One Bad Day

Starting out from my lodge in Jharkot, reliable guides pointed across the horse pastures and rock-walled fields to a white house on other side of the small valley. From there, a trail was visible climbing over the bare hill to the next valley, down to the town of Lubra. I was contemplating whether this would be the last day of hiking on the Annapurna Circuit Trek, and the weather was perfect for the half-day walk to Jomson.

Just getting to the trailhead was a more time-consuming walk than I expected, dead-ending at rock walls and icy streams. I scaled one wall and dodged across a pasture to finally reach the white house, at which point the trail that looked so obvious at a distance was hard to find. I started climbing up the hillside without the trail, figuring I could find it with the benefit of a high perch. From above, there were many, many trail laced through the low brush, so I chose one that seemed to go in the right direction and started walking. A well-marked trail junction finally confirmed that I was now exactly where I wanted to be, and I was rewarded with a view that was stupendous: in every direction barren brown hills in the foreground where overpowered by massive white jagged peaks of the Mustang Valley in the distance. I ran-walked down the trail full of energy from the gorgeous landscape and the knowledge that I was back on trail. And then in my distracted glee, I completely took a wrong turn, missing the trail to the village of Lubra and heading instead toward a lonely promontory that overlooked a flat desert plain. I consulted my map and the landscape. The open expanses made it easy to realize where I was; I just wasn't where I wanted to be.

Aye yi yi.

My options were to 1) go back uphill to the trail I missed and enter Lubra from the north as I planned; 2) continue east across this plain to the village of Ekle Bhattee and then head south to Jomsom on the Jeep road, a route I had vetoed as unpleasant when I first planned this day; or 3) follow the narrow black line on my map down  a little-used local trail that would eventually deposit me just south of Lubra, but on the trail to Jomsom that I had inadvertently left.

I took Door #3, and after the first easy minutes of the walk, I disliked this trail strongly. When the flat plain gave way to a steep descent, the trail was dodgy with loose sand and gravel and an forgiving slide down several hundred feet if I misstepped. I paused several times to consider if continuing down was still a better choice than retracing my steps back up. "Wow. You have really made some interesting decisions today," I said aloud to myself, partly to defuse my nerves and partly to pierce the punishing quiet.

Once the bridge came into view, I felt a little easier. Now I just had to get to it.

Dry gravel sliding underfoot, I finally edged myself down to the head of the suspension bridge. I bandaged the scrapes and cuts on my hand that were the only, blessed reminder of a spill on my way down and took a moment to assess the bridge's ominous length and height. Earlier in the descent, I had spotted a trio of people walking down this riverbed but now not a soul was visible up and down the massive rocky valley. I walked across the bridge with more trepidation than I had ever felt on one of these ubiquitous spans; its lack of use removed the usual reassurance, "people and yaks cross this all the time!" The clanging metal footbed and natural sway of the bridge had me taking deep breaths and walking quickly. I stepped off the bridge onto firm stone at the far end with a massive sense of relief, and a painted trail sign on the rock greeted me with good news: Jomson was a just a couple of hours away.

Panorama of the Panda Kola.

Jomsom, heck yes! 

I worked my way down to the Panda Kola river to follow the path I'd see others taking from high above. This wide, rocky riverbed joined the wider, dustier Kali Gandaki Nadi river not far from here. The thin veins of water that run across these rock fields hardly seem able to carve the deep, wide canyons above them. Despite the rocks and dust, the flat exposure of these riverbottoms makes them the preferred path of travel for trekkers, vehicles and animals alike. The roads that trekkers had bemoaned as "ruining" the Annapurnas were back, if riverbeds counted as roads. Walking on the rounded, uneven rocks was exhausting and annoying, and soon turned worse: joining the Kali Gandaki Nadi, I turned south into a massive wind tunnel that shot sand and debris at my face and added serious effort to the act of walking forward. The few trekkers on this stretch who hadn't hailed Jeeps from Muktinath to Jomsom were walking directly into stiff, sand-filled wind, alongside buses and Jeeps that kicked up even more dust. For the first time in weeks of trekking, I could sense cracks opening in my tenacity and a bitter dislike of the challenge seeping in. The astonishing mountain views of the Mustang towered on the horizon, and I struggled at moments to appreciate them.

Kali Gandaki Nadi "river" bed.

