Category: Trekking And Hiking

Bhutan's Hidden Trails: Discovering Dodey Drak

5/7/2015

I understand the traveler's dilemma, having been there myself many times. With a limited amount of time, you want to make sure you see the best of what the country has to offer. Yet so does everyone else, which often comes at the detriment to the quality of your experience (not to mention the actual destinations). What's more, the attractions that are heavily promoted as must-see, iconic, and legendary may not be the places that truly capture the essence of what you seek. As difficult as it may be to skip over those known entities, more often than not, you'll be amply rewarded for heading down that alternative untrammeled trail, safely hidden from the masses.

This was certainly the case with our excursion to Dodey Drak Monastery, just a little way from Thimphu. Sonam and Tashi, the founders of Bhutan Swallowtail Tours, parked outside of the security gate on the road leading to the fourth king's residence, a modest cottage tucked away in a forested side valley. After meeting up with their multi-talented friend Sonam "D", we walked past the security guards after little more than a "Kuzuzangpola!" greeting. We tried to imagine approaching an ex-president's residence in the United States in the same manner. We had a feeling that it wouldn't go so well.

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Back to Bhutan: In Search of Hidden Trails

5/6/2015

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One of the forty-six species of rhododendron found in Bhutan's Royal Botanical Park.

After dreaming of a visit to the little Himalayan kingdom of Bhutan for more than a decade, I never imagined I would go there twice, much less within the same year. Yet on rare occasions in life, seemingly far-fetched possibilities can suddenly become real opportunities at the least expected of times.

On our last evening in Bhutan back in January, we met the co-owners of Bhutan Swallowtail, the small, innovative company with whom we had booked our tour. We were honored to learn that Sonam and Tashi had taken an interest in our blog and the "Before It's Gone" theme of our travel. They shared about an initiative of their own design that encompasses elements of cultural and environmental preservation through the promotion of historically significant--yet largely forgotten--trails.

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Saving Annapurna for "Another Time"

12/25/2014

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Days 57 to 68
Highest Elevation: 4,000 m (13,123 ft)
Lowest Elevation: 840m (2,775 ft)

It became a tedious day of sitting in the dining room of our trekking lodge, huddled around a tiny coal heater since the only proper fireplace was in the forbidden kitchen. As gusts of wind pelted the windows with alternating bouts of rain, sleet, and snow, all of the trekkers speculated on the impact of this storm on the cross-ability of the infamous Thorong La and debated whether to continue up the trail or give up now. But for that day, no one was venturing further than dashing across the street for snacks to accompany pot after pot of masala tea. The upside was that our forced sedentariness, paired with a leisurely wifi connection, gave me the perfect opportunity to take care of all Christmas shopping in one fell swoop! By the end of the evening, Matt and I had even picked up a deck of cards for several rounds of rummy 500. We could not remember the last time just the two of us had played a game together.

By the next morning the storm had passed and it looked like the continuing-on camp beat out the ditchers with just a few folks catching jeeps down the valley. We stocked up on our food staples in the bazaar town of Chame with the cheapest prices we had ever encountered while trekking, then hit our first patches of substantial snow shortly thereafter. Since Annapurna is nicknamed the "Apple Pie Trek," we felt it was appropriate to eat it for lunch at what was previously a community apple orchard for local consumption. Now an entrepreneurial Kathmandu family has bought it, expanding the orchard in order to "export" apples by truck on the relatively new road. The owner we struck up conversation with claims that plans are in the works to pave the road within a few years. He proudly showed us the architectural sketch of a massive fancy lodge they will build once the orchard expansion is complete. Politely as possible, I inquired whether he thinks many trekkers will want to stay at a lodge on the side of paved road with trucks on it. He said, "Of course, we have to find the balance between tourism and industry." How exactly they will find that balance, I am not sure. Perhaps Annapurna could successfully morph from a world-class trek to a lodge-to-lodge road cycling tour... just watch out for those apple trucks!

Above apple-pie heaven, we wandered in to beautiful winter wonderland that reminded us, with quite appropriate timing, of our traditional trip up to Montana for the holidays. It was both comforting and homesickness-inducing as this was the first Christmas we would not be spending there many years. To top it off, the conditions were perfect for cross-country skis, so we also missed them sorely. Instead we trudged along a narrow path broken through the knee-high snow with the benefit that it was a gentle road-grade without the feeling of walking on a wide dusty road. Upon reaching our goal of Pisang right at dusk, we were recruited in to an extremely pink hotel. We initially resisted based on an instinctual color aversion, but the owners were friendly, the fireplace warm enough to dry our boots, and the food was good. While there may be a lesson here to never judge a trekking lodge by its exterior colors, someone should really tell Nepalis how off-putting pink is!

