 |
| Silhouette of Harishchandragad. |
A
blazing Sun overhead showed us how terrible this heat could get. Reaching the
summit was out of the question; the only way was down. Thus, we kept walking.
The windless valley with a deadly silence wasn’t helping the mood either. I
looked at my watch - 3 p.m. Another 3 hours to sunset. We had to make the dash,
return safely to the village. Else, we were sure to get dehydrated with just a
litre of water to share amongst the 3 of us. Fearing darkness and the horrid
theories of the mind that follow, I stood up and decidedly took a step down.
That is when I felt a pang in my left calf. I had a cramp, which meant the dehydration
had already set in. Dejectedly, I sat down, hoping the pain would pass and we
could get to the base village in time before sunset. Fear was the motivator
here.
What started out as a desire to summit one
of the most difficult mountains of the Sahyadris became a nightmare. It all
began, when 8 friends decided to take a mid-week break from college and go for
it. What had been overlooked was that it was the month of March; the heat was
unbearable. After having consulted with a popular trekking company for details
and equipment and after a generous loan of ropes, we were advised against
the adventure. “This could probably be the worst climate for the trek”. Having
confidence in our past achievements and not wanting to waste this plan that we
had so painfully chalked out, we decided to go ahead. So on a hot, humid Mumbai
evening, we left by a local train for Kalyan at 9:30 p.m. Further, we were
supposed to take the 11:30 p.m. S.T. bus to Savarne. The journey so far had
been simple. We did catch it, but we realised the value of good ventilation
when our short sleep in the bus was frequently disturbed by many sweating
spells. Nevertheless, our destination arrived at 2:30 a.m. and after a violent
wake up call by one of my friends and whooping ticket of Rs. 120, we were
there.
 |
This structure appeared to me as
Batman with his ears trimmed.
Other interpretations are welcome. |
Getting down, all of us had the first spell
of insecurity – we had no idea where to go. We tried asking the bus conductor
for further directions to the fort. Either he did not know or did not care.
There was a small house on one side of the road and a village on the other. We
decided to split up half and half. Few of us went to the house, only to be
greeted with no response to the several “Koni
aahe ka gharat?” calls made. This was a dead end. Now the only potential
source of information left was the village. But in the dead of the night, to
expect a living soul to help you out is as unlikely as a dog not barking at 8
city strangers wandering through the village. One of us found someone to speak
with. Others whipped their cell phones out and managed to find a route roughly,
at the expense of a rapid battery drain. Me? I just stood there with a terrible
premonition.
 |
| Early morning fog, as seen from base of the fort. |
Eventually, the combined efforts helped and
we proceeded towards what seemed to be the best route possible. After half an
hour or so, however, our enthusiasm wore off when none of us were really sure
of where were we headed. Our torch lights did not penetrate the thick jungles
beyond 3 metres and the occasional screech of a bird made us stop in our
tracks, making us wonder what the devil had we gotten ourselves into. In about
an hour of beginning from Savarne, when we were completely sure we were lost, a
faint voice could be heard yelling. We couldn’t make out the words, but it
definitely sounded urgent. At first it seemed to be a distress call from
someone as weird as us, lost in the jungles. But walking towards the source, we realised it was one of
the villagers guiding us towards the correct route. Reaching the villager, who
was a farmer, we were told that the route we were headed toward was wrong –
some news! Not only had we spent 1.5 hours wandering around an unfamiliar
territory; we had also wasted a considerable amount of energy. I personally
felt weaker in my legs. Finally armed with the right directions, we set out.
Note we were expected to reach the base village of Belpada by around 5 a.m.
With the current delay, the limit had to be pushed to 6 a.m.
 |
Our beloved transport. The Konkan Kada behind
is so massive, it didn't even fit in a single frame! |
It was at this juncture that I felt the
second surge of defeat; the jungles just didn’t seem to end. We had no idea how
long it would take. A logical pointer for any trekker would be to take the
route in the general direction of your mountain. At 3 a.m., this was not
possible. Nothing could be seen ahead but trees and creepers. To ease my backache, Shubham offered to carry backpack - never carry too much when you are walking a road about which you know too little. 2 hours passed
with hardly any visible accomplishment. However, at the first crack of dawn, we
could finally make out the massive Konkan Kada of our mountain and there was
still an hour’s walk to the base village. Elated at the fact that we were
almost there, no matter how late, we pushed on to reach the village around 7:15
a.m. Taking our shoes and socks off and dipping our feet in a cool stream, I
mentally prepared for what would be the toughest trek any of us had ever
undertaken.
 |
| A pup questioning our sanity |
A couple of cups of tea, few biscuits and a
playful puppy were all it took to make us feel better and though nobody had
slept in over 20 hours, no noticeable signs of fatigue could be seen.
