The Ghosts of Goechala: Part II

The Goechala trek has tested our endurance and fitness levels like no other trek has. But I would do it again without a thought if given the opportunity. if you haven't read Part I of my Goechala trek, click here.

Tansing: Ice Station Zebra

We arrived at Tansing and it was a scene right out of ‘Alistair McClean’s Ice Station Zebra’. Anyone who has read the book and / or seen the movie will recall that Drift ice Station Zebra, a meteorological station built on an ice floe in the Arctic Sea, is actually a highly equipped listening post, keeping watch for nuclear missile launches from the Soviet Union. It suffers a catastrophic oil fire; several of its men die, and their shelter and supplies are destroyed. The survivors hole up in one hut with little food and heat.

Tansing could have served as a film set for the movie of the same name starring Rock Hudson. I woke up in the night to pee and asked Anand to accompany me. As we walked out with a lantern in hand, two lone figures bundled in several layers of clothing, my hands shivering as I fumble with my pant buttons, I’m reminded of the opening scene of the movie – a satellite reenters the atmosphere and ejects a capsule which parachutes to the Arctic with specific coordinates. During an ice storm, a figure soon approaches, guided by a homing beacon, while a second person secretly watches from nearby. This does not seem strange to me , we have a group of Japanese camping nearby.

Our last stretch

As I wait for Anand to finish his absolutions, the feeble light thrown by the lamp barely lights a small circle around my feet. It’s a cloudy night and the night is obsidian. I know that there is nothing in the distance barring Mount Pandim and the Eastern flank of Mount Kanchenjunga, looming like a crouched giant. I am nothing but a mere insignificant being at their mercy and the surrounding darkness and imperceptible noises that go with it hammer home that point. Yet it is not menacing, but strangely comforting as I feel the dark wrapping around me like a cocoon, protecting me from cold reality that I must encounter when I go back to civilisation.

We trek to Samiti Lake at a height of 14900 feet; the peace and stillness that I experience at the Lake convince me that deep within the Lake resides a gentle spirit that must surely shower her blessings on the trekkers and tour guides that reverently pray at her shores and respect her territory. Bhaskar and Upasana decide to go up to the Goechala viewpoint while the rest of us decide to head back. At Samiti Lake 4250 metres at the base of Lake Pandim. The guides pray to seek divine blessings from the Lake deity while we take a breather to absorb the rarified atmosphere of this glacial Lake and rest our tired bodies which are experiencing the effects of high altitude. My breathing is laboured and there are the beginnings of a headache at the base of my skull. Mount Kanchenjunga plays a peekaboo behind the clouds.

The Mighty Sentinel

Kanchenjunga is the world’s third highest mountain, with an elevation of 28,169 feet (8,586 metres). It is situated in the eastern Himalayas on the border between Sikkim state, northeastern India, and eastern Nepal, 46 miles (74 km) north-northwest of Darjiling, Sikkim. The Kanchenjunga massif is in the form of a gigantic cross, the arms of which extend north, south, east, and west. The name Kanchenjunga is derived from four words of Tibetan origin, usually rendered Kang-chen-dzo-nga or Yang-chhen-dzö-nga and interpreted in Sikkim as the “Five Treasuries of the Great Snow.” (Sourced from Wikipedia)

The area around Kangchenjunga is said to be home to a mountain deity, called Dzö-nga or “Kangchenjunga Demon”, a type of yeti or rakshasa. A British geological expedition in 1925 spotted a bipedal creature which they asked the locals about, who referred to it as the “Kangchenjunga Demon”. We didn’t spot any though some of us may have closely resembled one as we went for nine days without a bath. We did spot the Ibex, the Blue Bharaal, Wild Yak herds and plenty of rare birds that are native to this Himalayan region As we head back we see an elderly Japanese Gentleman, in his 70s who proudly gestures to us that he has been to the top. Truly an achievement, at 50 I don’t feel that old and feel that I could do a few more treks before I pack up my boots.

