Slacklining

…and how to go about it.

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I have taken up the sport of slacklining quite recently. It is the finesse of measured movements and the precision with which one has to balance on this hyper active and ever dancing piece of tape that attracted me to it. Also, the kind of performances athletes such as Dean Potter have rendered on a high line, have inspired me to try my hand or rather feet on the line.

As a climber, I have found the slackline quite useful in developing faculties to identify my zone, increase focus and enhance my footwork. In addition, the line has also helped me exercise certain muscles of the feet and is a good workout for the core and thighs as well.

In this post, I am sharing certain pointers that will help you in getting started with the slackline.

Step 1

Establish the line on two solid anchor points.

Step 2

Tighten the line and make sure it is taut. A tighter line is easier to walk on.

Step 3

To get up, place a foot on the line and put down a little weight on it holding the line closer to the inner thigh (of the other leg); this will keep the line from swaying.

Step 4

Get up instantly on the foot placed on the line, putting down all of your weight on the leading leg. Keep only one leg on the line at a time. Try to keep the leg straight and maintain the center of the pelvic portion parallel to the slackline.

Step 5

Keep the arms a bit outstretched and use your hands to balance just like a balancing pole.

Step 6

Keep your gaze fixed onto something, preferably look straight; this will aid in focusing.

Step 7

Synchronize your breath with your steps and try to achieve a rhythm.

 

You can even watch this simple how to video I have made on this subject.

Do leave your comments and experience with the line.

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It is simple to be happy but difficult to be simple

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I was more of the academic kinds in school and although I had a fascination for martial arts since an early age, encouragements for sports was little to come by at home. However, a princely piggy bank collection during a long summer in the ninth grade, landed me a spot in the Tae-kwon-do class at the local YMCA and the long lost dream was re-kindled. I was soon seeing gold and silver medals at the district and state championships however, the demanding rigors of academic life forced more focus on studies in order to get into a good college, and I saw myself drifting back into the rat race.

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It was not until five years after school, when my love life got off the tracks and I started losing hair doing 8-12 in a startup enterprise, that I realized ‘there is more to life than increasing my speed’. That is when I discovered climbing. I was formally introduced to the sport in the Basic Mountaineering Course at ABVIMAS, Manali; and although I did not perform well in the course I discovered joy in scaling rock and ice formations which to me seem to exude life. Since then I have made travel and climbing a full time ‘career’ and have even successfully completed the Advance Mountaineering Course at HMI, Darjeeling (earning awards for being the best student and the best climber in the second time I undertook the BMC).

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Even though I earn phenomenally less than what I used to two years back, live in a Himalayan village, far ‘behind’ my peers most of whom are globetrotting, sitting in air conditioned plush office cabins, drawing six or seven figure salaries, I feel immense happiness or rather contentment; having the time and patience to sit on the verandah in the morning and gaze at the birds or tuning my Enfield to get the perfect thump out of it. I feel fortunate having a simple meal of dal (pulses in a watery gravy) and rice after a demanding climbing session, and dozing off right after.

The only thing temporary is pain

Observing my lifestyle people often construe that I am lazy or lack motivation to do ‘big’ things or live a ‘better’ life. I think I am just different, maybe a little laid back but I am psyched enough about doing a hard problem or a line that I fell off over fifty times or arriving at a remote village in the middle of the night. For me a bigger or a better life means the ability to do the things that I want, to live life moment by moment.

Bouldering at IMF

Why do I climb? It is not, definitely not for reaching the top, or showing off a hard send. It is when I am climbing, life simplifies to small decisions such as moving a finger or balancing a toe. My only needs and goals in those moments are, air, nourishment and rest (in that order) and not even self-preservation. Most sportsmen/women know this as being in the ‘zone’, when all you know or care about is what you’re doing at that very precise moment. It is this state of primal being with such basic needs that keeps me addicted to climbing, slowing me down making me look inwards, finding contentment in the small things.

Rock Alien Bouldering Gym In Pune

It is said that, ‘it is simple to be happy but, difficult to be simple!’; I guess climbing helps me simplify; and I think this is how it works for anyone who has known the joy of climbing or any sport for that matter. Why Do I Climb? It is for all the reasons and none in particular; I am learning and discovering new joys in it every single day.

