The Ombattu-Gudde Trek

With leech-bites itching on both legs up to the knee, smarting scratches all over the body and soreness in muscles I didn’t even know that I had, I wonder whether the two day trek at Ombattu Gudde was worth it all. Then I recollect the cool green confines of the forest, the gurgling streams, the superb vistas and the wonderful camaraderie shared with the other trekkers and all these minor inconveniences fade into insignificance.

The trek started from Gundya on a comfortable trail which was almost like a walk in a park. Once we reached a stream we stopped for breakfast and a bout of splashing around in the stream. One needs to be hot and sweaty and then hit a lovely forest stream in order to realize how enjoyable the experience can really be. After about an hour of sojourn there we proceeded on the trek.

Walking through virgin forest, jumping from boulder to boulder on the stream bed and wading up to waist deep while crossing streams we proceeded towards the first day’s campsite. The trek was not too strenuous in terms of effort or terrain and, but for de-leeching breaks, we could probably have comfortably reached the campsite in daylight.

When someone who hasn’t trekked at all thinks about going into forests, the idea of being close to Nature is exclusively benign. It doesn’t always work out that way! One of the less comfortable facts of Nature is the leech. An amazing creature which first anesthetizes the site of its bite, de-coagulates the blood and sucks blood enough to bloat from needle-size to a near-globe and then falls off. One can look on it in amazement till, of course, it practices its act on you!

Our trek group had four schools of thought with regard to the leeches. The organizers had come prepared with snuff and oil which was formed into a paste and applied on the legs (one of the very few healthy uses for tobacco, I suppose). Another group believed in eucalyptus oil and yet another believed in the miraculous effect of lime(chunna). The last school of thought, who included yours truly, believed in allowing the leeches to have their fill and drop off without either preventive measures or any effort at interrupting their feeding. The impact of the last school was that my leg bled as though it had been mangled in an automobile accident! The first three schools of thought were probably foiled by the fact that wading through streams washed off the applications and, thus, guys spent a lot of time plucking leeches off their legs or spraying painkillers to make them let go. (Pharma companies note! One more use you can advocate for painkiller sprays!)

Thanks to this repeated de-leeching the last part of the trek was completed in darkness. This was the first time I had trekked in the night with only torches to illuminate the way through a dense forest. The experience was eerie but extremely enjoyable. Well! But for the photophilic insects that clustered around my headlamp and made me wish for a flypaper attachment, it was thoroughly great! We eventually reached the campsite by the side of gurgling streams.

My treks, hitherto, had been either with people hired to set up tents and cook or with camps in forest rest-houses or both. It was, therefore, amazing to see the organizers and co-trekkers pitch in and convert an unpromising site into a cozy camp. Open air though it was it looked like home away from home! People cleaned up the site, fetched wood and generally got ready for dinner. The chefs got into the act chopping vegetables and soaking the avalakki/avul (beaten rice, I suppose, is the English term!). Naveen dished out a delicious avul upma/Ogranai and how good a camp-cooked hot meal can be only experience can tell.

Just as we were lying down to sleep it started raining. Being prone to acidity attacks and having had one just then I was in too much distress to help the guys who rigged up tarpaulins above us to keep us from being drenched. (With my fabulous aptitude for messing up the simplest physical tasks it was just as well that I did not get in their way!).

Next day we woke up to some delicious black tea (of course, there were the generous souls who woke up and made the tea that we woke up to!) and set off on what promised to be a strenuous trek. Crossing the stream that had lulled us to sleep the previous night we proceeded through the forest. Our constant companions – the leeches – were with us still but the group had to hasten to complete the nearly 20 KM trek for the day. Ploughing your way through creepers that trip you up when you try to bull your way through them and readily break off when you hold on to them to avoid a fall is an unforgettable experience. After nearly four hours of walking through the forests (Well! We did rest a lot in-between!) we reached the grasslands.

A steep climb up and we were on the peak. To stand on top with valleys displaying all shades of green stretching out into the distance and gazing at fluffy clouds lazily moving across distant peaks is an experience that uplifts you but does not lend itself readily to descriptive phrases. It is at times like this that you truly feel that you are on cloud nine or should I be saying in cloud nine since we appeared to be in the clouds?

