Great Himalaya Trail, Thudam to Seduwa | alison young • blissful hiker

GREAT HIMALAYA TRAIL

Section 1, Thudam to Seduwa

We have fabulous weather for Kanch and the big passes, but then we walk straight into a cyclone. It rains for six straight days yet magic appears in unlikely places.

Cyclone Montha puts a damper on things

There are tears, at least from me, when Phil leaves. He is a character with a sharp British wit and someone who does no suffer fools. We share a love for classical music — he even brought a CD player so he could listen to his favorites.

A very strong 70-year-old who has climbed many a Himalayan peak, he has a condition totally unrelated to the hike which makes it especially hard the he has to quit.

I’m amazed I‘m still going! We’re much lower now back in the trees but my cough is still awful and today is an especially hard day. We cross a landslide than traverse on a slippery trail high above the river. I have never seen a valley so high and so narrow. It’s dizzying.

Our climb is intense up 1,000 feet with significant exposure all around. I cough my way through before we stop at a perch with a view of Makalu straight on. Then it’s down and down through bamboo forests and impossible views of crags with no visible trail.

We eventually hit a ruined road where I carefully negotiate a wooden ladder as everyone cheers my descent. The kharka is less a meadow and more a very tight squeeze of buildings. Porters gather in one of the guest houses, drinking and singing and we eat in an extremely smoky room. The thatched roof is designed to let smoke out but no rain in. I can’t imagine this is good for the lungs!

The next day is very steeply down on slippery rock stairs to a huge suspension bridge, then right back up to Chyamtang in the Arun Valley. I love these magnificent metal suspension bridges. From above, it’s a clear shot to a road across the valley that looks to be blocked and unused.

Woman in traditional dress work the millet fields and we come to a sweet village of painted houses surrounded by marigolds and zinnia. Everyone smiles as we pass, holding their hands together in a prayer and saying, “Namaste! Namaste!”

Our wee sight on a terrace above the valley is one of the most lovely we’ve been in so far. Porters set up a game where they flick plastic discs into pockets at the four corners of a board which has been slicked up with corn starch. Laundry is hanging and shoes airing out and we’re all filled with joy not knowing what’s coming next.

How much do I say about the fact that the rain finally arrives. We were so stupidly lucky to have crystal clear weather for Kanch and the passes. Ben told us that in a previous trip he led, they had clouds and mist. So we were due for some rain.

But this is no ordinary rain.

This is a Cyclone. Cyclone Montha which gathered strength in the Bay of Bengal and was ripping through Nepal, flooding out entire villages and dumping feet of snow high above. Before it moves past the country, it leave a wave of destruction including several deaths in the mountains.

Pro tips:

I laughed at my friends who bought over-sized rain ponchos in Kathmandu. But they worked far better than my rain gear!
Pack lots of books and games. You never know when you’ll be stuck due to weather.
Be open to serendipity. Magic is everywhere.

And somehow we’re lucky because we are way down here at 7,000 feet in the jungle, as it were. And because we took that rest day in Ghunsa and let the French go ahead of us, we have the option to stay low and keep moving while they find themselves stuck in drifts.

We all pull out our rain gear and line up according to color before setting off. The porters wear plastic parkas over themselves and their gear and look miserable. I laughed at my friends when they bought cheap ponchos in Kathmandu, but those ponchos worked better than my rain gear and I was soon soaked through.

The trail mostly contours the mountains passing through small villages. Nothing feels too hard, just wet and slick. We climb high up to a chorten, a Tibetan buddhist shrine of stacked rocks so old, moss is growing in its chinks.

We can see Hongon from here, but it is a long way still around, up, steeply down and steeply back up again. And in between is the scariest bit yet of the trail.

For most of the way, the trail is wide as it moves along the side of the steep cliff, but for a short bit there are narrow stairs headed down with a steep drop to the side, 1,000 feet down to the water.

I panic.

This is not my forte at all and I don’t feel as if I have the balance to get past this. Ben puts a sling around my waist and holds me as I descend as Bihm puts his body in front so I can’t even see beyond the next step. And that’s how they get me down, one step at a time, bit by bit until I hit the safe part below.

Would it have been easier in dry weather? Maybe. I feel such the wimp but the men tell me that I kept going and to be proud of myself. Maybe they are just trying to keep me happy, but it works and soon enough we arrive at a little guest house high up on a hill.

There’s no possible way we can set tents in the huge puddles forming in their garden, so quickly they find a way to accommodate the whole lot of us, including every porter, kitchen crew, client and guide. Sure, some slept on the porch, but they were out of the rain and there are plenty of blankets.

Hot soup is served and someone brings out Uno. The porters begin to sing and once the rain lets up, all of us head outside and dance.