Nag Tibba Revisited

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Such a tease this modest peak nestled in the Garhwal Himalayas, has become that it almost feels like what Everest was to Mallory.

My second trip to this trekking route was scheduled as part of a rock climbing training regimen I am following these days. Since it is a steep 8kms climb to the peak from Pantwari village, I found the trek route beneficial in the form of a work out focusing on calves, thighs and feet; to be included in the climbing break that I take at the end of three and a half weeks of training at the wall.

My companion this time was Abhijeet Singh, a Delhi based fashion, wedding and travel photographer, whom I met at IMF, Delhi.

Check out details of my last trip to the Nag Tibba trekking route: https://baawaramann.wordpress.com/2013/09/25/nag-tibba-uttarakhand-a-delightful-weekend-getaway/

We reached Pantwari at noon on 26th February, on Abhijeet’s dutiful standard 350. After stocking some provisions from the only tea shop this village has, we embarked on the climb.

Having done the trek before, I was in the guiding role this time and ‘thought’ that we’d be able to reach the summit camp faster than last time, given a strong partner in Abhijeet – compared to my novice friends last time.

We managed to keep pace until the first water hole despite the oppressive heat and dehydration. However, over confident about our strength and direction sense, we follied into finding shortcuts thus losing track of the main trail in no time. For hours we wandered on the leeward side of the hill however fortunately, progressing in the right direction and landing at the last water hole on this trek (just where the last human settlement on the route is located).

After a brief rest at the water hole, we started on the main trail, just to be lost five minutes later in the chase of another ‘shortcut’, AGAIN.

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(Clicked before we got lost in the woods)

Tired, hungry and beaten down we wound up in a thicket of deciduous forest on a slippery Himalayan hill side. Racing against time and the oddity of the terrain, we were falling at each step. The sun was hastily going down and we had to make good use of the 30 minutes of the sunshine still left. Left without options, we decided to climb to the top and find the ridge line and a camping space. To our amazement, 50 metres of climb yielded the trail to us and we were able to find the forest rest house near the nag Jhandi, just in time.

Hurriedly we laid out our bags in a corner and rushed out to look for water, making use of whatever sunlight that was left. Minutes later I found myself buried in 5 feet of snow and some good sense prevailed that we abandon the search and build fire. We are thankful to the shepherds who frequent the area and had stocked the rest house with ample firewood for us to survive the night.

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The amber of the dried woods melted the snow into water, and I prepared some hot soup to rejuvenate the wearied trekker in us. With our stomachs full, we dozed off in a matter of minutes.

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(Melting snow to make water)

A loud thunder sent chills down the spine of the roof and I woke up startled. Blinded in the pitch dark, I struggled to find a torch. It thundered even louder and someone banged the door. I was too afraid to sneak out of my bag and decided to cover my face like an ostrich and prayed that the apparition (if there were one) leaves us alone.

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(powder! and more)

I finally woke up at 6 am in the morning, to find the room bathed in a bright white gleam. To my amazement, I found another 2 feet of snow piled up on the backlog we countered the night before; and it was snowing still. The apparition must have been a snow fairy 😛

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(collecting snow for breakfast)

Lacking technical equipment, especially the absence of snow rackets, made it impossible to climb the 2kms to the peak due to the deep powder – which was still falling from the heavens.

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(Preparing Breakfast)

Post breakfast we decided to head down; the peak being elusive once again.

Another time! May be.

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Check out Abhijeet’s work: https://www.facebook.com/abhijeetsinghphotographyy

How to Reach:

-Nearest Railway Station: Dehradun

-Nearest Air Port: Dehradun

-Cab to Pantwari can be hired from Dehradun Railway station/ Mussoorie, Picture palace.

-Buses to Pantwari can be boarded from Dehradun Railway Station/ Mussoorie, Picture palace.

Equipment for a 2 day trek:

–        Light attire: T-Shirts, trousers, shoes, cap, sunglasses and socks; thermals and fleece for winters.

–        Tent (We used a 3.4 kg Quechua 2 men dome tent, for 3 people).

Check Out Tents in UK on: http://www.decathlon.co.uk/C-359116-tents

–        Sleeping Bag (I use a Quechua poly fill, that works upto -5 degree Celsius).

–        Iso Propane Butane Cylinder and cooking stove.

–        Dry ration and liquids.

–        Kiwi bag for waste disposal.

