Winnowing rice

Winnowing rice
Originally uploaded by nick_hardcastle

1 July 2008 Chamje (1425m) - Dharapani - Danaque (2400m)

I was awake at 5 this morning. Somebody was going around the hotel across the road waking up the surveying crew staying there. I’d watched them arrive last night. They were a dysfunctional group of Nepalese who obviously didn’t enjoy each others’ company. As they waited for their dhal baht, the standard Nepali lunch and dinner, they sat at separate tables looking miserable and drinking small bottles of rum rather too quickly. They are on the return trek to Besisahar after surveying the river for its suitability for new hydroelectric power generation schemes. At our lodge last night we had met a rafting guide that had been working for them - basically stopping them from drowning in the flooded river. He couldn’t wait to get away from them and had run ahead. Perhaps they would be well advise to smoke some of the cannabis that is growing alongside the trail. I couldn’t quite believe my eyes the first time I saw it, but Dambar confirmed that I was not mistaken. He said that not many people smoke it here, except at a special festival once a year, Sivarati, which is held in the spring.

The trail follows the Kala Marsyangdi. The valley is deep and narrow, with towering cliffs and peaks rising high above the river. Every surface that is not completely smooth is hanging with dripping vegetation. The river itself is in spate, tumbling hurriedly amongst huge boulders, themselves a reminder that the cliffs above are highly unstable.

The path is not one to be undertaken lightly, for although it is wide and generally solid, the consequences of stepping off it would be startling to say the least. In so many places the path hovers precariously at a cliff edge or traverses a rough dry stone wall built high above the river where earlier landslides have swept away the banks. I tend to scurry past these places, believing that the less time spend there the better.

I stumbled and lurched sideways, just catching myself before I fell. Glancing down at the ground I saw only the concrete grey waters foaming sixty meters below. I swore as the blood left my legs and moved quickly away from he edge. That slip came too near to disaster. There is no way you could survive a dip in the river here.

I heard a number of explosions high in the mountains above the river where there was a huge landslide scar. Millions of tons of rock and earth had slid the 500m or so into the river. That must have been a terrifying sight. The explosions were caused by a dozen boulders, each the size of a small car, playing leapfrog down the slope. Each time they landed, a plume of smoke rose high into the air, followed several seconds later by a loud crack.

We reached Dharapani shortly after lunch and far too early to stop. After a brief argument we (or rather I) decided to continue on to the smaller village of Danaque. As that involved a 500m ascent Surya, who was not feeling well, must have been cursing me. He didn’t complain at all, but stopped smiling and didn’t say much for the next day or so. Dambar swopped bags with him to make life easier, something that he regretted by the end of the day. Being a guide, he is not used to carrying the heavier bags. Not that my bas are very heavy. The porters routinely carry their own bag and those of two trekkers - maybe about 35-45 kg - more if the trekkers insist on carrying the kitchen sink. I am carrying my own umbrella, and a camera.

My knees behaved today, but now I have a sore elbow, thanks to a particularly nasty insect bite.