After a few hours of hiking under brilliant blue skies the next day, the weather turned quickly and we were scrambling to put on all the sweaty layers we had peeled off. The wind picked up enough that drifts of snow were filling in the trail through the now thigh-deep snow. Luckily, we were close to the little settlement of Humde where we ducked in to a locals' restaurant for a pot of instant coffee by their kitchen fire. We were hoping that this was just a squall that would pass over the course of lunch, but despite our best procrastinating, it persisted until we were forced with the decision of whether to push on to Manang or call it a day after just three hours of walking. We continued to the edge of town and felt the force of the wind beyond the protection of buildings, which pretty easily convinced us to turn around and find a cozy lodge. Once settled in to the Maya lodge, we spent another mellow afternoon and evening staying warm by the fire, playing cards, eating, and drinking. Things could be worse.

Despite a new layer of snow from the previous day, the going was pretty easy to Manang thanks to a tractor that had laid wide tracks through the snow. We were not the only ones taking advantage of this. The night before, a shaggy grey dog peered into our room when we had the door cracked open. The next morning he was curled up outside of our room and, certainly without any prompting from us, decided to kept us company all day, then disappeared once we got in to town. We later saw him again playing with some other dogs in the snow, so thought maybe he actually lives in Manang.

When we registered at the ACAP checkpoint, we were surprised to hear the officers reporting that Thorong La was most likely passable. With the quantity of snow, we had already resigned ourselves to simply enjoying the stunning views from Manang before backtracking down the valley. Now with a glimmer of hope (before realizing the extent of how absolutely clueless and worthless ACAP is), we decided we might as well approach the pass, taking it day-by-day and seeking out more information whenever and wherever we could. In this sense, we were no different than anyone else still sticking around. There is nothing like perceived adversity to bond tourists together, or perhaps an element of uncertainty simply gives strangers something to talk about with each other. Even since the snow hit, there had been a casual and implied camaraderie among all trekkers that we had only witnessed one other time in the days leading up to crossing the Larkya Pass on the Manaslu Circuit.

The route up to Yak Kharka yielded increasingly better views, worthy of a trip even without the possibility of crossing the pass. The trail was more challenging since had finally left the road behind at its terminus in Manang. On some of the steeper snowy slopes, it was easy to slip off the "trail" of singular packed footprints and plunge thigh-high into unpacked snow. Even under these conditions, it was a short day and we soon joined our loose group of trekking associates in one of two lodges open in the village. Although we felt bad for the fellow who didn't have anyone staying with him, we were keen to keep a beat on the others' plans. Besides, our shaggy grey dog was waiting for us there after following some Danish dudes up the trail earlier that day!

The arrival of three more competent trekkers returning from higher up corroborated the decision of a French mountaineering couple we had chatted with on their return that morning. The problem was not at the pass, but an area prone to landslide even in dry conditions before the next acclimatization points of Thorung Phedi and High Camp. An icy section of trail had but the width of footstep carved out of the steep slopes plummeting to the river below and some looming avalanche risk from above. This latest news introduced yet another maze of decisions to navigate through. Do we take the word of at least five seemingly experienced and moderate-to-high risk travelers who turned back? Do we hike up and see it for ourselves before we decide? If so, do we take our backpacks or leaving them at the lodge? Do we wait for the large well-equipped organized British trekking group to arrive and tag along if and when they cross? If we wait a few days, will it melt out? And is it worth waiting if we still don't know whether or not the pass is passable?

It was all too overwhelming to make a logic-based decision, so we ended up going with our gut telling us it was time to turn around. Our gut was listening to our wet feet who were tired of hiking in the snow, our antsy pants who didn't like to prospect of killing more time at trekking lodges waiting for weather to cooperate, and our hearts' desire to have an excuse to come back some day and do the many side trips in the Manang area (like Tilicho Lake) that were not feasible with the recent snow. And most importantly, we had to look out for the safety of shaggy grey dog!!!

Now you would think that this dog, who hung around for three days without getting any food from us, would be bonded to us for life once we caved and brought him a hearty portion of dal bhat and some canned hot dogs. So we figured we had better give him a name and there was only one that fit the bill: Dawa. It was no surprise when he followed us down the trail from Yak Kharka, but after we crossed paths with the big British group heading up, he was nowhere in sight. Without even saying goodbye, he latched on to what was no doubt an upgrade for handouts and leftovers. It seems that Dawa is a true trekking dog, keeping tourists company up and down the trail at his whim.

We made up for all of the recent short days with a long push all the way down to Pisang. Not one of the fifteen or so trekkers who had congregated at Yak Kharka had decided to continue up, so we spotted many of them throughout the day as we dispersed on our own courses for our return trips down the valley. We ended up staying in the same very pink hotel again with just one of them, a young German guy named Tobias. We had first met him in Manang when he had just returned from being snowed-in for a week at Tilicho Lake. He was also one of the three at Yak Kharka who had turned around after assessing the sketchy spot. Little did we know just how many times we would coincidentally meet up with Tobi in our future.

