The Call of the Mountains

The human species is a dwarf when compared to the mountains; a dwarf in space and time. While the enormity of the mountains is immediately apparent, the mountains have existed for far longer than the human kind and perhaps will also stand witness to the demise of this sorry species. With my mind preoccupied with these thoughts, I saw the mountains standing shoulder to shoulder, stretching endlessly. I was instantly filled with a sense of awe, feeling belittled all the while. This hubris-check was felt at the foothills; foothills of one of the youngest mountain ranges and the tallest mountain range in the world. I had arrived at the foot of the mighty Himalayas. The very thought of the enormity that was in store for me over the next fortnight made me bow my head down to these mountains.

A question that I often asked myself on my second ever visit to the Himalayas was this: what makes these mountains so fascinating and why am I drawn towards them so much?

Did the fascination lie in the changing landscapes of this brilliant mountain range? We crossed the 5583m high Parang La (La is the word for pass in local tongue) on day four of our trek. The initial two days were short and they passed with relative ease. The third day saw us making steep descents which took us to a deep ravine and also saw us making equally steep ascents that led us to the Parang La basecamp. For three days we had trekked on a barren terrain with boulders being a common sight and never could one spot a tree. Initially on day four, the terrain was the same and snow at close quarters was seen only in patches. But that was about to change and how! On a misty drizzling day, it had taken steady efforts on my part to gradually ascend towards the pass. Behind me was the now familiar barren terrain and when I cast my eyes beyond the pass, I was transported to a different world where snow blanketed every inch of the land in front of us. Right at the pass was a huge mass of white that was the glacier. It took the guides over an hour to find a path down this glacier, after which it took us an hour of trekking to get off the glacier. As we trekked further that day, the trail led us to walk right by the river formed by the glacier water. The next day saw us wading through those icy-cold thigh-high waters. Two more days later, as we left the course of the river, we were staring at incredibly vast meadows that stretched on for miles. One was bound to gauge the miles wrongly, always underestimating it. And there was still no sign of a tree. Nature must have challenged herself to outdo the majesty and variety of her creations at every turn.

Snowfall could transform a barren peak into a snow peak overnight

The landscape didn’t change just with distance, they also changed with time. The Tso Moriri - a huge lake at an altitude of 4543m with a perimeter of about 60km - changed colours every few hours. The interplay of sun and clouds led the lake to take on varied shades of blue. A thick cloud cover in the afternoon would render the lake a deep shade of blue, while a sparser cover gave the lake a light blue shade. Different parts of the lake would assume different shades at the same instant due to the uneven distribution of the clouds. The clouds affected the mountains too with their snowfall and rain. The landscape change is so intriguing that the colour of the mountains changed just with rain, as the soil on the mountains mixed with the rain and deepened in colour. Needless to say, snowfall could transform a barren peak into a snow peak overnight. Nature must still be challenging herself to outdo the majesty and variety of her creations with every hour.

The interplay of sun and clouds led the lake to take on varied shades of blue

Nature also used the moon to paint a landscape differently. That night at the Norbu Sumdho campsite, when I crawled out of the two man tent where I was huddled along with five others and where laughter was raging for a long while, Nature had me staring at her painting for a long time, speechless. The waxing crescent moon lit up the landscape; the gently flowing glacier water – the gentleness also heard in the sound that she made - was now streaks of silver on the path below, a path that she had long ago forged among the mountains and the mountains themselves were now a silhouette of black all around. The unflinching clouds which decorated the sky, especially gathered around the peaks, seemed to be competing with the stillness of the mountains. A multitude of stars completed this picture of few colours. The still cold air was chilling my bones. Yet I stood, transfixed, moved by the majesty and beauty of this incredible sight.

I know that it isn’t just the changing landscape that draws one to the mountains. The white band of Milky Way was seen on many nights, stretching across the sky, reminding the consciousness induced stardust that we are of our origins and of our place in the universe. On the trek, we saw a lone wolf limping away, herds of kiangs grazing, marmots popping in and out of their holes, bar-headed geese on the lake, and a hare ran past us! Being severed from civilization, in the mountains, we are a lot closer to Nature.

