Journal Entry - Day 1
You know how they say, भलाई का ज़माना नहीं रहा (the times of goodness are gone)? Well, they’re right. Here I was, thinking we were helping someone and all I got for my troubles was an earful from Simran. But let me back up a little and explain.
Shouvik and I had booked a cab to take us from Chandigarh airport to Manali. At the terminal, a woman asked if she could hitch a ride with us. Her husband, she explained, was already in Manali and she was heading there to join him. Now if you were in our place what would you have done? Said no to a fellow human in their time of need? Sat in the cab and driven away, watching as her forlorn figure grew smaller in the rear-view mirror? Wondered why you felt a heaviness in your chest, only to realise your heart had turned to stone? No, thank you. That is not how we roll.
We told her she could join us and the fact that I am still alive proves she was not part of a criminal syndicate. And yet, when I called Simran earlier this evening and narrated this incident, she was appalled and labelled our noble act ‘moronic and extremely dangerous’. She also expressed surprise at the woman’s blithe attitude in asking us - two unknown men - for a lift. I think there is an obvious and ready explanation. Shouvik and I look like perfect gentlemen; you could even say we have an angelic aura, which is why the woman must’ve approached us. When I mentioned this to Simran, she laughed so hard that she dropped her phone. (She is my wife and I love her, but sometimes she can be quite hurtful.)
Anyway, after a 12-hour-long traffic-ridden drive and an unnecessary 45-minute hike (curse you, Google Maps!) we’re just happy to be in our hotel in Manali. We had read about the damage caused by the recent floods and landslides in Himachal Pradesh but seeing the devastation was a sobering experience. Large chunks of the road had been gorged out. Entire buildings had disappeared with just the entrance left standing - a lonely sentinel guarding a ghost house. Bridges had been amputated; their arms no longer tethered to the banks of the river and their midriffs grotesquely suspended in the air. The mountains had offered us a grim welcome.
We met the rest of the trekking crew over dinner. They seem like nice people, though when one of them asked if ‘everyone here lives with their parents’, Shouvik and I exchanged a look. Why do we end up being the senior citizens in every group?! I am not looking forward to trailing everyone during the hikes and being the last one to reach camp. We will find out tomorrow, I suppose.
Journal Entry - Day 2
Everything is wet. Our clothes, our rucksacks, the tents, the sleeping bags. Everything.
We woke up to clear, blue skies with a smattering of wispy, white clouds. We grabbed breakfast and showered with the zeal of people bidding a reluctant farewell to plumbing and running water. Then, we were packed into cabs that ferried us from the hotel to the start of the trail in Dhundi.
All through the morning, it had been perfect hiking weather. But the minute we heaved the rucksacks onto our backs and began walking, it started to rain. Moments like these can make you start believing in a god. And their sadistic sense of humour.
Last year, while preparing for the Pangarchulla trek, I’d grappled with the dilemma of whether to labour under the weight of warm clothes or risk hypothermia. (You can read that story here.) This time, I thought I’d been smarter about keeping my rucksack lightweight. It took less than thirty minutes of climbing to disabuse me of that notion. The trail snaked uphill from the get-go, and my shoulders were soon conspiring with my knees to make me stumble off the hill, break my neck and bring an end to this foolhardy enterprise. And - I must admit - when a thousand needles pricked my bare feet as I crossed an icy stream, breaking my neck was beginning to look like an attractive exit strategy.
It rained for almost all of the three-hour hike to our first campsite. We spent the evening huddled in the dining tent - the only place large enough to accommodate all ten of us - and played Mafia to distract ourselves.
Grey day gave way to damp night. Now, the moon is glimmering through a blanket of clouds but there is no sign of the stars. It is all rather dreary but such is the way of the mountains. Perhaps tomorrow we will awaken to gorgeous sunshine.
Okay, that’s all for now. I need to tend to a spider that has infiltrated our tent. Goodnight.
P.S.: Some good news. Shouvik and I are not the oldest members of the party. Three of our companions have arrived from the Levant and can lay joint-claim to that title. Quite why they have decided to climb a Himalayan peak while holidaying in a foreign country, I do not know.
Journal Entry - Day 3
I hate trekking.
I hate the interminable rain.
I hate being stranded at a slushy campsite because bad weather lay waste to the day’s planned hike.
I hate having to climb a nearby hill to (barely, briefly) get mobile network and let my family know that our itinerary has gone out of the window.
I hate using a bathroom that is a hole in the ground with tarpaulin sheets for walls.
I hate having to wear damp socks and damp shoes and damp clothes.
I hate that I signed up to climb this godforsaken 5289-meter-tall (roughly 17,350 feet) mountain. (Whoever named it Friendship Peak had a cruel sense of irony.) What was I thinking?!
Most of all, I hate the fact that I hate being here but I cannot - will not - quit.
But I am close, very close, to quitting. And I know the others in the group feel the same way - I can see it in their grim faces and downcast eyes. Every hour of rain and mist makes the mountainside more treacherous and reduces our chances of making it to the summit.
It will make sense for us to head to our next campsite only if the weather clears by tomorrow morning. If it worsens, we will have no choice but to return. The worst thing that can happen is that the weather stays the same and we continue to trek in these miserable conditions, without any guarantee of being able to reach the mountain.
Journal Entry - Day 4
The weather has stayed the same and we are continuing to trek in miserable conditions, without any guarantee of being able to reach the mountain.
Just perfect.
Click here to read the next instalment of this nail-biting account! Also, if you want to read more trek-related content you can check out this wonderful story in Ayush’s Substack:
Loved the writing, the details and the photos. The weather was somehow identical to the last trek I'd been on so I could relate to everything all the more. Looking forward to Part 2. And thank you so much for the plug!
Your account of day 3 feels so raw (and real)!