Singalila Ridge Trek

I got up early so that I would be ready to meet my guide, required by the Indian government, by 8.30. It was early enough that the streets were still quiet and I could smell the fish slopped out on wooden slabs and the chickens freshly slaughered, all ready for sale. Rajin and I took a share taxi to the start of the trek. There was traffic along the way, caused by rows of trucks filled with flag-waving singers, all shouting Jai Gorkha. In Mana Bhanjang, the officer at the checkpost who looked at my passport asked me what I thought of Obama. This was a common response when I said I was from the US, even in the tiniest Nepali villages in the mountains. The road at the end of the main bazaar was blocked off and a banner strung above the road said that this was the finish for the Himalayan 100 mile run/trek. Wow. Imagine running a marathon. In the mountains. Four days in a row. We were there along with the schoolchildren waving Indian flags to watch the first finisher cross the line. With a more limited effort, I began the walk up with Rajin. The first 2 km were quite steep, but the effect was lessened by the two stops we made for tea along the way. These "huts" were part of the system - we could have stayed here except that would have made for a very short day. It was nice to have a local refreshment without the weight in our packs. Right before we got to Tonglu in the afternoon, we plopped down on the grass (well Rajin was more graceful anyway) and looked off into the blue landscape. To the left of the ridge is Nepal-- the rolling hills don't look too different from the ones on the Indian side, but it is a cool feeling knowing that across the way is an entirely different country. The trail the first day was often deep groves in the dried mud. The park is closed for 3 months during the summer monsoons, so I imagine that is enough time to wash away the trail that is set the rest of the year. We passed only a few people, all locals walking down with huge baskets of wood balanced on their foreheads. By the end of the day, my face ws crusty with dried sweat and my sleeves were black with soot, but I was loving it. It was late afternoon and the light falling on the full-on view of Mt. Kachendzonga was hazy. There was Hindi music playing as I sat outside in the fading light, but otherwise I just heard cows walking home on the rocky road. The lodge I stayed at was part of a family home. I was the only trekker there, so I got to warm my hands by the same fire as the children and watch as they cooked. I ate separately from them, but it was the same Nepali fare. The lodge felt homey and my room was a huge step up from the trekkers' huts on the Dzongri trek -- there was no cold wind coming through cracks in the wall and I even had my own bathroom. I went to sleep with my Nalgenes filled with hot water (purified for the morning) so my toes were warm as I went to sleep.

Breakfast was at 7am. I could pack my jacket because the sun was warm even at that hour. I got a stool in the kitchen and got to watch from only inches away as my host family for the day made Tibetan roti over the fire. The dough was rolled out then cut in the middle 3 or 4 times, long lines that didn't reach the edge of the circle. The roti were fried up to cripy, almost flaky perfection. We left at 7.40 am and I arrived at Sandakphur a full 8 hours and 45 minutes later. This day was a tie, in my book, for the world's longest hiking days ever (this is mostly in terms of attitude, not in terms of actual length). The first part of the day was sold - it was pretty flat and easy. We passed through a village much bigger than the one we stayed in the night before, but it was very quiet - everyone was either inside or out working in the fields. Only an hour into the hike, I got a clear view, albeit from far away, of the flat-topped Lhotse and that most famous of peaks, Everest. I felt exhilirated after that, ready to walk and walk. We covered 13 out of 19km before lunch. There were steep bits, switchbacks up entire mountainsides at impossible angles that seemed to go on forever. I occupied myself by calculating my walking speed at different times - this was better than focusing on the blisters on the back of each heel. The last set of switchbacks were the worst -- I could see a roof at the top of the hill, but I couldn't walk any faster. I needed a break every 20 steps to make it up the next section. How happy I was to put my feet up on a bed when we got to the trekkers' hut at the top. The soles burned and tingled and froze all at the same time. I had to get on my feet again quickly though to check in at the checkpost with my passport. This night I was comfortable, but there was little feeling of family. I was glad to have the hot water bottles in my sleeping bag at the higher altitude. I stayed up and looked at my photos of the day. It is definitely fall here: the mountainside looks like a zoomed in Seurat painting - the overall effect is green, but there are discernable blobs of color-yellow and gold and maroon and white- dabbed everywhere.