The Deceptive Transverse

Back to Kokcharung and Phedang through a deceptive forest transverse trail that begins with an innocuously simple path, but as we proceed further it’s 11 kilometers of steep inclines and descents, narrow trails with precarious edges that plunge into deep ravines and landslide scarred slopes that have to be crossed with loose mud dribbling onto your path. The path is never ending and we curse our guide Indranil who was never completely truthful about the trails we walked. “You’ll find it boring”” he said but that was the last word that enters my mind to describe the treacherous path that we are walking on. My fellow trekker, Jayanthi and I question our fellow guides Bhanu and Limbu as to how much time it would take and when they respond saying that it would take one more hour of walking, we angrily argue with them and insist that they are talking through their hats. They look at us pityingly and break into Nepali. I interpret it as “God, why do these old women do the trek if they can’t handle it” Jay sets out at a furious pace like a banshee cursing Indraneel and I am on the verge of a breakdown, silently laughing to myself at the sheer audacity of the narrow track as it leads us on on a merry dance. Anand looks at me strangely and gently asks me to take a break and drink some water. Our track finally break into the familiar meadows of Phedang and I totter to the now waiting group exhausted and waiting to pick a fight with anyone who utters those dreadfully pedestrian words “ Welcome, you made it”

The Last Ghost Story

Post a hasty lunch, we walk down to Tsoka through slush. Along the pathway, eager leaches are on the look out to sink their fangs ( do they have those) into our luscious flesh, but we manage to escape them. At Tsoka, it’s time for a celebration. While we feast on many a delectable dishes ( did I mention that our cook is the best in Sikkim) and have a few shots of Sikkimese rum and beer ( we drink Hit beer from the breweries owned by Sikkim’s scion Danny Denzongpa), Indranil regales us with the best story of all, the Naked German. The Naked German was a trekker who died in the 1980’s sans his clothes, ( don’t ask me how, I was too drunk to remember or maybe Indranil omitted the details). Apparently his ghost knocks on door or tent flaps and attempts to steal trekking bags. Indranil at some point in his career as a trek organiser apparently decided to put this story to test by staying all by himself at the Kokcharung trekkers hut that the ghost frequents. He had fortified himself with an entire bottle of rum and was woken up late in the night by repeated knocks on the door of the hut. Convinced that his worst nightmare had come true, he hid in the furtherest corner with a sharp Khukri ( Gurkha dagger) in his hand. No one responded to his entreaties questioning the identity of the knocker. Early next morning, he opens the day to confront a horsemen who was deaf and mute and had been sent by his fellow team members to check on him. Do you believe this story? On hindsight I definitely don’t, but at that moment gathered around a table lit by head lamps and lanterns, and sweetly savouring our triumph over the challenging and treacherous trails and replete with delicious food, dessert ( yes, chocolate cake baked in an earthen oven) and drink, we believed anything and everything was possible, even ghosts.

The Last Day

Our last day was our longest, 16 kms of endless walking back to Yuksom, we walked as if we were automatons, one foot placed before the other, tired in body but never in spirit. At long last as we approached the village on the outskirts that would eventually lead us to the paved road of Yuksom, I turned back and said a final goodbye to the mountains, trees and even the Ghosts and Spirits who had welcomed us into an ethereal and effervescent world that now vanished like Brigadoon into the mists of time.

Hope you enjoyed my reminiscences of the Goechala trek. Please read Part I if you haven't. Ans as always, comment, follow and share.

The Ghosts of Goechala: Part I

 Good treks are about endurance, fitness and strength but also about the camaraderie of fellow trekkers and the stories you share on those dark chilly nights. This is not a faithful retelling of the trek ( there are enough blogs that do that but rather an anecdotal and sometimes humorous and somber account of my experiences and emotions. 

The Goechala Gang

We were eight of us on the Goechala trek – Priti and Raja, super fit trekker couple who had just completed a long difficult trek in Nepal and were rearing to take this on, Upasana – supremely fit yoga trainer and second time trekker ( she did ABC with us last time) and was ahead of all my of us including the guides, my sister Aarti who cribbed before the trek that she would never be able to do it and did it like a pro ( did I mention that she is tall, statuesque and trekking clothes look good on her unlike me who looks like a bit like the Hunch back of Norte Dame); my friend and fellow organiser and conspirator , Jayanthi who kept us entertained and rearing to go despite the challenges, Anand, my better half who was indifferent till the trek started and then waxed eloquent on every aspect of it for weeks to come and is a fount of stats and numbers on altitude, distance and anything in between. 

