NO BODA BODA

No Boda Boda!

Inder JIt SIngh

© Inder Jit Singh 2014. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

ISBN: 978-0-615-55427-3

Published by: BOOKWISE (INDIA) PVT. LTD.

© 2011 Inder Jit Singh. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

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A PERSONAL DEDICATION

To my parents, first and foremost - IJ Singh

My sincere thanks go to John Walsh, who was kind enough to write the foreword. Also in the USA, to Dr Jitender Bhandari and Sohail Quraeshi for their critical help, and to Jeffrey Campbell and Denis Sutro for their support.

I would like to thank good friend Joanne Lichtenstein for her patience in poring through an unusual set of stories, and helping improve the content in so many ways. In New Delhi, Preeti Gill gave valuable advice during the early stages.

Lastly, and by no means the least, to all those from Canada, the USA, Germany, the UK, Holland, Australia and other countries who have travelled with TigerPaws, either with me or my father, over thirty years. Many have become lifelong friends and provided us with their photographs, scores of which are featured here. Since many photos were taken so long ago, a general credit list is appended at the end. Kieron Nelson and Eliane Thweate are among the professional photographers who travelled under TigerPaws’ care and made their images available to us. Other names in no way less important are mentioned in the full credit list.

Foreword

It was polo, which has strong origins in the Indian sub-continent, which took me to India. Once there, it was Inder Jit Singh (“IJ” as he is known to friends) who showed me and my family sides of this fascinating country we were otherwise unlikely to have seen.

Upon reading his book No Boda Boda, we see IJ’s great sensitivity and ability to interpret India to the western traveler, as well as his tremendous sense of humor. In addition, we experience his work and commitment to environmental issues in India, and bringing home to both domestic and international audiences the pressing issues ‘Mother India” faces in this world. With his three decades of handson experience working in the over two dozen regional states in India (collectively featuring over 200 distinct languages and 600 dialects), it is no wonder that IJ showed great ability in conducting unique sporting leisure holidays in other continents, especially Africa and South America.

Uniquely, IJ understands rarely seen facets of a great country that has only now captured the imagination of the world, from the perspective of someone who has always been close to nature and indigenous people in the Indian Sub Continent out of environmental complacency.

Since America is now a key partner with India in defense, business and trade, India’s long-term ecological health should be of interest to wide-reaching audience. IJ’s humorous travel anecdotes, perspectives on the keen outdoor traveler and parallel to the Buddhist Wheel of Life are seen in IJ’s own journey. In conveying all that he has in this very unusual book, IJ has endeavored to keep the bar high, in the footsteps of a family that has strived for exemplary service to ones fellows. He is an interesting and good man, and No Boda Boda is a wonderful journey.

JOHN WALSH

Palm Beach, Florida

22nd August 2011

Introduction

No Boda Boda comprises IJ Singh’s unusual journeys and travel experiences in remote wilderness territories around the world. A pioneer in ecotourism and adventure sporting traveler in India since 1979, the author has written narratives that feature India’s remote and little-known corners, as well as vignettes from Pakistan, Nepal, Tibet, Jordan, Africa, and the Americas. Positioned as an adventure travel facilitator and specialist based in both India and later in North America, and serving an elite international audience from across the globe, IJ has experience spanning three decades of travel from 1980 to 2010. The narratives transport us from the last of “old-world travel” in humorous autobiographical and narrative form, to the doorway of the very serious impact of biodiversity threat in India from its own national development.

The threat to biodiversity also touches upon the threat politically from across India’s borders. These are shared with the reader as seen from the author’s own personal experiences and perspectives gained on “the Great Game” (the international geopolitical and strategic machinations of nations, whose ambitions and territories converge around Tibet, at the Roof of the World), of which he has always been a student. Being played out in the mountain territories, where many of IJ’s narratives take place in the book, the specific and current versions of the Great Game focus on what the author refers to as “the Chinese Checkerboard” and the Tibet factor.

With the added aim of being informative and useful, the last section of the book features the author’s pick of favorite journeys, both on foot and on horseback, from different parts of the world.

IJ’s concluding musings reflect the plight and the opportunities his industry faces in the land of his birth, the world’s largest democracy and second-largest emerging economy. The “lessons learned” (and being implemented on the Upper Ganges at the his residence at Spashram RiverMountain) are also shared with the reader as an indication of the road ahead in sustainable ecotourism.

of Fire & Ice .........................................................................................................................60

♦ Travels and Travails in Kashmir, Zanskar, and Ladakh; Encounters with Nature, Eccentric Travelers, and Others .............................................................................................62 ◊ Wakefield & Wakefield ......................................................................................................62

◊ Each Man to His Own: A Question of Survival—and Odd Women .............................69

◊ Trapped with Three American Ladies from Texas ..........................................................71

◊ Escaping the Talons of a Lammergeier, the Bearded Vulture; No Escape from Chang, Mountain Barley Brew .........................................................................................73

◊ Two Narrow Escapes for a Young Lady in Kashmir’s Wilds............................................75

◊ The Alpine Lakes Trek in Kashmir...and One Big Mountain Thunderstorm That Became Two..............................................................................................................77

◊ A Cat’s Nine Lives on Himalayan Roads and Other Incidents .....................................79

◊ Encounters Over the Zoji La..............................................................................................79

◊ No Brakes and Blind Man’s Bluff , on the Banihal Pass ..................................................83

◊ Blue Tents and Tin Tanks in the High Himalaya ...............................................................85

◊ Stok ~ The Royal Palace, and the Village of Ladakh ....................................................86

◊ 1,800 Kilometers on an Italian Vespa From New Delhi to Kashmir and Back .............90

♦ Adventures in the Garhwal Himalaya .................................................................................. 91

◊ Lost in the Garhwal While Heading to the Source of the Ganges in Winter ..............91

◊ Quirky Englishmen and Again, the Source of the Ganges ...........................................94

◊ More on Language: A Foreign Journey; I Make a Language Gaffe with a Young British Lady ..............................................................................................................97

♦ Rats! ...........................................................................................................................................98

♦ Expedition “Himalayan Hunter” .............................................................................................99

♦ Annapurna Base Camp in Three Rather Important American Ladies on a Winter Trek ~ Nepal ............................................................................................................................106

♦ Mountains Across the Border ~ Into Pakistan’s Northern Territories ..................................108

♦ And Then, Another Continent ~ Experiences in the American State of West Virginia ..121

8 The Sublime and the Ridiculous in the Indian Jungle ............................................123

♦ Highland Tribes of Orissa and Central India ........................................................................124

♦ Escaping the Barbed Arrow of the Bonda ..........................................................................125

♦ A Witch Doctor at Work ........................................................................................................127

♦ A Corrupt Canteen Contractor at Jim Corbett National Park ~ The Ridiculous Indian Babudom ................................................................................................................................129

♦ Elephant Journeys, and Racing Through the Jungles of Central India on an Elephant, Startled by a Tiger Startled by the Elephant .......................................................................132

♦ The Beauty of the Indian Jungle: What Was and What Could Be: Sariska .....................135

And Then, a River: Vignettes from a Slow Boat Down the Ganges .......................123

Short Lowland Desert Adventures In India’s Gujrat and Rajasthan, and Jordan’s Baida Country ............................................................................................................143

♦ Desert Journeys in Gujrat’s Great Raan of Kutch ..............................................................144

♦ Thee Hungry Lion of Gir Forest; Camping Experiences Around Junagadh, Gir, and Diu Island .................................................................................................................................145 ♦ Rajasthan: ThPushkar Fair, from Disaster to Accolade .......................................................152

Seeing the World from Horseback: Riding & Polo Safaris in Faraway Places ......157

♦ The Horse in Indian Culture ...................................................................................................160

♦ Rajasthan in the Monsoon Can Be a Veritable Paradise ..................................................169

♦ Almost at the Mercy of a Roguish Fief and His Equally Roguish Horses ...........................182

♦ Jordan: Riding in the Biblical Country of the Baida ...........................................................184

♦ Horses and the Jungles of Africa .........................................................................................186

♦ A Kenyan Journey .................................................................................................................190 ♦ South Africa ............................................................................................................................193 ♦ Botswana, the Okavango Delta ..........................................................................................196

♦ Rugby School Plays Polo in South Africa .............................................................................207

♦

♦ The Way Things Are, and the Way Th ey Really Should Be in an Emerging India

♦ The Government’s Department of Road and Surface Transportation, and Forest Department ............................................................................................................................234

♦ Author’s Brief Case Study: The Nanda Devi Biosphere Reserve: Observations on the Aurit Trek to the Valley of Flowers and Hemkund Lake: References

♦

♦

♦ The Maharaja and Maharani’s Polo & Horseback Safari Jodhpur ..................................274 ♦ Africa: The Okavango Delta, Botswana, with PJ and Barney Biestlink ............................279

♦

♦

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Changes to the Second Edition-2013

The second edition is vastly improved thanks to the sophisticated editoral skills of Joanne Lichenstein. In addition, the font style lends a special character to the book. There have also been a few touches to the cover, which make for a more pleasing visual look,along with corrections to image captions. The Index has been removed for now, as the Table of Contents includes geographical naming.

Praise for No Boda Boda!

I am amazed at your travels and adventures in far away places, at home and abroad. Quite, in keeping with the lust for adventure travel, like a true sikh!

~Dr. MS Gill Member of Parliament (India), ex United Nations advisor, Author, Mountaineer, and technocrat

Inder Jit Singh ("I.J.") is a gem of a storyteller, and has written a cornucopious memoir/ travelogue, "No Boda Boda" which takes in history, adventure, ecology and more.

~Palash Dave-Documentary Film Maker, and Book Critic

The travel yarns Inderjit Singh has woven together in “No Boda Boda!” are thrilling and utterly absorbing. He sees different landscapes as only someone with his history and background could, and he conveys what he sees with attention and wit. Completely charming.

~ Rana Dasgupta – Author

Inder Jit Singh is a remarkable, self-made adventurer, who combines a passion for the environment with his love of outdoor sports. Whether he is exploring forest cultures, tracking giraffes on horseback, shooting the rapids on Himalayan rivers, or playing polo in exotic locales, his stories crackle and glow like a good campfire.

~ Stephen Alter - Author

“No Boda Boda!” is a provocative, endearing and humorous account of IJ Singh’s journeys through the most remote destinations in the world.

~ Hemani Hughes - Travel Enthusiast

You are an individual that has opened the door to many people’s world perception. Glad for the opportunities you created for me to travel to the world’s wild places.

~ Ellen Jackson - California USA

As his book reveals, besides other talents, IJ has done much for international polo by starting the concept of poloholidays on the worldwide web since 1997, and initiating novices from all over the world to international destinations.That he was only able to take up his own polo seriously at the age of 47 shows the addiction of the fascinating sport, and indeed IJ’s own grit.

~ Julian Hipwood - International Polo Player

Chapter 1 Endgame?

End of One Journey, Beginning of Another

For a small reward, a man will hurry away on a long journey; while for eternal life, many will hardly take a single step.

- Thomas a’ Kempis (1380–1471)

Tawang village / town; Arunchal Pradesh, India

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The masters have always said so, and most of us have read so, but until one actually experiences it, the full realization is not felt.

Life is truly a “journey toward realization,” and even a hardened traveler, for whom the thrill of physical challenge, danger and natural discovery is the overriding objective, will no doubt see parallels at many a bend and turn, ending with an overhauling of normal material thought. Such it has been for me as well, in varying degrees.

A longtime friend of mine from California, Denis Sutro (he and his wife, Anne Carver, were also important characters in my life because they encouraged me to pursue ecotourism in the Garhwal Himalaya at a critical hour), once said, “Inder Jit, what I admire about you is that whatever life dishes out, you end up making a meal of it.”

Upon viewing the lifetime’s worth of trip photographs adorning my wall, another person I met (a military officer commanding India’s presidential bodyguard), said “What amazing energy!”

Although I would like to think of these as suitable epitaphs, I must confess that at critical moments, it was my father who pulled off some of the greatest coups for my company. At the age of sixty-six, he had to take my place (on account of my absence from India while in Canada) and coordinate up to the roadhead a serious mountaineering expedition to Mount Kedar Dome (see story) for the Royal Air Force. I provided only the initial planning.

At the age of seventy-seven, my father led a group of twenty-two Germans to Chitral and Swat (where, once again, I confined my role to the initial reconnaissance and pre-trip setup), and at the age of eighty-two led another group of twenty-five Germans (both groups being from the company SDP Reisen GmbH in Berlin) for a private audience with His Holiness the Dalai Lama in the latter’s home in exile, in McLeodganj. At eighty-three, he took a group to Nagaland (which he claims will be the last time he does it), both on account of other involvements of mine and his own popularity.

Some of my clients would say, “Inder Jit, you are a hard taskmaster. You don’t even spare your father!” But for sheer force of will and undying devotion to duty to ensure the company delivered what was promised and more, every last copper, resource and effort was put in. This is hardly the way businesses are run. But the tremendous goodwill and reputation earned could come about only with such sacrifices.

I remember running a team-building and leadership program for American Express around 1994, one of the first such in India at the time. I took my father up to “be around.” The visitors knew him by rank and gave him due courtesy. After a field task, I was engaged with them at lunch, and we were all taken aback to see my father lending a hand in the diner! This act made a serious impression on the young executives, who agreed, “What a tremendous man! He, for all his rank and position (he retired as a senior major general, who commanded the Military College of Telecommunication Engineering), has not fallen back in helping out his staff.”

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It is an important lesson for all of us. The Sikh philosophy of “community service, kitchen service, and humbleness” and the North American work ethic of dignity of labor were both displayed in acts like this by “Surjit,” and it is what has endeared him to people around the world.

My mother played the supportive role by taking a great interest in my father’s trips, and ensuring he was well looked after at home. For the trip with the Dalai Lama, I went ahead, while he stayed behind and awake without sleep the last two nights before the group arrived, preparing for their dispatch. Once again, my mother said, “I have never seen him work so hard.” But I knew this was the way he was trained (I saw this as a seven-year-old when I had to spend a couple of nights in his bunker as the Pakistani Raiders infiltrated Kashmir, where I had gone to spend a vacation), and he always acted with a display of equanimity.

I could call my father at six-thirty in the morning on the day of travel, his voice always had energy and he always said, “No, I’m not tired,” even at the age of eighty-two.

The implicit trust that my father and I placed in each other was very special and not something easily experienced, especially in business. These are many of the lessons that the endgame has delivered, before the next leg begins. Today it is this trust and self-sacrifice on the part of my parents and family, including my wife Jasleen, that allow me to pursue the concept that is Spashram.

