A short walk in the Himalayas - day 5 - how to get lost, then un-lost and then spent the night out.
So we leave Pulga in good spirits - initially it was a beautiful morning but the weather started to set in and it rained in a truly biblical fashion. We knew that we had to find a fork in the path about 5 miles upstream and take a right. We missed it - for reasons that will be illustrated shortly. We kept going for too long on the wrong side of the river - I think both of us knew something was wrong but neither of us voiced it. Our hoods were up and the path was getting steeper and steeper - so you tend just to get your head down and get on with it. The trail we were following was at first a shepherd's track then it narrowed further. The problem was that we were in dense scrub and had no view of our surroundings greater than a couple of feet. Then we got to a clearing and our mistake was confirmed.
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This is what separated us from the path we ought to have been on -
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So - no way but back the 4 or 5 miles we had come up the wrong side of the gorge. Granted it was downhill this time but small recompense.
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This is why we missed the fork in the path - an illegal logging camp that had been established right at the junction, obliterating something that had before been obvious. Even having worked this out it took us half an hour to pick up the path in the right direction. We worked our way around the perimeter in widening circles until we found it.
Things were getting a bit serious by now - due to our 10 mile detour there was no way we were going to get to Khirganga that day. It was another 10 miles - all of which were uphill. We were wet, cold and hadn't eaten properly. We had no sleeping bags as we had planned on moving between mountain huts where you could hire bedding. We had my trusty Afghan shawl - never leave home without one - and a silver survival blanket. The sort they give to marathon runners when they finish. The light was starting to disappear quickly - in steep sided valleys there is no gradual decline - once it drops below the ridge it's dark suddenly. We took stock and decided to walk on for another half an hour - at least we would warm up a bit. There was some trail food left and we wouldn't run short of water so it looked like a miserable night but we weren't going to die. What really concerned us was the cold - it was September and we were at 13,000 feet. We plodded on until the light was about to vanish and........
For the next bit of the narrative to make sense - you need to know what a sahdu is, I'm sure most of you do but in case you don't. A sahdu is an itinerant Hindu holy man - I think Jains can qualify under the description too. An ascetic - a mendicant. They renounce worldly goods and survive on charity and generally do a lot of pilgrimages. Mostly in their pants. It's a bit weird if you are used to European notions of religious expression - it not unusual for a bank manager or a civil servant to have a 'spiritual' gap year. Universally in my experience - they are truly prodigious users of cannabis. This guy is typical of the genre - check his eyeballs! Piss holes in the snow.
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So - at the last gasp we decide we at least had to find some level ground to kip on. We noticed a well worn path leading off the main trail and without speaking we follow it. It led to a cave! Providence. With head torches we gathered wood - in plentiful supply at least and got a fire going.
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We were wondering what to do - should we stay up in shifts to keep the fire going? It was getting really cold by now when three figures emerge out the night. Sahdus. It put the shits up us both - they were bare foot - we didn't hear them coming. A pirate captain on the Spanish Main would have said - I'm sorry you guys are a bit wild looking for even my crew. We had no common language but by hand gestures it was understood - can we join you around your fire? Sure - no problem. So me and my mate are close to physical collapse at this point and again through hand gestures - they say - you go to sleep and we will keep the fire going. Don't worry. Callum and I took one look at each other - and without speaking - knew we trusted them. We took our boots off, put the foil blanket on the ground and the Afghan shawl over us and slept hugging each other to preserve as much body heat as we could. It wasn't the most comfortable night I have ever spent but we didn't die. They kept their word and the fire was still going at first light. We were gently nudged awake at dawn and offered a chillum - an Indian hash pipe - which we declined without causing offense. We still had to walk uphill for 10 miles. A memorable night. Trust people as you find them.
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Our cave seen in daylight the next morning.
Thank you for reading and looking. Last post tomorrow - we finally make it to Khirganga.
Yours - I.
@Barry Giddens @Rufus @William Dobson @Benz3ne @udrako @PickledNorthern @AnthH @Blademonkey @patw @Helveticum
Sidewalk shrine and coffee vendor, Seminyak, Bali by C. Reid Taylor, on Flickr