High-fives and grunts of “Lai bhaari”
marked the beginning of an expected endeavour.
 |
An hour after beginning from Belpada. From left to right :
Sameer, Obaid, Mandar and Kapil. |
Before we could actually begin gaining
altitude, a flat plain had to be crossed which took about an hour. None of us
seemed to notice the fact that we were already 2 hours behind scheduled as
compared to the usual trekking standards. The chosen route was called “Nalichi Vaat” or ‘Route of the stream’. During
the monsoons, water literally gushes down this route like a ravaging torrent.
In this climate, however, it was barren; no trace of water whatsoever. It was like
a river bed which has dried up, leaving massive boulders in its wake. We stared
dumbly up the apparent route. ‘Is this what we want to climb?’, was my first
thought. Though now I can look back and say it would have been a wonderful
climb with a more energetic mindset, walking all through the previous night had
diminished my enthusiasm.
Within an hour, two of us had stripped their
shirts off. Within 2 hours, another three had joined in. Such was the intensity
of the mid-morning glare. It was almost noon and things were expected to get
much worse, but we kept going. Even if one wished to take a nap somewhere along
the way, there were hardly any places where you could find some decent shade. At
the most, you could hide your head from the sunlight, but not from the rapidly
soaring heat. Ofcourse, we were happy about beating all odds and making it this
far.
 |
| "That's my Parle G!". "No, that's mine!". |
4 of my friends rushed ahead through the
boulder strewn region. In about half an hour, they had gained a distance large
enough to disappear from sight. Mid way, we faced a 12 foot high near-vertical
rock wall. Thank god for ropes, I climbed up and assisted the remaining. How had
the first 4 climbed here without the rope still leaves me scratching my head.
There was another of such rock wall, but much simpler. By around 1 p.m., at a
time when normal humans would settle down for a hearty lunch ( something
that we gravely missed at that moment ),
we were startled by screams from above. The ones who had gone ahead were trying
to communicate with us.
However, the valley was curved to the left and that made
it impossible to understand what they meant. Soon enough, we met them.
Apparently, they had
 |
| The massive Konkan Kada, shaped like a Cobra's hood. |
encountered one more rock face which they could not climb.
Later we would realise that this was the ‘make-or-break’ spot; if you manage to
climb over this section, you have won. Unloading our backpacks felt like heaven
and three of us proceeded to find a route up. We had never been turned around
by any mountain. Till now, not one of us had the thought of returning without
summiting. But when we got to the rock face, we realised why this group of 4,
who had climbed the previous two rock faces without ropes, could not climb this
one. It was the largest that we had seen so far; about 20 feet high. There were
hardly any grips to hold on to; those present would come loose with the
slightest force. This could probably be attributed to the direct sunlight
cracking these rocks up. Shubham tried climbing one of the rock faces right
next to the vertical face. But when you see a rock
 |
| Deep inside the Nalichi Vaat. |
as large as a football come
loose in your hands, you know things are bad. Next to try was Kapil, who had
similar results. Finally, it was my turn to try but yet again the loose rocks
and hot sun made sure I wasn’t any more successful than my friends were. It was
then, when the thought of turning back occurred; was this trek over? Why
couldn’t eight people find a route up? People have done it. Why couldn’t we? A
few had already begun the descent. The climb up was hard enough; descending
through these rocks was sure to give our knees a good pounding. I told myself,
‘This trek is over’ and a dull gloom set upon everyone.
A
blazing Sun overhead showed us how terrible this heat could get. Reaching the
summit was out of the question; the only way was down. Thus, we kept walking.
The windless valley with a deadly silence wasn’t helping the mood either. I
looked at my watch - 3 p.m. Another 3 hours to sunset. We had to make the dash,
return safely to the village. Else, we were sure to get dehydrated with just a
litre of water to share amongst the 3 of us. Fearing darkness and the horrid
theories of the mind that follow, I stood up and decidedly took a step down.
That is when I felt a pang in my left calf. I had a cramp, which meant the
dehydration had already set in. Dejectedly, I sat down, hoping the pain would
pass and we could get to the base village in time before sunset. Fear was the
motivator here.
