HIMACHAL - DAY SIX : KHIR GANGA - DEADLY TREK IN THE HILLS

          The day began on a rainy note, the occasional peal of thunder and bolt of lightning breaking the chilly twilight. I had woken up early, intending to leave Manali as soon as possible. Though I still had not planned out the latter part of the day, it was clear that more options would be available to me then if I left early now. 

Fallen Trees Across Mountain Streams

          I packed my rucksack, freshened up, and went upstairs to bid farewell to Luke, Robin and Peter. They were asleep and I decided to wake them up. By this time, a persistent drizzle had set in and I delayed my departure. Half an hour later, the drizzle let up for a brief period, bringing out a clear patch, just what I needed. I picked up my bag, cleared the bill and set out towards town. A friendly taxi driver offered me a ride, and while dropping me to the bus station, told me how to reach the base towns of Barsheini and Kalga, and to begin the three hour trek up to Khir Ganga from there.

           I boarded a bus for Manikaran, a town on the way, and settled down, watching the newly washed countryside pass me by. About four hours later, just as I was reaching my saturation point in the crowded bus, we arrived at Manikaran. It was supposed to be a holy town famous for its hot springs.

Gateway to the Jungle

         I got off at the bus stand, climbed a steep embankment and then boarded the waiting bus to Barsheini. The twenty five kilometers that we travelled was over an apology of a road, and the journey took well over an hour. More like a rollercoaster ride, I quickly abandoned my last row seat for one at the front. It was amazing to see people living in areas as remote as these – in solitary houses on steep, rugged mountain faces.

             An extremely bumpy journey brought us to the little town of Barsheini, the last town on the bus route. I got off, and while looking around, met a friendly Indian gentleman named Dan who had come with his cousins. He had been working in New York for the last ten years, and this was his first trip to India over that time. He was very excited about his visit and wanted to see and experience as much as he could while he was here. 

Tree of Faith

         Dan’s cousins were from Pune, one of whom was a football coach. Together we negotiated a path up the steep slope that was the only way to reach the village of Kalga perched atop a hill. Half an hour of huffing and puffing brought us to the top. The entire concept of a village completely inaccessible by road was new and fascinating for me. Set in an apple orchard, nearly every house in the village had been modified to be a guesthouse. A couple of tiny general stores at the middle of the village were just about the only commercial buildings there were. 

Natacha for a Trekking Companion

           Dan was headed to the Pink House, a guesthouse at the end of the village. As we walked through the orchard, I saw a foreigner packing a few things into a small bag. On enquiring she told me that she was headed up to Khir Ganga. Now that I had some company, I asked if I could join her for the trek up. Her name was Natacha and she was from France. 

Mighty Streams Across our Path

            I quickly left my bag in Dan’s room, stuffed a few essentials into my sleeping bag cover and joined Natacha. She was with another lady, Michelle from Israel who was also trekking up. Now, there were two trekking paths up to the settlement of Khir Ganga in the mountains. The primary one was a well laid out path on the west side of the river that was used by most tourists as well as regulars to trek up. The second was used only by a few locals and involved trekking up the eastern bank through the jungle. Though a trifle shorter, this path was supposedly overgrown at places and without a local guide, there existed chances of getting lost. I suppose it was some reckless sense of adventure of the unexplored that overcame us, but all three of us felt like we should take the less trodden path, and so we did.

         As we walked, we talked about our respective countries. Natacha was an avid traveler and had been around much of the world before coming here to India. She was thirty two years old and was waiting to meet her boyfriend in Dharamsala a couple of days later. Michelle was forty two and the mother of two children. She had come to take a break from work for a couple of months while her husband looked after the kids.

Intruder Alert -
Goats Grazing on Grassy Gradient

           About twenty minutes into our trek, Michelle stopped, saying she was not feeling well. She was just recovering from a flu and did not feel like continuing. She wished us luck and headed back to Kalga, deciding to trek up a day or two later when she felt better. Natacha and I continued the walk along the side of the mountain. Soon we reached a clearing and were welcomed by stares from hundreds of goats grazing on the hillside. We spotted the goatherd sitting on a rock above us and confirmed that we were on the right track. 

'Forward Only' she says

     As we walked on, the terrain started becoming harsher and harsher. An ever steepening slope, thickening forest and dense undergrowth made the path more and more difficult to trace. We even lost the path a few times, having to search for a while before regaining it. 

The Near-Vertical slope we were stuck on

           With both Natacha and I of the ‘Forward Only’ attitude, we went deeper and deeper into the jungle onto slopes that were becoming steeper and steeper, all the time hoping that the next corner would lead us out into the open. Finally we reached a stage where, not only had we lost the path but we were also stuck on a near vertical slope. There was a point where we could not go forward, up or rearward. The only way was down. 

           With the mud and stones beneath our feet loosened by the recent rain, we suddenly became aware of the danger we were in. The mountain sloped down to an abrupt precipice over which lay a deep gorge, at the bottom of which raged a newly fuelled mountain stream. The stream, in flowing down the steep slope had become a series of waterfalls crashing amidst massive boulders. Stuck I the spot we were at, both Natacha and I knew how even the smallest mistake could send either one of us crashing down the mountain face and into that chasm of death.

Challenging Hurdle in our Path

       Slowly, one tiny step at a time, we made our way down the slope. I would go down a few steps to a tree, take support and turn around. Natacha would throw our things to me one by one. Then she would come down to that tree and we would repeat the process. At one point, Natacha lost her footing and nearly went crashing down. Just managing to catch a hold of the top of her rucksack with one hand and a tree root with the other, I stopped her fall. Her face drained of all colour and she sat down for a minute, regaining her composure. Neither of us said a word, our minds trying to absorb the gravity of what had just happened.

           Another time, as she was throwing the things down to me, her sleeping bag hit a branch in between, was deflected, and went crashing down the slope and over the edge of the cliff into the rushing stream at the far bottom of the chasm. This time both our faces drained of colour as we knew how easily that could have been either of us.

Back to the Beaten Track - Finally ! !

        Putting the lost sleeping bag behind us, two more hours of scrambling up and down slopes followed before we spotted a crude bridge over the ravine to the other side. With the bridge as reference, we finally found the path once again and heaving a huge sigh of relief, crossed over to the other side. 

A Sigh of Relief - First Glimpse of Khir Ganga

           From here on the trek became much easier as there was a well established path for us to walk on. We passed many trekkers on the downward journey from Khir Ganga and on asking them about the distance left to go, stepped up our pace so as to make camp by nightfall. It took us another two hours of climbing before we spotted a plume of smoke rising above the trees. We emerged into a clearing and saw a few tarpaulin covered shacks erected at the centre. 

Arrival at Last

           Not too far below the summer snowline, the very idea of there existing a place like this fascinated me. We made our way up and on enquiring, were given two rooms to stay. Dumping our bags, we went into one of the little shacks and ordered dinner. There were little groups of people from all over the world sitting on mattresses on the floor all around the restaurant. Two furnaces with chimneys kept the place warm. Sitting next to us was a group of three college students from Delhi who had come up to take a break from the city and soon we got talking to them. 

             We were famished and the moment the food arrived, we devoured it with relish. I was pleasantly surprised to note the fact that many of the people sitting around us had, after eating their dinner, lain down and fallen asleep in the restaurant itself. On asking somebody, I was told that it was allowed at a nominal charge of fifty rupees per head. The warmth of the restaurant was comforting and very soon I too dozed off, too lazy to return to the room, exhausted from the six hour trek and all the excitement of the day.