The Worlds Most Adventurous Man


The 28th of April 1999 in Pokhara, Nepal

I may not be but I bumped into a likely candidate a couple of weeks back. Its all rather a long story and bears relating, but first let me start a where I left off, pumped full of antibiotics on some Indian train. Indian occasionally conspires to make the life of the average traveler a little awkward. My attempt to reach Nepal was just such a rage against conspiracy. The direct trains never had even a spare seat, so to go north I had to head West, and South and East. First to the bustle of Delhi. 38 hours with a collection of Surly Russian Hare Krishna's. I have to admit, although it may just have been the Russian temperament, there certainly didn't seem to have reached either Nirvana nor Enlightenment on their annual pilgrimage. In fact, they seemed the exact opposite to spiritual bliss. Watching their niggling and sandalwood rubbing chants with glum faces did help pass the time though. Back in Delhi, I was quickly booked on to a train to Varanasi. I'd wanted to head for the border, but again no trains were available, so South to go North prevailed, and off I went. The trains was my first African style cram them in experience (though not on an African scale) I had a top bunk and a menacing glare, so got some sleep before the 4:30 arrival in the holy City. I got done for close to a dollar by a rickshaw driver. Which wasn't too bad, but didn't put me in a good frame of mind while I spent close on an hour searching out a guest house I'd been recommended. It was good enough, and once in, I had enough time to get down to the Ghats for dawn. These are the concrete stairs that go down to the Ganges, that everyone seems all that footage of. I strolled along, taking a lot of photo's as the pilgrims bathed facing the rising sun. It's a tourist trap of note, the western banks of the river. But at the same time live goes on. And I whiled away a couple of hours having the intricacies of Ghat cricket scoring explained to me. The flat areas half way down the stairs form pitches, while certain temples are worth different amounts of runs, and other not to be hit. It favors the right handed, as The river is six and out if you connect it on the full. I decided that this variation was not for me, so drifted back to my hotel, passing an Indian movie in the making (complete with lardy oily haired superstar- so I am told) The evening along the river is a lot more crowded, and the cricket games wind to a close. (bad light stops play all-round, and the roller hockey boys come out to play). There is some ceremony that is performed since time immemorial on the river bank, and I sat and watched as drums thumped and orange clad fellows waved smoky stuff in endless circles. 50m out a lone dolphin broke the surface, exhaled, and porpoised back into the murky sewage. It was my best memory of Varanasi, and reminded my of windstill evenings on a Bolivan river. I saw another Dolphin the next morning, but the mood was not the same even though is came well out the water with it's primitive jaws. I spent a couple hours on the river, listening to the incessant messages over the loud speaks " The Ganges is your Mother. Do not bath with soap in the River. DO not wash your Clothe with Soap in the River. DO not throw plastic in the river, the Ganges is your mother….." Needless to say the river is full of suds and plastic, floating amoungst the skulls, corpses, little rosettes and evenings candles. Hmmmm I'd decided to train north, and got the afternoon train with little hassle, despite it begin late. Another 7 hours on the rails saw me close to the border, and I got swindled into a tout deal that was poor value, but worked. I had to spend the night at the border, after getting there at 01:00. I woke officals, so had a stamped passport, but the bus only left at 7:00. Which left me with a few hours to read before the beautiful but slow busride to here. Nepal is wonderfully laid back and chilled after Indian, and the people are not only nice, but honest. (unlike india, where they are friendly, but I certainly wouldn't believe most of what they say!) So, having arrived in the Holy Grail of trekking havens, the land of the biggest mountains and deepest valleys, it was time to set about the task of actually trekking. True to my adventurous (read stupid) spirit, I decided to swap my plans around and start with the big monster trek. I was planning to gentle get into the swing of things and finish with a grand finale, but well, you know. Ever since I met Marian, a German, on a beach in southern Indian, he sold me on the Dhaulagiri trek. The fact it is beyond the scope of the Lonely Planet trekking guide to Nepal was further great inspiration, and I basically had my hear set on it. So, I set about the task of gathering information on the route and attempting to enlist some innocents for the walk. Turns out few people know much about the trek, and I was firmly discouraged by most people I enquired with here. Unless, of course, I would take a guide, a few porters and the like. Then maybe, just maybe, I might make it. Turns out very few guides have even done the route, so that was never a good option. They were willing to take me, for great cost although it would be their first time, but were convinced (without a perfunctory inquest into my ability) that I could not go alone. But go alone I did. For my 5 days trying to enlist able bodied trekkers (I went so far as to have Hebrew notices posted) brought no response. So I gathered my supplies for 8 days of camping and all the sleep out at 5000m gear, set a date and left. As I was getting off the bus at the trailhead, I helped a Japanese fellow (The Worlds Most Adventurous Man) with