While the next day felt like a relief to hike below the snowline, we became disheartened about our decision as we shared our experience repeatedly to each passing trekker curious about why we were heading down and eager to get information about the conditions that lay ahead. If the warm and sunny weather held, it was likely they would be able to cross the pass by the time they got there. We second-guessed ourselves that we had been too impatient to leave, yet at the same time we felt that 63 days of continuous trekking was catching up with us. Our legs and feet were taking a beating from hiking downhill on the hard-packed road, more brutal than any rocky trail. In our hotel for the night, appropriately with Tobi as the only other guest, we formulated a plan to still trek all the way to Pokhara on what has been dubbed "The Homestay Trek" through scenic villages populating the temperate middle hills. This seemed to reconcile our mixed-emotions of the day.

The next day we passed into new territory for us after descending along the road past Dharapani, where we had joined the AC from the Manaslu trek. We escaped the road temporarily by crossing a suspension bridge over the river to hike on a parallel trail on the other side until we reached Tal, recommended to us by Tobi. Tal almost had a beach town feel with some sandy beaches close to its riverside location. We found a great lodge called the Potala where several miraculous things happened: the awesome didi upgraded us to a brand-new "luxury" cabin with a private bathroom, it was warm enough to shower and do laundry, and Tal has a local specialty that was filling, absolutely delicious, and most importantly, not dal bhat! I don't remember the name unfortunately, but I could have eaten the potato-pumpkin-bean curry with corn bread forever.

A couple of hours after leaving Tal, we rounded a bend near the river to find a tiny baby goat standing on a boulder all alone and bleating its lungs out. Now, if you have been reading this blog semi-regularly, you may have picked up on the fact that I have become slightly obsessed with goats, especially baby ones. So I was not about to walk by this baby goat and just leave it there. It needed to be saved! I called to it and it immediately jumped off the boulder and fought its way through a million sticker plants only to arrive right at my feet covered in burrs. I picked it up and it calmed down and stopped bleating. I looked at my husband, who was already rolling his eyes and taking off his pack, knowing exactly what was in store.

The nearest village was fortunately not very far back, but unfortunately up a long switchbacking hill. But this baby goat needed to be saved! Midway up, I was relieved to find a herd of goats roaming around so I put baby down right in the middle of all of them. They sniffed it, and just kept going. Baby just climbed to the nearest rock and started bleating again. Clearly these were not the right goats, so up we went. I found a woman sitting in front of her hut who didn't seem too phased to see me carrying a baby goat, so I handed it to her. She set it down and it curled up next to her, a clear sign that the baby goat had been saved! Hooray!

I scurried back down the hill to my patiently waiting husband and arrived just in time to see a Nepali man coming from the opposite direction, scanning the area above and below the trail as though he was searching for something, say, perhaps, a baby goat? I tried to ask in basic words and gestures if he was looking for a goat, but he just looked confused, pointed down the trail and said the name of the next town. My husband just shook his head and accused me of being a kid-napper, adding that he can only imagine what the woman up the hill will be having for dinner tonight! My only recourse for revenge was every time we saw a baby goat after that, which was frequently, I would whine, "Awwww, all I want for Christmas is a baby goat!"

In these last few days of trekking, we were preoccupied with finding alternative trails to minimize our walk along the road. We even climbed and descended more than 3,000 feet to pass through some less-visited villages on the gentle hilltops above the steep-sided river gorge below. Coming down, the din of a 50MW hydropower plant under construction near Bhubhule increased with each step until we were at eye-level with the mess of it all. The hydropower project is 90% backed by the Chinese corporation Sino Hydro, surprisingly China's first foray into a country with huge amounts of untapped hydro potential. In a country where "load-shedding" creates power cuts for over half of each 24-hour day, the signed power purchase agreement means that Nepal won't be keeping much (if any) of the electricity generated. With Nepal's government being one of the most corrupt on the planet, the sale of power to China won't be benefiting the everyday people of Nepal either. The worker strikes that have been slowing the project since its inception aren't even that farsighted. The workers demands are simple: a pay increase to a whopping $6 per day, a health center and ambulance on site.

Signs along the road near Bhubhule appeal to all of the tourists who jeep up to Chame to begin their trek above the chaos. They claim, "If you choose vehicles you might miss homestay, community stay, hospitality, cultural varieties, and treking experiences." This may be true, but can you really blame anyone for passing by? After doing it on foot, we can't. I have heard that the vast majority of local people who live along the Annapurna Circuit were in support of road construction. The appeal of making everyone's lives easier overshadowed a few people's concerns about impacting tourism. Now efforts are being made to create alternative trails and incentives for people to stop prior to the need to acclimatize forces them out of the vehicle. Perhaps some thorough, dedicated souls will take them up on these offers, but the ease of jumping in a jeep and getting to the good stuff faster is just too alluring for most.