After taking a fill of soaking in the blissful atmosphere and a couple of group photographs down the line, we set off on our way back to civilization reluctantly. There was a kicker in store for us, however. It was near dark and there was some confusion about the way forward. Guna went into the jungle and found us a way back to the jeep trail that was to lead us back to where our bus was parked. (Considering that this was the place that three trekkers had lost their way and their lives a couple of years back and that another group of trekkers who were there at the same time as us had also lost their way and sent out an SOS, this feat is worthy of mention!)

Another spell of night trekking through the forest and a 10 KM walk on the jeep trail and we were back at the bridge where the bus picked us up. A scrumptious dinner down the road at a Dhaba (sans beer, alas!) and we settled down to sleep in the bus to wake up in our mundane everyday world!

It is difficult to adequately praise Ravi Ghosh who organised the trek and Claudy who was the pathfinder. Nor indeed can one forget all the other guys who selfless pitched in to make the trek comfortable on the way and at the campsite. If Nature provides the aesthetic component of joy on treks the emotional satisfaction of trekking is provided by such wonderful people who not only create the camaraderie on the trek but also make it possible for the group to enjoy nature at its best.

Links to photographs taken by other trekkers in the group are given under

http://picasaweb.google.com/pavanskr/OGOmbattuGuddaTrek?authkey=Gv1sRgCLu3nPKx3_6lsAE#

http://www.orkut.com/Main#Album?uid=7771549479773460755&aid=1258353246

http://www.flickr.com/photos/29584591@N08/sets/72157622697061101/

http://picasaweb.google.co.in/ktraditya/OG#

http://picasaweb.google.com/summod/OGTrekk?authkey=Gv1sRgCOST3aSjrcHthgE&feat=directlink

http://picasaweb.google.com/rvr26385/CTCOGTrek14th15thNov09?feat=directlink

http://picasaweb.google.com/vindys.ctc4/OmbattuGudda6#

http://picasaweb.google.com/rvr26385/OG1415Nov09RVRSSecondUpld#

http://www.flickr.com/photos/44742475@N02/

http://picasaweb.google.com/vinodhr84/OGVinod#

A trek to Kalhatti falls

There are very few treks that actually conform to a first timer’s ideas of what a trek would be like. I still remember my fantasies of happily walking on the mountains taking in the sights when I set out on my first trek to Tapovan/Nandanvan. 

The reality, however, was one of having to keep a careful watch on where one put his foot down lest he unintentionally took up tobogganing instead of trekking. Huffing and puffing while pushing wobbly legs up inclines was certainly not what I had conceived of when I took up trekking. Actually enjoying this process is something I’d have considered the heights of masochism before I actually found myself doing so. As a cousin of mine put it I nowadays undergo misery in order to enjoy myself (It comes out better in Tamil – Kashtapattu enjoy panran. Since kashtapattu would mean either putting in effort or being miserable you could read it as ‘He is working at enjoying himself’ or ‘He makes himself miserable in order to enjoy himself’). A new twist on the ‘Work Hard, Play Hard’ business!

The trek to Kalhatti Falls and Kemmangundi, strangely enough, was the first time where I did trek on a smooth enough path for a long enough period to actually enjoy the view while trekking. Masochism has not taken such a strong hold over me that I can only enjoy myself when my lungs are contemplating the idea of giving up on me. As usual, I am getting ahead of my tale.

The overnight drive to Chikmagalur – about 270 Kms – is not too tiresome since the roads are decent. We reached the spot from where we were to start the trek by around 5 AM and snoozed in the vehicle till 6 AM before we set off on the trek. The falls at the bottom with a temple by its side is popularly known as the Kalhatti falls though the real falls were at a much higher altitude. This is where we were to end up on day one of the trek.

Within seconds of starting the trek we were ascending through a cathedral of tall trees. The path was challenging without being enervating and one could soak in the peace of the forest without being disturbed by your own distressed breathing. After about an hour’s walk we stopped for ‘freshening up’ and breakfast by the side of a mini-waterfall. I was into the water almost immediately. In Vinod’s absence, I was the only one in the water. The others were saving their bodily dirt for the main waterfall at the top. Looks like only Vinod and I believe that more than one bath a day is not injurious to health!