At the end of the trek, I still couldn’t convincingly answer why I was so fascinated. Hindsight also hasn’t proved to be successful in the quest for an answer. But it is perhaps not a question that should be answered at all. I’m inclined to think that the question is invalid even.

All I’m left with is this. The Himalayas called. I obliged. And I will continue to answer them, for I have fallen prey to the calls of the mountains.

Pushing the frontiers of my endurance... Rupin Pass

I had to push myself on. I couldn't take more than three steps at a stretch. My body refused to move. The 10kg rucksack on my back felt heavier than that. Resting on my trekking pole, I had to take a few deep breaths, compose myself and carry on. The occasional sip of water didn't seem to help much. Every next step took more effort than the previous. But I also knew, that every next step took me that much closer to the top.

It was day six of the seven day trek to Rupin pass. It was the day we'd actually cross the Rupin pass. We left our camp at upper waterfall at 5:30am and so far, this day had proved to be the most grueling. After three days of rather plain sailing, I had suffered from acidity. Now at 15k feet, it looked like I had a hint of altitude sickness too. Having trekked for three full hours on snow, where the micro-spikes and trekking pole had saved me from many a fall, I was looking at a steep ascent of 60 degrees where one had to walk zigzag on the slope to reach the top of Rupin pass.

Having navigated the initial climb up with the help of constant motivation from Ragha behind me, we reached the rope section. I climbed up holding the rope, taking a few breaks, some of which were enforced, some voluntary. My lungs were gasping for more air, my legs were crying out for a rest and my hands didn’t want to hold anymore. But my mind, which knew better, told them all to stop whining and get on with their work and finish the ascent. The rope climb was done with and exhaustion was taking over me. The last few feet, to be covered on feet, were beckoning. And the people above who had already reached were calling out.

We were a group of eighteen trekkers, led by three trekking staff of India Hikes, who in turn were assisted by three more technical staff members to navigate sections such as these. We had grown close over the days as a group. It was a group with an interesting mix. The group had first time trekkers and veteran trekkers, had a few amateur and pro photographers, had people from many parts of India and even one from Malaysia. But most importantly, it was a group that knew how to have fun together!

It probably was their shouts, combined with the knowledge that I had very nearly made it, which gave me a sudden surge of mental energy. Now I knew that I had enough in me to finish the ascent without any more breaks. Weary, yet headstrong, taking one tough step after another, with one heavy breath after another, using my hands, my knees and the last sinew of my resilience, I trudged along until there was no more to climb. I had finally ascended the Rupin pass!

Rupin Pass: 15350 feet above sea level

I threw myself on the ground and let the wave of emotions rush through me. The first was of satisfaction. Satisfaction that I could discover my new physical and mental limits, satisfaction that those were enough to finish the climb. Now that the climb was done, looking around, I felt delighted by the sights the mountains and the sky offered. I might use the most superlative form of breathtaking to describe it, and still fall short of explaining Nature’s beauty up there. A new found energy and zeal were now running in my veins. Had I really conquered this height? No. Now I felt humility too, as I had this weird sensation that it was the mountains which allowed me to reach these heights.

We all spent some time there, absorbing everything, taking pictures and congratulating each other. When at last we started to depart, I was the last to pick my backpack up again. As I stood there, I couldn't help but remark how beautiful everything looked. This was an utterly beautiful experience; not just a beautiful place, but an experience. Standing alone, amidst the pure white snow, I looked up at the clear blue sky. It held nothing but the bright sun. Not a single speck of cloud was seen. It was then that I had an epiphany of sorts, about reality and our place in the universe.

The view from Rupin pass

"Here I am, standing at 15,350 feet on the planet Earth. In the solar system, we're just a pale blue dot. A pale blue dot that is going around quite a small star of our galaxy. The star is merely one among the billions in our galaxy. Our galaxy just one among the billion others. Yet, in all that insignificance, the joy and beauty of Nature perceived by this speck of consciousness is overwhelming."

I had goosebumps just then. And I don't think the cold had much to do with it.