Shortly after setting out from Bhubhule the following morning, we reached the turn off for our "Homestay Trek" that would take us as close as possible to Pokhara on foot. It sounded really cool, it seemed off the beaten path, it was certainly totally our style, yet we could not muster the energy to begin the climb out of the valley. The road had sucked the life out of us. We sensed that we could make it happen, but it would be forced. We questioned whether we would enjoy it enough to make it worth it. Or was it time to be done? It was. Instead, we ambled down the road to the traditional jumping off point for the Annapurna Circuit trek, Besi Sahar. A depressing way to end an incredible trek for sure.

Two bus rides later, the fastest we had moved in over two months, we were in the touristlandia of Lakeside, Pokhara. It was Christmas. We celebrated with pizza and beer.

A few important lessons we learned on our 68-day trek:

Showering is overrated, but doing laundry is even more so.
Breakfast is important, and second breakfast is even more crucial.
Life in the mountains is relatively comfortable if you are a foreign trekker passing through, but "real life" in the shadow of snowy peaks is a challenging endeavor. Nonetheless, the conglomeration of cultures that make up the Nepali people are some of the warmest, friendliest, and most welcoming on the planet. The trek ended up being as much about the people we met as it was about the scenery.

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Nar Nar Phu Phu, Bhai Bhai!

12/13/2014

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Days 49 to 56
Highest elevation: 13,484 ft (4110 m)
Lowest elevation: 7,185 ft (2190 m)

We said goodbye to the Manaslu trek that we had come to love by tying one of our khatas to a bridge just before the river's confluence with the Marsyangdi River, marking our transition onto the Annapurna Circuit. The checkpoint for our conservation area permits and TIMS (Trekker Information Management System) cards made it official. Walking through the junction town of Dharapani, I gave it the Most Hideous Hotels award before I knew this would be par for the course as we continued up the road past other villages, finally deciding to stop at Danaque. We chose the Motherland Hotel based on the friendly didi, definitely not the color-scheme of aquamarine walls with Pepto-pink and lavender accents. We decided there must have been a regional sale on every shade of obnoxious paint color imaginable, especially pink. The gaudiness of the colors was enhanced by the interesting choices of combinations applied to the cheaply constructed concrete buildings. Inside the room was much less nauseating, with the typical plain wood paneling rather than the anticipated sloppy paint job of, say, neon green with bright yellow trim.

The next day was a short one, with few options to walk off of the road unless we were short-cutting switchbacks. Fortunately, only a few jeeps passed by filled with Nepalis, presumably heading down to warmer climes for the winter. We had to stop in Koto, where a trail heads up a side valley to the remote villages of Nar and Phu. It would be too far to make it to the first village of Meta that same day, so we did the usual rest day routine of laundry, followed by internet, followed by eating, followed by the bonus of sorting out our camping gear to leave behind for our third out-and-back (or more appropriately up-and-down) side trip of the trek. Yay!

Except for some dramatic sections of trail that had been carved out of riverside cliffs, the path climbed steadily through forest until reaching Meta. We were disturbed to see the extensive tree-harvesting, likely for yet more tourist lodges. When Matt asked Dawa what he thought about the wood cutting, he shared about how the forest is managed around his home village in the Kanchenjunga region with quotas and taxes set by the government but self-regulated by the community. While he didn't know the details of the system we were observing, one can only hope that the Annapurna Conservation Area has something similarly effective in place.

In Meta, we shared a hotel with likely the only other tourists in the valley, a friendly couple from Alaska who hiked in t-shirts while we donned fleeces and wool hats. The next day we leap-frogged up the trail with them all the way to Phu. The landscape transformed into arid, rocky expanses dotted with stubby juniper trees. We passed a couple of villages just beginning to be inhabited as residents of Nar and Phu were descending to their slightly more livable elevations during the harshness of winter. The style of the stone-walled buildings blending in with their surroundings, especially combined with the juniper and red rock walls, had us thinking of the Ancestral Puebloan sites in the US Southwest.

The valley narrowed again and we worked our way through rocky riverbanks sandwiched between vertical walls and the remains of avalanches that came down during the infamous October storm. Our guide learned from locals that one of the debris-covered ice paths still contained three French trekkers, although the bodies of Japanese and Indian trekkers had been recovered. It was strange and disconcerting to think that we could be walking over dead bodies encased in the snow beneath us.

A loose steep climb brought us up from the river to look down upon the vertical gorge and the ruins of what looked like a medieval fortress the size of the small butte it was perched atop. Crumbling chortens with fading ochre walls and aged mani walls led the rest of the way to Phu. It felt like we were about to discover a lost civilization that was still living half a millennium back in time. It also felt like we might encounter it in a state of mild hypothermia as a frigid wind whipped through the open valley, signaling that winter had arrived before we had. Even the Alaskans had to put on more clothes during the last stretch to Phu!