Spashram is the “endgame” for me, for this is where I see the “way ahead”. It is in this place that my three decades of experience, travel, wanderlust, interacting with remote tribal communities and working on ecotourism projects in some of the world’s most threatened biodiversity hotspots (like Arunachal Pradesh and Sikkim in northeastern India) will allow me to implement a worthy role model for India to emulate in grappling with the forces of development and the need to maintain natural harmony.

Opposite

Village longhouses, Nagaland, India

Chapter 2

The “Great Game”On a Chinese Checkerboard

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The Indian Himalaya, where many of my narratives are set, are largely met by China (and Tibet) on the other side. I have, therefore, in the larger realm of crosscultural travel, indigenous people and cultures, included my own perspectives on the “Great Game” (see definition in introduction) as I see it being played by China today. I feel that Chinese machinations, on such a large and sensitive border and swath of territory, are of great import.

Ever since my youthful journeys with troops of the Assam Rifles in heavily armed convoys, accompanying my father on his extensive journeys into the northeast of India (Nagaland, Arunachal Pradesh, Meghalaya, Manipur, Assam, and Tripura), my interest in Himalayan frontier travelled to studying the Great Game and the annals of frontier explorers, whether Francis Younghusband, Thomas Thomson, Henrich Harrer, Alexandra David Neel, and others. This led to excelling in political history and geography at school before I entered college. Combined with my close association with military culture and lore, this led in turn to developing a lay but very keen interest in Chinese government policy, Chinese military incursions, the Sino-Indian War of 1962, including the Chinese intrusion in Arunachal Pradesh, its fallout in India, and the issue of Tibet. The rest, as they say, is history.

Our 2010 audience with His Holiness the Dalai Lama gave me added insight into Chinese conduct along the Indo-Tibetan Himalayanscape. The opportunity for this once in a lifetime meeting occurred as a result of my father’s experience. I cajoled out of him the story (see page 41) of his role in the escape of the Dalai Lama into India. I presented a unique a travel idea to our German clients, with the support of the Dalai Lama’s office, who helped provide an exclusive and historic audience.

This added insight came about when His Holiness elaborated on incidents and information not easily available to the general public, especially with China’s constant attempts to block, obfuscate and influence media, and electronically infect computer systems. Although this book is largely an anecdotal account of unusual journeys, I feel that by sharing very briefly my own perspectives on this subject, I will be giving the reader a personalized, current political view, singular though it may be. I hope these insights (including sometimes forgotten Indian military lore in need of resurrection but nevertheless a part of Indian culture) will help the lay reader appreciate a broader understanding of India.

This perspective also briefly touches upon Indian societal failings, along with worrisome Chinese intent and action. As China expands rapidly into Africa, Argentina, Mexico and other territories, I hope that readers in these places will learn from the Indian experience and at least use the principle of “trust, but verify,” as India’s prime minister Dr. Singh quotes Ronald Reagan, the late US President. This is also meant to bring attention to the close historical affiliation, or rather synonymity, that India and Tibetan Buddhism have, the plight of Tibetan culture, and the vulnerability of Indian outposts, and therefore the cultural and natural biodiversities of those outposts. Lastly, it is meant to show the unique perspective and knowledge lent to me by my early interests and chosen field, and that can be acquired by young people entering it.

This trip and the audience with His Holiness reflected in part our own continuum, as well as transformations that led to a change in trip types. After all the hardcore adventure, this trip’s in-depth interaction with the Tibetan government in exile was starkly different. Seeing their bitter struggle firsthand, their exemplary role-model conduct as a community abroad, and learning about His Holiness the Dalai Lama and his community’s philosophy of international human understanding, where all other religions are meant to converge, is a logical conclusion to the journey begun in 1979. This type of trip, along with the village medi-voluntourism trips we have commenced with the schools from America, and the very concept of Spashram RiverMountain, show the positive role that travel as a profession can play, and indeed how my own travel motivations have been tempered over the years.

His Holiness with his entourage and AR military escort at

His Holiness decades later with members of the Fighting Fifth

At Ziminthang enroute to Tawang

Surwa Samba enroute to Ziminthang

5th AR troops escort His Holiness from Tawang to Lokra

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The audience with His Holiness the Dalai Lama was memorable. The previous day, and indeed the previous year, had been one of preparation. At one stage two months before May 5, 2010, the day we were to be granted our audience, we were informed the appointment was in jeopardy because US President Barack Obama wanted to meet with His Holiness on the very same date. We were in a bind, since our German clientele had signed up for the trip for this purpose more than any other, yet we became pawns of the powers that be. We prepared to adjust the trip and hold the audience in New Delhi, while His Holiness was en route to the United States. Fortunately, we were blessed with compassion, and with the holding of his previously given “word” to us. It says much of this man who is the Dalai Lama.

On the appointed day, we walked into the vast courtyard housing the grand temples, opposite the Dalai Lama’s private residence. All were body searched, and both Tibetan and Indian security officials were present. We learned that the Indian government took full responsibility for His Holiness’s security, and the Tibetan staff provided a liaison presence.

I had taken my (then) seven-year-old daughter Samira along. Three generations were present: my father, myself and my daughter, along with my wife, Jasleen, and sister Anjali. We were not sure whether he would sign autographed copies of his portrait picture for all of us. I had my daughter draw a card reading “Tashi Delek [the Tibetan greeting], Your Holiness,” and she added two hearts, followed by her name. I was in the back row, while Samira sat in the front row with the guests, holding her card, two portrait copies, and a pen. As His Holiness walked in, he bowed and greeted everyone in his inimitable style, then turned and looked around to see the little girl behind him. He patted her head, and without hesitation she handed him all three items! He smiled but did not take them. At that moment, I saw firsthand the astuteness of this great man. He was fully conscious of the fact that the German delegation of the Social Democratic Party and its leader were to be accorded first priority.

Later, of course, he fussed over and blessed Samira, indeed more than once. My sister, a serious practitioner of yogic meditation, asked for help in her spiritual endeavors. The Dalai Lama put the palm of his hand under her chin for a transference of energy (shakti), and I recalled reading The Autobiography of a

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Yogi, in which the Master makes a similar “transference” of concentrated energy by striking his fist on his disciple’s chest. My daughter and I received his blessing while performing a low bow, in Indian fashion. The traditional Tibetan practice was to fully prostrate oneself, but this is not something displayed by the diaspora now, for being a democrat, he would be embarrassed. Later, we learned of the huge and early effort of the Dalai Lama in democratizing the Tibetan nation, the well-established Tibetan identity before the Chinese invasion and such instruments as passport, flags, postage stamps, and more (none of which were supported by the comity of nations, much to their shame). We also saw the wisdom and the democratic nature of His Holiness when he and his colleagues worked with the zealous and energetic Tibetan Youth Congress, even while differing with their approach. The Dalai Lama and his government wanted full autonomy within the Chinese Constitution, and indeed 82 percent of the Tibetan diaspora wanted it. Not agreeing to it showed up the Chinese for being hypocritical. Allowing for such autonomy would not only stop the cultural genocide of Tibetans in Tibet, but transform greater China.

During the meeting with the Dalai Lama, as well as later with the Prime Minister of the Tibetan government in exile, my interest in political geography and military history allowed me to engage on such subjects as the ideology of the Chinese government. We learned how Tibet (which was one fourth the size of China) was, after being forcibly taken over, misrepresented completely and deliberately when the Chinese asked the international community, “Would you give up onefourth of your territory?”

Author and his daughter with His Holiness the Dalai Lama

Author’s father meeting His Holiness the Dalai Lama, more than half a century after the historic event of the latter’s entry into India

he Tibetan Youth Congress’s response to China quotes a Chinese proverb: “A lie repeated a thousand times becomes a truth.” I have realized that Chinese goals and ambitions have remained unchanged in spite of changes in dynasty, whether from royal to Communist, from Mao to the Gang of Four, and thereafter. This is the sinister side of Chinese ideology of which we must be very aware.

The Indian position on China was often seen as weak, and the visit of the President of India in May 2010 was used by the Chinese to extract an Indian promise that “Tibet was an integral part of China” and, further, that Indian soil would not be used for anti-Chinese activities. We also learned of Tibetan refugees being shot in cold blood when trying to escape from Tibet into India, and saw video reprints of the macabre killings in the snows. We learned of how the Chinese government was stemming the flow of child refugees by forcing Tibetan government officials who wanted to send their children to India to desist, with the threat of losing their jobs.

Our sojourn in McLeod Ganj, where His Holiness resides and from which the Tibetan government in exile functions, included visits to other institutions as well. It was impressive to see the Tibetan community at work, especially in their schools. Most of the toddlers were orphans, therefore “foster mothers” are appointed to look after these young children. The children were most impressive in their classrooms. For instance, when asked to sing, they did so without a prompt. Most sang without pausing from their writing or indeed reading, a tremendous display of focus and concentration, and something modern Indian schools, and others, should learn from. It was very touching as well.

The Dalai Lama left the next day for the United States for his meeting with President Barack Obama. We held discourse with the Tibetan government in exile, including their erudite prime minister.

In all that I say, I should hasten to add, lest there be any misconception, that the Chinese community in India is entirely distinct and removed from political or ideological brotherhood with their past homeland, and I refer merely to Communist China’s government.

The same China factor relates strongly to the region where I grew up, as well

(Arunachal Pradesh, mentioned earlier in the context of my formative years in the northeast of India, part of the once labeled NEFA - North East Frontier Agency - where I visited when but a schoolboy). The region is once again in the spotlight today on account of the recent Chinese claims upon that territory. The average Indian of the plains is utterly oblivious to the Chinese threat to India, just as he or she is insensitive about our ancient peoples and tribals of the same region.

As a student of the Great Game and related military expeditionary forays, exploration and adventurism by the British and Chinese, and someone who has traveled and worked in India’s northeast, I hope this chapter will shake the complacent Indian out of his stupor. He may be shocked to know that the Chinese “system” is ever relentless in its goals. This is a system that, on Christmas Day 2009, awarded political dissident Liu Xiaobo an eleven-year sentence, showing the West that China will continue to crack down on those like Liu who ask for the implementation of Charter 8 (in itself not more than what is contained in the Chinese Constitution and basic fundamental rights).

Why do I feel strongly about this, and what is the relevance to this book? Quite simply, as the world’s natural resources shrink more and more, China will become proportionately aggressive. I grew up reading about and traveling to the frontier Himalayan regions bordering China. For me, this intertwined places, cultures and battles fought far away, brought alive whenever I traversed these territories as “an Indian.” From these experiences, I drew lessons that I wish to now share.

The 1962 Chinese backstabbing invasion into Walong in Arunachal Pradesh (where I coordinated a first descent for the Second Mountain Artillery Brigade on the Lohit River) was preceded by a similar incident almost a century before, when the Chinese left marker flags there. The British did not help matters, as they merely planted their flags alongside. Indians should remember the incredible bravery and loss of Indian life in 1962, and insist on an apology from China, if for no other reason that the Chinese mouthed the famous “Hindi-Chini bhai-bhai” slogan before their infamous backstabbing.

In this regard, students of political history will recall that, not too long ago, the Chinese insisted on an apology from the Japanese for their “rape of Nanking.” It is, therefore, not too late for India to do the same and show it can be tough.

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Complacent Indians should look at history for a lesson, and know it is not merely the current Dalai Lama who was forced to flee Chinese aggression, but also his predecessor in 1907-08. This relentless and sustained pursuit of illegal objectives is an example for modern India to bear in mind of the Chinese.

Again, when the state of Arunachal Pradesh (where I traveled during my formative and early career years, where my father served, and for which I therefore have a deep affinity) is in the gun sights of Communist China by way of its mischievous claims (about which the average Indian is so complacent), one cannot help but find the intent greedily ambitious.

Arunachal, in fact, has ancient archeological sites and references dating to the Bhagvata and Vishnu Puranas, and is inextricably linked to ancient Hindu mythology. The immense delta where its rivers meet at Tezu is called Parameshwar Kund (as classical a name from ancient Hindu mythology as one could have). This is something the Chinese and every Indian plainsman, including those who feel the tribals of the northeast are a “different and un-Indian people,” should be made aware.

Traveling extensively on trek in Ladakh (another part of the Indian Himalaya) and experiencing its inhospitable terrain, inspired me to read about the battle of Rezang La. This was followed by my travels to Jodhpur and Rewari on a horse safari, and learning how the heros of Rezang La, Major Shaitan Singh of Jodhpur and the Ahirs of Rewari, became icons to their own people, as well as in Kumaon (the regiment to which these men belonged). The love of lore and the on-ground travel showed me different worlds merged into one India, all for fighting under one banner for the noblest of causes against a mistrustful enemy. (See map on opposite page).

How, then, can one not be moved and influenced in thought? Let us travel back in time and take a peek into a piece of military history. Of the 120 defenders in the Ladakh battle of Rezang La at Chushul (17,000 ft / 5181 m), only three survived, seriously wounded. The rest, including Major Shaitan Singh (who was awarded the Param Vir Chakra), were discovered after the winter, frozen, most holding their weapons but with no ammunition. This was a genuine “last man, last round” defense. Of the 120 soldiers, 114 were Haryanavi Ahirs.

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This battle inspired Chetan Anand’s (1964) gut-wrenching classic movie Haqeeqat, starring Dharmendra and Balraj Sahni. About this horrific battle, MajorGeneral Ian Cardozo, in his book Param Vir, Our Heroes in Battle, writes, “When Rezang La was later revisited after the winter snows had thawed and a shepherd had stumbled upon the site, revealing dead jawans frozen in the trenches, still holding on to their weapons ... every single man of this company was found dead in his trench with several bullet or splinter wounds. The 2-inch mortar man died with a bomb still in his hand. The medical orderly had a syringe and bandage in his hands when the Chinese bullet hit him ... Of the thousand mortar bombs with the defenders, all but seven had been fired and the rest were ready to be fired when the (mortar) section was overrun.”

The heroes awarded the Vir Chakra in 1962 defending Rezang La, were Naik (Corporal) Hukum Chand (posthumous), Naik Gulab Singh Yadav, Lance-Naik Ram Singh (posthumous), Subedar (Junior Commissioned Officer) Ram Kumar and Subedar Ram Chander. All hailed from the Rewari district of Haryana, where a Rezang La memorial has been placed for them in Gudiani village. (See map on previous page).

All Indians should remember such acts and put aside their narrowminded casteism, which my travels have shown me is sadly very much alive. A young man of the Bhati lineage from Jodhpur, who once helped me with horse logistics on the riding safari from Jodhpur to Kumbalgarh, was a “rajput” who made demeaning remarks about the “jats.” He was also one to laud Major Shaitan Singh’s heroism, for the latter too belonged to the famous Bhati clan, and to Jodhpur.

