This part of the narrative is dedicated to all those people who asked at different points of time why I had stopped writing this travelogue. I only hope that I take the narrative to its conclusion without much breaks in between.
Along with a few others, I had clearly strategized that we would walk a little ahead of the rest of the team while we were inside the Singalila National Park. That way, we would have an edge in spotting the red-panda, fate permitting. I started off quite well. However, owing perhaps to the strain of the previous day (and of course, my neglected fitness routine – a theme which shall repeat several times in this account), I conceded my lead within the first hour.
As fate would have it, we did not spot any red panda. Our success was limited to an odd hare here and a bird there. While we rested at one of our pit-stops in the middle of the trail, we could hear a bird call. As we strained ourselves to try and spot it, our attempt was disrupted by another group singing one of those Bollywood party songs as loud as possible while they walked. With them, went our chance of actually spotting any wildlife. Having had tasty momos upon exiting the national park, we continued on our trail. To be frank, this part of the trek was perhaps the most uneventful – except for those few moments in which I enjoyed the music of silence, in solitude. In the words of one of my co-trekkers, we were attempting to “capture silence” to carry with us forever.
Our destination, Kalipokhri/Kalapokhri, was a small village with a lake of the same name. It is named because of the black (kali) water found in the lake (pokhri, Nepali). Legend has it that the lake was formed from the imprint of Shiva’s right foot. It was evening when we reached there and a heavy fog blanketed the lake, reducing visibility. This gave an aura of mystery to the lake.
We spent the evening sitting around charcoal listening to stories. It was here that Sushant told us of a hilarious incident which had happened at the Sandakphu campsite. In one of the earlier groups Sushant had led, there was an Australian gentleman as well (the country has no significance with respect to the narrative, though). At the campsite, there are two types of tents. One for sleeping and the other is a toilet tent. The structure of the toilet tent is simple. It is merely a cloth covering the four sides around a pit, a couple of feet across and a few feet deep. (Using water in such cold climates is, perhaps, best avoided. Forget nationalism!) However, the skeleton of the tent is very fragile. Any excess pressure on any of the pillars propping the tent up can dislodge it. Our gentleman had to attend to his business in the middle of the night. Despite all warnings to the contrary, he held on to the poles heavily, causing the tent to fly away. Exposed to the winds at the wrong place and time, he dirtied the place around the pit, rather than easing his business into the pit! The tent was found a few feet away the next morning, fortunately.
The night sky at Kalipokhri (and at Sandakphu the next night) was one of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen. My attempts at capturing them on my phone failed, telling me that it was more important to live the moment than collecting it for an unknown, unseen future. I recharged my powerbank so that I could sustain the phone – the camera – for the next two-and-a-half days until we descended to Gorkhey, after two nights in a tent. The idea of sleeping in a tent looked exciting. The toilet tents - even more so!
The next morning, the first thing on our agenda was to look at the Kalipokhri Lake. It turned out be a huge disappointment. All there was to the lake was some mass of water, with colourful Buddhist prayer flags crisscrossing it. From our makeshift viewpoint – on top of a half-constructed house – we could see our trail for the day. There was hint of snow along the road. We were told that that day’s trail – from Kalipokhri to Sandakphu – despite being the shortest (at around 7 kms), was the toughest part of the trek. Once we exited Kalipokhri after breakfast, our lunch would be served only after we reached Sandakphu. Were we up for the challenge?
Along with a few others, I had clearly strategized that we would walk a little ahead of the rest of the team while we were inside the Singalila National Park. That way, we would have an edge in spotting the red-panda, fate permitting. I started off quite well. However, owing perhaps to the strain of the previous day (and of course, my neglected fitness routine – a theme which shall repeat several times in this account), I conceded my lead within the first hour.
As fate would have it, we did not spot any red panda. Our success was limited to an odd hare here and a bird there. While we rested at one of our pit-stops in the middle of the trail, we could hear a bird call. As we strained ourselves to try and spot it, our attempt was disrupted by another group singing one of those Bollywood party songs as loud as possible while they walked. With them, went our chance of actually spotting any wildlife. Having had tasty momos upon exiting the national park, we continued on our trail. To be frank, this part of the trek was perhaps the most uneventful – except for those few moments in which I enjoyed the music of silence, in solitude. In the words of one of my co-trekkers, we were attempting to “capture silence” to carry with us forever.
Our destination, Kalipokhri/Kalapokhri, was a small village with a lake of the same name. It is named because of the black (kali) water found in the lake (pokhri, Nepali). Legend has it that the lake was formed from the imprint of Shiva’s right foot. It was evening when we reached there and a heavy fog blanketed the lake, reducing visibility. This gave an aura of mystery to the lake.
We spent the evening sitting around charcoal listening to stories. It was here that Sushant told us of a hilarious incident which had happened at the Sandakphu campsite. In one of the earlier groups Sushant had led, there was an Australian gentleman as well (the country has no significance with respect to the narrative, though). At the campsite, there are two types of tents. One for sleeping and the other is a toilet tent. The structure of the toilet tent is simple. It is merely a cloth covering the four sides around a pit, a couple of feet across and a few feet deep. (Using water in such cold climates is, perhaps, best avoided. Forget nationalism!) However, the skeleton of the tent is very fragile. Any excess pressure on any of the pillars propping the tent up can dislodge it. Our gentleman had to attend to his business in the middle of the night. Despite all warnings to the contrary, he held on to the poles heavily, causing the tent to fly away. Exposed to the winds at the wrong place and time, he dirtied the place around the pit, rather than easing his business into the pit! The tent was found a few feet away the next morning, fortunately.
The night sky at Kalipokhri (and at Sandakphu the next night) was one of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen. My attempts at capturing them on my phone failed, telling me that it was more important to live the moment than collecting it for an unknown, unseen future. I recharged my powerbank so that I could sustain the phone – the camera – for the next two-and-a-half days until we descended to Gorkhey, after two nights in a tent. The idea of sleeping in a tent looked exciting. The toilet tents - even more so!
The next morning, the first thing on our agenda was to look at the Kalipokhri Lake. It turned out be a huge disappointment. All there was to the lake was some mass of water, with colourful Buddhist prayer flags crisscrossing it. From our makeshift viewpoint – on top of a half-constructed house – we could see our trail for the day. There was hint of snow along the road. We were told that that day’s trail – from Kalipokhri to Sandakphu – despite being the shortest (at around 7 kms), was the toughest part of the trek. Once we exited Kalipokhri after breakfast, our lunch would be served only after we reached Sandakphu. Were we up for the challenge?
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