The Hooded Claw

I have just returned from another weeks high altitude trail research and have had my post trip feast spoilt by the merciless monkeys who have taken advantage of a momentary security lapse. The evil “bandas” have munched through my mango, papaya and pomegranate supplies and strewn the plastic bag and inedible bits all over the balcony. Fuming.
Decided to do the last trail research all on foot; which was probably wise; as it took me over 4200 meters altitude on snow bound trails to the mysterious frozen lake of Roop Kund. The shallow ‘Tal’ (lake) is famed for the visible skeletal remains that it contains a result of a doomed pilgrimage over 800 years ago. Unfortunately snow and ice stopped us from reaching the lake, which would have required ice axes, crampons and considerably better trekking gear than my shorts and fell running shoes. Nights were interesting with the only accommodation available in teashops sprawled out on a wooden bench, which served as the counter during the day, wrapped up in blankets. The real bed was shared by the two shop owners who braved the freezing temperatures sharing one blanket sleeping head to toe Laurel and Hardy style with constant arguments over who had most of the blanket.
All the mountainous areas are in a feverish state at present as a gold rush of sorts is in progress coming in the form of a fungus called “Larawa”. Porters, trekking guides and daily laborers have made their way to near 4000 meters altitude in search of their fortune.
It appears birds drop the fungal spores out the sky and if they land right they grow underneath the surface as caterpillar sized black and yellow growths with the top barely visible above the surface as a matchstick sized white stalk. It is these white stalks that the pickers are looking for usually sprawled out on the grass as if sleeping on their stomachs.
The “Larawa” is big money with a kilogram worth 5 lakh rupees which is about £6000, with an individual piece bringing in between 70 and 250 rupees, which is more than a days, wage for most. A picker can expect to collect around 250 a week, which is a massive sum in India. The demand for the “Larawa” is driven by the Chinese, who use it as a boost for sexual power. (The author in a trial ate 3 kilograms of the stuff and is at present still unable to pull his shorts off (and get rid of the host of debt collecting mountain men camped outside the door) NONSENSE)
Fortunes are made at a cost however, temperatures are freezing, rain and snow are common with the pickers usually dressed only woolens and hole ridden leather shoes with makeshift camps of bamboo and plastic sheeting the only protection from the elements. Accidents are common with deaths not unheard of as pickers venture to more remote spots in search of the fungus only to find themselves caught in the snow or lost in the thick mist. With the season lasting only two months these are risks that for many that are worth taking.
Almost forgot. I met a reincarnation of the Hooded Claw (without claw). Genius of a man dressed only in black robes and a black turban which times he dropped down for effect to make his hood and cover a massive scar that ran down his forehead into his left eyebrow giving him a distinctly sinister look. Couldn’t believe it when he approached me introducing himself as Mark from Cambridge with a flourish of his robes. Claims to have been in India for the past 11 years, which is possibly true. I reckon he could have been an actor at some stage and got lost in one of his roles.
Back out in the mountains again tomorrow in an effort to link up all the trails that I have found another week on the bike should be enough then get ready to go back home for the summer for pies, pasties, ale and cheese.

"Fuk-ya" It's too cold to crap!

Wake at the second cock crow which is usually after the third jingling of donkey bells and head off on the trail to Pindari Glacier. Catch sight of Mr Prakesh a few kilometers along the trails heading in my direction which is worrying as I am banking on him and his donkey caravan for supplies and accommodation. He assures me he will make it come rain, sun or snow.
The trail follows the river on a high ridge before plunging down to the ice blue glacial chilled waters revealing further glimpses of the snow capped Himalayas further up the valley. The trail is 4 hours of singletrack, climbing up to 2800 meters to the few crumbling buildings that make up the village of Dwali. I tuck into the ubiquitous trekkers meal of double Maggi noodles topped up with daal and prepare myself for the thinning air and the 15km climb to the glacier.
The trail winds its way up on a thin ledge crossing snow and ice channels, km after km go by and I began to tire and I am in serious need of instant energy. I arrive at the last trekkers supply hut, Phurkiya pronounced "Fuk-ya", half starved and delirious. Disastrously all the biscuits have been gobbled up by a previous group of student trekkers, and with time estimates to knock up a rice and veg meal given in days rather than hours it seems wise to plod on to the glacier rather than wait around.
After Phukiya the trails gradient becomes less severe but more beautiful as it enters an ampitheatre of Himalayan peaks. Snow begins to fall from the sky and the air bcomes decidedly cold as I plod on half cycling, half pushing for the last 3 hours to reach the 'bugyal' or meadow at 3700 meters just below the glacier that will make up our camping ground tonight. I wrap myself up in all the clothes I have and watch the skies clear to reveal truly breathtaking views of the mountains.
Donkeys, trekkers and porters arrive just a I am beginning to turn to ice, tea is rustled up beans and biscuits shuvvelled down whilst the camp is made up by the porters. The porterage team is truly remarkable. For 4 middle aged; and very pleasant; Latvians, a team, worthy of an Everest expedition has been assembled. It comprises of 4 donkeys, 2 guides, 2 chefs, 4 donkey handlers, 4 porters cum tent erectors and a pigeon toed man with tattered leather shoes and a knee length grey jacket who appears to have come from another age whose sole responsibility is to carry the trekkers umbrellas.
The night spent in the tent is horrific, blanket supplies are literally thin on the ground and I am perished as I try to sleep foetus fashion and pray for the sun to rise early, shivering and tired I drift off into oxygen depleted delirium before a few stomach rumbles wake me up and a desperate feeling that the bowels must be evacuated. Its too cold to crap. I stay in the tent miserable.
Morning comes and brings massive relief behind a near by rock. A few of the Latvians are keen on trekking up to the glacier so I join them and the man carrying the umbrellas in an attempt to defrost. Poor vision and snow make the glacier difficult to determine amongst the swirl of white so we head back down and I press on back down the valley on the bike along what must be another piece of the worlds best singletrack for 23 km all the way back to Khatti.