–        Pocket knife, torch, camera, spare batteries, lighters, candle and matchsticks.

–        A comfortable trekking bag (50L-65L).

–        Trekking pole (optional).

–        Crampons/snow rackets in the snow season (optional).

Musings about Love

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(Sunset on Namik La top, J&K; Photo credits: Arindam De)

I have firmly believed that love is for all the reasons and none in particular. Riding to IMF today on the ‘saat taal’ of the short bottle this thought clung to me and I realised that I am falling in love with her all over again!

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(Carrying firewood for dinner enroute Nubra Valley, 60kms off from Indo-China border in Leh; Photo Credits: Arindam De)

My thoughts, of this affair, go back to that heart wrenching month of February 2011, when it all first started. On the 19th of that month I had been dumped in a first relationship. Puppy love as it were the break up left me heartbroken and shattered. In the days to come there was a lot of ruing over the ‘lost’. A lot of reflection was triggered, an introspection at the end of which I stood, a north Indian wheatish male, five feet six inches from the ground, abusively tanned by Delhi sun, wisdom spot on head (read: bald) and gross seventy two kilograms on Earth.

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(Negotiating Zozila; Photo Credits: Dilip Baba)

I had definitely lost a lot! – trying to fit into the equation of a society, I didn’t relate to (or cared for); Trying to chase the love that was never mine. And when the blindfold lifted, life had forsaken me.

In these times, on a chance night, a dear friend of mine took me to Khan Market for ‘winter bird watching’ (read: ogling at south Delhi girls) to uplift my mood – (this was October of the same year, and I was still lamenting). On a traffic signal, pillion riding that night, I was still pondering over the turn of events in my life when some notes, straight out of a double bass solo parked to our right. The beats were being played by a white lady from her Classic 500 – I was dumbfounded! Such uninhibited music came as a ripple of shock wave; the music was forcing me to consciousness from years of slumber. In no uncertain terms, I was perplexed! Was I even ‘allowed’ to feel that way? Was it acceptable? Where will it lead to? – I had no clue!

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(Atop Fotu La, J&K; Photo Credits: Dilip Baba)

In the parking lot of the market, that evening, a foundation was laid. My friend gauged my heart – he had a spare standard 350 – I, kind of, got it there and then!

The following November, I was in Dehradun to pick my bull. It had been stocked in a garage, for a year (of disuse) until then. All it took was fresh engine oil and a battery to get it roaring again. Though it still lagged a few critical part changes and mechanical help but nevertheless, it was thumping.

The same day, I took the bull out for my first riding lessons (first time on a geared two wheeler that too, a ’79 standard 350, right hand geared et al). I was scared to death riding a few hundred metres, and surrendered the controls to my friend. In my mind, I was revaluating the sanity of my decision. However, the deed was done, and I thought, I’ll somehow get rid of it afterwards.

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(Bringing the bull from Dehradun to Delhi – First long ride; Photo Credits: Pranav Manocha)

The next day, November 11th, 2011 (incidentally, World Mountain Day) we took the bike to the mechanic’s for the critical repairs that were needed. All work was done by noon except, the repair of the front brakes Doon being a small town, it was difficult to find the brake wire for the high handle on my bike. We decided to ride the bike without the front brakes (people who have never rode a bullet must note: having or not having the front brakes won’t at all make any difference, whatsoever in any situation, emergent or anticipated, requiring halting of the bike).

For the same day, I along with two friends (including the one who gave me my bull) had pre planned a night stay in Mussoorie; and each had sweared on sticking to the plan. Needless to say, I joined the trip – on my thumper, barely without any lessons (Funny, how we put our life on the line).

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The ride was destined to be everything but, forgettable. Initially, as we started out for the trip, I was shy, inhibited and AFRAID to ride the machine; so I stuck to the pillion or, rode the non geared scooterette that a friend had brought. A few kilometres passed, I avoiding the bull and the attention of my friends; should they discover that I was purposefully not riding the thumper. After a while, we stopped at a roadside dhaba for Maggi and chai,  then we stopped for a fuel refill and all was merry until my friend forced the standard under my command putting it out straight and simple, “your machine, you ride” – and I thought, “So it be”.