Rajin knocked on my window at 5.15am. Was it really my idea to get up at that insane hour? But how often will I get a chance to see the sunrise on both Kanchendzonga and Everest? It was a much easier walk to the viewpoint than the one I had at Dzongri. There was only 1 other American there and a few Indians. The fiery red skittle of a sun hit Kanchendonga before Everest, and its light was on us quickly, making the morning warm even before 6am. After taking the "usual" sunrise in the Himalayas with prayer flags fluttering in the foreground picture, I descended. It was all blue skies and easy going for most of the day. 21km seemed daunting after my experience the day before, but I regained my confidence quickly. We left the jeep road and made our way across grassy hillsides. The trees here were wind-blown-all knobbly and spindly. The red arrows spray painted on the ground a few days earlier to direct the runners in the Himalayan 100mi race were oddly reminiscent of the Swiss trail markers I saw back in August. There were no villages to stop at for tea on this day, so we ate biscuits instead. Isn't that reason enough to go trekking--when cookies are allowed at 9.30am? Phalut, just below the dividing line of West Bengal, Sikkim, and Nepal is not a village but merely a forest service outpost. I took off my boots right away, the Chacos giving my raw heels a chance to breath. I sat and ate noodle soup outside and watched as the officers in uniform scurried around in a hurry. An important personage--the secretary of the environment of all of India- was expected at any moment, so the men were tightening belt buckles and straightening hats. Three jeeps pulled up in a cloud of dust and the forest service men stood at attention. I could tell who the head honcho was by the stiff posture of the men as they saluted. There were at least 12 people milling about after getting out of the jeep, along with the uniformed men who were already there, but when the Secretary saw me he greeted me and sat down at the table with me. We preceeded to have an entire conversation while with whole contingent stood back and waited-- and yes, everyone was listening. He asked me where I was from and what I was doing here. He didn't see the connection between my study of history and my interest in mountain hut systems, so he decided to enlighten me on the topic. "Do you know what it was like here 30 or 50 years ago?" he asked. Well, no. He could tell me because he had been here 50 years ago, when the trekkers hut, now destroyed, was further up the hill. In those days, the huts were made of wood, the kind of buildings that let cold air in as I had experienced at Dzongri. He indicated the new trekkers hut where I had left my pack--a stone hut would have been unthinkable back then. After ennumerating a few further concepts, he thanked me for talking with him and the whole group shuffled down past the trekkers hut to the green forest service hut. Only afterwards did it strike me that my casual, American nature of talking might have seemed rude to those listening, since I didn't use sir as automatically as they did. Rajin and I left the hut and went up the hillside (past the the ruins of the old trekkers hut, as promised) to the viewpoint. With prayer flags fluttering, I admired my last view of the snowy Kanchendzonga and Everest ranges.

In a final episode of growing pains, I woke up and realized my last wisdom tooth is growing in. The others did the same in Spain - they must like traveling. I ate my porridge sitting in the sun outside. I couldn't finish the whole bowl, that it turned out ok because it was an easier day. The trail was gentle downward slopes through shady forests. The trees were mossing and I crunched on speckled fallen leaves the whole way down. We came to Gorkhey just past 11. The unique location didn't really sink in until I was sitting in a kitchen drinking tea. I looked out of the window at brightly lit terraced fields. I could see cows grazing and a few weather-beaten farmers digging in the dirt. I had to remind myself how different this is-- how special to be in a quiet Nepali village. Like a true Indian, I squatted by the water spicket outside and washed my pants for the first time in 25 days. How's that for adventure. I might have been in shape to walk 10 miles a day, but washing clothes by hand was a different matter- my forearms felt very tired after that. I took lunch outside--roti, an omelette, and a highlighter green prickly vegetable. After lunch, with our smelly socks drying on the top of a thatched bamboo roof, Rajin and I walked across a rickety bridge and we were back in Sikkim (oops no permit this time). It is past harvest time, so all that is left on the terraced fields are the bottoms of corn stalks.

I ate my morning porridge and we set off through other quiet villages on the way to Rimbik. We were on a local trail, just stoned laid out between fields. The people along the way were interested in me like I was in them. I took a much needed hot bath in Rimbik and enjoyed the views of Darjeeling across the valley. And finally, I started working on my thoughts about wilderness, my conclusions (or at least my observations) from the last 3.5 months of travel. I am now back in Darjeeling after a long morning drive. Cold, cloudy weather has set in, so I know how lucky I was to have sun and clear skies for the entire trek (yes, even in the afternoons). I will take a share jeep to Siliguri then a taxi to Bagdogra and fly to Delhi from there. All this to do mundane things like get a Tanzanian visa and add pages to my passport (both only possible M-F). I got train tickets for a day trip to Agra so I can take a picture of my rubber ducky with the Taj Mahal, my one concession to famous sights in India. And somewhere along the way I will type up the quarterly report I wrote and post it here. My last few days in India, coming up...