Trekking in Kothagiri

So, okay, I kept calling myself a trekker and the only evidence I have provided for my being a trekker is getting caught in the Uttaranchal disaster last year. When I cite a foot injury or a broken hand as reasons for my not trekking recently, a lot of you said,"So, next time, will it be the death of a great grandmother?" I needed to grin (NO - it was NOT a grimace) and bear it, so far. Just so you guys know how wrong you were all along about me, I have just completed a two day trek in Kothagiri. So there!

And then there were those who thought I had no pics in my posts only because I knew not how to put them in. So, here is a pic - put that in your pipe and smoke it. If you had thought that I did not know how to TAKE pics you would have been right - this one was sent to me by a co-trekker, Ramesh, of whom you shall hear more later.

To be absolutely truthful, this trek, too, almost did not take place. The bus that Ramesh and I took to Coimbatore decided that it had worked enough for the day and stopped somewhere after Erode. It had taken due care to stop on the bye-pass road so that buses towards Coimbatore did not cross our path and allow us alternative transport. The only problem, though, was that there are always those maverick buses that take the untrodden trails and we managed to snag one, went to Avinashi and from there to Mettuplayam where our friend, Chandru, picked us up and took us onwards to his summer home at Kothagiri (near Ooty for those who know it not).

The next day, we were joined by Jayendra and Shrikant, as well as Riddhi and Pooja who had unexpectedly decided to join unknown strangers on the trek based on a mutual friend's say-so. The day's trek was to Rangaswami peak and, though there is a perfectly motorable road up to the steps that take us up to the temple, we trekked through the forest to reach there. (Trekkers ARE like that. We just do not like the easy way out).

The path, by trekking standards should count as relatively easy - or so Ramesh said. Maybe there was a time in life when I would have said so as well but THIS was not that time. But then, I was in no position to say anything considering that both nose and mouth were too busy dragging air in to satisfy lungs that kept screaming for more. The fact that it had rained all day before and that it was intermittently raining even as we trekked was no help either since it takes more effort to walk through wet ground and since I was notoriously capable of slipping even where the ground offered no excuse for doing so.

Up and up and up through all that lovely greenery and we came to a sharp right turn in a relatively open area when we spotted a herd of elephants on the terrace below us, grazing peacefully. Our guide was advising us about how to escape charging elephants - run uphill, apparently. Me, I had decided that the easiest way to escape an elephant was to yield to it. Once you are a smear on the landscape, you need have no fear of any elephants. (One look at the steps that had to climbed from there on and I was vexed that the elephants had not seen fit to charge. It would have put me out of my misery.)

Onwards we went and the most irritating part was the fact that Ramesh was always a couple of kilometers ahead of us. It is one thing to be made to feel like an escapee from the geriatric ward by youngsters but to be shown up as an arthritic zombie by a chap older than you was beyond bearing. As though that were not enough, Ramesh HAD to keep telling us about how it was not a picnic and how much faster we would need to walk. He compounded our misery by insisting on taking a further trek on the way back when there was a perfectly serviceable road that could take us back to our cars in no time at all.

As we were wheezing along in his wake, we solemnly promised ourselves that we would take him apart in the evening to see if he worked on muscle and bone like the rest of us ordinary mortals or on gears and lube oil. The only fly in the ointment was the fact that, by day's end, there was only one person who had the energy to do anything at all - Ramesh! I could not have lifted a finger to save my life.

Later that evening, at Shrikant's place in Coonoor, I did find that I could not only lift a finger but could hoist a glass with my hands. Single Malt has that effect on me - though, of course, since modern medicine does not consider whisky as a life-saver, I can still claim that I could not lift a finger to save my life.

The next day, we trekked to Tipu's fort (the view in the pic is from there), a walk in the park according to Chandru. About the trek itself, all I can say is that people do have different ideas about what constitutes a walk and what constitutes a park.

Why do I trek then? Not because I like to keep my muscles screaming for surcease. The entire experience - the views, the birdsong, the unexpected sighting of wildlife in its natural habitat, the changing sensual experiences depending on weather - is a pleasure that can be enjoyed best only when you do it. Even the physical exertion is a weird form of pleasure - water tastes like ambrosia when you drink it when you are thirsty; taking the weight off your legs for a few minutes is heavenly and, of course, splashing in a stream or bathing in a waterfall (did not happen this trek, though) when you are hot and sweaty is a sensual experience that no Jacuzzi can match.

At the end of it all, my enforced absence from trekking did not seem to have marred my endurance very significantly. So, Mustang trek in Nepal - here I come!