The Hindu Business Line : Wayward treks!

The trail over the Hamta Pass on the Pir Panjal range is an ancient one, used for centuries to cross over from the Kulu valley into Lahaul. Today it is mostly the gujjars — nomads that graze their buffaloes in the interior valleys — that tread it apart from wayward trekkers like us, in search of adventure.

It's September and, as the days are getting shorter, we begin early. The path spirals upwards through the village of Pirni, the incline steep enough to slow our pace to a crawl. But that's a blessing in a way, for as we stop every now and then to catch our breath, our eyes dwell on the picturesque habitation and soak in its sereneness.

It's the curl of smoke in the far distance heralding a tea stop that eggs us on. As we flop down on its rickety benches we know it's our feet that need the coddling. In between brisk rubs and sipping hot adrak-ki-chai we revel in the splendour around us — emerald meadows and babbling brooks vaulted over by an azure sky.

Leaping over the criss-crossing waters, we walk through thick conifers to Sethan, a tiny habitation that conceals a mini cheese factory. It's great Himalayan cheddar, the venture of an enterprising foreigner.

We camp at Panduropa where, according to local lore, the Pandavas had dwelled awhile during their exile and cultivated the soil. Hence the name — Pandu and ropa (to sow). It's windy here and even though we set our tents among rocks, a mighty gust at dawn pulls them down, leaving us with no option but to pack up and get going.

The track now moves up the Hamta Valley through deep woods of tall evergreens to a patch of bhoj patra, its fine bark the parchment on which rishis of yore penned their wisdom. Out of the tree cover we land on an undulating meadow carpeted with bright flowers.

Another rough patch over weather-beaten rock and moraine and we are at the grazing grounds of Chikka, making our way among ewes and lambs.

At a higher pasture that drops to a deep gorge there's an icy streamlet to cross. With no option but to get our feet wet, we make a dash through it, thawing our frozen feet at Juari, our stop for the night.

The morning brings an ominous sky. We hasten our pace but boulders and scree make short shrift of our efforts. Rushing through a gorge, a chilly spray from a waterfall high above numbing us, we make it to Bhalu -ka-Ghera, the hibernating spot of the Himalayan bears. For a minute here the sun breaks through the clouds to reveal the majestic peaks of Indrasan, Indrakila and Deo Tibba.

As we climb towards the pass it begins to snow and by the time we are at the top it's over six inches deep. The white cover is magical, but scary too, as we now have to literally feel our way down. The descent is narrow and steep and it's a long, long trudge to Sherageru.

Camping on ice is a new experience and we wonder how cold it will be. Surprisingly it is rather comfortable once we are deep into our sleeping bags. A cup of hot soup adds to the warmth.

The final leg of the trail reveals a striking change in landscape. It's terrain bereft of vegetation, yet beautiful in its starkness. Across the Sher Nullah, to be crossed on mules, it's a sheer drop to Chattru on the banks of the Chandra river.

It's late afternoon and we have made it. Later, while sipping lemon-laced black tea, we survey the precipitous mountainside and marvel at how we did it all.

Curzon's Trail

This is a trek in the Garhwal Himalayas. Ever since Lord Curzon attempted to traipse it in 1905 it's been christened so. Offering unparalleled vistas it leads over Kuari Pass down to Tapovan near Joshimath.

Devprayag, Rudraprayag, Karnprayag and Nandprayag — it's a long drive, but the tributaries of the Ganga in their myriad shades of blue make it soothing. Over the last rough and narrow stretch and we are at Ghat. The new road beyond is easier done on foot, so we begin our hike to Chefna with the Nandakini roaring alongside.

The path to Ramni winds through wide-terraced wheat fields, their golden expanse broken by the deep green of hill potatoes. From village dwellings, fascinating two-storeyed mud homes, comes the cheerful natter of women as they thresh the freshly harvested paddy in their aangans (courtyard).

Camp is further up on a spacious ridge with tall deodars sheltering us, white-backed vultures soaring above, red-rump swallows frolicking around and the hill warbler's melodious serenade enveloping us. It's idyllic.

A challenging beginning the next day, the incline sharp and the path stony, leads us to bugyals (hill meadows) covered in clover and dandelion, dotted with shepherds' hutments; up again to a forest of leafless trees — a surreal show of oaks — their branches covered with dried ferns. Almost like the wood that walked in The Lord of the Rings.

Further ahead through rhododendrons and a dazzling carpet of buttercups, it's an up-and-down trail, at times so rough that it slows us to a crawl, at others level and smooth. Across the stream of Jinji Pani is a thick wood of horse chestnuts in bloom, a canopy of tiny white and rust clusters.

Jinji the village is a hive of activity. The barley has just been cut and the entire village is busy transporting the golden sheaves in large baskets on their backs.

Then onto an almost treeless expanse. Far below in the gorge, the river shimmers like silver ribbon. Thereafter, fabulous bushes of wild roses with their heady fragrance, the buzz of bees and a million radiant butterflies render the long traverse rather effortless. And at the end, our tents on a tiny meadow, close to a waterfall overlooking an immense scraggy rock, add to the day's exhilaration.

As we move on we begin to realise that this is indeed a very flowery trail, for a riot of colour accosts at every turn — kilmara bushes brilliant in lemony yellow, wild chandini in pristine white and clumps of purple and deep pink amongst the ferns swathe the hillsides.

On to the only difficult part of the trek, across a gushing waterfall to an abrupt and narrow descent to avoid a landslide that has obliterated the main path, under thin, threadlike water spills, the rock wall covered in shiny moss and algae, another swift stream with the option of tackling it either on the hollowed tree-trunk thrown over, or hopping on a handful of boulders. To cross the pass we leave at daybreak. Up, up and up, over stones and rubble to the horseshoe saddle, in this season covered in bronzing grasses, miniature red poppies, wild strawberries and the light mauve of rhododendron bushes.

And through the cloud-cover an outline of the snow mountains...

The last campsite, a vast meadow with a chattering stream, flocked by sheep grazing under the benign gaze of shaggy bhutia sheepdogs, and surrounded by mountains veiled in white is simply exquisite. Nature does seem to have been partial in bequeathing its charms here.

The final bit is rather knee-jerking, through immense deodars, the slide punctuated by the massive roots creating a natural stairway.

It's cool and soothing, till all of a sudden the path leads into the sunlight, to the village rooftops. It then curls along the mountainside to Tapovan on the banks of the Dhauli Ganga.

We're back into the real world.

Fact File

Hamta Pass

Getting there: Delhi is connected to Manali by road and to Kullu by air

Distance: Kullu to Manali (40 km) can be covered by local transport

Best Season: June-October

Curzon's Trail

Getting there: Delhi is connected to Haridwar by train.

Distance: Haridwar to Ghat (245 km)

Tapovan to Haridwar (290 km)

By private, public or hired transport

Best Season: April-June; Sept-October