If only this young man had read the full history of the account, he would have realized that his icon, as well as those he looked down upon, had fought side by side in one of India’s most glorious battles. Our safaris in Rajasthan relied on both the pastoral Gujjar community and the regal Rajputs; one is the custodian of the outdoors along with forest communities, and the other the custodian of a proud history.

Incidents like the recent Gujjar agitations in Rajasthan are indicative of an inequitable balance of resources and reflective of the major divides that exist. It is these divides, which also reveal themselves when one travels on safari, that

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countries like China wish to exploit, and of which Indians should be very aware. Chinese theories propound on the fragmentation of India, and support to the violent Maoists in territories that have a rich human and natural biodiversity all form part of a pattern, typically Chinese. This poaches on my territory as a traveler in the land of my birth, and therefore I must speak up for it. I say this also for the benefit of the two groups of young Indians, the one urban, the other rural, both often overly parochial and which must broaden their horizons by experiencing India’s multiculturalism.

I began writing this chapter circa November 2009, and was not surprised when the Indian newspapers of January 8, 2010 confirmed that the Chinese have been quietly occupying Indian territory in Ladakh (showing aggressive behavior toward shepherds and destroying their property), especially after India reduced its military strengths on the Indo-Sino border. This reduction was a result of both a preoccupation with Pakistan and India’s previously experienced, and lately repeated, false sense of complacency about Chinese intent (I refuse to use the term Chinese dragon, as it lends an air of power that freethinking people should not be shy of standing up to).

Of course the Chinese have now gone back to their old positions, as they did in 1962; but seeing India’s rise, there are elements in China, that (according to them) like to “teach India a lesson,” for China is the rising power in Asia and indeed the world. Until China can function as an open society, it should not be considered entirely compatible in the comity of nations, even if it wields military clout and superiority in numbers. Every other day that I edit this section, the China factor throws up something in the “same vein.” The Hindustan Times of July 27, 2010 reported that a Chinese spy was caught at Kibithu, the same area where I ran my white-water rafting expedition on the Lohit River (see chapter X) and where a young soldier’s remains were discovered on July 15 that year, forty-eight years after the Chinese suddenly attacked their friend and neighbor.

Today, Indians should remember that the Chinese government resisted India’s election to the UN Security Council at the last minute. Again, at the time of writing, there is consternation at the very secret and clandestine state-supported China consortia of academics, military elements, and spy networks coming together to penetrate totally the Indian military and intelligence networks. A Canadian

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research group was good enough to share this with the Indian Embassy, because the Canadian government itself refused to do so, perhaps because of Canada’s large Chinese community. As a Canadian passport holder, I find it rather sad that Ottawa did not discharge its duty, as behooved it, while a better sense of ethic prevailed on the University Research Group. The young Indian parliamentarian, Sachin Pilot, thanked this group for its effort, so it will be interesting indeed to closely watch and see how seriously he works in conveying this recent backstabbing to the Indian government. Will he, like others, be compromised because of business interests first? What will it really take for Indians to arise from this complacency? Why should China continue to get away with pretending ignorance?

To the world, India represents both an opportunity and a great distinction, when compared with China. Sneaky ambition or military force is not the Indian way, and it is in India that freedom of thought and of the individual are enshrined. Of course, the last laugh belongs to Lord Ganesh and Goddess Saraswati, as they have entered atheist Communist China, if only to be mass-produced out of toxic materials and sent for consumption in Indian markets. Indians too must await the day when the Chinese feel it is indeed “good joss” to give pride of place to Lord Ganesh and Saraswati, just as Indian homes increasingly feature feng shui bamboo shoots. That we give scant regard to adulterated and toxic materials is the sword hanging over our heads.

If modern India is to free itself of its shackles and not become a victim of history once again, it will have to be very aware of neighboring external ambitions from the northeast and the north. I must equally say, however, that the ancient Chinese culture and civilization is something I greatly respect and admire, and the reader must understand that these are to me two distinct personalities.

One of my important customers was an American of Chinese origin. Mr. Yeh, who had retired as a government academic in the United States, chose to do all the unusual trips he had not taken during his working life. He traveled on unusual safaris I created for him (and sometimes his daughters) in India, Africa, South America, Alaska, and even mainland China. The Yehs were the gentlest and nicest of people. But Mr. Yeh once let slip a remark that got me thinking. It was to the effect that the West had been highly unjust with the Chinese and had made a mockery of them, and that it was greatly resented. From history, one knows that, at least to some extent, this is not untrue. But I hope that the younger Chinese generation will see they were hardly the only ones to be so subjected, have vision to see through the false veil of ill intent of different Chinese “regimes,” and understand that their sense of “connecting” with their past must not be obscured by the reality of uncontrolled ambition at cost to others.

The Wall Street Journal Asia of July 20, 2010 carried an article about the manner in which the Chinese regime variously induces, threatens, and tortures members of the Chinese diaspora overseas and their kin on the mainland. This is one reason why cases of espionage have occurred more than once in the United States within the Chinese community working with US space, military, or similar organizations. This is starkly opposed to the Indian diaspora, which has rarely if ever been involved in such activity for the “motherland.” It shows the manner in which the two nations function. Again, the Wall Street Journal of July 21, 2010 mentions how, for the first time, European business leaders have begun to speak out against Chinese government policy, which is “less friendly towards foreign companies that have staked their future on China.” The same paper of that date, in another article quotes the US government sources as giving deference to China by not conducting a naval exercise in the Yellow Sea, arousing the concern of many Americans.

The way I read it, China plays on the fears of other nations to capitalize on its “bad boy” reputation. Being “badder” than the rest, as they say, allows them to enter territories where others fear to tread, hence its close involvement with rogue states. Unfortunately, as Edmund Burke said, “All that is necessary for the forces of evil to win in the world, is for enough good men to do nothing,” and this is especially true of the manner in which the rest of the world deals with China.

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Commerce is the ultimate decider. In the Indian context, the young Indian urbanite seduced by modern China should see past the “Chimera,” even while being ready for “Chindia.” Indians must learn to call on the same patriotism that they put into cricket, and form a realistic image of China.

Also, India will need to rely even more than it already does on voluntary efforts like Ela Bhatt’s SEWA (the Self Employed Women’s Association; the word sewa also translating into the vernacular to mean “community service”), and look beyond the financial bottom line of individuals and corporations. The definition of bottom line will have to be redefined, and will need to take biodiversity threats, especially from China, into account.

In the Hindustan Times of July 30, 2010, the articulate Manish Tiwari, member of Parliament and lawyer, wrote a very cogent and incisive short article on China’s strategic ambitions and its energy and economic compulsions, and pointed out correctly that for India, China will be one of the foremost “strategic dilemmas” in the twenty-first century. The article also questions whether China will be able to manage the internal challenges that will arise (and indeed are arising) in the march toward poverty eradication and economic growth, for this cannot be achieved without growth in other spheres, such as individual expression and fundamental rights. Mr. Tiwari ends his piece with the question “Does India have the intellectual capacity and structures to engage in the rigours of a dynamic multilayered and nuanced relationship?”

My own aim in projecting China’s position through my experience of frontier travel and history, and perspectives of the Great Game on the Chinese Checkerboard, is to help the average Indian understand the need for capacity building intellectually, and in nuancing the relationship with China, as Mr. Tiwari suggests.

I felt the convergence of thought and ideology after our audience with the Dalai Lama. The cultural genocide is what India’s tribal communities featured in this book experience from a different enemy, such as the “insensitive” mining corporations. I use the word insensitive with the intention of allowing for more visionary mining corporations, like the one that Jamshed Tata founded and needs greater emulation. Opposite Modern Angami tribal man

Chapter 3

Prosperity a Challenge, Travel a Teacher

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An ancient militarist said it was good to have an enemy or two. Why? Because even though prosperity brings empowerment, it brings complacency as well. Thus, it is indeed disconcerting in the India of today, as it “progresses,” that one of the fallouts of individual emancipation and empowerment is the lack of acknowledgment among the rising Indian middle class of role models, and by extension, appreciation of one’s fellow, thus greatly weakening national character. They then have to learn anew such arts as corporate social responsibility and business ethics, at expensive business schools.

I recall conducting a team-building and leadership program for one of the world’s leading multinationals’ India office, led by an asinine money manager. He obviously felt that speaking to my field staff in a demeaning manner was his prerogative. I had to pull him aside and explain to him that he needed to have more respect for my guide, as his “financial worth” was equal to the sum total of the insured values of the combined corporate team. It was this guide’s action or inaction on the river expedition that really held the balance!

It is precisely the kind of individual like the money manager, whose only value system was pure business and sense of an individual’s worth strictly “financial,” who is a detriment to the concept of corporate social responsibility. This is at odds with our audience, and of the needs of emerging economies such as India, or indeed any “mature society.” It was not surprising, then, to hear from Ajit Sahgal, one of the finest and most able of corporate heads, who headed Philip Morris in India, that he later had to give this very man the boot.

Traveling throughout India helped me bond with people from every part of the country, and I never felt local to any one place in mind-set or outlook. India’s diversity is like a myriad of different nations. Today, I find it easy to interact with any culture from any part of the world, because of this background.

With hindsight and experience, the diversity of culture that I have been able to experience has also shown the numerous areas of convergence of people’s individual thoughts and aspirations, juxtaposed with the divergence in the ideologies of nations.

This is the challenge ahead, and the “modern traveler” can be a harbinger of proactive and positive change.

Dedication: The Responsibility We Bear

In November 2009, the prime minister of India, Dr. Manmohan Singh, acknowledged publicly that the tribals of India have not received their fair share and due as modern India marches onward. Those of us in the field of adventure, ecotourism and outdoor travel had long known this, and we too, along with our fellows in the field, the tribals, have felt out of place and marginalized as an industry. The sword of developmental change is now upon us, and if government were able to be bold and pragmatic, and industry equally so, much could be done and reversed to correct such imbalances. The Copenhagen Summit on Climate Change 2009 fell far short of its desired goals. Now, along with concerned island nations of the world’s oceans and African countries, the unique and ancient tribes of India already marginalized will be under even greater pressure to ensure their survival and the protection of their natural environment.

This book is dedicated to all those struggling to “preserve and protect” biodiversities big or small, and the lifestyles of indigenous and First Nations peoples. These tribal and pastoral communities are trammeled by “modern development,” such as dam construction, road building, and artificial economic zones through and on their pasturelands and ecosystems. My dedications must also include the excellent outfitters worldwide with whom I have worked, frequently or only on occasion, for they are all fellow professionals from whom my customers and I have received terrific satisfaction, wonderful insight, and knowledge. They represent my own idealism, and that of youth courting the thrill and danger of exotic adventure travel. For such is how I began, and so I remain. It is this that sums up my life so far.

To those seeking “safe bets in their careers,” let me say that I believe the gains achieved through physical hardship, risk, and danger are ever enduring, of a higher order, and more cherishable than those otherwise accomplished (as was my coming to acquire the unique site that now is home to Spashram RiverMountain along the Upper Ganges, and of the founding of IJ’s Exotic Horseback Holidays and IJ’s Exotic Polo Holidays, the work of both of which is shared in this book). Lastly,

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this book is dedicated to my entire family, all of whom have supported TigerPaw Adventures and its operations around the world. TigerPaw’s field staff also deserve special mention.

In the same vein, in quoting contemporary role models and individuals facing risk and hardship of a far more noble order, minus the thrill and glory, modern Indian female personalities such as Ela Bhatt in Gujrat, Medha Patkar in Madhya Pradesh, Irom Sharmila of Manipur, and numerous others are beacons whom too few wish to follow. Among the men, the ones who command my utter respect are Baba Amte and Aroun Shourie, who, by the way, also caution us about the Chinese threat to modern India.

Dongriya Kondh tribal girl, Orissa India

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The hardships that rural Indian women face stoically and consistently (for example to collect forage and water after their old systems of water preservation and forest resources have been annihilated) are aspects that my adventure and equestrian travels have brought home to me. Again, when the double standards, both puritanical and casteist, that we harbor are erased, we will have truly “progressed.”

Forest tribal communities are often far more straightforward and practical in mores, and much is to be learned by we who claim to be “educated and modern” as a society. They learn to share and work as a community, as well as consume only as much as they actually need and no more. This is a critical lesson most relevant today, relating to sustainability, climate change, and tourism.

The female portraiture from our clients’ lens, and drawn from trips TigerPaw has conducted and featured in this book, is our further dedication to tribal women and the championing of their cause, hijacked by mining companies, “economic development zones,” and the social Indian and foreign elite who are now setting up shop in India, and at every cocktail hour like to talk of “deals and bargains.” This group cannot see beyond their noses, worker ants all, in a chain system of the mega-corporations involved in the raping and pillaging of their own “Mother India.” Collectively they are in for a more-than-rude shock in less than a quarter century, when in addition to the effect of contaminated groundwater, excessive pesticide use in fruits and vegetables and their rapidly falling nutritional value, even something as mundane as bathing will become a luxury in some areas for all, including the upper echelons of society.

The culminating focus in my narratives is therefore related to our “entering the eye of the climate change storm,” and TigerPaw’s own modest endeavors to be a role model, especially at Spashram RiverMountain (on the Upper Ganges in the Garhwal Himalaya), and try in its small way to “stem the tide.”

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Striving Against the Odds

I began life as an adventure guide in Kashmir and Nepal with Tiger Tops Mountain Travel India (now defunct in India), who for putting my life at risk and in danger, paid me the princely sum of seven hundred rupees a month (about twenty dollars)! My father was aghast when he visited my bachelor’s pad in 1982, when I started my struggle to launch TigerPaw Adventures India Ltd, to find both my fridge and my purse empty. It was, therefore, a great feeling thirteen years later, in 1995, to found TigerPaws in Canada and be able to sign a check for a hundred thousand dollars to commission our unique and pioneering tribal expeditions in northeastern India (see chapter 7).

My entry into Canada coincided with co-winning a fifty-thousand dollar grant, with the Woodland Mountain Institute USA, for work in the field of sustainability planning in fragile biodiversities. From that time, TigerPaw Adventures has endeavored to hold an ongoing commitment to the preservation of natural and human biodiversities. I find it ironic today, that two larger-than-life personalities from the Indian firmament, one from the field of climate change and the other in agriculture, attempted at that time to scotch my early and youthful passion in the field of sustainable ecotourism. Fortunately, a tough and fair-minded young American, Holly Welles, the evaluation officer for my concept paper on ecotourism with the Asia Foundation San Francisco, and someone equally committed to this field, ensured that this did not happen. This critical support enabling those early accomplishments has continued to provide me constant inspiration in the face of all odds.