(The wall made out of Alex (Dilip and Abhinav’s Bolero) and Bull guarded us from many a beasts of the wild in Nubra Valley)

A hesitant I, kicked nervously – it won’t start. The 350 can surely tell men from boys. You can kick all day and get your calves ripped off but, it won’t start if you ain’t got no cojones! So, I was helped with ignition; that done, I put the bike in the first gear, released the clutch and simultaneously spinned the throttle. That day on a sharp incline of a hilly road, on a thirty four year old machine, I could feel gravity being defied and with such ease.

Down in the second gear it hugged the snakish turns; all I had to do was lean in and out of an approaching curve – the bull took care of the rest.  As I pressed down to the third and the fourth, it charged like Islero proceeding sharply, confidently, and desperately towards Manolete. I couldn’t help but feel like a helpless, weak and vulnerable gladiator who knows his fate and yet holds on to the earth, without giving in – until the body is reduced to mud and blood.

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(Yes! I love to do that)

I can’t really put in words, the overwhelming emotion surging through my veins at that point in time; breaking every shackle of fear, insecurity and inhibition. The sheer vulnerability of my body that evening, made me realise the worth of being. For the first time after two decades, I was living in the moment. All I cared about, the air I was breathing in – I could literally see it! How it rhythmically swayed in and out of my flesh, in tune with the note of the exhaust. For sure, I was enchanted by her beauty and character. To quote Roger Mc Gough, ‘she was so beguiling that I was running miles in mere seconds’.

In Mussoorie, we checked into a cheap hotel, bought a quarter and a half of Old Monk, and drank as if it were our last; until we dropped dead on the floor laughing and chatting, inebriated all the while. The next morning we strolled the markets, chirping and flirting around. The morning was fresh and clear and after a long while, the sun was warm. We ate at Chardukan and Sister Bazaar; and had an afternoon nap on the tarmac near the Christian cemetery in Landour.

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(Ready for the Delhi-Ajmer-Delhi ride)

The afternoon soon melted into the evening. A warm, bright, lit up evening, consuming all the energy and emotion of the day; and emitting it in the sting of the winter breeze of the Shivaliks – like the bitter sweet pain of longing felt by lovers who have just found their beloved! (And how unfair does fate play at times?! Even before their eyes have satisfied theirselves with the other’s look, it’s time to leave).

As the night claimed territory over the murky Mussoorie sky, we checked out of our hotel room. Riding on the Mall, towards the barricade at Picture Palace, shop shutters could be heard – going down – shouting and clapping, playing their warmest adieu songs.

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(Tantrums! Time and again)

Good bye it was for then but, the memorable journey hasn’t been our last. Her pursuit has taken me to the dunes of Alwar; and to the mighty Rohtang. In trying to woo her, I have failed, time and again. While I have been conquered and enslaved. She has often deserted me on dusty village roads in the middle of nowhere. At other times, she like a capricious young girl, has shown me her moods; but, all the while she has won me over with that little move that she does, that gentle massage for my fragile male ego (often pampering it with her love; at other times, mending it for another day when I have been hit by the blues). In her arms, I am a Superman!

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(Enroute Manali with Kshitij; trip through Sach Pass was abandoned as the engine died in Manali; of course its built now.)

And when I think of our relationship, I wonder what is it, if not love?!

A love, stupid and senseless, twice removed from reason. A love which has made me vulnerable to the moods of the beloved. Vulnerable to her each emotion. Alive to dejection and her acceptance. Alive to every little failure and success of this relationship.

A love, which has made me Human – and I guess, that is what it does!

That thing, called Love.

 

Ride To Jaunsar – Exploring hidden gems of Devbhoomi

(Enroute Chakrata from Tigerfall)

It had been two weeks since I moved base from Delhi to my ancestral place in a village (called Pondha) near Dehradun. Using the infrequent shared cab service that operates between our village and the city was wearing me out and the ‘wind in my hair’ experience (although there aren’t a lot left on my balding head) was being thoroughly missed. So a train ticket to Delhi was promptly booked to bring back my beauties.

I was packing stuff at my old residence in Delhi, for next day’s ride home, when it suddenly dawned on me (and this didn’t happen any sooner) – the bikes are two and I was the only rider; I couldn’t possibly ride both of them at the same time unless I had Ajay Devgnish skills from Golmaal.