I have never been particularly fond of bread and jam for breakfast but, after the morning’s trek and a dip in the waterfall, it tasted like ambrosia. Breakfast was spiced with a distant view of the waterfall to which we were heading and a very enticing sight it was! We were on our way on that dream trail that I talked of at the beginning and the view around was well worth gawking at while walking the trail. Rolling mist on verdant plains enchanted us on one side while the tall graceful trees looked down benignly on us from the other.

Such pleasant hikes don’t last on treks. According to the tour organizer – Kamesh – it wouldn’t have lasted long on this trek either but for his picking an easy trail to ensure that the grandfather and his two grandchildren, who were along on the trek, do not find it too difficult to do. Not that the grandfather would have felt that the chosen trail was easy when we next had to slip and slither up a steep slope to reach the waterfall.

One almost forgot the leeches. Nature is not always beautiful by the standards of men and on previous treks to Brahmagiri and Thadiyandamol, colonies of leeches had climbed all over the trek group. Thus, this desultory tasting of blood by one or two leeches was almost too insignificant to mention. One of the kids, however, could not get over the copious bleeding set off by leech-bites and her crying coupled with the shivering in the cold climes produced such musical effects that one involuntarily laughed at it though the child’s distress was all too real. Lest I give the impression that Supriya was a cry-baby I should mention that she did all that dangerous scrambling up slippery slopes with little complaint and her first attempt at rappelling later was done without a hitch.

The waterfall delivered all that it promised. It looked even more wonderful than it had from afar. This was one of those falls which did not cascade in sheets of water but fell down like a shower from top. This, of course, meant that staying under the fall for any length of time was impossible except if you belonged to the blood of the mythical Hindu fakirs who slept on beds of nails. The water appeared intent on drilling through your ears and scalp and I, having an unprotected scalp, had to make do with staying immersed in the pool and looking up at the waterfall.

The process of moving over to the site where the trek organizers were cooking lunch involved climbing up a slippery rock. My penchant for slipping, kept in abeyance this far, kicked in and Crack! Never before had I landed on my forehead on a rock. The sound was audible for about twenty feet and everyone in the vicinity rushed in to see if my brains were oozing out. Thanks to the fact that my head is solid ivory above the neck – as anyone who knows me would readily testify – nothing much had happened barring a Donald Duck style protrusion from my right forehead and a severe headache.

You really have to do this sort of trekking and have food cooked on an open camp-fire before you can understand how delicious food can taste even if it does not match up to gourmet standards. That one can enjoy balancing paper plates heaped with rice and sambar while standing on rocks with a waterfall sleeting down in the background can prove to be difficult to believe otherwise.

The rest of the trek was a repeat of the slippery slithery approach to the waterfall till we reached open grassland from whence the trip to the campsite was a proverbial cake-walk. The campsite itself bordered a gurgling stream and since it was but noon by the time we reached it there was lots of time to keep the kids occupied with dumb charades and other such parlor games. But what a parlor to play games in!

Rains had kept off thus far though it was rainy weather. This combination of cloudy and breezy weather without rains was ideal for trekking and we had luck all through the two days with the weather holding its pattern except to bless us with a delicious drizzle every now and then. Add to that the fact that the mist converted the view into an enchanting fairyland that shafts of sunlight caused to glow like a huge gem.

The next day’s trek was down to Kemmangundi and we were walking in this fairyland through the mists. It was like walking through clouds and – who knows – maybe they were the clouds as seen from below. One of the problems with trekking is that you climb down to hill stations like Kemmangundi instead of traveling up. This, then, ensures that you feel let down by the hill station for it cannot match up with the views that you have already seen.

We took a little diversion to go to the ruins of a British fort and it was a thrill to see tiles made in the 19th century lying around. Thereafter we trekked down to Kemmangundi in relative ease till we reached a steep and slushy slope that had to be negotiated. With my customary grace and elegance I sat down on the path and traveled down on all fours in order to avoid a speedier descent than may have proved comfortable to me as well as those traveling before me.