Of course, we were not the first to discover anything and the town was indeed in touch with modern times, even if the cluster of buildings did not hint at modernity from a distant first impression. Only one of four hotels was still open, and even then they seemed reluctant to host us as they too were closing for their winter migration down the valley in a couple of days. The sun had long set behind the mountains, so we saved our wandering for the next morning and headed to the kitchen where the family huddled around a tiny fire and the guests were relegated to a table in the far corner next to the door. This would not have been so bad except that with their coming and going they never shut the door. Matt got up about seventeen times to shut the door after them, making it more and more obvious each time, but they didn't catch on, or more likely didn't care. I was not fully warm until the middle of the night when we finally accumulated sufficient collective body heat in our double sleeping bag.

The next morning we took it easy, waiting for the sun to hit the village before venturing outside. A short walk up to a monastery on a neighboring hill provided a new perspective of Phu, but unfortunately the caretaker with the key had gone to collect firewood, so we did not get to peek inside. We were amused by a newly observed trend of covering the mani stones and other religious objects with garish colors of blue, yellow, and copper-colored paint. I quipped, "This is what happens when good Buddhists get a hold of bad paint!"

It did not take long to explore the rest of the mostly empty village, so Matt and Dawa climbed up another steep hill on the other side of Phu while I sat on the wind-sheltered roof of the kitchen, collecting the benefits of sun alongside our little Goal Zero solar panel. The mother brought her young children there as well, so I was soon surrounded by clothes changes, face washes, and baby oil rub downs in the only place warm enough to bare skin.

The remainder of the day became a little drawn out since it was not the most comfortable place in terms of amenities, food, and attitude of the hosts, but we had to keep with our established tradition of taking our rest days in the highest, coldest, and most expensive places possible on each section of the trek. We were more than ready to hustle out of there the following day along with every type of domestic animal in the valley: horses, goats, sheep, and yaks. Only chickens were not being herded down valley alongside us as we descended.

In contrast to our experience in Phu, we were welcomed in to the immaculate Satek Gompa by the equivalent of the director or headmaster, since it primarily serves as a school for young monks-to-be during more favorable seasons. The pupils were already in Kathmandu for the winter, but many of their teachers remained at the monastery. The main entertainment of the evening was observing what would definitely be defined as cat torture in the household of my upbringing. With everyone sitting on the floor around the fireplace, the teachers, headmaster monk and even our guide, passed around a little black kitty for some whisker-twisting, puppeteering, and my personal favorite, whacking with the spinner of a handheld prayer wheel. The amazing part was that the cat put up no defenses or made any attempts to escape, and except for some annoyed verbalizations with ears pointed back, it seemed to love the abuse (or the warmth of the fire and prospect of food scraps made toleration worthwhile).

On our way up switchbacks that covered the entire side of a mountain the next morning, we welcomed the breaks to answer inquiries from locals headed down. Without fail, each started conversation exactly the same way, "Kang La?" Each time that we said no, they looked a little confused. Kang La is a 5,315-meter high pass with a trail that connects Nar to the Annapurna Circuit further north than where we had left it in Koto. Dawa had insisted that we could not cross the pass due to icing over from the big October storm, so we were surprised to hear locals telling us that we should go. When we questioned him about the discrepancy, he clarified that he personally would not attempt it without ropes, crampons, and an ice axe, and added, "If you showed someone from Nar an ice axe, they would not even know what it is, but they would still cross the pass!"

Our approach to Nar did not feel as exotic or dramatic as Phu, but overall was a much more welcoming place, both climatically and socially. The sun hung in the sky much longer before dropping behind the mountain which allowed for a lovely lunch on our hotel's porch and an afternoon of ambling around town. We found it odd that this was the only place we had seen on our entire trek that had streetlights, powered by a micro-hydro plant. Once the essential sunlight was gone, we were invited to sit on floor cushions by the kitchen fire which became a traditional Nepali cooking show. It was amazing to see what deliciousness could be created atop two holes in a wood stove top, with a calm sequence of stirring and adding ingredients, then switching out pots from the heat source. We had to stifle immature giggles while our friendly hostess was making a batch of Tibetan tea. The plunging of the long cylinder to churn the butter, tea, and salt together sounded just like the unclogging of a toilet!

Our rest day in Phu was the first time I felt like it might be time to stop trekking, but this perspective would come and go during the following days. While we were heading in to the new territory of Nar and Phu, the uniqueness of the landscape was different enough from what we had seen that it kept us excited and motivated. I had developed the habit of referring to Nar-Phu as "Nar Nar Phu Phu Bhai Bhai," bhai meaning "little brother" in Nepali. This was a facetious adaptation of the already facetious and dated ski-bum speak "Gnar Gnar Pow Pow Bro Bro," but apparently was an effective chant to bring the snow. On our return from Nar, fluffy clumps of snowflakes floated down from above, reminding me of our standard response to route inquiries that had essentially developed in to our trekking mantra, "We'll keep going until we get to Pokhara, or until the weather stops us, which ever happens first." As if the snow was not enough of an indication that winter had arrived, our room in Nar was so cold that Matt found his contacts frozen in solid solution at 5:00am that morning.