So, I called my younger brother Kshitij and asked if he’d want to join me on a ride to home and then probably we could also explore the mountains for the remaining part of the weekend. Now, my brother who works at KPMG audit Gurgaon has a job profile requiring him to manually tick mark audit sheets from 8am to 2am – accounting for other’s money for peanuts of a salary! Obviously, he wasn’t at all keen to miss an interesting day at work.

But then, who can resist the idea of soloing on a bull on lone mountain roads?! A little insistence on my part, made him call in sick at the office.

Day 1

On a calm Thursday morning we started from Delhi (before the office crowd could take to the roads) and by 10 ‘o’ clock we were already past Sonepat. We were riding along the Delhi-Yamunanagar-Dehradun highway rather than taking the more direct route to Dun on NH 58 and 73. Reason being, the otherwise peaceful city of Muzzaffarnagar was riot hit at that time and also we were bored of the scenic beauty of places such as Sakauti Tanda, Khatauli, Roorkee and Chutmalpur that lie on that route. So we opted for Saharanpur instead! (For those who aren’t familiar with these places, try parking your car on a street in Saharanpur; I bet two hours later you’d be collecting it part by part from the flea markets of Jali Kothi in Meerut).

It is a good eight lane highway until 40kms off from Yamunanagar when approaching from Delhi; after which the road narrows down to a single lane, for traffic running from either side. However, the road condition is good and there isn’t much traffic on this route, so we were able to average 50km an hour for most of the way. Only in the much dreaded Saharanpur, did we encounter a 15km long dirt track which took us an hour and a half to negotiate (not to mention the balls that were beaten to a pulp between the saddle and the petrol tank).

It began to drizzle as soon as we hit the hills of Mohand, 20kms from Dun – my mind drifted to the thoughts of sweat drenched white collared employees driving back an Alto or a Wagon R, through snail paced jams on the ring road, to reach home. I pitied them and moved on quite unemotionally, as if poking fun at their miserable existence with a twist of the throttle.

We were completely soaked by the time we reached Marigold café on upper Rajpur Road. The clear vegetable soup did justice to the day’s labour; post a round of Chai and Pakora we headed home to seek our beds and called it a day as we retired under the warm sheets.

Day 2

I woke up lazily at 8.30am, the next morning. We had planned to leave home by 9, the night before – that seemed remotely possible as Kshitij was still struggling on the commode for the past hour and a half.

With great effort we readied ourselves for the day by 10 and planned to head over to Chakrata, a remote hill station, 84kms from our place in Dun. We were expecting the ride to be a hard one only for the reason that we were doing it on our vintage standard 350s, and there was little chance of a mechanic enroute in case of a break down. Little did we know that our first problem would surface even before we stepped outside the gates.

Kshitij’s bike did the second best thing it does with ease (the best will come later) – not starting unless one has kicked atleast a hundred times. Even after half an hour’s kicking, the bike did not relent – and then I had a superb idea. We pushed the bike on to the street; I asked Kshitij to push it to the far corner of the street until the bike gained momentum and then I could attempt engaging the gears to revive the engine from the slumber. The exercise was in vain! However, a lady from the neighborhood came running out of her house, stared blankly at Kshitij for a minute (who was still wearing the helmet and the riding jacket) and commented, ‘main sochi gaon mein robot aaya hai!’(I thought a robot has come to our village).

(Robot a.k.a. Kshitij)

Disappointed, we pushed the bike inside. I suggested giving the bike one last try before we called quits and abandon the trip. Surprisingly, two kicks and the bull hummed with life. I don’t know whether it was the performance pressure or the threat to abandon trip that made the bike start (of course! a bull has a mind of its own).

We were able to start at around 11am; gauging from the distance to be covered, I estimated that we would reach our destination by 2 in the afternoon.  The weather was pleasant and the road conditions are good – perfect for a leisurely weekend ride. For 35kms between Dehradun and Herbertpur the engine purred at 40kms an hour; after which we took a right turn towards Vikas Nagar. The road being devoid of traffic, we cruised at 60kms an hour on the two lane road. A short stop at Vikas Nagar was made to stock some provisions and refuel our petrol tanks. We resumed the ride only to stop 10kms ahead at Kalsi (which is at the base of the climb) for chai and bun omelette. Half a litre of chai and four omelettes down, back on the saddle, we were on our way. The road up to Saiyyan (20kms from Kalsi) is being built currently so there are a lot of bad patches on this single lane road; plus the trucks carrying building material, plying on this road make navigating the various blind curves on this road, precarious. Both of us struggled to ride close in visible distance of each other; the ride was both intense and exhilarating on this lag, due to the traffic, trying conditions and the bad road.