Eventually I could see Jomsom ahead, and I was still debating whether to stop here or keep going. Just at the edge of Jomsom the river swelled with water, forcing trekkers and trucks out of the riverbed and onto a road. Tired, annoyed and distracted, I picked my way out of the riverbed, surrounded by rivulets. I climbed onto a shaded, grassy bank and noticed a woman doing laundry 50 feet above at a spring. I stepped gingerly onto a tire that was halfway across the sodden patch of grass. As I shifted my weight from one leg to the other, I realized the tire was afloat, and it flipped over sending me straight into the marsh. Splashing nearly up to my waist, I unleashed a volley of hostile sounds that approximated language. My pack weighing me down, I threw my arms forward grasping for solid ground, inadvertently slamming the water bottle I held in my hand against a rock. I slithered out of the cold liquid muck and assessed: I was soaked in mud up to my hips, my shoes were leaden weights of muck, all of it smelled vaguely offensive, and an angry crack in my water bottle was releasing a stream of water with a nonchalance that offered an unwelcome commentary the tableau. I walked, defeated, into town.

Downtown Jomsom.

Jomson's position as the administrative center of the region means the dusty street through town has not only trekking lodges, but actual hotels, bakeries, an air strip with service to Pokhara and even an ATM that occasionally worked. As I walked through town evaluating my options, a German trekker walked with me and pointed out a coffee house that served cappuccino. I had thought I would eschew the luxuries of Jomson, but a sign offering laundry service outside a hotel pretty much made the decision for me. I was aghast at the $15/night cost for the hotel room, but a big bed with a featherdown duvet and private bathroom with intermittent hot water was a pretty great salve for my bruised ego.

The morning had started with such promise, and in the intervening six hours I had climbed through walled fields, walked off-trail up a hillside, picked the wrong trail down a steep precipice to a bridge that worried me, trudged headlong into a scouring wind tunnel, and finally, unceremoniously, fell deep into a fetid, soupy marsh.  It was only mid-afternoon, but I was done.

The day was littered with mistakes born of distraction, regrettable decisions and unpleasant conditions. This would serve as the ignominious final day of my Annapurna Circuit Trek. But Type 2 fun!

Photo taken during the twenty minutes when everything was great.

Nepal Trek 3: Annapurna Circuit

"Ugh, the roads! Annapurna isn't the same as it used to be." Variations on this statement had me questioning whether traveling out to Pokhara for this trek was worth it. But if roads are encroaching on what has been called one on the world's most classic hiking trails, then I better go now before it gets worse, I figured. Plus, I can't begrudge people in this region wanting to build roads and infrastructure. It's a bit precious to prioritize a nice walk for tourists over quality of life for locals.

The circuit is a horseshoe-shaped arc that starts east of Pokhara at Besi Sahar, travels counter-clockwise (advisably) through river valleys, climbs one high altitude pass at Thorung La, runs down through the Mustang Valley and around to the foothills west of Pokhara. Already acclimatized, I was able to cut out the rest days and I modified my start and end points, all of which made this trek faster than expected -- just nine days.

The Route

From Besi Sahar, I followed advice to take a Jeep up to Syange (1,211 meters/3,996 feet) and stayed my first night there. From Syange, my overnights were at Dharapani, Chame, Ngawal, Manag (two nights), Yak Kharka, Thorung Phedi, over the high pass of Thorung La (5,416 meters/17,872 feet) during the day and down to Jharkot, and then finishing in Jomson.

The trail traces the bank of the Marsyangdi Nadi river from Besi Sahar all the way to Manang. While the river is your constant companion, the shape and current of the water changes constantly, along with the vegetation. I was stunned to see wild poinsettias flowering on trees in the early, low elevation days of the trek; apparently I thought they only grew in plastic pots at grocery stores between Dec 10-25. After a few days the elevation barely scratched 2,000 meters (6,600 feet), making for warm days and fast trekking. The walk through an autumnal woods and a valley filled with apple trees near Timang made me nostalgic for Vermont. Just beyond there, nearing Chame, we emerged around a bend in the trail and the mass of Annapurna II was directly in sight. These are definitely not Vermont's Green Mountains!

This was the stretch of trail where I met Mathilde, and later Tavis, Florianne, Kinga, Mike, Adam and Selena, cheerful and easy trail companions all. We hiked together from below Chame to Upper Pisang, and then I continued solo that day to Ngawal, a long, satisfying day that finally put me at a respectable elevation, 3,660 meters/12,078 feet.

From Ngawal, I had an easy, short walk to Manang, the Namche of the Annapurnas. Here, they recommend you stay put to acclimatize for a few days, stock up on supplies and prepare for the high altitude that comes next. I stayed two nights so I could take in a movie (!), check out the political campaigning ahead of the parliamentary elections and do my laundry. I had my blood oxygen tested at the Himalayan Rescue Association and it was an impressive 92 percent, so I sped out of there and up to Yak Kharka after a day and half.