The validity of the sustainable model is now proven, as are the monetary valuations of biodiversity. The Spashram RiverMountain Project now strives to be a role model for holistic and integrated sustainability, and, along with wellness (the ancient as well as New Age concepts), it treats adventure and ecotourism as part of a healthful lifestyle. At this site, we work with rural stakeholders for the preservation and use of medicinal plants and herbs. Also encouraged is wildlife

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preservation, as well as offering local employees such options as switching from the life of poacher to fishing-and-wildlife guide, or taking up suitable employ while going back to nurture their landholdings every so often. This, in turn, is intended to encourage them to cultivate traditional produce, most of which has proven health benefits and demand by modern society, and supply this produce to Spashram.

We face many challenges. We continue to struggle in our battle to persuade government to ensure protection of beaches on the Holy Upper Ganges, and to guard against disturbance to local wildlife and flora, the hazardous effluent from temporary camps, and the multifaceted threats to the mighty Mahseer fish and their ecosystems from damage by road building, dam building, illegal netting, dynamiting, and the distorted Maund Festival (see appendices) et al. In spite of being a huge revenue earner, the fate of the Mahseer is grim, for the subject is not one that is dear to a “vote bank” (the term commonly used in India to signify an electoral group).

But I believe we must try, for, as pointed out by Lord Krishna to Arjuna in the Hindu epic Mahabharat, “Your duty is that of a warrior, and from it, you must never waver, for there is nothing more auspicious for a warrior than a righteous war.” A similar theme was repeated by the tenth Sikh Guru, Gobind Singh, in his famous epic Bachitar Natak (Cosmic Play), in which he exhorted his disciples to lay down their lives if they had to, but not shy from doing their righteous duty or speaking the truth. Thus even if the fruits seem elusive, as modern-day citizens we must give new meaning to ancient wisdom and apply it in our daily lives.

Guru Gobind Singh’s words are quoted below:

Dey Shiva var mo yeh i hai

Shubh kur man tey, kubh hoon nuh turoon

Nuh duroon aur so jub jai lurhun

Nischai kur upni jeeth kuroon

Har sikh ho upney gee munn ko eh lalach hon gun tau unchroon

Jub aav kee odh nidhan bney, Uuthh hen runnh mey tub jhoos muroon

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The English translation is as follows:

Grant me O Lord this boon that I may not falter in doing good. That I may entertain no fear of the enemy when engaged with him in battle. May every Sikh’s mind lust for righteousness. And that I may always be sure of my victory. May my mind be trained in the desire to dwell upon thy goodness. And when the last moment of my life should arrive, may I die in the thick of righteous battle.

And so has the commitment to ecotourism and biodiversity preservation, both human and natural, through TigerPaw’s trips been the facing up to and preservation of the truth of natural elements – even where the result is apparently “a battle lost.” Today, when we are on the brink of the maelstrom of climate change, we must gird our loins to do battle. Those in my industry are well positioned to act as custodians, and governments should structure their positioning and functioning so that they can work constructively for this purpose. In the appendices, I have added the observations of other experts and tried to show through our efforts at Spashram RiverMountain how improvements in governance and community planning, and for the ecotourism industry, based on real-life experiences, can be leveraged.

This book aims to seek support through its readership to bring about positive change by winning over readers to the lessons we have learned. It is also meant to inspire those wishing to enter into the business of exotic and adventure travel, as well as ordinary folk looking for extraordinary adventure before “my” world changes forever, which I estimate will be in another fifteen to twenty-five years, depending on the territory, policy, and will of local governments and local peoples everywhere.

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The first ever paddle rafts to run the Ganges, First High Water/Post Monsoon expedition Erik Austin (Canada) and IJ Singh (India).

Moving to Canada to Run Adventure Trips Worldwide

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Travel is obviously deeply embedded in my karmic wheel of life. I never wanted or ever thought that I would assume the citizenship of a foreign land, but life has strange things in store for some. The Chinese parting shot “May you have an interesting life” was obviously directed at me by someone!

Erich Fromm, and later E.O. Wilson, in his book Biophilia, maintains that humans have an innate connection to nature, be it positive or negative, and are hard wired to look at that which is close by. Yet the India of the late seventies and early eighties, and indeed later, was and is one of the most challenging places to set up the kind of pioneering industry that I endeavored to establish. Of course I had been long preceded by hunting outfitters, but their numbers were on the decline. India never had a five-day week, nor the modern four-by-four, satellite TV, or indeed the pressured lifestyle of today that compels one to take a weekend or longer for an off-road Vacation. This, coupled with all the secessionist trouble, made it poorly timed. As a result, just as it took me from 1992 to 1996 to finally persuade Turtle Tours (referred to later) to send their remote-area travelers to India, so it took me the better part of four years (from 1984 to 1988) to get American Express to create the first-ever weekend soft adventure vacations, which we researched, developed, and launched for them. At that time there were no credit cards in India, and its only audience was the expatriate cardholder. It was for this audience of AmEx, then, that we ran a series of trips in the late eighties and early nineties to places such as Binsar, Corbett, Kumbalgarh (on what was perhaps the first horse trek in India), the Pushkar Camel Fair (also mentioned later), and others.

Similiarly, TigerPaws was the only company able to sustain the very demanding operating conditions of a foreign “embassy school” (name withheld for security reasons) and ran its trips for a decade from 1983 to 1993, often running five trips of between ten and twenty students at one time in different parts of the country. Win Sargent, the principal, became one of our enduring friends over the years. I hear he is now running a lodge in Jamaica. My longtime friend Jeff Campbell is the one I owed the first introduction to, in conducting educational field trips for school students. When we left Tiger Tops and Mountain Travel, he took up the job of facilitating cultural studies at the American School in Delhi. As a result, he would call me to give turban-tying demonstrations to his schoolchildren.

Servicing the trips I mentioned earlier to Pushkar and other locations for American Express meant that I ended up interacting with members of the Canadian High Commission, their customers. One day, one of the Quebecoirs (Marc Guernon) from the immigration section handed me a form and said, “Fill it out, Inder Jit. I’d like to see you in Canada and work for you one day.” I reported back to him to say I did not have $300,000 to invest as a business investor, nor did I have any relatives in Canada. There the matter lay, until I married Jasleen. Her uncle had come to India to remarry, and his wife’s application to join him in Canada was not budging. Jasleen’s uncle happened to be with me at the school theater where I met Marc, and I told him that these two good folk wanted to get together fast, and that the lady’s application needed a kick upstairs. He called me the next day, and when I met him, he said, “She’s on her way, and now you can reapply under the Entrepreneur’s Program with your wife’s uncle as sponsor.”

I narrated this to my father. He was most keen that I try my hand, as he felt my work ethic and style were better suited to the less bureaucratic business world outside. And so I handed in my application. Within two months, my wife and I were called for an interview, and since I had won my environmental fellowship and my picture was printed in the local Colorado newspaper, I took it along. The business plan I submitted to Canadian immigration was for setting up TigerPaw in Canada, and we arrived in Montreal, planning our visit to coincide with the date I had to complete my US Fellowship tour as well.

The year before, I had suggested to one of Canada’s largest white-water rafting outfitters, Nouveau Monde River Expeditions, that they send their guides and equipment to India for a warm-weather vacation where both equipment and guides could earn their passage. Their off-season was actually perfect for the Upper Ganges. As Kashmir was on the blink as a tourist destination, I had decided to set up a white-water operation. Being a man in a hurry, I suggested this to the Canucks, and we put on some of the most memorable trips on the Ganges. In addition, we trained local village lads to act as guides (much to the chagrin of the three existing outfitters, who preferred city boys with a degree), delivering a full English briefing in Roman Hindi just as the British Indian Army officers did with native troops who could not speak English.

In 1995, my wife Jasleen and I arrived in Canada, the outcome of a strange set

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of circumstances that led to another string of adventures. Although I was that much closer to the North Pole and the polar bears that I’d wanted to see since childhood, I commenced safaris on the African and South American continents under the style of IJ’s Exotic Horseback Holidays and IJ’s Exotic Polo Holidays, and the unique trips I was thereby able to create with excellent outfitters on the ground has allowed me additional material for this book.

Once in Canada, my wife and I could never complete the required minimum three years residency in a four-year period because each year we came back to operate our Indian safaris for our US clientele. Finally I called an immigration lawyer and took advantage of his one free consultation. He said, “Quote the Thurlow ruling.” Thurlow was a trucker who ran an international trucking business, and each year, like us, put his goods in storage. The rationale of the ruling said that even though we were abroad at this time, our home and possessions (even though in storage), like our social circle, remained in Canada. Therefore, I mentioned Thurlow and sent my literature, testimonials of which I am glad to say there were many, including a book I had contributed to titled Worldwide Riding Vacations by John Ruler and Arthur Sacks.

The day came when my wife and I were called for the final interview and citizenship test. The Canadian judge emerged from his chamber (a sign of civic respect that in my experience only Canada shows) and said, “Mr. Singh! I have read your material. I expected to see you in your riding boots! I have ridden at the President’s Estate Polo Club in New Delhi, been to Nagaland, and ridden on the horse-trekking trails in British Columbia you mention in your book, but of course on a motorcycle.” He went on to say, “I see you have quoted Thurlow” (this made me feel like a legal immigration expert!), “and barring any objections from the minister himself, I am empathetic to your case.” And so one passport changed for another, Canada just sucking us in, and we swore allegiance to our new country of adoption while still being Persons of Indian Origin and joining the large Indian diaspora all over the world.

However, in the collection of short narratives that follow (see chapter 7 “Mountain Journeys”; “India”; “Journeys Among ‘the Seven Sisters’-Arunachal Pradesh, Nagaland, Assam, and Manipur), I primarily speak as an Indian, as both my formative years and current residence are India based, and yet I have tried

to bring lessons learned from our Canada experiences, as well as details of trips run around the world by TigerPaw Canada. Also featured are off-road travel journeys and some unusual photographs mainly from India, taken mostly by TigerPaw’s clientele (which included professional photographers from the West). The book also contains unusual itineraries, and descriptions that will prove interesting to the lay reader as well as to travel-specific enthusiasts and professionals.

This book will also be of interest to youth, including young women, from the Indian Subcontinent interested in making a contemporary career from an old-worldstyle profession and creating a lifestyle that few can otherwise afford. To this end, I am pursuing a vernacular version of this book, including one in Punjabi, for the interest of Sikh youth in the Punjab who also aspire to a life of adventure and travel abroad, as the Sikh community has done at least since the time when Sikh soldiers of the Bengal Lancers traveled with the Allied Expeditionary Force to China to put down the Boxer Rebellion.

The elements of equestrian journeys included here, will, I hope, while creating interest in cross-country equestrian travel in India and other countries, speak up for that noble animal the horse . In India, the horse, which once held a prominent and sacred position, has sadly fallen in stature. Known by the Nihang Sikh mounted warriors (who still display mounted skill at arms) as “Jaan Bhai” or “life brother,” and once considered in Hindu mythology the child of the sun and therefore

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worshipped accordingly, it needs to have its rightful place in the mishmash of modern Indian society reinstalled. As Gandhi said, a nation is judged by how it treats its animals. Modern India has much to do in this regard. If one pauses to think, all “progressive nations” in the modern age have highly compassionate as well as advanced training and care conditions for the equine. Another aspect of equestrian sport and travel that stands out to me is how few girls and women in India have been involved in equestrian sport, in spite of some famous historical female characters, such as Laxmi Bai, the princess who stood up to the English. In my experience in rural India, riding a horse is not the prerogative of village girls or women, except in Ladakh and Zanskar. Equestrian sport and travel is most relevant for the times in this country as a measure of our progress as a society. This male preserve is a bastion that should fall, to help create greater gender equality.

Again, just as I learned from my Canadian experience along the old gold route, India too must adopt heritage trails where the horse has first right-of-way, and where individuals can “adopt” sections across country. The old Indian tradition in Rajasthan of putting up water troughs in the desert, so that all hoofed animals traveling through could have water, needs nurturing and protection from highway construction, which is snuffing out this wonderful tradition. Much work needs to be done, as in Canada’s example, to maintain certain trails for horses first, where traffic would not run them over, they cannot be intimidated with pressure horns (their hearing being ten times as acute as that of humans, this is pure torture for animals) and their rights, limitations, and dignity in general are respected. Seeing the world from horseback affords a rare opportunity, for a horse can travel where vehicles cannot, and shows off sights along the countryside from an entirely different perspective. Although it may be a solitary and fading voice, and sometimes misplaced, nevertheless my cry has always been “May some things never change!” This book aims at the humor of hindsight and avoids elaborating the bitter struggle with bureaucracy, social conditions, and political events that has been the major part of this thirty-year journey, indeed for my entire family and not me alone.

Opposite

Author’s maternal Grandfather, at Great Pyramids, Egypt,enroute to the Round Table Conference, London circa 1930-1932

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One of my earliest memories as to what imparted a sense of adventure in me, stems from when I was but seven years old. While vacationing with my father in the “non-family station” (so designated when officers and men were not allowed to bring their wives and families) of Rajouri in Kashmir, the 1965 war with Pakistan broke out. I was forced to sleep on a camp cot in my father’s bunker after dark, during the nights in the period leading up to the war, while he worked through the night, monitoring the movement of Pakistani raiders, many disguised in burkhas to infiltrate the local populace (I never did ask if they wore boots or not!). I was soon bundled out of the “men-only” base. The entire ambience, one of great tension for adults, for me was nothing but pure excitement and an early taste of campouts.

Departing from the lineage of soldiers, engineers, and civil administrators, nearly thirty years spent in the adventure, sporting, and leisure travel industry, and the struggle to give it respectability, honor and social currency, defined my youth

Below: Hardy with fellow RAF Pilots.

Right: Newspaper Article re Shivdev Uberoi’s passing (Hardy sitting next to him.

Above Photos: Shivdev Singh Uberoi travelling to Egypt, Suez and Marseilles Circa 1930.

and midlife years. My mother said that as a very young boy, my stated ambition was “to go to the North Pole and jump on the back of a polar bear.” Although I have done neither, and it is my daughter, Samira, who now insists that she be taken to the North Pole (I do not know how much of its ice will be visible whenever she and I get around to getting there!), I did end up pursuing a strange career, especially for one from the Indian Subcontinent. Always outward-looking in my horizons, I was fascinated with foreign lands even as a young lad. Going on long bike rides across the country, alone, armed with compass, rope, knife and chocolate bar, I showed an early propensity for distant adventure travel. Little did I know that the army, forest service, and tea plantations would all be forgotten, and that I instead would make a business out of my passion for the outdoors.

