S

unday, March 31,

2019. The showy
      pheasant monals took
      a peek at me from the
      high mossy boughs of
      golden oaks beyond my reach. A few
      yews faintly challenged the oak rule.
      Negligible undergrowth between tall
      oaks simplified hiking on fat white
      snow highlighting the dark trunks.
      Blue sunny sky peeped shyly from the
      reasonably dense canopies of roundish
      dark brown-yellowish leaves. Barmal
      and Hathi peaks shined between the
      tree trunks.

The canopies minimized the impact

of ultra violet rays directly reflecting

from the snow. Eyes were calm and

comfortable unlike in neighboring Auli

and Gorson where open snow slopes

reflected too much of the rays and

burnt bare eyes.

The frozen Chattarkund

resembled a white saddle

between rolling low snowy

crests. There was no sign

of water in the lake. I had

to fully rely on the guide:

He said that that was the

lake; so that was the lake.

The frozen Chattarkund resembled a

white saddle between rolling low snowy

crests. There was no sign of water in

the lake. I had to fully rely on the guide:

He said that that was the lake; so that

was the lake. He unhesitatingly shared

his experience of falling in the lake to

stop me from walking on the frozen

surface.

On the non-windy day, the lake and the

trail ensured solitude unlike its noisy

neighbor Auli. There were no visitors

except the guide and me. There were

no tents. There were no hikers. So,

there was no slush in the absence of

the repeated trampling. There were

no Maggi stalls. Wintry wilderness

surrounded us. Visibility was hundred

percent.

The snow crumbled under my feet that

rarely sank to the unknown bottom.

Ignorant of what was under the snow

covered path, stones, mud, wood, or

something else, I hiked slowly. Every

time I lifted my foot with extra effort

and kept it ahead carefully on the snow

to avoid sudden inadvertent sinking.

Once or twice my foot ventured so deep

inside that my calf muscles felt cold

touch of the snow. The snow tightly

hugged my shoes. Pulling it out for the

next step demanded extra energy. Yet

most of the times we walked without

poles on about 20 degree snowy slopes

sprinkled with twigs and dry leaves.

(^114)
Volume 4, Issue 1 | June 2019