←kedarnath | | badrinath route notes
The
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Chopta itself was round a further bend. After such a quiet climb on the deserted road, on this sparse and pure mountain, Chopta was an incongruously buzzing knot of buses and jeeps, dhabas and lodges. It was busy, and the only room we could find took us to new levels of grimness, but it made up for that with a stunning panorama of the snowy range of Chaukamba, and some really quite good food.
Chopta is the high point on the Ukhimath-Chamoli road, where the road crosses a sharp ridge. To the north, the ridge slopes down gently but the south side it is a rocky and jagged scarp. Tunganath is near the summit of the ridge, which is called Chandrashila. The temple is one of the Panch Kedars, the five shrines holy to Shiva, the places where the god began to reappear after submerging himself in the ground to hide from the Pandavas.
Tungnath procession |
We could hear trumpets, and drums. Through the trees we could see a procession coming down the path from the temple; they were bringing the Tunganath idol down for the winter. The idol was in an ornate casket of silver, garlanded with marigolds, and carried on the shoulders of two bearers. Progress was slow, as they leaned the casket over for everyone in the crowd to add another garland. This festival explained the numbers; we met people from as near as Ukhimath, and as far as Kolkata and Mumbai. There was a holiday atmosphere – people were here both to trek, and to join in the ceremony. It was a beautiful day, and as the sun set, the shadows crept across the lower ridges, dissolving them, until all there was left was the pink light on the far snowy ridge.
Tungnath meadows |
We made an early start the next morning, with the sun still below the ridge, frost on the ground and breathclouds in the air, we walked through dark, silent forest on a grey stone paved path. We passed a clearing with the thatched huts of shepherds. The trees become more sparse, and it has the air of a parkland with tall majestic pines set in the meadows. Higher still there are only rhododendrons, the frost on the leaves glittering darkly; the grasses are golden and the polished slatey stones of the path gleam silver. Then we see a bird, picking its way gently through the shrubs – it is gloriously coloured blue and green, and surely must be the Monal – the state bird. It is reputed to be a rare sight.
Tunganath is an ancient and handsome temple in a rocky site near the edge of the crest. The summit is a kilometre or so higher up, and we continued to climb, on what still felt like an endless ridge. To the north Chaukamba had always been in sight, and the views simply get finer. We had not anticipated what would happen next, and it was staggering. For it was not until we were right at the summit, that we saw what lay beyond, on the other side – an even more vast range of snow peaks, covering the entire horizon. Trisul, Nanda Devi, Changabang and Kalanka, Dunagiri, Ghan Parbat and Hathi Parbat.
Chandrashila |
There was a party of 20 or so Indian trekkers here. They were nice; they gave us sweets. They said we should be here at sunset, and at sunrise, but we were pushed for time as it was, and still had one more Dham to go. We were also owed a rest day, but had been putting it off, and were a little concerned that we might blow up at any point.
The afternoon found us freewheeling down towards Chamoli in the Alaknanda valley. This was not exactly as much fun as it ought to have been, as it was freezing cold in those forests, but later the road, to warm us up, generously threw us a gratuitous climb traversing a side valley. The GMVN at Gopeshwar looks a pleasant new building but for some reason they had located it on the main junction in town, very convenient for the bus station, taxi rank and large political rally; I really wish they would not do this. We went on to the more peaceful banks of the Alaknanda, at Birahi, which at least got us some of the next day’s distance done. We arrived before 5pm, which sounds as if we had had a civilised and relaxed pace to the day – if you forget that we had been up at 6am.
The road from Chamoli to Joshimath |
We only had a few more days’ riding. Distances from now on were moderate, and we imagined the climbing was manageable, going by the relative heights of our destinations. The Footprint guide commented that the road from Chamoli was ‘an impressive feat of engineering’, which should have been enough of a warning, but ever the optimists, we had hoped they meant by this that it was impressive how the BRO had managed to contour the road up the gorge, thus keeping the ascent gradual and perhaps imperceptible. I hardly need add now that the road lurched psychopathically up and down the mountainside, and that Josimath was a completely unnecessary 500m above the valley. Josimath seemed to be given over entirely to the trade of fireworks.
Badrinath was cold. Not only was Badrinath cold, but we were hungry, after a long, and very lunchless climb of 1800m, past terraces of brilliant crimson, orange and yellow amaranth, in the shadows of towering black cliffs, and up endless hairpin bends.
Badrinath is a very holy place, for not only is it one of the Ganges Char Dham, it is also one of the four Dhams established by Shankaracharya at the four corners of India. But Santiago de Compostela it is not. Making a grand entrance to the holiness of it all was the bus station, an edifice of monumental ugliness. Set in a vast and stark and empty parking area, it is a pile of grey concrete halls that funnel the icy winds, of lumpen arches and domes, of blackened windows which we imagined were to warrens of dim rooms stuffed with dusty piles of bus tickets and registrations in triplicate of every pilgrim since 895.
Things are a little jollier towards the temple. The all important woolly hats, then a lane of bright stalls of shiny temple bells, and brass pots, and gaudy idols, strings of beads, and plastic bangles and gold banners. The temple itself is brightly painted; the swamis tout garlands of marigolds, which at least look warm.
Badrinath pilgrims | ||
Bangles |
The hotels in general were the usual bunkers and did not look as though they would have much in the way of heating. Apart from one, which was so astonishingly out of place that it looked like a mirage. This is the Park Hotel. It is the first building in the town, a new and large curving palace with a grand gravelly forecourt sporting plastic illuminated palm trees. Inside, the vast entrance hall is in the grandiose Egyptian Style, with white sofas fit for Pharoahs. Apparently it has central heating. The hotel was not quite finished, but at least it was open, even if some of the features had not yet been installed (that central heating, for example). One of the ideas of the pilgrimage is that you are supposed to do without worldly pleasures and comforts, so perhaps that was the explanation.
We caught up with Bill, again, on the descent. He was heading back to Josimath, and hoping to go on to Malari later on. It would have been nice to have more time to talk, but we were hell bent on getting to the posh hotel that we had decided we more than deserved by now, which was the fabled Cliff Top ski hotel at Auli. We generously gave Bill one of our books, so we would not have to lug it up any more mountains ourselves.
The Cliff Top had better be worth it. It is up a monster climb from Josimath and the snowstorms are rapidly working their way down from Badrinath. The road stops. There is no sign of the Cliff Top except for a battered sign leading up an unrideable track. We start to push; the clouds close in. There is some good news – Colin has a little stomach upset which means that he has no appetite for biscuits and therefore I can scoff them all myself. The track spends an awfully long time wandering up a bleak and empty hillside and you become convinced it is doing this on purpose when, at last, it rounds the curve and you can see the friendly, warm and smiling red and white gables of the Cliff Top. It was worth it; the Cliff Top is very nice indeed.
Nanda Devi |
Now we had our rest day. We needed it: I could barely move. We looked at the views of Nanda Devi, we watched the snow come in from Badrinath, we watched the children playing in the snow, and the Diwali lights, and we were given sweets.
Devprayag |
We had neither the time let alone the legs to ride back to Rishikesh. We freewheeled to Josimath and got a taxi to Rudraprayag, famous for ex man-eating leopards and the lovely Monal resort. Another car took us to Devprayag, where the Bhagirathi and Alaknanda join to form the Ganges. We rode the last stretch from here to Rishikesh. Too knackered for meditation, let alone yoga, we ate, and we plotted our drinking campaign in Delhi.