Of course, I did come from a family of “travelers” like all good Sikhs. Images on page 34 show my maternal greatgrandfather at the Suez Canal in the 1930’s and one of his sons, Hardy S. Uberoi, a fighter pilot and chief instructor of the RAF, of not a little renown during World War II. He lived and died in England, and drove a car without glasses until his late nineties(!), having been blessed with cat’s-eye vision as befitting a renowned fighter pilot. My grandmother would narrate how, when he was given a motorbike by their father, Hardy promptly stripped it down and reassembled it, showing early signs of becoming an expert at engines. When I tracked Hardy down in England, he showed himself to be a crusty old codger who would zip along the winding English countryside to drop me at the station, or admonish me for not paying for my pint when he took me down to the pub. Well, I did think there were some privileges of being his nephew. The Bystander of April 17, 1940 of London and the Daily Herald of December 29, 1932, also of London, feature him and my maternal great-

Below My maternal grandmother in typical bridal costume of the North West Punjab region of what is now, Pakistan.

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grandfather respectively, the captions and pictures depicting the man and the times he lived in. Hardy finally died in England at the age of ninety-nine, and of dysentery, of all things. I was present at his burial, which was done in the Christian manner, and a local elder named Roger narrated how Hardy would be often be busy with an electric saw whirring dangerously close to his legs. Hardy called him Roger the Bodger, because the latter was nowhere near as adept.

Like her uncle, my mother was good at sports. She was the badminton champion of Baroda State in the mid-1950s. Like her brother, she was of good education, and the quaint but dignified certificates from once famous Pitman’s Institute (courtesy of my grandmother) shown here still reveal something of this. The famous Gaekwad name (one of the most visionary among his fellows) of the notable Royal Baroda State is an interesting affixation to the Embossed Pitman’s documents.

The “Gaekwad of Baroda,” as the maharaja was known, was a pioneer in development. Baroda State was a progressive state for its time, under his watch. As a college girl, my mother traveled behind the Iron Curtain in 1955, when as the badminton champion of the once princely state of Baroda, she was invited to Russia, Poland, and other Iron Curtain countries with youth delegations. On this visit she also traveled on the famous TransSiberian Railway, in the days when it traversed the entire Euro-Asia span from Moscow to Peking. Someone asked her once how the food and the heating were on the Trans-Siberian Railway.

When my mother said, “Surprisingly good,” we joked and said, “That’s because you were going through Siberia and not to Siberia!” Once in Peking, she went scouring the back alleys looking for a mah-jongg set, which is now inlaid into the doors and tables of my study, its beautiful carved Chinese characters still clearly visible.

My paternal uncle, the late Major General Jaswant Singh, was a veteran of the North West Frontier Agency (NWFP), now the border district between Afghanistan and Pakistan, around the famous Khyber Pass. He is shown (following page, bottom right) seated, center, along with the famous Indian military officer Field Marshal Sam Manekshaw. My father is shown in the same photograph, last row fourth from left. Another paternal uncle, the late Prem Singh, like Jaswant was a gold medalist from the British training ship HMS Dufferin in the early 1940s, who served in the Merchant Navy with the famous Bengal Pilots.

Another of my paternal uncles, Rear Admiral Kirpal Singh, was a veteran of the World War II Atlantic convoys, and was nominated as King’s Body Guard for his Majesty The King’s inspection of the entire Allied naval invasion fleet, preceding the Normandy landings on D-day. They were, in fact, taken wrongful advantage of by their peers during their careers. The British practice of lower pay for Indian officers caused Prem to protest and leave the Merchant Navy, and Jaswant was maneuvered out, by a vindictive superior, to a nonstrategic post in order to prevent him from rising even higher. Even my father was prevented from picking up his general’s rank on time, on account of Jaswant’s rival General ID Verma’s petty mindedness with both brothers.

My father’s own strength was unique, and his boss, General V. C. Khanna, would say of him, “Surjit can do the job of four officers.” Whenever I complained about noise or din in the workplace, my father would say, “How would you survive decision-making in a bunker?” In later years, it was his training by the Cold Stream Guards toward the end of World War II and the tough British sergeant majors at the Indian Military Academy that allowed him, at eightyone, to walk up and down the steep climb of Spashram RiverMountain without complaint, while young men from “corporate India” in their mid-twenties and thirties found

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this too difficult a walk - a sad lament on the state of national health of emerging and middle-class India. Even English and American ladies in their mid-sixties would say, “IJ, don’t put a road in; this walk is what makes Spashram special.” My father’s course-mate of the same vintage, Lieutenant General R. K. Jasbir Singh, at eighty-two accompanied me on a fishing trip, pitched his own tent, and didn’t complain when it was wet with rain, using the miserably rained-on toilet tent and thunderbox without protest.

Yet at Spashram (chapter 14), when we had Delhi families and a group of young Indian lads from well-heeled backgrounds staying, they could not take the perfectly comfortable tents with attached but “dry” toilets. Instead, all converged to the one tent that had a flush loo, showing scant regard for the ethos and spirit of the trip or the limited infrastructure in a wilderness location. Why they wanted to come into the “wilds” I wonder! Similarly, another group could not adhere to meal timings and insisted on waking up staff at 1 am, wanting tea and snacks, and making a nomads camp out of one tent. Mandatory rural volunteer and eco-adventure training would go a long way in helping emerging India improve its self-discipline and lifestyle approaches.

Author’s father inspecting a post in Kashmir

Right: With (then)

of Army

Right: Officers, Corps of Signals circa 1967. Author’s father standing last row, third from right, and author’s paternal uncle seated front centre. Front second from right facing ) is the famous General who later became India’s first Field Marshal, S.H.F.J. (Sam) Manekshaw (Gurkha Regiment).

Above

Chief

Staff General KV Krishna Rao, later to become Governor of Jammu & Kashmir.

Early Lessons and Experiences in India’s Northeast

Dance Zeliang Tribe, Nagaland, India

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I was born in Shillong, Meghalaya, in northeast India, on January 18, 1959. My fascination with the Himalaya and remote parts of the Indian Subcontinent began when I was but a schoolboy and military brat, in the early 1970s. Indeed, my thirst for travel and adventure went beyond the land of my birth at an early age.

The period surrounding India’s 1971 war with Pakistan (a time spent in Delhi’s Princess Park Officer’s Hostel) was the most enjoyable of my younger years. I relished the adventure of being the ringleader in such activities as rounding up mates during the blackouts, carrying news from the newspaper bulletin boards of battlefront news, and harassing the girls and the fuddy-duddies of the time, the crusty officious elders in the officers community; all highlights of my callow years.

In 1972, I returned to Shillong, my birthplace, as an impressionable high school student. From here I was able to travel with my father, now in a second term with that unique frontier force the Assam Rifles, in military convoys with Gurkha, Kumaoni, and Garhwali soldiers. Being armed to the hilt and ever on the lookout for underground guerrillas lying in ambush, was for me a great thrill. Fortunately, we never experienced an ambush ourselves, or this tale might not have been written. These opportunities, along with my education at the hands of the Irish Christian Brothers, that incredible breed of teacher now extinct, inspired a love for history and geography, with a particular interest in the military history and the exploration of the North East Frontier Agency, as the modern Indian state of Arunachal Pradesh was then known.

A keen interest developed within me about the tribal culture and lore of the region, especially when my classmates were Naga and Mizo lads who regaled me with stories of fighting off bears and other animals in the wilds. With the tribals engaged in guerrilla warfare with the Indian army, and our having to travel in armed convoys, I was put in a unique position to see both sides of the cultural divide. That these dangers were posed from the same tribal communities who were also represented in my classroom, and listening to the tales of both the soldiers and the tribals, sowed the seed of a general love for the region and everything from it.

While in high school in Shillong, I was able to read about the history of the Assam Rifles, which my father was tasked with editing. That led me to study the works of

the famous European anthropologist Verrier Elwin (an adviser to India’s first prime minister, Jawaharlal Nehru), on the policies best suited to preserving this unique culture. I came back years later, in the eighties, as a member of the very first Himalayn Tourism Advisory Board, whose aim was to assess the region for tourism.

Winning the Bio Diversity Award for sustainability planning in the Eastern Himalaya for TigerPaw Adventures, in turn resulted in overseeing the training of the very first white-water rafting guides on Arunachal’s Siang and Sikkim’s Teesta Rivers, as well as providing professional services for units of the Indian Army. It all seemed to fit into some sort of larger plan of fate.

Not until years later, when my father and I began our tribal trips to the northeast for TigerPaw Adventures, did he mention the very modest but nevertheless historical role he played in the flight of the Dalai Lama from Tibet into India in 1959. After he married my mother, on his first assignment with the Assam Rifles as a young captain, one of his tasks was to monitor the crossing over of the Dalai Lama during his escape from ibet into the Tawang area of Arunchal Pradesh (the erstwhile North East Frontier Agency).

My father’s strictly confidential instructions came from the adviser to the governor, K. L. Mehta, and referred to a “VIP” who was to be received and escorted into Indian Territory by troops of the Assam Rifles. The moment this VIP entered India, information by radio covering his minute-to-minute progress was to be relayed. Once my father gave confirmation that the troops at Post Chutangmo (on the MacLohan Line) were indeed expecting a VIP, he was informed by the governor’s adviser that the VIP in question was the Dalai Lama himself, and that the governor could now inform Prime Minister Nehru that the escape was successful.

Unlike my forebears, my own interactions with the armed forces, Indian or foreign, was in a professional capacity after I had formed TigerPaw Adventures at the end of 1982. These included coordinating the first descent of the Lohit River for a forwad formation of the Indian Army. I sent my own team to conduct the first-ever white-water rafting expedition down that river for the Second Mountain Artillery Brigade, in the area of the International Tri Junction, where India, Tibet, China and Burma (Myanmar) converge. We put in from Kibithu (beyond Walong, where the Chinese invaded in 1962) and finally emerged at Parmeshwar Kund,

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the Brahmaputra Delta on the Arunachal Pradesh – Assam border. There were various additional raft trips for the Indian Army in that region, as well as on the Upper Ganges. I was also asked to set up the training program under my river guides for the Indian navy’s Western Fleet’s INS Ganga’s crew on the Ganges.

TigerPaw Adventures was similarly commissioned to conduct a mountaineering expedition to the 6,380-m Mount Kedar Dome (in the Garhwal Himalaya) for Britain’s Royal Air Force team stationed at Kinloss in Scotland (see page 99); and Exercises Bhilganga Diamond I and II (also in the Garhwal Himalaya)for the Second Royal Tank Regiment British Forces, Germany, then stationed in Fallingboster. The Royal Signals of the British Army also tasked TigerPaws with a high-altitude expedition in the Garhwal Himalaya in the mid-nineties.

It was interesting to meet officers of that regiment in Germany years later, when I was there in 2007 on a polo-related trip and invited to attend the Queen’s birthday celebrations with the British garrison at Fallingbostel. Adventure, polo, and horses have certainly brought me into good company around the world.

With regards to the mountaineering expeditions TigerPaws conducted for the British Army and Air Force, needless to say, my father, whose talent I pressed into service, often played an active role as point man. This was a tremendous asset to me as well. In the case of the Royal Air Force Expedition, I was away in Canada and forced to work long distance. Much fell on his shoulders, including having to organize a helicopter rescue for one of the members suffering from frostbite.

The offbeat tribal trips that TigerPaws still conducts are both the result of these influences, and of being deputed early on by Turtle Tours, which conducted trips to the remotest of places, including Irian Jaya, Timbuktu, Mali and the Niger Delta, among others. This tasking allowed me to create, with my father’s help, trips into the remote northeast that had never been done before, at least for the first-ever band of American tourists, if not others. That it took me years of convincing and sending research material to Turtle Tours, who just would not believe that India had such ancient original peoples, was another matter. They would say, “Oh, no, India is modern, and people roam around in jeans.” That our India tribal programs became Turtle’s most popular, and ran from 1995 to 2001, is testimony to the richness of our tribal culture, and indeed TigerPaw’s vision.

Chapter 7 Mountain Journeys from Near and Far

Come Fairies, take me out of this dull world, for I would ride with you upon the wind and dance upon the mountains like a flame!

—

William Butler Yeats

Mountain Journeys From Near and Far: India

Just as the British had set up the North West Frontier Province (NWFP), still of bloodchilling repute, the NEFA (or North East Frontier Agency) was renowned in this part of the world for its hostile, headhunting tribes that first the British, and later the Indian Army, had to battle from the beginning of their interactions. These tribes are among the most handsome, proud, and colorful people anywhere, and they and the region held a prominent place in my own formative years. It is interesting to hear grizzled military veterans who fought the “underground” in the fifties and sixties, today in their twilight years realize and recount the political and cultural injustices of the Indian government policy they sometimes had to uphold (in Nagaland and Mizoram especially, and later in Manipur) as members of the Indian Army, imposing themselves on the magnificent peoples of these territories. That the bigoted cultural attitudes of plainsmen can still be seen when students of the northeast come to India’s capital, Delhi, is a reflection of how far we need to travel as an enlightened society and a true superpower. Even so, life can come full circle, and just as the realization dawned on the veterans, so has it dawned on the people of the plains that after indulging in years of female infanticide and feticide, their male youth need to invite spouses from the northeast of India (especially Assam).

Like other veterans, my father too represented this “authority” while serving two tenures with the Assam Rifles, but when he became my key tour leader for TigerPaw Adventures, he made the “crossover.” Of course, when I was in high school, I often had Naga and Lushai classmates stay over at our house in Shillong. The only stricture my father imposed when I went into the “lines” was to ensure I never took any of them near the armory, in the event any of them tried to “size it up” for the underground!

The tribal cultural festivals of India’s northeast can still be experienced, as images from the lenses of various American clients show. They are unique and distinctive, and little known in India itself. These tribes have astounding similarities to those of Borneo and Irian Jaya, in everything from the shape of their longhouses to their customs and dress. Some of them are also incredibly similar to the First Nations Indians of Canada. The images here have drawn comment and disbelief from many travelers, who initially did not believe they were taken in India’s northeast.

I vividly remember a visit to a remote village in the Siang Valley in Arunachal, as a delegate of the first Himalayan Tourism Advisory Board. We arrived late, to the Adi tribal war dance being performed in the dark. In the forest, the wild-looking tribals wore bearskins on their backs and cane arrow repellant caps adorned with wild-boar tushes, their teeth reddened and bloody in color with Areca nut. Their repeated, aggressive ululations of “Hooh, hooh! Hooh, hooh!” as they pumped their fists back and forth, thrusting machetes within inches of their visitors’ faces, certainly inspired the requisite amount of fear they had intended!

