It was the first time I’d encountered snow. It was slippery, we walked carefully. But everyone was happy.
I drew a smiley on the snow and wrote ‘Happy Birthday’.
Sixteen hours later, I could hardly ask, “Are you awake?” through the thin nylon sheet of our tent that we set up inside a shelter (read ‘shed’).
There was another tent in the shed. It was for the men in our group.
The dying embers of fire dimly lit up our shelter. “I’m scared,” a barely audible voice came from the other tent.
“This was not how I’d planned to spend my birthday.”
That night, everyone was awake, but it felt like ages since somebody last spoke.
“Are you cold?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“I can’t believe I’m cold through the stone walls and the tent and the sleeping bag and three layers of clothing!”
I wished I could chuckle at the irony, it was the month of April and one thing we weren’t prepared for was snow.
We were at Panchpokhari, (translates to five lakes in Nepali). At 4,100m high in Sindhupalchowk, the area has high-altitude wetlands that boast an undisturbed, pristine ecosystem unlike many tourist destinations in Nepal.
On a clear day, Panchpokhari offers an incredible view of the Himalayas. Langtang range, Jugal and Rolwaling, you name it, you see it!
The place is also famous locally for the fair that is held during Janaipurnima, in August-September. There are different routes to reach the lakes — some of them demand at least a couple weeks. We took a shorter route, yet more challenging one that begins at Bhotang, an area inhabited by Tamangs.
And little did we know it would make all the difference!
We climbed uphill the same day. After negotiating the steep slope, that too through a drizzle, we reached our shelter for the day. It was bhanjyang (a pass of some sort) where we set up our tents, ate our half-cooked dinner and crept inside our warm colourful nests.
The view of sunrise next morning was one of the most beautiful things I’d ever seen in my life. It was like an illusion as if someone had piled gold on the mountain.
More breath-taking views awaited us the second day. The highlight of the day was a hill full of rhododendrons, you name the colour: red, pink, white, purple; it was all there. The hilltop looked like a colourful fuzzy carpet.
And there was rain again!
We wanted to reach Panchpokhari the same day, but it proved to be a bit over-ambitious plan. The downpour was so bad, it didn’t seem possible.
An old man we met on the way (correction: the only man we met on our way) assured us that there’s a hotel a little ahead. The cold was so bad we walked fast to reach our imaginary safe haven.
Two hours later, we found out that that old man had a seasonal hut near Nassyam-Pati. And that was the ‘hotel’ he was talking about!
We chose to spend our night in our tents, however, it was nice to have an indoor fire, some good tea and a properly cooked meal.
At 7 am the next morning, we left Nassyam-Pati.
Some of the porters had went off in search of ‘kira’ (yarsagumba aka the Himalayan Viagra), so our team had to split.
The morning looked like there were mountains in our courtyards, hills on the porch and clouds on our footsteps. An hour of walk later, we saw that the ground was reflecting bright white light. Despite the snowy delight, I was a little scared because we didn’t have snow-shoes and the path was slippery, steep.
All this was fun until we hit a rock. Quite literally, that.
We were treading a very narrow path that cut through the edges of a steep hill. A member of our team stepped on a stone, the stone toppled and she toppled along.
The merriment, cheerfulness, sense of adventure, and everything else that came with it went off with the stone.
I don’t remember how much time passed we stood there frozen, clueless.
A voice came from below, something barely audible, “…..stuck…..stem….tree….”
It was a relief at first, but we had a huge problem, the ropes were with other members of the team we’d left behind. Only three of us were there, and it was up to us to save her. Twenty minutes, tens of sticks and some cut pieces of ropes later, she was with us, shivering, cold and scared.
Quiet.
It got worse.
We still had more than half the way to hike and the slopes were getting steeper and narrower. The snow was a couple of feet deep, the sun was nowhere to be seen.
It looked dark although it was before noon. Visibility was pretty low, thanks to the fog.
The scene looked like a still from a psychological thriller, dark, depressing, and silent.
A bird soared in the sky, hardly visible. It was the first living soul we’d seen apart from old ‘hotelier’.
We reached Panchpokhari just before two. We had a purpose, to finish our research on time and return early before the weather got worse.
The evening was quite melancholic, thousands of times worse than the monsoon blues back home. I missed home.
We spent the night weighing our options. It rained and snowed all night. We speculated on the worst-case scenarios and calculated how long our food and fuel would last. And since there was no mobile phone network coverage, how’d anyone find us if we were stranded.
All kinds of crazy ideas were spoken of, debunked and talked about again.
The morning, however, brought sunshine. As the sky cleared up, the snow-covered landforms glistened in front of us like little mountains whose reflections smiled back at them from the lakes.
The beautiful shades of blue replaced the shades we were carrying in our hearts. The snow didn’t seem hostile, the air was free of dampness and the photons carried with them a positive vibe that spread out like it was infectious.
Everything was perfect again.
By the time we finished our work, half the snow had melted away.
The bird showed up again as we prepared to leave.
“Until next time,” it seemed to say.
(The author is an Environment Science student)