Bhaskar, the new comer to the group, who had seriously trained ( unlike the rest of us) for this trek , was a bit formal at first and finally loosened up with the help of ‘spirits’ to to sing Kannada gems and oh did I mention the ace photographer of the group and then finally me, the organiser and the slowest trekker, (the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.) I creak and crawl while the others race past, but the trek starts as an idea in my head ( and Jay’s). So I give myself extra brownie points for that. And of course, we had Indranil Kar of Ongoz Escapades whom I contacted on a whim based on a blog post I read. That turned out to be the best thing I did, because he turned out better than warm apple pie with ice cream – guide, DJ, philosopher, story teller and comedian and finally has now become good friend to all in the group.

The Ghosts of Goechala

As we huddled around a warm wood fire oven in the caretakers hut at Dzongri sipping the local millet beer, we heard stories about heroic feats and near death experiences of guides and trekkers and WAIT FOR It spine tingling ghost stories that will strike fear into your hearts. Surely they are exaggerated but make for great listening; anything that takes your mind away from the bone numbing cold and the thought of slipping into an ice cold sleeping bag at the end of the day despite several layers of clothing. A good dose of healthy fear increases your heart rate and your sluggish blood races and thrums through your arteries and veins, inducing a sense of heightened anticipation and brief flashes of heat. And so we heard Ghost stories in instalments. Hearing it at one go may give us a ‘heart burst’ as Indranil puts it.

Our first day

But I am getting ahead of myself. We first heard about the ghosts of the dancing girls at night on the 4th bridge (or was it the 3rd bridge) during our first day to Sachen. This I think was the bridge below which the Prek Chu river was gushing wildly through a steep gorge. The suspension bridge shook as I walked over it. Thump thump thump,and then a sway. I felt slightly nauseous looking at the deep gorge below. Nima Thaju our head guide told us about a guide who went down to the river to have a bath at this very spot and slipped on  a cake of soap he had kept aside and was swept away by the river. The guides said these stories with a certain relish as our faces turned a bit pale and we looked at each other uncertainly. The trek had a fearsome reputation of bringing trekkers to their knees; did we have to also contend with ghosts and the like?

Gory stories at Phedang

Sachen to Tsoka was difficult but the real test was yet to come. After our first night in tents, we opted for the trekker huts in Tsoka, we were afraid that the rain might wash the tents away. From Tsoka, after a difficult ascent, which never seemed to end, we finally arrived at Phedang. Phedang at 12000 feet is a green slushy meadow with an open hut which serves as a dining room. Given a choice, I was all ready to spend the night there; there was a another steady incline of 3 hours to Deorali top and then a slight descent to Dzongri at 13000 feet. But during lunch, Indranil regaled us with the stories of two porters who died in a fire that engulfed the wooden hut they were spending the night. Since that event, most trekking guides and porters are superstitious and bypass Phedang as a place to halt at night. It is believed that those who stay are woken by a (symbolic) knock on their tent flaps and when they open it are witness to the horrifying and terrifying sight of blackened charred faces staring at them. That was enough to get me scampering from there post lunch and do the tough climb to Deorali top where the skies opened up to reveal enchanting Mount Pandim.

A hard descent

After a day’s rest at Dzongri and a near dizzying climb to Dzongri top at 13778 feet ( saying it in feet rather than metres makes our trek seem like a more impossible feat than it already is), where we walked on narrow ledges and steep ascents ( one wrong step and we would have indeed become ghosts who haunted future trekkers to Dzongri) we did a steep descent to Kokchurang. The descent was the scariest part of the trek and even now I get the heebejeebies thinking about it. I held my guide Limbu’s hands 90 percent of the way as I’m notoriously bad at walking downhill. Even Limbu’s wife or significant other wouldn’t have held his hand for that long. Even if a spirit in the surrounding thick forests were to prance around or shout or scream to make its presence felt, I wouldn’t have lifted my head, so fierce was my concentration on the tricky path ahead. I saw colourful birds flit between the trees and tried to make a note of their colour and size to quiz Bhaskar who seemed to be a walking talking encyclopaedia on birds and has even downloaded a pdf on birds on his phone.I breathed a sign of relief as we reached level ground and the Kokcharung trekkers hut came into view. It was a small squalid nut with several suffocatingly small rooms. We had our delicious hot lunch and proceeded to Tansing. The trail from Kokcharung to Tansing was not easy but anything was better than the nightmare descent that I had gone through

I do hope you enjoyed reading about the Goechala trek this far. Read Part 2 of the Ghosts of Goechala next week. And do comment and share my blog post with your family and friends