On that visit, I also recall the Adi tribal women singing a song that aroused my curiosity. The names Mahatma Gandhi and Two Assam Rifles woven into the Adi dialect, and I learned the song said, “We have a father of our nation, Mahatma Gandhi, who is fighting for our cause against the British,” and that the Second Battalion of the Assam Rifles was their guardian. The battalions of the Assam Rifles, unlike that of the regular military, had a policy of being permanently stationed in specific locations to “befriend” the tribals. It was for reasons of befriendment that their uniforms sported gray shirts rather than the olive green of the army; and, because they might better understand the tribals, that troops were selected from the hill regions of India and Nepal.

“Chang Naga” kohima Nagaland, India © Kieron Nelson

Apatani Lady “Ziro, Arunachal Pradesh © Kieron Nelson

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Hobin Hunting in Arunachal and Other Journeys on the Northeast Frontier

• Four colorful English fishermen, including a very tall ’un, in remote Arunachal

• The Siang River

• A mad expedition looking for hobin

• Crossing the mighty Bhramaputra River

• Duplicitous New Age Christian missionaries who penetrated the Inner Line

• Places mentioned: Tezpur, Dibrugarh, Pasighat, Panging

• Rivers: Siang, Bhramaputra

Author’s note: Originally I thought of naming this chapter “Mad Dawgs ’n Englishmen,” but then I remembered the words of the Adi tribal youth in the remote Panging Valle: “Sir, we love dogs…They taste very fine to eat, so there are none left in our village anymore, sir.”

In February 2008, my band of four eccentric Englishmen, who had nominated TigerPaws for an angling trip, had gone for three days without meat. Given the warrior nation I represented, I too felt such craving after my exertions in the misty cool of Arunachal’s hills. We were staying at a delightful village called Panging, in a run-down government bungalow. It was testimony to the character of my travelers that they understood this was the best (only) deal in town, and did not murmur a word against (nay, they relished the compatible eccentric decrepitness of) the “inspection bungalow.”

We had recently flown from New Delhi to Dibrugarh via Tezpur for four hours, passing the majestic peaks of Kanchendzonga, Everest, and Lhotse. On arrival at Dibrugarh, we found unsmiling soldiers milling about with assault rifles, Luger machine pistols, and more (and I knew weapons from my schooldays as a military brat hanging around armories). This was tough territory even in 2008. Insurgent rebel groups, such as the Bodos, Naga underground guerillas, and others

supported from across the border, were actively disrupting normal life. Dibrugarh is a river town where the British tea planters and military expeditionary forces first made their way in the 1800s.

From Dibrugarh, we crisscrossed the mighty Bhramaputra River (emanating from Tibet as the Tsang Po), along with our four-by-fours on creaking riverboats, a practice that was looked upon with some skepticism by Captain Robert Bleakley, formerly of the British-India Steam Navigation Company.

From arrival at Pasighat on the other bank of the Bhramaputra (son of Bhrama the Creator), we followed the trail of the old British explorers, who went looking for a route to Lhasa up the beautiful Siang River valley. The route ultimately led to the valley of the Tsang Po, and it was on this path that the British were first ambushed by the Adi warriors before sending in their punitive military expeditions and carrying on to Tibet.

After having cast our lines into the Siang River without much luck on day three, I decided that evening that meat on hoof had to be acquired.

I ventured into the village of Panging, accompanied by three of the band of four: the six-foot four-inch Richard Hume Rothery (ex Green Jackets British Forces, Borneo jungle warfare veteran, now adviser to the European Parliament, and a descendant of Octavian Hume, rebel Scotsman who helped Indians found the Indian National Congress party that would later lead the Indian independence movement); Captain Robert Bleakley (ex–master mariner of British-India Steam Navigation Company); and T. E. Field (Tim), Esquire (of no particular fame, but great drinking capacity, and a persistent photographer).

View of the Siang River enroute to Panging Village

Crossing the Bhramaputra River, Assam to Arunachal Pradesh

Arunachal Pradesh

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Leaving the hallowed confines of the inspection bungalow, dank and deadly, we were off looking for goat, or hobin, as it is known in the Adi tribal dialect. We left our fourth member, Mark (a worshipper of Pisces and the river goddess, master angler and fly fisherman, as well as ex-sniper marksman of the British Army), to meditate on the river. Casting the fly, for him, was just that: “meditation,” the landing of a fish being incidental.

The lady selling us our liquor stock shouted to the nearby barber, an immigrant from the plains, to say “These VIPs from the IB need hobin.”

The barber’s other apparent qualification was as an alcoholic, and he swayed over to say he would accompany us the moment he completed the haircut of his next customer. Because it was already well past dusk and a barbecue was looking iffy, I cajoled the customer into coming back the next day for his haircut. Looking me over, full-bearded Sikh that I was, he acquiesced, and I pumped his hand in thanks. And so, Richard, Tim, and I took our native guide, Bamin, and the drunk barber/butcher to the village, hunting for hobin.

Here, in stilt houses, sat the tribal Adi warriors and their families. In the dark, I was invited to sit and negotiate prices. Chickens weren’t available because of the avian influenza that had entered from Myanmar, causing a black death of all chickens, and goats tended to hide in the dark when they learned that a price, fair or not, had been levied on their heads. One warrior opened a trapdoor and said I could take a pig instead. Indeed I could, said I, and through the dark, the porker looked me in the eye... but he was vast. There would be a lot of pig to consume, so we went to the next village looking for goat, or hobin. Hobin heard us coming, and tended to hide between the stilts in the dark.

Author with clients while crossing the Bhramaputra.

In the meantime, Richard had sat down among the tribal children. They kept giggling and asking me, “Uncle, please ask him to stand up!” He was so tall that they marveled at his sight, compared with their own tiny statures. We finally got a goat, did not befriend it, and installed it in our jeep. Tim, hard of hearing and therefore missing the point on occasion, heard the bleat at the back of the jeep and mistook it for one of the Adi children who had surrounded Richard earlier. Whatever did he think us to be?!

After our pleasant sojourn in the idyllic Panging Valley, on our return to Dibrugarh, we stopped at a beautifully maintained tea garden estate bungalow. Owned by the Jallan family, it was a worthy stop for the discerning traveler, and before boarding our flight we had a memorable tea stop here.

The highly securitized airport, with much soldiery about, fortunately had airline staff managing the personalized baggage check. Came the turn of Mark Curoys, master angler’s, gear. The fishing case, big, black and tubular, had its brand name in bold stating “Bazooka.” Then came the gear ... more than five hundred different types of flies, spoons, and hooks, multiple reels, pliers, and so on. And more, including, as Richard proudly announced, a “fish finder” (sonar device to see the riverbed) “just like is used in a submarine”! It was out before I had a chance to nudge him hard and tell him this was the wrong kind of airport for that kind of comparison.

The female inspector announced to Mark, “Enough! Close the box. I can’t see anymore!” She proceeded to ask, “And how many fish did you catch?” and burst into laughter when Mark said, “One!”

At the airport, we bumped into an odd bunch of “modern missionaries,” a mixed bag of men and women. They were missionaries and New Age Christians, but admitted having lied to the Indian Embassy about their purpose. “Tossers,” my Brits called them. They seemed to have missed the import of having lied for their apparent biblical purpose. “Does this sort of thing not make you angry?” Mark asked me. When he dropped his camera lens and the leader of the group scooped it up in time, I could not help but say, “Mark, it is thanks to your homage to the local river goddess that the lens survived.” The dig was not missed by their leader, who immediately uttered, “Take it easy now!”

Other Impressions from India’s Northeast

Having interacted with tribals all the way from the northeast to central India and the Great Raan, after witnessing the incredible richness, it is a blow each time to see some ugly and insensitive aspect of “modern civilization” invading these territories. No one has the time now to give any consideration to these communities that are increasingly marginalized.

As I recall, a competitor of mine at the Himalayan Tourism Advisory Board conference insisted that the new state tourism policy in Arunachal should offer low pricing and not keep a high tariff barrier. At the time, I was the only representative of the travel industry who maintained that indeed it should. Seeing the success of the latter type of policy implemented in other countries like Botswana and Bhutan (similarly among the greatest biodiversities in the world to my mind, where the tariff was among the highest in the world), we implemented the same type of policy. This was done by restricting the number of visitors on our own trips, when conducting our tribal journeys in the region, and plowing a significant percentage back into research and preservation.

I can state with confidence that the preservation of human or natural biodiversity in India needs such a policy. Related to the issue of cultural preservations is an observation I made in Arunachal Pradesh, among the Dafla tribals residing around townships. There was a noticeable bearing on the personality when the Daflas lived in remote locations, as they were born and bred to do, versus those surrounded by modern townships. The latter always looked bedraggled in spite of wearing the same accoutrements, simply because they were pushed around between Marwari banyan (merchant) traders and bureaucrats, and their “zone” had been completely overrun, compared with their fellows who lived in natural and untouched surroundings, which lent them their regal bearing.

It was my early years of travel that led to a fascination with the indigenous culture and biodiversity of the regions that today feature prominently in TigerPaw Adventures, and by which my entire personality, outlook and hobbies have been influenced. Among the outcomes of all these factors is a genre I created for

India’s travel industry history: the anthropological and military history trips and expeditions in the northeast, which I began and later ran with my father after his second retirement.

I showed an early propensity for creating rapport with other communities, and typically my classmates included tribals of the northeastern frontier. Indeed, in later years it was looking up to, living, and working in this crucible, and the myriad states and regions that make up India’s cultural mosaic, that allowed me to wade into foreign lands and bond with other cultures with nary a problem. It took the next set of visitors I mention here to point out to me that my skills were distinctive and unique, something that went unrecognized within India itself. Richard HumeRothery, mentioned above, aptly pointed out a characteristic of mine (that had not occurred to me, but was entirely accurate), when he said I was highly independent minded and hated control and authority.

The approach to Imphal, Manipur, India

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Conducting American VIPs to India’s Eastern Extremities, Manipur

and Nagaland

• Exploring the Ima Bazaar and floating island homes on Lokhtak Lake

• The famous Battle of the Tennis Court World War II

• The Indian National Army

• Amartya Sen and Harvard

• The Stilwell Road

• Crazy signboards and hoardings

• A tongue-in-cheek tour evaluation

• A historic itinerary featuring the flight of the Dalai Lama into India

Places mentioned: Manipur: Imphal and Ima Bazaar, Lohktak Lake; Nagaland: Kohima. Shillong, Stilwell Road.

Since 1983, most of my clientele were Americans who heard of me through word of mouth.

In 2005, a high-profile pair of clients testified to the special status of the region and, I am pleased to say, my own skills in conducting them there, in a manner I had never thought of myself. Anne was then the administrative vice president of Harvard University, and her husband Marty a partner in a well-known law firm.

Anne had been to India three times, including to Ladakh, Rajasthan, and southern India, and had also sent her daughter to university in Madras. She and Marty contacted me about seeing something entirely different. I therefore proposed taking them to India’s easternmost and westernmost extremities: the state of Manipur and the Raan of Kutch in Gujrat. From the tourism perspective, it was a challenge. As with many of my off beat destinations, I had to innovate for traveling safely and ensuring that thrill without danger to my clients was possible.

In Manipur, I selected a young local photographer, Raju, to first undergo my remotely conducted orientation on the very basic needs of an international visitor. Raju performed all tasks admirably, and it is a pity that the security situation subsequently worsened, such that no Inner Line permits were issued and we

could extend no further opportunities to this youth until recently. The famous Inner Line had been created by the British as an artificial barrier to prevent all but government officials from entering the Himalayan zone, in an effort to hinder unwanted characters as part of the Great Game mentioned earlier.

I recall going for a simple householder’s dinner with Raju’s family, an incredible generosity that one can experience all over India. We found ourselves in power outage conditions, and came to the home of a wizened old dame, most graceful in spite of her meager environs, sitting at a weaving loom by a kerosene lamp and painstakingly producing the most beautiful damask linen. My visitors were mesmerized by the entire scene, and needless to say, were inspired to buy the linen. These are the arts, crafts, and indeed the philosophy I see being eroded, and that my business requires I scout out for, in an ever-changing environment.

Just before my trip with Anne and Marty, Manipur, which had been an entirely peaceful state, suddenly took on a very sinister reputation with violent terrorism. My clients and I were committed, however, and the famous Inner Line permits had been granted by the government (a sample is reproduced on page 55 and makes for interesting memorabilia).

In Manipur, there was just about one place to stay, the local Circuit House, so needless to say, many local dignitaries were staying there as well. One happened to be a judge who obviously needed armed protection. Walking past at dusk in the poorly lit stairwells thus took some getting used to, as my visitors would note with a start the armed Assam Rifles “Johnny” standing silently and immobile in the dark shadows. One evening, we decided to eat the local delicacy, momos (stuffed dumplings), and ventured to the only restaurant nearby in a threewheeler, in pitch dark, on a partially curfew-imposed route, which took us straight into the ringfenced and heavily guarded Assam Rifles Battalion Headquarters. The only momo restaurant nearby was right outside their barricaded gate – not the most inviting of venues for evening dining ambience.

Finally, going into the Ima (mother) Bazaar (a market run entirely by women that had wonderful fabrics, cane-ware baskets, and of course all kinds of food, including grubs and insects) gave me a bit of a jolt. I noticed some rather unusual activity by the Central Reserve Police Force and had to literally force my visitors

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out of there. The next day’s paper reported a bomb blast. Fortunately, growing up as an army brat had set the antennae up and served me in good stead. Even so, Manipur with all these conditions was a wonderful venue and left the guests enchanted. Its wonderful and ancient Hindu tradition, incredible dances, martial arts and sports were highly appreciated, in spite of the sorry conditions that successive government apathy had left this beautiful state and culture in.

Manipur also revealed to me little-known facets of the historical Indian National Army. It has a unique museum with a vintage collection, which is something that every Indian should see, for certainly Subhash Chandra Bose is the most unsung of India’s Freedom Fighters, thanks to Nehru. Of course, it was always a debate about the “oath to country” that breakaway officers and men (i.e., from the British Indian Army) as well as those who continued to serve with the latter, undertook, from opposing sides, for the same land and people. It may be interesting to note that, according to some historians, Sir Strafford Cripps, when asked, categorically stated it was not Gandhi, but much more the activities of the INA that made Britain see the pointlessness of staying on. As a Sikh, it was also revelatory in my related research to find that the highest numbers of individuals from any community who were incarcerated, jailed, and hanged till death by the British belonged to my own community.