Crossing a slippery icy bridge was our farewell moment to Nar-Phu and our welcome back to Koto on the Annapurna Circuit. Once in the lodge, we hastily dried off and headed to the minimal warmth of the dining room. Dawa, the guide who had not showered or changed his clothes for nearly a month, disappeared carrying a bucket of hot water and reappeared wearing a pair of pristine jeans and fresh shirt. This partially solved the mystery of what was in his large pack that he never seemed open! Perhaps he wanted to leave a good last impression with us, but more likely he was trying to be considerate of everyone else on the jeep and bus transport he would be taking back towards Kathmandu the next morning. We had a modest celebration of our awesome month of trekking together that evening where Matt discovered that chang really wasn't so bad after all. Since beer was not worth the price and he couldn't handle the harshness of raksi, we had sampled the fermented rice-drink called chang early on in the trek. With opaque chunks and weird flavor, we had been avoiding it ever since. Perhaps there was simply something wrong with that first one, because the clear and chunkless beverage was pleasantly similar to a mildly sour craft beer.

The next morning, a forceful wind was still blowing in alternating gusts of rain, sleet, and snow. Koto seemed to be right on the snowline since we could occasionally get glimpsed of the snow-covered hillsides surrounding us. We had descended from Nar not even a day too soon. We said goodbye to Dawa as he climbed into the back of a jeep going down the valley and wondered if we should have been leaving with him too...

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Dear Majestic Manaslu, We love you!

12/5/2014

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Days 42 to 48
Highest elevation: 5,160 meters (16,929 feet)
Lowest elevation: 2,700 meters (8,858 feet)

When we returned to Lokpa on the Tsum Valley trek, our guide learned that Manaslu Conservation Area officials had been there to spread the word about a key hotel on the route closing on December 3rd. There is only one hotel at Dharmasala, the last stopover for acclimatization before the 5,000 meter Larkye Pass. The three of us made a plan that we would put in some big days to see if we could make on the night of the 2nd. If we failed, then we'd still continue over the pass, but with the bonus of all three of us having a very cold and yet cozy night in our two-person tent together.

Luckily, after forty days of trekking, it didn't seem so painful to get up before the sun and be packed and ready to go before breakfast. Our bedtime had gradually crept earlier and earlier to the point that we would be in bed by 8:30pm and still get our nine or ten hours of sleep. We undertook two arduous days of hiking up the river valley with sporadic pine forest that reminded us of Colorado. By the end of the second day, my legs were not responding to my brain urging them to go faster, so I begged our guide, "Dawa, carry me!" He didn't, but his Everest-climbing Sherpa stamina probably would have allowed him to without too much difficulty. It didn't help that our hunger levels were high, thus making our energy levels low, due to an unusually horrible lunch stop.

Having had delicious pumpkin soup earlier in the trek, I had become fixated on a repeat experience, but every place either didn't have pumpkin or claimed to not know how to make it, despite it always being on the menu. Finally, a cook agreed to make it, but what came out was a watery broth with microscopic shreds of pumpkin, truly a major letdown, but if only that was the only issue... I spied something black and oval with a little pointy tip floating in the spoon headed towards my mouth. I exclaimed, "That looks like mouse poop!" and Matt responded, "Maybe it is a seed." I was hopeful, but I could not think of any type of seeds that looked like that while I fished it out of the soup. Sadly, it squished on the table, confirming my fear. The old saying "if you don't laugh, you'll cry" definitely applied to this moment and I simply blurted out, "Wait a minute, we ordered pumpkin soup, not poop soup!" We then told Dawa, who yelled to the cook. He came out and meekly said sorry, but that was all that was offered as he cleared my half-eaten bowl and Matt's empty one. When it came time to settle the bill, we had to inform him that we would not be paying for the soup. He said, "Ok, one bowl free discount." So then we had to explain that since both bowls came from the same pot, they had both been contaminated, so actually it would be "two bowls free discount." Incredible!

We reached the town of Lho just in time to see the truly majestic Mount Manaslu bathed in golden sunset light. Then we promptly settled in to a brand new place, aptly named Majestic Manaslu, with adorable little cottages and more importantly, Wifi. It had been a few weeks since we had made contact with our families. We had also caught up with the fabled "Group of Six" as we dubbed them, significant because there was a rumor running up and down the trail that the key hotel might stay open an extra day for a larger group. Feeling pretty beat, we decided to take our chances and slow the pace of our remaining days before the pass to match the Group of Six's plan.