It took us almost an hour and a half to reach Saiyyan; here we stopped for a short pee break, exchanged bikes and continued upwards. Chakrata was only 24kms ahead, the road smoothed, the traffic was almost negligible and the incline became steeper. Kshitij’s bike began to lose power (due to the incline and a recently built engine) and we were barely able to manage 25km an hour in the 2nd gear.

4kms off Chakrata, we were stopped at a barricade posted by the Chakrata cantonment board. After a prompt flash of our identification cards, getting directions from the sentry and struggling a bit with the kick starter, we couldn’t contain our excitement being so close to our destination and sped full throttle – only to be stopped again, two bends later by another guard. He asked for a ride to the town so Kshitij accommodated him on the pile of luggage already tied to the pillion seat. Nothing could’ve bogged us down but for another waving hand at the next bend. This time a police official wanted to inspect our ‘papers’.

The official asked for the bike’s registration certificate; I produced the driving license along with them. Disappointed that he couldn’t score a reason to demand bribe the official tried to harass us by asking outright stupid questions such as, ‘what is so scenic here to visit?’. Indeed you don’t only need eyes to appreciate beauty; proven amply by the officer’s ignorance.

Fifteen minutes post this ordeal with the local police, we were in Chakrata’s main market. The sentry hitchhiking on our bike, introduced us to two other guards in the market. They directed us to the ‘must visits’ of the place, among which cropped the name of Tiger fall, which was the closest attraction, only 15-17kms from the town.

(Tea, the elixir of life!)

With no particular objective, we organised our thoughts over a cup of tea, and started for Tiger fall. The road diverges at a fork, 1km outside the town – we decided to turn right and descended on a half built road onto a forested hill side. The path gently rolled down and we turned off the ignition to save some fuel. There are only a few hamlets on this very scenic stretch of the rustic Himalayas and it took us another hour and a half to reach the nearest road head to the waterfall, the bike being propelled by gravity alone.

(Beauties parked in the tea stall’s compound at the base of the hike)

One needs to hike down a kilometre long stretch to reach the waterfall. We parked the bike at a tea stall located at the start of the hike, collected our stuff and started for the climb down. The way down the fall’s trail passes through a small hamlet populated by local farmers and shopkeepers (who sell snacks at the fall during summers). The trail closely follows a stream (streams are called ‘gad’ by the locals), which merges with another at the camp site.

(Trail down to the waterfall from the road head)

A few yards away from the end of the trail we could see the two streams merging, there was nothing like a ‘Tiger’ fall in site, at which Kshitij hurriedly remarked, ‘ye hai tiger fall?! Ye toh cat fall bhi nai hai!’ (Is this tiger fall?! This doesn’t even look like a cat fall!). Little did he or I know about whatever lay in store for us?! A few steps ahead we could now hear an unmistakable roar emanating from something on our left. A few steps still further a cold and dense spray kissed our cheeks, igniting goose bumps. In sight, almost fifty metres on the left was the mighty Tiger Fall – secretly hidden in a maze of rocks, like a tiger on its nimble paws, lurking in the shadows for a chance to prance upon its prey (The water is falling from almost over a hundred feet with great force and its is nearly impossible to stand under the fall without risking serious injury). The camp was pitched at a safe distance from the water, where we could still listen to the music of the Tiger fall throughout the night.

(The mighty Tiger Fall)

All camp duties were put aside for a cup of chai and some introspection (along with biscuits of course!); then we sat down to prepare our meal. Using the butane gas cylinders that I didn’t forget to stock this time, dinner was ready under fifteen minutes and we savored the ration inside our cosy tent.

The roar of the water in the silence of the night, sustained a certain eeriness in the air and a reverential fear in our hearts towards the magnanimity of nature and the insignificance of the human kind against it. Recollecting the day’s experience, I gently slipped into the sweet sleep that was well deserved.

Day 3

(Bed tea, round 4!)

Morning came with Kshitij gently prodding my back with his feet and demanding tea, again! Post a boiling pot of caffeine, we hiked back to our beauties. Surprisingly Kshitij’s bike started without much trouble, and we were on our way back by 8am. 5kms ahead Kshitij’s bike began to lose power, again; and the bike did what it does best – BREAKDOWN! It didn’t budge a centimetre from its place.