The blankets, the beans and the donkey.

I am back in Bageshwar stuffing down juicy mangoes after a visit to the barber shop for a much needed shave after 7 days of mountain biking bliss on the trails to Pindari Glacier.
Cycled the first 40 kilometers through a scenic valley to the tiny settlement of Song which is the trailhead for the trek. After Song a 5 km steep climb to Loharkhet brought me to my first nights halt which was spent in a British built bungalow. The British in Imperial days were keen trekking enthusiasts and cut paths, logged trees, shot tigers and leopards, brutally suppressed the locals and built bungalows wherever they went to make it easier for the next time they came. The caretaker of the bungalow knocked together a simple meal of rice and lentils as he explained that other cyclists had made it this far last year before abandoning their mountain bikes and doing the rest by foot. The night was very cool compared to the heat on the plains and I was glad to have a nicely burnt brick red shoulders and back; a result of a couple of hours topless cycle repairing on the Bageshwar hotel roof top; to keep me nice and warm through the night.
The following day saw me pushing and carrying by cycle up a steepish and very rocky trail for 3 hours which gave me an understanding of why the other cyclists had abandoned their bikes. The trail crawled up over a 1000 meters from Loharkhet to the near 3000 meter Dwarki pass which is the main access route for the donkey caravans in and out of the valleys and can be blocked for weeks in winter. Men died on the pass last year in an attempt to trek over to Song to fetch supplies but where caught in a blizzard and perished.
The descent down to Khati was astonishing, a winding singletrack rocky trail through thick forests down to the river where the trail traversed the valley side for about 5 km before arriving at the medieval looking village of Khatti and presenting me with my first clear sight of the snow capped Himalayas and a greeting party of a hundred or so excited villagers who had seen the first ever cycle to visit the valley.
Tomorrow promises to be brilliant the local trekking expert Mr Prakash is taking a group of Latvians to the Pindari Glacier and is planning to camp just below the Glacier itself he has room on one of his donkeys for a few blankets, a spare tent and a few tins of beans for breakfast. The plan is for me to cycle the 23km and 1500 metre ascent and meet them at "Zero Point" at 3700 meters above sea level tomorrow.

Come back for more tomorrow for part 2.

Will the misadventurist make it?
Will the donkey eat all the beans?
How many blankets do you need to keep warm at 3800 meters?

Nostrils

Dear me. Been stuck on the crap top in me tiny cell of a room sweating and slaving away on the computer these last few days typing up all the new details for this years Mountain Bike Kerala goes Himalayan tours which should be superb. It will be pleasant to get back on the bike this afternoon and head off towards the fabled Pindari Glacier on the mountain bike, reckon it could take a week if I can bike all the trecking trails so could be the last entry for some time.
The expedition party has fallen to pieces, bars, homesickness and a social boycott has accounted for them all so its only me now which is much more easy to manage. Nani Tal was superb, and a week there and in the old cultural capital of Uttaranchal; Almora; has thrown up three brilliant days of mountain biking so thrilled with that.
Have now moved on to Bhageshwar a crumbling temple town on the confluence of two amazingly clear rivers. Bhageshwar is the staging post for the next round of exploration and the town is pleasant enough and hosts enough barber shops to shave all the male inhabitants of the entire subcontinent so if I get chance will go on a barber shop crawl this morning to test a few out.
Testing times in the jeep over here yesterday completely packed with people with one elderly fellow seemingly taking a keen interest in my right knee for the whole trip duration tickling it and putting his hand on it, (this has happened before last year) but with the added twist that he kept picking his nose in between bouts of knee worship and seemed unabashed about sticking his nostril contaminated fingers back onto my seriously unhappy knee.