his pack. Not quite as weighty as mine, it was clear he was not off to stroll up the Jomsom trek. So we got to talking and yes, lo and behold, we were off to do the same trek. Suitable although non commitally teamed we headed off the next day, lugging 30kg plus packs through a beautiful spring rural landscape. One of the treasures of doing this trek was I got to see the Nepal pre commercialization for the first few days. The villages gather almost no income from tourism (Unlike the Annapurna Circuit, where most villages now subsist entirely from the almighty dollar) We strolled for 4 days through a quaint landscape. Villages with streets paved in slate, quaint farms and beautiful shows of flowers. The lodges were only places that the odd trekker may frequent, but less than one a week. Owners spoke almost no English, and food was either Daal Bhat (rice with lentil soup and veggies) or nothing. This in contrast to the wondrous if monotonous menus on the main circuit. Eventually I could hold Shinya's awesome pace no longer, and we split. He was well acclimatized and very very strong, and I was feeling very fatigued each evening. So, after 4 days of extracting tales of his 4 years cycling the world (the Uyuni tour by bicycle, across the amazon("4x4, Motorbike not possible, bicycle, possible") the length of the Americas, from the arctic ocean to Tierra Del Fuego, across outback Australian west to east without using a paved road etc etc etc) we bade a cheery farewell until Marpha, the end point. So if you see a quiet little long haired Japanese fellow in some obscure youth hostel, don't ignore him, but pay homage to the guru of adventure travel. Once I was down to my own pace, I started to recover quickly and enjoy the walking. I had planned out an acclimatization schedule, and kept easily to it. It's a long haul to Italian base camp, a stunning area at 3600m at the foot of Dhaulagiri, the worlds 5th highest mountain. One camps beneath the west wall, a remarkable and terrifying vertical sheets of rock. I think its still unclimbed and would be very impressed if any nutters have even made decent advances above 6000m on it. Up to then the walk had progress from terraced fields to bamboo and finally conifer forest. The Rhondodenrons were pretty poor, but beautiful where the odd stand occurred. Italian base camp was just above the tree line, just before one enters a classical U shaped valley and onto the glacier. I'd caught a german team, of 5 gremans, 3 guides and 17 porters doing the route. So for the big push to Dhaulagiri base camp I ambled along with them. It was a day spent mostly on a glacier, but a big dirt thing, piled high with rubble and scree. There was no hint of a route (after an adequate path to the base) but the idea was easy enough. Keep to the middle of the glacier and keep going uphill. I didn't need the group for route finding, but the extra secuity was good I guess. They were not the most engaging bunch with more money than ability ($2500 each for the same trek I was paying less than $50 for !!!!) but managed to tag along as I led with the guides. We each we trying different route and all ending up around the same time, until the end when I took a slightly risky route below an active scree slope, but won the race to camp handsomely. Base camp looks like and unloved place. Its where climbers face their private demons, try to repair dashed ego's or live out short periods of elation. For climbers it has a function, and little beauty. The Ice fall opposite creaks and bangs ominously and to be a climber faced with ascending through it must be a nightmare I do not plan to live. The group moved on the next day, but the guides got it a bit wrong, and I ended up having to climb up scree at 5150m. Not easy work!!! Still, once we had got around their error, It was up over French pass 5360m and into the Lesotho like hidden valley. There was a messy descent through mushy snow and often I went in to waist deep. With gaiters and poles, this was tiring but endurable, although the others were not as well equipped. As a result I led out a bad route for them, and glissaded a long section. They had to trudge it, and by the time I had found camp, returned, pitched tent and went to chat to them, they were in no mood for small talk. My advice to camp in a more sheltered spot was unheeded (Who is this tall fellow anyway???) so they had an unpleasant night while my macpac tent stood taut in the wind. My outside thermometer recorded a low of -18, but I am a little suspect of that. It was cold though. The next morning I let the surly Germans go before leaving the valley alone. I trudged up a big snow climb, feeling a little adventurous and trying to pretend I was doing something glamorous. Trudging up 5300m snow climbs in the Himalayas is not glamorous, I assure you. It is mere murderous labour. If the climb was long, the contour above 5000m was incredible. The views made the alternative snow ice and scree bearable for the first 5km, but the last 2 were draining. To say nothing of the 2300m drop one has to deal with at the end of the ridge. Let me use say if it were not for trekking poles (which the Germans carried but never used, while I clic claced all the way) I would have been unable to walk the next day. As it was I took the next day off in Marpha, eating tonnes in the apple capital of Nepal. Marpha is well on the circuit and I began the long trudge round it from there. Right now I'll leave this here and finish it tomorrow. Oh, free add. Pokhara is way expensive for the internet, but MOUNT CYBER CAFÉ (blue sign along Lakeside)are really good about letting you do stuff cheap off line, so anyone coming here, please drop in and say hi to them (and enjoy the free tea)