Since we no longer had to run up the trail, we had the opportunity to sleep in and take a leisurely morning. Inevitably, this resulted in us being awake to watch the sunrise, but one that was so stunning that it confirmed Manaslu as my favorite mountain on the trek thus far. After breakfast, we walked up to a monastery on a hill overlooking the town, then ambled for just three hours to Samagaon, shocked at its substantial size compared to the other villages on the trek thus far. The logical, though not intuitive, explanation is that the valley widens in its upper reaches, so there is more physical space to build houses and plant crops that sustain a larger population. Once inside our well-constructed lodging for the night, we enjoyed comparatively advanced development such as luxuriously thick mattresses. We were informed that the nicer amenities can be attributed to proximity to the Tibetan border. It is easier for these higher elevation communities to import goods from China than it is for the lower communities to access products from Kathmandu. Another contributing factor is that Samagaon is the base village for expeditions heading up Manaslu, with the base camp location visible from our hotel's rooftop lounging area.

We extended another short day by taking a detour to a gorgeous glacial lake en route to the next village of Samdo. First we climbed to yet another seasonally-deserted gompa (monastery), then Dawa led us on a thorny bushwhack to intersect the trail to Birendra Tal, where a collection of cairns crowded the rocky shore. We could hear the glacier above us rumbling, but saw no evidence of its movement. Once in Samdo, we joined the other trekking parties who had also adjusted their itineraries to pace with the Group of Six. There was indeed power in numbers, since apparently the manager of the hotel had left the key hotel that very morning, was intercepted in Samdo and informed that fifteen tourists plus all of their guides and porters would patronize his business if he stayed open just one more night. He immediately turned around and walked the several hours back up the incline he had just come down.

Samdo is a purely Tibetan village, founded by refugees who crossed the border in the early years of China's invasion. The first residents established the village and claimed land rights based on a set of 600-year-old copper plates, so reports our guidebook. Apparently, the Nepali king supported their claim, but other local people contested the validity of it all so relations are not so warm between Samdo and nearby villages. In addition to the typical Tibetan layout of narrow stone passages lined with densely-constructed two-story homes, we noticed banks of icy snow in the shadows of buildings. A month and a half later, the remnants of the unseasonal heavy snowfall from the freak storm that hit Nepal's western regions in mid-October still persist.

It was a treat to have three easy days in a row leading up to our push over the pass. The now expanded Group of Fifteen made their way up to Dharmasala, each climbing at their sub-group's preferred pace. Upon arrival at the very basic lodge with an "open toilet," meaning go wherever you like except not in the locked up bathroom, it became instantly apparent why the manager was willing to stay open one more day. We understand the principle that prices go up with increasing elevation, but here was a monopoly that could get away with charging rates that did not correspond with our measly 1,600-foot gain from Samdo. To top it off, we then learned that we would be kicked out at 4:30am the next morning, since the three remaining staff would be departing shortly thereafter to catch a helicopter ride from a village far down the valley. Had we wanted to start hiking in the middle of the cold dark night, we could of left from the comfort of Samdo instead! Our move up to here was intended to allow for a daylight departure, in addition to a little more acclimatization.

On a brighter note, we had our first sighting of blue sheep, somewhat like a more slender bighorn, although on a darker note, they were sniffing around the garbage that was dumped downhill from the lodge. Like so many lodges, they either burn their plastic waste or have an "open disposal" strategy, where the nearest stream, river, or steep hillside suffices for the concept of "away" in throwing it away. While it is easy to be upset by these practices, it is much harder to think of a viable alternative for the waste. Paying for porters or pack animals to take it out is simply not cost effective; they would have to voluntarily carry it out and without a vested interest in doing so, that doesn't seem to happen. The other solution is prevention by not hauling in plastic-packaged foods in the first place, but the tragedy of the commons prevails again. If one business refused to sell Coke, Snickers, and cookies, then they would simply lose out on sales while tourists and locals alike shopped elsewhere. As for us, we still ate our fair share of cookies, but we carried our wrappers back to Kathmandu and delivered them to Beni Handicraft to hopefully incorporate in to handbags, coasters, Christmas ornaments and bracelets.

After a mostly sleepless half of a night for me at least (thanks a lot, elevation!), three Norwegians, two Kiwis, a German couple, a Finnish couple, a French guy, a Spanish guy, a British guy, a fellow Californian, all of their guides and porters, and ourselves all set out between 3:00 and 4:30am. We were the last to leave just as a bright moon set behind the mountains, but we benefited from the eminent closing of the lodge as extra pancakes, hard boiled eggs, and even packs of cookies were offered up free of charge. It was a great boon to have some extra calories on this day in particular, for which we had been unwilling to make the financial investment.

We were wearing all of the clothes we had brought on the trek, but just barely maintained warmth as we steadily plodded uphill. The one time that we really needed both of our headlamps, one of them was dead, so we three walked closely together with Matt dimly sandwiched between the beams of Dawa and myself. Before too long, the first hints of daylight crept over the black silhouettes of mountains behind us. As numbing as it was, I could not resist pulling off my gloves to take some photos. We were exhilarated to be among the mountains and glaciers as they gradually woke up with light, now feeling quite pleased to have left so early without a trace of our initial grumpy grogginess.

