Cloudy the morn greeted us again, but it seldom rains on the morning parades howsoever high the chances might look, one surmises in the practicality of trial and (more often than not) error, and goes on about business as usual overcast…
The start is unassuming, no dicey water crossings or ice fields, a gentle trot for half an hour, and then the ascent begins… steep and rocky, the moraines demand all fours at times… finally something the footwear loves, and up and up and up till the lungs scream and the last muscle breaks…
The top is dreary; though one can see the tree line at a distance and the shrubbery can be touched… the top leads to another pack of ice-fields, thick fog dancing around as the literal icing, not letting one rest…
But, there is a romance in this deadly white despite all the mountaineer’s misgivings, one muses on the other side; but the snow has it all – high for the low, peak for the below, summit for the crevice and reality for the senses…
The fog plays on the summit puppets awhile, alternating on either side of the ridge; with a view of the day’s lakes, one loses the ponies and the accompanying fellow humans, and when the humanity is spotted with a sigh of relief, the other side veils itself against the shutterbugs…
A quick nap is wrestled out of the confusion anyway, the fog clears to reveal Gangabal, the biggest lake of the trek, with Nundkhol and Kalsar lying adjacent (or atleast looking so from above)… a fourth one is rumoured but never spotted…
The descent, as always, looks deceivingly comforting but never ever an easy mistress to tame, go slow and time would take you, try to rush it through and a few broken bones beckon with minimal effort…
Managed rather quickly nevertheless, the bottom leads to another short uphill, the lakes refuse to let the cloudy love story go… and the heavens, one quickly reckons, would favour those who walk undulating, as the drizzle quickly turns into a downpour, the tent pitched in the nick of time…
An hour of the rain wash later, the seemingly dry peek out chilled to the core, Harmukh painted freshly in snow, now an immensity proclaimed by the gods and their lore, but somehow seeming conquerable…
Trout is found aplenty one is informed, and bring in hoards of local tourists, their shrieks and their garbage, while the feet droop on the impending civilization and wheels, the rest glances up longingly, very longingly… barter for?... someday, maybe…