In Manipur is the incredible Lokhtak Lake, full of floating islands. As in parts of South America, these too are unique because the floating islands are inhabited by families with a home on them, living off the fish in the lake. The floating islands could be cut and trimmed, and therefore a small hole was cut into the fl oating surface so as to be able to trap fish. That this became a dangerous area on account of extremists known here as “the underground” or “ultras” hiding here added to the adventure.

Sangtam Naga War Log Drum | Konyak Naga Warriors | Sherdukpen Dancers Arunachal Pradesh

Khaimnungam Naga Warriors

Angami Juvenile Boys Troupe

Inner Line Permit

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After the trip, on which we shared a barrel full of laughs (and another highlight of which was a country boat trip on the Brahmaputra River, where I received the not-quite-royal title “Sir Omelette” after a waiter at a quaint lodge inquired what I’d like for breakfast, saying “Sir? Omelette?”), Anne sent me the following note:

We have months to talk about the itinerary – what fun. I was meeting yesterday someone who is a very famous professor here at Harvard, who is now mainly engaged in writing and teaching about law and education and new technology. I had just had my photos developed and gave him copies of the IT and NU (image) as well as a great Imphal street scene of a woman on the ground selling cabbages and above her a sign for the Megabyte Computer Academy. He was SO excited. I don’t doubt that these will be in his Next book, and certainly posted on his website. The pictures came out well and made me so nostalgic for our adventure. Much gratitude for a wonderful life experience.

The signages referred to here were truly in a genre of their own. The IT and NU stood for “Idle Time” and “Naïve User Computer Centre,” the IT NY being a double entendre. The other memorable signs included one outside a small shanty eating house, “The Chicken and Pork Hotel, estd. 1975”... and a bus stop sign reading “Waiting shade” rather than “shed,” which was not entirely incorrect. The advertisements for biscuits below is again simple, while leaving nothing out to convey the point: “VERY VERY TASTY TASTY BISCUITS.”

Left: Distinctive Raw Foods | Below: Lhoktak Lake

In Imphal, I discovered something only a few people know about: a Japanese war memorial to their fallen in World War II. With its quiet stones and typical Japanese layout, it meant more to me and my genre of tourist, like Anne and Marty, for it was an extension of my youthful fascination with the history of the region.

Imphal is known from World War II as the Fall of Imphal, when the Japanese marched in, meaning that all of India was at their (Japanese) feet for that short period. That is until the battle of the Tennis Court (just below the officers’ mess of the Assam Rifles) was won in Kohima, and the March to Imphal was mounted for its recapture.

As a result of this trip, Anne invited me to an investiture at Harvard. This most famous of institutions with its incredible resources was impressive to say the least. At the grand luncheon that day, I met no less an icon than Amartya Sen, the Indian Nobel Laureate in Economics, who was kind enough to make small talk with me as a fellow Indian. Later, Anne’s husband mentioned a behind-the-scenes story about Mr. Sen’s joining Harvard. When Dr. Sen was wooed to leave the chair at Oxford and come to Harvard, there was a certain personal collection that he would not set up home without, and whose entry US Customs was presenting. The very tough US Customs was then informed that it was not a question of Sen wanting the job, but of Harvard wanting Sen, on his own terms, and so this collection was allowed in with exemptions, without hindrance. Such was the influence Harvard wielded. I have seen this phenomenon at work in America featuring other very big corporate names.

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One of the intrepid characters of the region and the period was a man called Elephant Bill, or Colonel William Dawson. His race against time just before the fall of Imphal, with his posse of working war elephants, was calculated to beat both the monsoon and the Japanese from capturing or crippling this formidable unit.

Bev Adlawan, one of the first American tourists to be granted permission to enter the region in early 1998, and who we took into the northeast (along with Eugenia Hunter), wrote to say, “Dear Surjit and Inder Jit: I have been remiss in writing to you to tell you my impressions of ‘Tribal India.’ I thought it was a wonderful trip. My affinity for India is overwhelming for reasons that I do not understand. I love being in India.” They returned in November 1998 for a second trip and in June 1999 for a third. Bev wrote to say, “I can’t believe I have actually been there! And seen where the Battle of the Tennis Court took place! What a trip!”

The Naga lady below, when told she was to be photographed, began to fuss she was not looking her best without jewelry, and quickly went to get a pair of leaves, inserting them into her ear holes as one would a pair of earrings. Her grace was only enhanced, naturally.

The entire northeast experience brings about childhood memories of the living characters from that period of history, who I myself met and was impressed by. One of these was the elderly and silver-maned Colonel Sharma, who had retired in Shillong. Having been duped by a business shark, he and his wife lived in penury. It was poignant even to me at that youthful and carefree age to see him and his wife struggle to maintain their dignity. My father always had time for him, and he was most touched by this, especially as my father’s my father’s predecessor always gave him short shrift. I would hear him talk of having escaped the Japanese POW camp in Myanmar across the swollen Irrawaddy River in the monsoon, and how he came to Shillong only to be tricked out of his money by his brother-in-law, with not enough left even to post a letter.

These stories cast deep impressions on me. One of my Nepalese schoolmates recounted how his grandfather clenched his teeth when prodded by a Japanese bayonet, common practice to determine who was dead or alive among the fallen, rather than surrender to becoming a prisoner of war. He also told me of a Japanese sniper whose position was unknown for days, until at last there was a permanent silence. A search finally led to the dead sniper, chained to a tree along with his rifle, so that if he fell to a bullet, he would not give away his position, keeping the suspense up till the end.

Recently, my good friend Steven J. White, who retired as charge d’affaires while serving with the American Embassy in New Delhi, mentioned an ongoing effort to identify and locate American airmen missing in action while flying the famous “Hump” on the China run during the period leading up to World War ll. The Hump referred to the saddle of mountains on the International Tri Junction of Tibet, China, India, and Burma (Myanmar) that US Air Force supplies air bridge had to cross. I first traveled this area (where the famous American General Sugar Joe Stilwell built what is now known as the Stilwell Road) in heavily armed convoys with Assam Rifles soldiers and my father, near the Pangsu Pass at Jairampur, on the border with Myanmar. It was also the stomping ground of the famous British officer Major-General Orde Charles Wingate (DSO and double bar), his Chindits, as his guerrillas were known, and First Viscount Field Marshal William Joseph “Bill” Slim, KG, GCB, GCMG, GCVO, GBE, DSO, MC, KStJ, who steered the Fourth Indian Division to victory. It was this division that finally held and defeated the Japanese at Kohima after the Fall of Imphal, at the famous Battle of the Tennis Court (separate to the famous island battles in the Pacific, fought and won by the US Marines). This was the only time the Japanese were defeated on land during the entire war. When traveling the region today, one can’t imagine the intensity of warfare that took place here, those long years ago.

Lhota Warriors

Mokochung, Nagaland, India © Kieron Nalson

Naga women at family loom

For Ones Pains, a Panoramic Mountain Flight, and a Natural Extravaganza of Fire and Ice

Places Mentioned: Tezpur: Dibrugarh, Dinjan, Tezu (Teju), Parameshwar Kund, Hyangja Pass, Walong, Kibithu Rivers Mentioned: Bhramaputra, Lohit

In 1993, I was coordinating a whitewater rafting expedition for the Second Mountain Artillery Brigade of the Indian army, which wanted to run a first descent on the Lohit River, and proceed to Kibithu, the expedition base, past Walong, the put-in point. Walong was the place the Chinese intruded in 1962.

To get there, I had to take an Indian Airlines flight to Tejpur. I consider this one of the best flights to take for a grand, panoramic view of the high Himalayas, for you can, on a clear day, get a grandstand view. If seated on the left going eastward, you will see Everest, Lhotse, and others.

The flight was immediately followed by an overnight bus to Dinjan, near Dibrugarh, and the next day, a four-hour jeep journey, which included crossing the ferry boat with our military jeep, before finally making a three-hour trek through the forest. This meant entering camp in the dark. Fortunately it was a full-moon night. The sight still etched in my memory is of the moonlight illuminating the entire valley of the Lohit River, a snowcapped peak on the far bank, and a lane of fire (set by the jhum slash-and-burn cultivators) rising from the riverbank and running in a vertical up into the snow where it was held. A “fire and ice” scene presided by bright moonlight, making for a truly dramatic natural panorama.

Before entering the Lohit River Valley, we crossed Teju and Parmeshwar Kund, the delta of the mighty Brahmaputra. Arunachal (which is replete with river systems, one of which is the Siang, and which has its origins in Tibet’s Tsang Po) has all its rivers culminating at Parmeshwar Kund. When coming back here from the Hyangja Pass, the entire delta, which stretches as far as the horizon, is laid out before one’s eyes. The immensity of the waters and the delta must be seen to be believed, and was to me most intimidating, for it showed the smallness of man compared to nature. It truly gives a perspective on God’s (Parameshwar

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named above) power to create such phenomena. The Brahmaputra (Son of Brahma, the Creator) itself from this point on is truly a grand river. In a rapidly changing world where hydro power is eroding the beauty of river profiles from the Tennessee in America, the Yangtze in China, and the Ganges in India, this is a must-see sight, before this mighty river, too, is exploited by modern man for his own comfort, and the last vestige of that essence that is India, deified through its rivers, is torn asunder, lost for future generations.

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Top Left Sangtam Tribal Warriors in War Hut.

Top Right Apatani women performing a welcome dance.

Travels and Travails in Kashmir, Zanskar, and Ladakh;

Encounters with

Nature, Eccentric Travelers, and Others

Places mentioned: Srinagar, Meerut, Bihar, Dewas

Wakefield and Wakefield

Chandrashekhar Azad discovered in the jungles of Bihar by a clairvoyant uncle; Lord Wavell, the Qadir Cup, the Royal Pottee, and pig sticking; Kashmiri policeman to John Wakefield: “Sir! You are dead drunk!” Wakefi eld: “My friend! I am neither dead! And nor am I drunk!”

In the summer of 1979, after I had completed college with a bachelor’s degree in commerce, my father mentioned that a good family friend, Romesh Mehra, had taken over as managing director of Tiger Tops and Mountain Travel India, and that since I was always harping about a life of adventure, I should present myself for an interview. For the earlier mentioned 700 rupees per month (about US$30 at the time or US$20 today), I embarked on my professional career. I was promptly sent to Kashmir, for which region the late A. V. Jim Edwards’s office had appointed the late Colonel John Wakefield, and me as his assistant, first lieutenant and sidekick. Numerous stories abound around this most colorful of characters.

I never quite knew John’s “exact vintage.” Although I am sure I could have gotten to the bottom of this mystery, I allowed time to make its revelation. John was my very first “boss,” and as a young pup learning field craft, I was given a wonderful experience listening to his tales, including some very tall ones indeed. Tall not because they lacked veracity, but because what they conveyed to the listener was from an era apart – an era that would never return and one a younger generation would never, ever really know.

We spent wonderful fishing weekends in Kashmir, riverside tented camps and such, during which each drive in the Land Rover with John Sa’ab (Sahib), as he

The invitation my wife Jasleen and I sent out for John and others

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was called, was replete with lines muttered under his bristling mustache. These included one when a villager dashed across the road: “If only I had as much faith in my brakes as you have in Allah, you damned fool!”

Evenings allowed for longer tales over Scotch or rum. These included tales of his clairvoyant uncle, who “discovered” the Indian freedom fighter Chandrashekhar Azad absconding from the British in the jungles of Bihar for having hurled a bomb at the viceroy’s train. On another one of these evenings, in our office at Nedou’s Hotel on the famous Boulevard Road in Srinagar, Kashmir’s state capital, we were preparing for a visit by a delegation of government bigwigs from the state of Kashmir. It so happened that the politicos did not show up, but the next morning I noticed more than one glass, with dregs in it, and blurted out, “So they did come after all, sir?” I got a cold look and a sharp comment: “No, it was only Wakefield and Wakefield!”

Another incident narrated by John took place one night when he was returning to Nedou’s after a late dinner. A local Kashmiri policeman fluent in English stopped him and said, “Sir! You are dead drunk!” Pulling himself up in his seat in his famous blue Land Rover, his ferocious mustaches bristling, he retorted, “My friend! I am neither dead! And nor am I drunk!”

One summer, our office was tasked with conducting a titled Englishwoman on her visit to Kashmir. Lady X was accompanied by her private secretary. The latter was well endowed, pushy, and aggressive. After a couple of days of pandering to their whims, John had obviously had enough. He muttered to me, “She is Her Ladyship ... and she is Her Battleship, built for comfort, not for speed.”

Recently, and almost thirty years later, I went to visit for a day with John in Nagahole National Park, where he was spending his remaining years. While there, I tried to learn about the Raj-era art of pig sticking from the perspective of horsemanship. I got a complete lowdown from John, a onetime expert in this “extreme sport” of the previous century.

“Pig sticking? … Humph … Go to that bookshelf and pick out Baden Powell’s book, along with the Meerut Hog Hunter’s Annual.” He picked out an ancient photograph: Pig sticking in Meerut in 1942. “There’s Lord Wavell with the bow

legs. There’s… There’s … and there’s John Wakefield!” A fascinating story was building up, and I was finally able to place John’s specific vintage in Raj history.

He went on to tell me that every weekend the invitations went out to all the surrounding “tent clubs” (the old Raj term used for hunt clubs). He explained how the die-hards would simply sleep under a mango tree at night after the day’s hunt. “According to routine protocol, Peter Hall, the secretary of the Meerut Tent Club, sent an invite out to the Delhi Tent Club for the Sushmanabagh Qadir Cup weekend.”

Continued John, “To my chagrin, I received a signal on the day we were to ride out, from army headquarters, which read, ‘His Excellency, the Commander-inChief, Lord Wavell, has decided to join your hunt. Make necessary arrangement.’

“The rest of the group had gone ahead, and I was to bring up the rear, etc. I decided that the commander in chief could not sleep in the open, like us on the ground, and so arranged a 180-pounder tent and cot, bedding, and such, and

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then realized I had forgotten to pack a commode, when the thought occurred to me that neither could the commander in chief ‘go into the bush’ like we did to answer calls of nature.”

“I was in a predicament, so finally decided to take my camp chair and cut a hole in the canvas and position it with a shelter around it. Beneath the hole in the chair I decided to place an earthen matka [water vessel] to complete the royal potty.

The next morning, Wavell emerged from his tent exclaiming, “Thirty-five years in the army, and never had I had such a comfortable rear!’”

