singularly null part three
Blog :travel, travails, and heck...
Date: 7/30/2012 7:33:00 PM
Glaciers are delicate and individual things, like humans. Instability is built into them.
- Will Harrison
Up as the first crow knocked… and a race to the nearest far boulder courteous (and big) enough to heed another’s nature’s call… the stars are gone but the moon would like to hang around for a while… A mellow walk along single trails sponsored by the birch and Bhoj trees before one bids adieu to the treeline, and the rock hopping across a glacier’s naughty deeds begins… In all of the jumping melee, one almost forgets to look up and realize that the dot of existence now lies at the base of another valley, the part frozen river now bordered by those high triangles, and the oxygen starts acting all pricey as the trudge up slowly begins… The trail meanders as one walks along the trail on a though train, a muse so helpful on many a hard climbs, and then the snow arrives, not in the slippery river bridges but in all the vastness that hurls the water down straight to the sea… The snow seems white at first, then slippery, then slush to the knees… the sun turns on a thousand little mirrors as one feels the crystals now into the shoes, an epiphany of unsuitable footwear, or a forgotten ice axe… but people trudge on... The descent is an acrobatic affair as the snow starts hiding from traction like a bunch of nonchalant pranksters, and the drop below quite literally the icing on a clear blue cake… The bottom gives way to the meadows once more, and one saunters on the warm grass in glee… looking back at that expanse of white now left, yet still not giving in on what else it entombs… But the tiny rivulets at the end of the ice join forces into a stream of its own torrential integrity, and with a sign of (very fair it seems) reluctance, the shoes come off… A look at the sun before the feet go numb, and then the water climbs up to the knees, greedily lapping up the thighs with its icy cold tongue, like needles fighting motion... One huffs up to the shore, shrugs back at the water and runs haplessly upon the grass, trying to get some of that broken paraphernalia back into action… As a reward though, the grass is heavenly and soft, and the walk is thence carried on barefoot amidst buttercups and butterflies, and on the wagtail’s cue where one camps… The feet are rested and the tea is had, before the hike up to the first of the lakes, but what character would a road have without any potholes, and ours is a straight line of the gooey, goat and cow driven swamp of the digestive leftovers, ten minutes of brainstorming coming to a dead end… But then the other side of the hill reveals some movement… rumours of a bear cub start doing the rounds and the three stuck explorers race across the swamp, unpacking the binoculars at that little orange dot… The bear cub rumour is falsified midway, and a fox is surmised, further crawl up reveals a chubby little Himalayan Marmot snooping about, and after a fairly decent amount of show time, the creature bids goodbye… Onwards to the lake then… and though not the biggest, Vishansar is definitely one of the most pristine, ice chunks falling off the glacier complementing the tormenting streams on the far end… Too cold for the fishes it seems though, and one loafs around till the sun sprinkles away to the westward snooze… the Milky Way today beckons under some hot soup…