Never
had our past adventures failed. Never had we turned back and given up. All of
that pride sweltered away in a matter of few minutes. Ask any trekker, their biggest
regret would be not achieving the summit. Mountaineers call this the “Summit
fever”. Though none of us were even close to being called mountaineers, we too
felt defeated. I recalled an article I had read; how an Everest climber
described his failed attempt to summit the world’s highest mountain. The
anguish of not summiting coupled with the dreadful and rocky descent was all I
could take. One hour went by; two hours. But the village was nowhere in sight.
To add to the troubles, we had split up into two groups unintentionally, yet
again.
 |
| After successfully climbing a dried up waterfall, one of our landmarks. |
It was only when we reached a dried up
waterfall that we could recognise the scenery; this was the place during ascent
when our minds were much sharper to commit things to memory. Long after the Sun
had set and just before we were plunged into darkness, we reached a home. We
had made it; no feeling in the world could trump this one. A generous family
offered us tea, which we hastily drank. That was the best performance we could
put up of not looking desperate. Finally, it was time for dinner at another
villager’s home and we decided to sleep out in the ‘Aangan’. Just 10 hours ago
we were playing with the same puppy, here, who was now happily digging into the
remnants of our dinner. There I learnt Aishwarya had had a scare for himself.
He had been separated from the rest mid way through the descent and after hours
of frantic search, was united with them. Lying down on the sleeping
bag-turned-mattress, I recalled my habit of recollecting the entire trek at the
end of the day. Only this time, I did not feel like doing so. Going to sleep
after more than 30 hours, a weird dream woke me up at 6:00 a.m., which was a
good thing since we had a 6:30 a.m. bus to catch. Finishing our morning chores
and settling our debts with the villager, we ran towards the bus which was
about to leave amidst the scolding of the conductor for holding him up for an
extra 30 seconds. A very bumpy ride, two buses and another expensive ticket brought us back to
where had we had begun; Kalyan station. All that was standing between us and a
shower was a local train. I decided to skip a lunch at Obaid’s home ( A
decision I regret to this day! Never skip a biryani invitation ) and came back
home. The next few days, with rest I could think about the first failure I’d
ever had since I developed a passion for trekking.
 |
In a much lighter mood, just before beginning our ascent.
|
After this trek, together amongst us, we have
successfully summited over 20 peaks. I personally have gone as far as the
Himalayas to fuel my passion of high altitude adventures. It was only after a
climb of Harihar fort near Nashik that I could find some clarity as to why we had failed. I also learnt that the very same mountaineer, whose
article I had read previously, had failed to summit Everest yet again this year due to
terrible earthquakes. But he had already declared to attempt once again the
coming climbing season. The first lesson
– there was no reason why any of us should ponder over the past. Failure
taught us never to turn back. This was
exceptionally true on Mount Kalsubai, where visibility was zero and wind speeds
slid your feet backwards on the muddy ground. Failure taught us to be patient with our
attempts and not rush through, something that came handy while climbing
Gorakhgad near Kalyan, wherein a 100 people were attempting to summit on a single day. Failure also taught us to plan extremely well. Probably the biggest
lesson I’ve learnt is to always follow your dreams, no matter the odds, no
matter the circumstances, no matter the poor chances. It would have been easy
to simply stay put after failure. But it means much more to go out and have one
more shot at something you immensely love.
In a couple of weeks, we would
have had another attempt at the summit of Harishchandragad, hopefully with a
better outcome this time. And things would be much different in the 2nd
attempt – better preparations, better climate and better logistics. And if (
rather, when ) we manage to succeed this time, we would be living examples of
the adage,
“If you put
your mind at doing something, good things can happen”
- Michael Jordan.
Rhishikesh Deshpande,
20, Medical Student, Blogger, Trekker, Basketball Fanatic,
Mumbai, India.
Connect with me on Facebook / YouTube : Rhishikesh Deshpande ;
Instagram : rd_1994
E-mail : rdeshpande1994@gmail.com
Photo credits ( In alphabetical order ) : Kapil Pawar, Obaid Khan, Rhishikesh Deshpande, Shubham Pawar.
Within an hour, two of us had stripped their
shirts off. Within 2 hours, another three had joined in. Such was the intensity
of the mid-morning glare. It was almost noon and things were expected to get
much worse, but we kept going. Even if one wished to take a nap somewhere along
the way, there were hardly any places where you could find some decent shade. At
the most, you could hide your head from the sunlight, but not from the rapidly
soaring heat. Ofcourse, we were happy about beating all odds and making it this
far.
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