We hire a taxi, struggle to lift the heavy boxes onto the roof rack, take our seats and off we go towards the small town of Joshimath, deep in the Himalaya. The following day, we board a local bus to the village of Lata, where our hike is going to start. It is impossible for us to lift the two heavy boxes onto the roof-rack of the bus, so we hire a local porter to do the job. He squats beside one of the boxes, tying a rope around it and then around his forehead. Muscles taut and sweat pouring down his face, he gets up and proceeds to climb up the ladder to the roof rack, first with one box, then the other. We pay him the handsome sum of 10 Rupees (1 US $), and he is very pleased indeed.
We stay a few days in Lata, where we hire a number of porters and buy more provisions. Lata is a typical Himalayan village, with two- or three-storey wooden houses, each supplied with a second-floor balcony all the way around the house. A dominating feature in the village is a Hindu temple, outside which grows an enormous Himalayan hemlock (Tsuga dumosa), whose branches are used as decoration during festivals. People cultivate crops like rice, buckwheat, and amaranth. After being harvested, the crops are spread out on the roofs to dry.
We camp on a plateau near the Rishi Ganga River, in which we see typical Himalayan river birds like blue whistling-thrush (Myophonus caeruleus), white-capped river-chat (Chaimarrornis leucocephalus), and brown dipper (Cinclus pallasii). Green-backed tits (Parus monticolus), red-headed bushtits (Aegithalos concinnus), and yellow-breasted greenfinches (Carduelis spinoides) hop about in shrubs along the river.
From Lata, we follow the trail towards Belta along fields, and later through lovely forest with e.g. Himalayan cedar (Cedrus deodara), Himalayan yew (Taxus wallichiana), walnut (Juglans regia), and different species of whitebeam (Sorbus). John has been walking a little distance behind Ajai and me, and when he catches up with us, he relates a strange encounter he had on the trail. As he was struggling along with his heavy backpack, he noticed one of our porters, an elderly man, lying beside the trail, utterly exhausted. When he saw the white sahib, he opened his mouth, pointed down his throat and exclaimed: “Vitamin E!! Vitamin E!!”
We continue our hike up a steep trail through the forest, which is now dominated by fir (Abies) and shrubs of Rhododendron campanulatum. We camp on a ridge, called Lata Kharak, from where we have a wonderful view towards the surrounding mountains, among others Dunagiri (7,066 m), Trisul (7,120 m), and Hathi Parbat (6,727 m).
Ajai, who is a student and maybe not so fit, is now very tired, lagging behind. He sits down on a rock, so we go back to find out what’s wrong. Ajai refuses to move and says: “Just leave me here. I’ll spend the night here, I can’t go on.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, if you stay here, you’ll freeze to death!”
“Oh no, I can’t go on,” he insists.
A snow storm is looming on the horizon, so we decide that I walk in front of Ajai, while John walks behind him, pushing him forward, every time he tends to slow down. To do this, John has to abuse him, calling him nasty names, which makes Ajai angry, and the produced adrenalin somehow makes him able to continue. Darkness is falling, and we still have to negotiate a steep, muddy slope down to our campsite. On our way, we must often cling to branches. John slips, tearing his trousers on a rock.
In the very last light of the day we struggle into camp near a big rock, under which our porters have decided to spend the night. Gosh, what a day! Ten hours of hiking – the toughest walk we have ever made. We get company from an Indian climbing expedition, one of the climbers being this gorgeous girl from Calcutta. Ajai immediately forgets his tiredness and babbles away with the girl for an hour or more. That night we sleep like logs. The following morning, we find fresh tracks of leopard (Panthera pardus) outside the camp.
We continue our hike through a lovely forest, in which different species of whitebeam display their red and yellow autumn foliage. Here and there, the path is very narrow, and we have to inch along the rock wall to avoid falling into the abyss, several hundred metres deep.
Leaving a part of our equipment and food in a crack between two rocks at Deodi, we continue our hike through a lush birch forest. The thick tree trunks are gnarled and twisted, their branches covered in old man’s beard lichens (Usnea). In this forest live passerines like Himalayan red-flanked bush-robin (Tarsiger rufilatus) and spot-winged tit (Periparus melanolophus). Our staff has made camp near a huge, slanting rock, not far from the Bethartoli Glacier, establishing our kitchen beneath the rock. A short distance from the camp, we have a marvellous view towards the impressive glacier, criss-crossed by large and small cracks, and partly covered in brown moraine. In the evening, we all gather beneath the slanting rock, our staff singing Garhwal songs, which I record on my tape recorder. I place my hand in hot ashes, but a large blister is the only harm done.
During the night there is heavy snowfall. A Queen of Spain fritillary (Issoria issaea) is sitting on the snow, and near the glacier we find pugmarks of a snow leopard (Uncia uncia). This superb cat, which is only found in mountains of Central Asia, has diminished drastically in most areas, and today the total number may be less than 5,000.
The cloud cover lifts, and soon most of the snow has vanished. The yellow whitebeam leaves, which are covered in a layer of snow, become heavier with the melting snow, dropping to the ground, where they create a brightly coloured carpet on the snow. With great care, we cross the glacier to explore the Trisul Nala Valley. Gabar Singh, who is leading the way, suddenly comes to a stop, saying: ”Bharal!” On the mountain slope across the river, a herd of 26 beautiful blue sheep (Pseudois nayaur) are feeding. This species is an evolutionary curiosity, as its behavior shows traits from goat as well as sheep. On our way back, we surprise four of them on the trail in front of us. They flee, uttering a curious, bird-like call. They soon calm down, however, and we can approach them with care.
We return by another route out of the area, along the Rishi Ganga River. In this way, we won’t have to cross the awful Dharansi Pass, but otherwise the trek is far from easy. Descending sheer rock walls, we have to dangle on ropes, and several times we must cross the Rishi Ganga, balancing on logs. Gabar Singh, in his black, shiny ballroom shoes, just dances over these logs like nothing, but John and I are scared stiff while crossing. On a particularly nasty ‘bridge’, consisting of rather thin logs which balance precariously on larger rocks on either side of the river, John stops halfway across, clinging to another log with both hands. Gabar Singh has to go out and help both of us ashore.
Finally, we reach agricultural areas, where some sheep herders invite us for tea. Late in the afternoon, Gabar Singh points to a harvested field, saying: “This is a good place to camp.” John leaves to explore the field, but quickly returns, exclaiming: “Holy shit, we are going to camp in a marihuana field!”
When we reach Gabar Singh’s village, John hands him his sneakers, so that he’ll not have to wear his black ballroom shoes on future hikes. Later that day we meet him in the street, clad in his best finery: Super-clean clothes and John’s sneakers.