The last stretch was too difficult and, so, the organizers strung up a rope so that one could hold on to it and descend in relative comfort. Having so descended we reached civilization. A short walk took us to a local resort where we had our lunch and went in for some rappelling. Descending down vertical cliffs while secured to a rope harness is one of those things that I never thought that I would ever do, leave alone enjoy, but it so happens that I do find it enjoyable.

Any trek feels anticlimactic when it ends. Like most things that we do for the joy of doing, it left one feeling that the experience had ended too soon. Well! There is always the next one!

A trek to Nagalapuram

Why does one go on a trek? A break from the monotony of city life? To enjoy a tryst with nature? To see sights that one cannot otherwise see? Difficult to answer since there are times when a trek seems to be all strain and no rewards and, yet, one returns from the trek with an indefinable sense of satisfaction.

This trek to Nagalapuram is difficult to describe because one is unable to answer the most common questions that are normally asked about a trek. For example there is no answer to the question of where we did go to since there was no concrete goal – a waterfall, the top of a peak or even a temple – which was achieved. Nor indeed can one cite the height to which one climbed since we ascended only to descend and then walked along a stream bed. Was it a pleasant stroll in verdant surroundings? Not at all since the most part of the trek was jumping boulder to boulder and, thus, one was constrained to look at where one was placing his feet rather than taking in the sights.

The drive from Chennai to Nagalapuram – with Vinod and Chandru - was fun for the usual reason – great company. Once there, we had to walk about 3 Kms to reach the starting point of the trek. As usual, there were some good Samaritans who directed us with such great effect that we meandered all over the landscape before arriving at a waterfall (a mild apology for one since it was composed of minor trickles flowing down a rocky outcrop) which was to serve as the starting point of the trek. A small cave with a Shivling and a Nandi served a temple at the right end of the pool at the base of the waterfall.

Vinod and I, as usual, were into the water without any more ado. Vinod successfully climbed up the rock outcrop to the top of the waterfall in his customary exhibition of a reversal of the evolutionary process. Little did I know that I would have to later emulate this feat, in a minor way, as the day progressed!

Having done with the bathing, the three of us wended our way up the hillock that bordered the waterfall. Loose stone and nettles made it a reasonable painful process with Chandru complaining humorously that the whole process was a conspiracy to convert him to a bag of bones. I was too busy slipping and slithering to come up with witty repartee (at least I had an excuse for not being witty…normally I have no excuse to cover up my lack of wits!).

Having managed the climb, with little loss to life and limb, Vinod pointed out to what looked like a 75 degree incline and said, “Now I think we descend this gradual slope to reach the stream-bed. Let me check first.”

Every now and then one comes across the fact that a word that means one thing to you means something entirely different to another but this mistake in the understanding of the word ‘gradual’ bid fair to reduce Chandru and I into quivering bags of jelly – literally, as Chandru pointed out, since we were contemplating the possibility of a much more rapid descent than Vinod was considering! At this point Chandru refused point-blank from proceeding with what he refuses to accept as a trek! Having sprained a couple of fingers a few days back - while mistaking his staircase for a ski-slope – he had a valid problem. While I was hunting around for a reasonable excuse to drop out Vinod called from below to proceed and, failing an acceptable excuse, I did.

The first twenty feet or so of the ‘gradual slope’ involved walking on loose rock, which made it impossible to maintain a footing. Adopting my customary elegant mode of travel I sat down on the rock-face and slowly slithered down till I reached a place where the footing was better and I had a rock wall to hold on to while descending. Thereafter, the descent assumed the customary level of difficulty and without any great ado I managed to reach the stream-bed and rejoined Vinod.

The problem with frequent treks is that a gurgling stream meandering in the midst of verdant forests seems to be nothing worth writing home about unlike the case in my city-bound days. The sense of ineffable peace that descends on you while trekking in such surroundings was upon me despite the fact that the trekking involved jumping from boulder to boulder more often than not.