We reached the summit of the pass shortly after the other groups, some of whom were suffering a bit from the altitude at just under 17,000 feet (5,160 meters). We rested and ate as long as the chilly wind would allow, snapped some celebratory photos, and watched Dawa add his khata from the lama at Mu Gompa to a collection of them on a rock cairn marking the high point.

For us, going down proved to be much harder than going up. When we were not picking our way through scree fields and loose ball-bearing shaped pebbles, we were tediously inching along an icy slope with just enough previous footsteps to allow our own to hold. Dawa's mountaineering expertise kicked into action as he thoroughly tested each step with his trekking pole and instructed us exactly where to place our feet. We made it past the seemingly endless section where a slip and fall would have really serious consequences, took a breather, ate a third breakfast (or was it a second lunch?), did a costume change for the much warmer weather, and actually paid attention for the first time to the new mountains surrounding us.

Meanwhile, the Three Norwegians and the Group of Six had cruised down the 5,000-foot descent to the flatter ground of Bimthang, their crampons leaving telltale marks of their confident sure-footedness behind. On the other extreme, we worried about the single British guy with an inattentive guide until they showed up at our lodge around 6pm. At one point, Dawa even ran back up the trail until he could see them as tiny dots coming down the ridge line, worried that distance was only increasing between them and assistance if it was needed. It was moments like these that made us so grateful for having a caring and competent guide, not only for our safety but to enjoy the company of a truly "good soul." It had been an overly strenuous walk of 15 hours for him, but he was in better humor than I would have been. Upon arrival, he poked his head into the dining room and simply stated, "Well, I figured that if I started in the dark, I might as well finish in the dark!"

Our super-group of fifteen had mostly dispersed to different lodges based on each guide's preference, but our bond was strong enough that we all visited each other to say goodbye the next morning as some took a rest day and others continued on. We were in the moving-along camp, but did not make it as far as the others down the beautifully forested trail. It turned out that our legs were more tired than we realized when we decided to keep going.

We were the only guests at the isolated lodge in a forest clearing where a momentous occasion occurred: Matt took a shower, his first one in 18 days! For over two weeks, there was either no electric/gas/solar hot shower, or the air temperature was deemed too cold for a bucket shower, a bucket of hot water was too expensive, or the hot water would have been heated with firewood, which is supposedly a big no-no for low-impact trekking, even though the majority of our meals have been prepared over wood fire. I had survived two frigid showers since Matt's last one, with the only comparable experience being the polar bear plunge into Flathead Lake on New Year's Day back in my wild and crazy youth. After one of the cold showers, my toes were numb for at least an hour afterward, despite padding around with two pairs of socks and my mittens on my feet.

At first we couldn't see what the all the buzz about Manaslu was about. We were a bit put off by the higher prices than other regions with proprietors that were generally unwilling to bargain. The local folks seemed pretty ambivalent about our existence. With a mandatory guide that adopts the go-between role between trekkers and lodge staff, there was little opportunity to get to know them, so our stays felt much more impersonal. We now had to make intentional efforts to chat with the people running the hotels, which had happened so naturally before. With the increased reliance on mule trains for transporting goods, the trail was also much dustier and poopier than any other we had hiked in Nepal. The river gorge and forests were beautiful, but not particularly unique to Manaslu.

However, our experience only improved as we continued around the circuit and our perspective gradually changed for the better. The lodges got more intimate and friendly and less crowded with other tourists. The landscape became more dramatic the further up the route we hiked. The trail was forever dusty and poopy, but we got used to it. The prices remained high and higher, but we mostly adjusted our expectations. In the end, we became two more members of the Manaslu fan club, even if we weren't initially won over quite so easily.

Manaslu has exploded in popularity in the last ten years, with the number of trekkers increasing substantially each year. According to a graph in a MCAP checkpoint office, there were 344 permits issued in 1995 and 4,978 permits in 2013! This may be due to trekkers seeking an alternative to the famous Annapurna Circuit as roads almost entirely encircle it now, and in fact Manaslu has been promoted as the AC of twenty years ago. Locals are banking on that numbers graph to continue its exponential curve upward too. Each town seemed to have more new hotels under construction than finished ones, and many were of a scale we had not yet seen while trekking. While Manaslu's character will continue to change as it gets busier and busier, I believe it has potential to be regarded as a world-class trek, like Annapurna Circuit once was, if and only if it remains roadless. However, here in Nepal, that is a big if...

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Bhutan's Hidden Trails: Discovering Dodey Drak

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Nar Nar Phu Phu, Bhai Bhai!

Dear Majestic Manaslu, We love you!

Casey and Matt

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