Manang is full of "video projection halls," a fun cottage industry in town that doesn't offer much else in the way of distraction. A Slovak couple and I caught the 5 p.m. showing of Seven Years In Tibet; the wooden benches had yak furs to keep us  warm, and the projectionist lit the yak dung stove too. (Lighting the stove is the most expensive part of the operation for the projection hall.) Halfway through the film, a woman brought in popcorn and hot tea for us. Delightful!

Above Manang, the landscape changes dramatically again and the trek starts to feel like a TREK. Vegetation disappears, the brown, barren mountains in the foreground are lit up with crisp, snow-covered peaks in the distance. Yaks meander down the trail, the dull but cheerful sound of their bells announcing their approach. Here the trail has turned north along the Thorung Kola and Kone Kola rivers, tiny threads of water at the bottom of impressively carved valleys.

Looking south down the Kone Kola river valley, the section of trail between Letdar and Thorung Phedi.

Thorung La is the high pass on this trek, and the options for accommodation just before making this ascent are few. Thorung Phedi is a cluster of noisy lodges, and further along is High Camp, essentially one noisy lodge. I lucked into the last room at small quiet lodge in Thorung Phedi, on the hill overlooking the rest of the guesthouses. A dozen of us huddled around the stove with cups of milk tea and compared notes on how early we planned to start the ascent.

In the pre-dawn morning, light, dry snowflakes floated in the dark air and I could see a dotted line of headlamps snaking up the mountain trail behind the guesthouse. Their 4 a.m. departure seemed pointlessly early and I waited till first light. I had the benefit of weeks of conditioning and acclimatization, and my climb up to the high pass was fairly easy and speedy. I had expected it might be, but it seemed unwise to presume too much at 17,800 feet.

Maps describe this as "biggest" mountain pass in the world, I think because it's extremely broad and the flanks on both sides of the pass extend far out. In Three Passes, a sharp knife-edge defined each pass with steep ascent and decent on both sides. This was more of an enormous saddle.

At the top, the signpost is swaddled in bright prayer flags and swarmed with trekkers seeking a quick photo in the windy cold exposure of the pass. Joining the group of trekkers at the top, I heard a British voice calling my name: Stu! We had first met weeks ago on the hike from Jiri to Lukla, on the evening after Andy and I got lost in Bupsa. I had last seen Stu on Three Passes, the night before the first pass when he was expressing extreme dread that he was not cut out for this. And now here he was -- having finished Three Passes he kept going, and now we stood at the top of Thorung La! Stu offered me a celebratory sip of his beer (17,000 feet, 9:30 a.m., drinking a beer - this is definitely not the stressed out Stu I met in Chhukung!) and we toasted the chances of meeting up again precisely at this spot. Fantastic!

The 10 kilometer/6 mile decent toward Muktinath and Mustang Valley was long, barren and deceptively tricky. Along the way were bad weather shelters, the fierce blue of their tin sheaths providing a shot of color against the dun-hued landscape. A porter told me these were built after the disastrous 2014 trekking season when a snow storm stranded and killed 43 people on this section of trail. Even in good trekking weather like today, it's easy to see how few options for escape or natural shelter there are on this long, exposed slope; guidebooks everywhere are full warnings to check the weather conditions with reliable locals before attempting this section of trail.

Muktinath offers a celebratory oasis to trekkers coming down from the pass -- bars, hotels, restaurants, a LOT of white people. The vibe of partying backpackers who were a little too impressed with themselves was jarring after a long string of peaceful days in the mountains. I checked in quickly at the TIMS station and kept walking to the village of Jharkot, another half-hour down the road. A nice lodge with hot showers, and the company of a small group of French trekkers made for a good end to the hardest day of the trek. The sun dip below the mountain ridge, and herders brought cows in from the small nearby fields, their bells clanging and hooves clomping as they moved down the narrow stone alley next to our lodge. As we ate our dal bhat dinner, the lodge-owner lit a metal bucket of coals on fire and nudged it under the wooden table where we were eating. Defying the odds but clearly in line with the proprietor's expectations, the table did not catch on fire, and our feet and legs were toasty warm as the temperature dropped outside. Another item added to the list of "Things We Don't Do In America." (Or in France, I was assured.)

The next day was my last on this trek, ending in Jomson. I had debated how to use the time I had left in the region and realized I could either finish walking the low foothill sections of the Circuit Trek, or take a bus to Naya Pul and get in one more trek to Annapurna Base Camp. The hours walking to Jomsom proved to be the most annoying, and most filled with self-inflicted problems of any hours I would spend in the Himalaya, but they could not dull the satisfaction and joy of hiking in this region.

[Annapurna Circuit Trek: November 10-18, 2017]