(the bike wouldn’t move an inch; we were more than happy to spend another night in this wilderness.)

However, some time of living by the bull has taught us atleast this bit, so as to be able to handle such problems. Kshitij inspected the gear box, made some adjustments to the clutch and handed over the bike to me for a test run up to Chakrata.

(Kshitij working on the gear box; you guessed it right, he sleeps with the helmet intact)

It took us an hour to reach Chakrata market 12kms away. Post a breakfast of bun-samosa and tea we decided to ride back the same way we came (although one can take an alternate route via Mussoorie, which is equidistant too), and reached home by 11am.

(stop over for keenu/malta/mausami juice on the way back home)

Kabul Bhai, who has been working in our household for over three decades now, had brought home freshly harvested urad dal (Black Gram) from the farm next to our residence. He was grinding the grain pods to extract the gram. The spin of the grinding stone wheel made me reflect on the full circle we had run in the three days. The trip has been special in so many ways! Especially for the fact that I could spend so much time with Kshitij (which was long due), getting to know more about a fantastic person, I have spent most of my growing years with.

(Kabul Bhai at the wheel)

How to Reach

I ride a ’79 Enfield Standard 350.

Kshitij rides an ’83 of the same make.

Equipment

Riding Gear

Extra fuel, engine oil, spares and repair tool kit (including a puncture kit)

Tent (We used a 3.4 kg Quechua 2 men dome tent)

Sleeping Bag (I use a Quechua poly fill, that works upto -5 degree Celsius)

Iso Propane Butane Cylinder and cooking stove

Dry ration and liquids

Kiwi bag for waste disposal

Pocket knife, torch, camera, spare batteries, lighters, candle and matchsticks

Nag Tibba, Uttarakhand: A Delightful Weekend Getaway

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(view from Nag Tibba Jhandi)

There are somethings you’d do just for the sake of doing them, as you once planned so. Nag Tibba is one such trek that I completed about three weeks ago, in the month of August (2013).

Along with two close friends, I set out for Pantwari (the starting point with shortest route to the Tibba – 8 Kms to the top from there) on the morning of 25th August, 2013 at around 9 am. Weaving out of Dehradun city’s traffic, we steadily climbed the Rajpur road on our two wheelers (an Enfield Electra and a Honda Aviator) heading for Mussoorie – our first pit stop.

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(Chai, at Mussoorie Library)

Day 1

Although the weather is pleasant in the valley almost round the year, the grizzly black clouds hanging above betrayed the possibility of a heavy downpour. We halted at the Mussoorie library for a cup of tea and a quick snack. Post breakfast, we shopped for some essentials such as candles, matchsticks, tea and sugar, and were soon on our way.

The route from Mussoorie to Pantwari skims through, Kempty Fall, Nainbagh, Yamuna Bridge and some villages en route. Yamuna Bridge is quite famous for its fish rice stalls by the river. Here we halted for lunch and ordered a steaming hot plate of boiled fish rice. A first timer at eating fish, I thoroughly enjoyed the delicacy and fishing for fish bones from between my teeth.

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(Fish Rice at Yamuna Bridge)

Most of the route from Yamuna Bridge to Pantwari falls on the leeward side hence the mountain are bare or grassy – with the rock structures along the road quite pronounced. This can be tempting for any bouldering enthusiast or climber. However, our attempts on scaling any of these rocks failed miserably as the holds blasted and mildly injured my friend’s knee.

We reached Pantwari at about 1 in the afternoon. After having a cup of tea, storing some more provisions of food and parking our vehicle in a shed, we set out for the trek at about 2 o clock.

The trail to the tibba is quite simple. Starting from the temple’s welcome gate in Pantwari one can take any trail that is climbing up the hill. There is plenty of water sources on the way so you don’t need to carry a lot. First fill can be made in Pantwari, after that it’s a half an hour climb to the next source. Between the two, one will pass the intersection with the big road (good enough for a jeep to ply on) four times. Keep climbing to reach a water trickle source; a little up is a reservoir and a hamlet.