This path ought to have been named ‘Butterfly Alley’ as Vinod called it. Every few feet on ran into a big swarm of them in myriad colors. My maiden attempts at amateur photography, however, failed miserably since they just vanished within micro-seconds of my unlimbering my camera. A more camera-shy bunch of beings I have never come across in my life!

The boulder-to-boulder jumping has its pitfalls and once my shoes got wet they started emulating skates. This then meant that the shoes remained permanently wet since at every other step I would skate off the boulder and into the water. This happened so often that Vinod started taking it as the norm in lieu of the concern he exhibited the first couple of times.

We walked (jumped? Skated?) till about 12 PM when we decided to take a dip in a convenient pool there and turn back. There are few pleasures to equal a cool dip after a hot trek and a drink of cool water when you are thirsty. After having pleased ourselves thus we wended our way back.

Vinod was surprised about the difficulty I expressed about the initial descent to the stream bed and asked me to follow him closely in order not to avoid the easy path he had taken. I had no idea that his easy path would lead me to a position where the only way forward was a climb up a near-vertical rock face for about 20-30 feet!

Since flinging myself on the ground and going ‘Waaah!’ was not on considering that we were standing precariously on a six inch wide ledge, there was scant option but to try my rock-climbing skills. Having declined my only opportunity to climb rocks at Ramangaram – with rope harness and all – whatever skills were necessary had to be developed in situ. A chap who is notorious for his two left feet and all-thumbs hands is unlikely to approach any such job with great confidence. Confidence or no, I had the climb to do and I did do it. How I did it is a mystery to me but what it did to me I have since known with all the muscles that I didn’t know existed in my upper body screaming non-stop in pain for the next three days!

The rest of the tale is anti-climactic. We reached the initial waterfall pool with the temple in the corner. While we were taking a dip in the pool, the sun reflected off the pool to the roof of the cave housing the temple and created such an enchanting canopy of light that I couldn’t take my eyes off it for as long as the light show was on!

When I look back on the trek, I can recollect many memorable incidents but nothing that qualifies as a highlight. It is the accumulation of warm moments that made it a joyous experience and not the heights you climbed. Much like life, isn’t it?

Of Power

The sense of Power exists only in the contemplation of its misuse. In other words, a person feels powerful only when he is contemplating the possibility of misusing his position. This looks like a sweeping statement but is no more than the bare fact if one really thinks about it.

There will be little, if any, argument if one were to say that a person who has to choose only one course of action and is bereft of choices is a powerless person. Thus, Power can exist only when the concerned person can choose one course of action from a gamut of choices. A person feels most powerful when the choices he makes can affect other people.

When one talks of power one invariably thinks of politicians and bureaucrats since they are the modern surrogates of Kings and Emperors who were considered the most powerful people in their era. These Public Servants (surely an exhibition of tongue-in-cheek humor to call these people ‘servants’ when they are most likely to consider themselves as masters) are given their positions and their authority in order to serve the public good. If, indeed, they make all their choices for that purpose they are least likely to consider themselves powerful since the decision can no longer be of their choice but will be driven by considerations of public good. Their sense of power comes only because they can exercise their authority to suit their whims. If every action and decision were to be weighed on the scale of public good alone, they would only feel the weight of responsibility. Where the decision of what constitutes public good is based on their judgement the sense of responsibility would be all the more heavy.

There is the much-touted argument about the ‘power to do good’. It is merely a usage of the word ‘power’ to denote capability and not in the sense that denotes a feeling of personal power. The power to give is felt as personal power only when the giver contemplates the fact that he has the power to deny. The chap who delivers the donation cheque to the recipient does not feel powerful since he has no choice but to give it. Thus, even when it comes to giving to social causes, the donor can feel powerful only when he thinks of the fact that he can deny. A sense of power, therefore, comes into being only when the person concerned starts thinking negatively about denying help whimsically. If the Gandhian idea of the wealthy being caretakers is applied, donations/help ought to be given where deserved and exercising your whim to give or to deny counts as misuse.

The adage ‘Power corrupts! Absolute Power corrupts absolutely!’ does not go far enough. A sense of Power in inherently corrupt and any person who seeks personal power is a person who is automatically contemplating its misuse in a greater or lesser degree.

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