pain and almost certainly a shattered hip or leg. 

Taking one step at a time, I focused on my path, trying not to think about the precarious fall below me. My legs were finally exhausted from the days labor, and I could tell I was getting fatigued. We reached the farm without so much as a delay, and my friend insisted that I relax while they finished one more trip down to the river for another load of cement. I readily complied, and watched them disappear down the trail head, without even a complaint (or without being covered sweat). 

After catching my breathe, I watched as another elderly man came down another trial behind a line of about half a dozen goats. They kept moving in a placid manner taking their time, but appearing keenly aware of where the shepherd was with his stick, that I assumed is used to keep them moving. The older gentlemen continued about his work, tying each goat up to a peg in the yard, and feeding them some hay. 

Sitting and watching I saw the Billy Goat escape his peg and start making his way down toward the trail. The grandfather, from his perch on the porch, started yelling out to the other man to catch the goat. I, however, was already off my feet stalking the goat, snatching his leash and dragging him begrudgingly back towards his peg. After double checking that his knot would hold, I joined the grandfather up on the porch for some more tea. 

END OF PART I