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(These 3 were tied near the temple gate)

Basically, it is quite difficult to ‘get lost’ on this trek (except in the snow). With plenty of shepherds and villagers treading this path to collect firewood or lead their flocks to greener pastures, there will be ample number of people to take directions from. Also there are hamlets at about every half an hour’s distance until 4kms from the Tibba.

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(break! and another one…)

We climbed for 3 hours at an earthwormly pace with several breaks in between for water, snacks or clicking pictures. An hour and a half before sun set we pitched our two men tent at a kilometres distance from the last house on the trek and at a 5 minutes walking distance from a water hole. Confident that we’d be able to find firewood (and due to a lack of any serious planning) we didn’t bring a stove or butane cylinders along. Unfortunately there wasn’t any dry wood in the forest (due to a recent downpour) and all our attempts at lighting up a blaze were in vain. Resigning to our fate, we were about to tear open a packet of instant noodles and consume them uncooked, when something huge, brown and furry showed up on the hillock nearby. A closer inspection of the apparition revealed that it was a Bhotia dog (shepherds use to guard their flocks from big cats, wolves, beer and foxes). Accompanying it, standing a little further, was its master. This filled us with immense hope for reasons still unknown to us.

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(tent’s pitched!)

Inquiries began for dry firewood or if the herder could help us with building fire?! However, he flatly ruled out any possibility of lighting a fire on the moist floor of the forest; and warmly invited us over to his hut. The man and his wife lent us their kitchen fire and utensil for cooking the noodles and even turned the flat taste of the noodles into a delicacy by adding a pinch of homemade chilli paste. Post dinner we thanked our host for their generosity and retired for our tent.

The night sky was clear and the glint of the stars pristine. However, there was thunderstorm on the horizon – it must have been raining somewhere. After some star gazing we sought for our sleeping bags; after a while of friendly banter inside the tent, being totally worn out from the day’s toil we instantly fell asleep.

Day 2

I woke up at about 6 in the morning due to the constant drone of a bumble bee. The bee must have taken liking to our bright blue tent and buzzed about it until we reached the Nag Tibba Jhandi (a shrine en route Tibba) – this was located a kilometre uphill from where we pitched our tent.

Nag Jhandi is a place worshipped by the locals. It is marked with a pole standing on a small hill at about 50m distance from the forest department’s bungalow built at the base of the Tibba. Trekkers can choose to stay in these bungalows – which are almost clean, devoid of any furnishing and have a fireplace in each room. However, the floor of one of the room was entirely under water owing to a harsh monsoon.

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(forest bungalow)

We climbed to the Jhandi and took in a good view of the surrounding low lands. By now it was already 8 o clock and so we abandoned the remaining climb to the Tibba top (2kms uphill) – since one of our group member had to head back to Delhi on the same day, so we were faced with a paucity of time. We completed our climb down to Pantwari in 4 hours and stuck to the main trail (called ‘chopti’ by the locals) this time. The incline took its toll on our knees however, the route down the main trail was even simpler than the obscure trails and no trails at all we took on our way up.

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(climbing down the chopti)

This beautiful weekend trek ended with a toast of chai raised in a dhaba in Pantwari. From there we set out for a fill of Lovely’s amazing omelettes on Mussoorie mall.

For More Pictures Visit: https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.213133022194737.1073741828.173644712810235&type=3

All photos clicked by Nitish Bhardwaj (https://www.facebook.com/89.99p?fref=ts&ref=br_tf) using Sony XperiaL.

How to Reach:

-Nearest Railway Station: Dehradun

-Nearest Air Port: Dehradun

-Cab to Pantwari can be hired from Dehradun Railway station/ Mussoorie, Picture palace.

-Buses to Pantwari can be boarded from Dehradun Railway Station/ Mussoorie, Picture palace.

Equipment for a 2 day trek:

–        Light attire: T-Shirts, trousers, shoes, cap, sunglasses and socks; thermals and fleece for winters.

–        Tent (We used a 3.4 kg Quechua 2 men dome tent, for 3 people).

–        Sleeping Bag (I use a Quechua poly fill, that works upto -5 degree Celsius).

–        Iso Propane Butane Cylinder and cooking stove.

–        Dry ration and liquids.

–        Kiwi bag for waste disposal.

–        Pocket knife, torch, camera, spare batteries, lighters, candle and matchsticks.

–        A comfortable trekking bag (50L-65L).

–        Trekking pole (optional).

–        Crampons in the snow season (optional).