I’m going to give it away right now: we get rain for six solid days. There are a few dry moments, but we dare not go up to the high route to Makalu and instead head down into the jungle and skirt the worst of the weather.

All of these routes are local and passable — at least as far as our guides can surmise. So we start by heading to Hatiya Village. It’s a shortish walk on slippery rocks. There’s a building near the school where we find places to sleep on the floor.

In all this rain, I pick up leeches. They’re harmless, but they’re gross. I’m wet, cold, tired, and there’s blood running down my leg. So I take out a wet wipe and clean it up, setting the bloodiness down as I try to get myself set up on the dusty floor.

Without skipping a beat, one of the woman takes a swipe at me for setting down that wipe for two seconds, telling me I need to have some manners and get rid of that right now. What a bitch! It’s not like Nepal has garbage cans handily located. I pick it up and walk out, feeling pretty done in by the rain and by her inability to show an inch of grace.

Anyone who knows me well enough knows that when I get upset, I usually cry. And I did. Hard, for about ten minutes. I’m sure everyone wondered what the hell was wrong with me. Only Ben asks and suggests I get out there as the rain stops for a moment and take a walk.

And, boy, am I glad I did! Because at the end of the cobblestone road there’s a little gazebo. Several local Sherpa women are hanging out, dressing up in traditional outfits and taking pictures of each other.

I dry my tears and say, hi, then take a few photos. Since my camera has a better lens, one of the women takes it from me and starts filming. Then she shows me how to send them to her via WhatsApp using her hot spot.

So much for being out in the middle of nowhere.

Then they insist I dress up so they can film me. Oh, friends, am I ever glad my fellow hiker was such a bitch. It got me out of the building and into this wonderful, amazing, singular, magical, cultural-exchange experience.

And it was all mine!

The terrifying overloaded bus ride on washed out roads from Barun Dovan to Hedanga Gadi.

It is a longish and scary walk to Barun Dovan. I’m passed by a few old ladies in crocs carrying umbrellas and I feel like a wimp. The rocks are slick and at one point, we need to climb over a massive boulder and try not to slip off into the boiling river.

We finally meet a road and a tiny guest house where we all need to bunk up to stay out of the rain. At least there’s a comfortable eating area where we hang out with the resident kittens, loud and demanding.

Nearby is a massive golden buddha and a swing bridge festooned with prayer flags. A decision is made to take a rest day here and wait out the rain. But the weather has other plans, letting up on our day off, and starting again in earnest the minute we plan to leave. <sigh>

But this time, there’s a bus! One that can carry all of us and our gear, if we’re willing to crowd in. Sadly, another one of the group needs to evacuate as his leg is swelling dangerously. He elects to drive out with one of the guides who had only just did a reconnaissance of the high route, only to learn we weren’t going to be able to go that way anyway.

It’s sad to see Steve go, and again, I’m shocked I can keep going.

The bus ride is a godsend as walking all that way on road in the rain would be absolutely demoralizing. We lurch along, picking up locals on the way who end up having to hang on to the outside. The road is nearly destroyed in some places, but carefully placed bamboo seems to be holding it in place as I look over the steep drop-off and wonder how much it would hurt falling down into that chasm.

Our walk is short, but it begins to rain again in earnest and we make it just in time to a school in Ulin, all finding somewhere to sleep on the hard, concrete floor away from the leeches and the damp.

We’re wet and miserable, but on we go, knowing this cyclone has got to clear out eventually. It’s not a long or hard walk to Seduwa, where we finally meet up again with the Makalu trail.

But we’re running out of time. Bihm suggests we just climb to a viewpoint then head home, but many in the group are not happy. Why did we walk such short days during the cyclone? Why did we take a full day off to just sit in Barun Dovan? Why are we allowing the porters to decide how far we can go?

Things get quite tense. The porters are wet, too, tired and demoralized. Some of them have hurt themselves falling or being chaffed by wet shoes. We are no longer on schedule with a rest day on the way back up to Makalu.

And it is very hard to get there. Unlike the trail to Kanchenjunga, this one requires extremely steep climbing up and over Shipton La, with a couple of La’s in between. Then it’s a wildly steep descent down to the Barun River and right back up again.

Originally, we would have met the Barun over a high route, but now we are very low and have to cram all this in what should take seven days into five.

No rest for the weary.

That’s when everyone tries to come up with a plan, one that gives rest where it’s needed, and pushes where we can. We’ll take a short day tomorrow, then a very steep day before going over the passes and heading up past where we had planned to camp.

We’ll all empty out our bags and only take the minimum, and fewer porters will go with us, staying behind to cook and set tents when we return. It’s a gamble, but the weather is supposed to clear.