Said John, “Wavell had a glass eye on the right side … the side essential to pig sticking. We were mortified at the thought of his not getting a pig, or any other mishap.” John went on to explain that on a hunt you rode one behind the other, and how you never felt the horse’s mouth at the gallop, and how the pig can jinx

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the run of the rider. The hunt leader would never aim to make a kill, but merely “draw blood,” the lance always being held parallel to the ground.

Anyway, the best horses that had won the Qadir Cup two years running, Manifest and Squeak, were given to Lord Wavell, and everyone behind him did their bit to make sure he struck lucky. John explained that pigs would often try to swim and you had to be careful when chasing one into the water ...which then meant remounting on a wet saddle and riding in wet breeches.

Another bit of interesting information from John was that polo ponies would be trained to hunt by keeping a pig in the compound and allowing them to chase it around. And lastly, the only women he ever saw on a pig-sticking hunt were the daughters from the royal house of Dewas, who successfully hunted while wearing twelve-yard saris for riding horseback. This was a nugget of information for the modern Indian rider, as there are too few examples of modern Indian horsewomen, let alone any bold enough to spear a boar.

Some years later, when I had some expert horsemen (Count Henry Le Grelle, and Colonel Jim Maza and Bruce Taylor of the United States) visit India, and when John was “in station,” I had the invitation on page 63 drawn up for them all.

Each Man to His Own: A Question

of Survival - and Odd Women

A young woman from Texas; a young Israeli woman out for a walk on the high altitude plains of Nimaling.

Places mentioned: Texas, Kashmir, Ladakh: Leh, Nimaling Plain, Kanji La Pass (17,200 ft/5,242 m) above sea level); invitation drawn up for them all

During the period around World War I, there were some serious mishaps with ships at sea, when in some instances men did not wait for women and children to evacuate before jumping ship themselves.

Thereafter, a “code” was established by one Lord Birkenhead, stating that in sticky situations it was to be “women and children first.” Of this, it was said, “To stand and be still, to the Birkenhead Drill, is a damned tough bullet to chew.”

Traveling in the Himalaya dictates that you be prepared for the unexpected, no matter where in these mountains you may be going. Some of my experiences (as the one following) made me think of the Birkenhead Drill, which I had read about as a young boy.

Above: Author with American clients, Kashmir, circa 1983

Below: With clients from Hong Kong enroute to the Kolahoi Glacier, Kashmir, India

Trapped with Three American Ladies from Texas

I once accompanied three American women who had come for an overland journey into Ladakh. Two were middle-aged friends, and the third was a young woman from Texas. Unfortunately, the two middle-aged ladies and the young woman did not see eye to eye on most matters. When it came time to drive from Leh to Kashmir, we found ourselves facing a landslide not far from Leh, the district capital of Ladakh. I suggested they decide between waiting for the landslide to be cleared by the army, and driving back to Leh for the night. Alas, they could not agree, and by the time they took my advice to turn around, there was a landslide behind us. Stuck without food, water, or bedding, this was an early lesson!

Some two hours later, I was standing alongside the jeep. A hand protruded from under the canvas frame at the back of the jeep, proffering a can of tuna. “Take some, but don’t give them any,” the young woman hissed. Needless to say, along the theme of the aforementioned Birkenhead Drill, I declined. I could hardly feed myself while leaving my other clients to starve.

The young Texan lady was also hooked on beefsteak. She harp incessantly about the food she missed most, the best cows in the world for this fare, and kept asking why India had so many stray cows. I got fed up finally and said, “Well, that’s an udder country,” hoping she would give up the subject, which thankfully she did!

We guides noted numerous stories and incidents of much greater callousness to one’s fellow on the part of some international travelers. In one instance, a group of trekkers crossing the high Kanji La Pass (17,200 ft/5,242 m) chose to abandon one of their young pony men, who, along with his pack pony, went crashing into the depths below. Of course, the pony man’s fellows were equally at fault, but talk about a callous patron! Following his progress, we learned that the young man later lost his foot to amputation.

In another instance, a group of trekkers chose to abandon a female companion who was unwell, to be discovered by our parties later, lying out in the wilderness,

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in a tent with no provisions or support of any sort, needing to be rescued!

Once, when on trek with my clients in the Nimaling Plains of Ladakh (10,000 ft/3,200 m), an apparition came toward us at dayreak as we ate breakfast in camp. A young woman was traversing the high mountain plain, her sleeping bag wrapped around her cotton clothing, and a toothbrush in hand. She was in the middle of the Himalayas with no backpack, just a vest, pajamas, and a down jacket, a sleeping bag, a cap and sneakers. We learned she had recently left military service in the Israeli army. Though we tried to suggest better outfitting, she would have none of it. Israeli ex-military services youth were rather adept at living off the land, even if the trauma of war made them behave somewhat erratically at times. It was this same background of national military service that enabled a group of Israelis taken hostage in Kashmir to overpower their captors.

Chortens (stupas) of mud and lime, below Stok Village overlooking the Indus river valley, Ladakh, Jammu, & Kashmir, India.

Escaping the Talons of a Lammergeier, the Bearded Vulture; No Escape from C hang , Mountain Barley Brew

• Trying to reach camp before dark, helped by the bearded vulture

• Forgetting to turn the cup of wine downward

Places mentioned: Hong Kong, Ladakh, Markha Valley

On an excursion in 1980, I was escorting two important guests on a trek into the Markha Valley, in Ladakh’s high mountains. One was the vice president of Chemical Bank, stationed in Hong Kong, the other the great-grandson of a nineteenth-century Himalayan mountain explorer, whose name I cannot seem to recall.

Just as we were turning a corner below a mountainous crag, we encountered at close quarters a mature lammergeier, or bearded vulture, as it slowly rose into flight, opening its wings to the full span at its command, all of nine feet (2.74 m). The sight of those immense wings along with the black feather “beard” created not a little awe in my visitors, and indeed in me.

After our lunch halt, they, as Westerners are often wont to do, lay down to sun themselves on a rock. Once settled, they refused to leave, and I began worrying about reaching camp before dark. Suddenly, they shot up and practically bolted. They had spotted the huge bearded vulture, like an apparition from tales of Sinbad the Sailor, as it began to circle and descend ever lower toward what looked like a hearty feast on that rock. We reached camp in time that evening!

On the same trek, my Ladakhi guides had a good laugh at my guests’ expense, when they would not divulge the custom of turning their cups upside down after consuming chang (barley beer) at a villager’s house. This, of course, meant constant refills. At that high elevation, the slow buildup of chang certainly got us into a happy mood! The rice beer of Arunachal and the northeast is similar, for it too has a slow buildup. The latter was, I found, the more pleasant of the two, the Ladakhi chang being the more pungent.

Two Narrow Escapes for a Young Lady, in Kashmir’s Wilds

• A buxom blonde almost slides into the raging Lidder River

• We are pursued by armed Gujjars with dark intent

Places mentioned: New Delhi, Kashmir, Sheshnag Lake, Zanskar

In 1980, I had been tasked by the general manager of Air France in New Delhi, Jean Cleaude Rouyer, to conduct him, his wife, and their nineteen year-old daughter on an eight-day trek from Zanskar into Kashmir, ending up near Pahalgam. A beautiful and scenic journey, this was a classic trail through the high-altitude desert landscape of Zanskar into the lush green of Kashmir.

The assignment was memorable for the wrong reasons. The young lady had almost no sense of balance in the outdoors. When crossing the smallest of streams no more than a foot wide, she would pause, hesitate, and go back and forth before finally taking the step. It was rather incredible how imbalanced and out of kilter someone accustomed to paved city surfaces could be in these environs. Her “imbalance” led to a very narrow escape indeed, when she nearly skidded into a turbulent and swollen Himalayan river, the Lidder, feeding the Sheshnag Lake.

That year, the ice bridge we normally used had melted, and we were forced to walk along the left bank rather than the usual right. We came to a short patch of ice and snow on the sharply sloped path. It was a one-at-a-time kind of situation, but too small to warrant the use of any roping or ice axes. The girl was ahead of me, and I realized with a sense of dread that if she slipped in the slightest, she would go straight into the raging river from which there was no escape, and the rest of the party was ahead of us. Sure enough, just out of arm’s reach, she began to skid. I could only watch with horror as she began to slip downward in the direction of the depths.

Opposite

Looking across from StokLa Pass, (4,900 m/16,076 ft) Ladakh, Jammu & Kashmir, India

Author handing medicines to Balti muslim tribal woman, Zanskar, Suru Valley, Jammu & Kashmir

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Opportunely, we always advise each trekker to carry an old Indian brolly, which is equipt with a metal spike at the end. These would serve well for rain and sun, and ice. The young lady’s survival instincts took over, and she deployed the metal spike of the umbrella as one would an ice ax, managing to come out unscathed.

An hour later, we came upon a dense section of mountain forest. We trailed the rest of the party, which had gone on ahead. Before we realized it, and with the utmost stealth and silence, a band of fierce-looking, armed, and bearded Gujjars had materialized and fallen in step right behind us. Adding to the drama, over the course of previous days, the young lady had flatly refused to heed advice about wearing modest clothing. Now, because of the heat, she was showing off her buxom best, along with a great deal of bare thigh. The next half hour, tension rose to the boiling point, as the Gujjars continued to follow us, making lewd and dire suggestions about the girl, their intentions very dark indeed.

The Gujjars had a fearsome reputation. They were expert mountain men and most hardy. I had seen them ascend a crevice-ridden glacier under a full moon, wearing only ordinary clothing, hard-soled native shoes, a thick blanket, and a staff. They were experts in dangerous Himalayan stream crossings (a recognized discipline of mountaineering), and even our Ladakhi guides were in awe of them. They kept absolutely ferocious Bhotia Tibetan mastiffs, perpetually chained, often with the ears docked (the docked portion was apparently fed to the dogs with the belief it made them even fiercer. We were often pounced upon by these chained beasts sitting immobile along the path, when it was almost too late.

Thankfully, the Gujjars and I all spoke Punjabi, and they had some respect for the Sikh community from their winterings in the plains of the Punjab. Grasping for any common ground, I recalled the names of some Gujjar elders I had met, and recounted visits to their homes (from which I emerged totally flea bitten). With a tit-for-tat kind of banter in Punjabi, I put on an apparent bold front. “Dari dey bhra,” they said to me. “We are brothers of the beard, even though from different faiths.” After half an hour of extreme tension, we gradually parted ways with this horrendous band.

The young French woman asked me what the Gujjars had been saying, and I could do naught but mutter something like, “Just idle talk!”

The Alpine Lakes Trek in Kashmir - and One Big Mountain Thunderstorm That Became Two

• The ancient Hindu lakes of Kashmir

• The wrath of nature

• Praying one’s way out of a mountain storm

Places mentioned: Kashmir, Ladakh, Sonamarg, Naranag Lakes: Kishensar, Vishensar, Gangabal

In 1983, I led a group of eight Americans on a nine-day trek from Sonamarg in Kashmir to the holy lakes of Kishensar, Vishensar, and Gangabal, which are steeped in Hindu mythology.

Hearing became a challenge for the slightly elderly clients in the mountains. The following was a typical exchange:

“Can you see that temple?”

“Pimple? What pimple?”

“Pencil? Pencil? What pencil?”

“Temple!”

“Oh! Temple!”

Gangabal Lake, opposite Harmukh Massif (from ancient Hindy mythology,”God’s Mouth”). Not seen, author and Jeffrey Y Campbell, who took the photograph-1980.

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After a run of fine weather, the last day brought a tremendous cloudburst, and the heavens opened on us with ferocity. For the better part of an hour, sharp, biting, and angular rain lashed down on us, along with hailstones the size of pigeon eggs, thunder, lightning, and howling winds of about 70 kmph - all at the same time!

As the outer flies on the tents began ripping off the frames and flying into the depths below, my staff and I ran from tent to tent, attempting to hold down the outer flaps, as all were occupied with guests inside. The huge hailstones and wind velocity made for painful reverberation around the ears, echoing through our rubber wind capes, and our hands froze, rapped white on the knuckles by hailstones as we tried to keep the tent poles from dislodging.

All the while, our camp cook stirred a dessert of chocolate pudding, quite unperturbed, holding onto his tent flap with one hand. My chief mountain guide, in awe of the wrath of nature, soon began urging everyone to pray. This really got me worried. The prayers worked, however, and the storm soon abated.

Little did we know, the same storm system was to reenergize three days later. Moving up the Himalayan watershed, it was to hit us again in a strange manner during the time we flew up to Ladakh. Returning to the Vale of Kashmir, we ran into the same storm that had moved up to envelop us. This became a separate adventure, that is narrated separately.

A Cat’s Nine Lives on Himalayan Roads and Other Incidents

Encounters Over the Zoji La

• Safely conducting American travelers on the Himalayan watershed and through landslides on the Zoji La (11,200 ft/3,413 m above sea level)

• A hallucinating taxi driver negotiating Himalayan bends with the help of opium

Places mentioned:

Srinagar, Dras, Kishensar Lake, Zoji La Pass (11,200 ft/3,413 m) above sea level), Hangroo Loops, Fotu La Pass (13,429 ft/4,093 m) above sea level), Lamayuru, Leh, Baltal, Amarnath, Sonamarg

After the lakes trek and flying up from the Vale of Kashmir into Leh, we began to explore the Leh Valley. After a day sightseeing in Leh, and another rafting on the Indus (where our raft got stuck on a high rock, and we had to rigorously shift our weights around to dislodge it), we drove back toward Kashmir.

The next day, we ran into the same storm system that had pummeled us earlier on the Kishensar Lake. It had obviously not emptied its bowels, for soon after leaving Leh, we watched it move up the valley towards us. Within minutes, the sandy mountainsides of the Lamayuru Valley were like chocolate, with vehicles careening in mud wheel-high. A landslide had built up before us, half kilometer deep.

We managed to make our way down to the Vale of Kashmir, crossing the famous Hangru Loops, a series of no fewer than twenty-three sharply meandering bends beginning at the base of the Lamayuru Valley at approximately 11,000 ft (3,352 m) above the sea, and rising to the Fotu La Pass at 13,429 ft (4,093 m), until we encountered a trick the self-same weather system had played while moving up across the Himalayan watershed to Ladakh. We were halted at Dras, the bitterly cold sweeping plains short of the Zoji La, the 11,200-ft (3,450 m) pass that separated the green Kashmir Valley from the high-altitude desert of Ladakh.

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The Indian Army, which managed and controlled the road, had forced a halt of all traffic bound into the valley. A convoy of close to eight hundred trucks carrying Leh-bound supplies had been trapped by landslides for four days without food, water, and shelter, and needed first right of passage up into the heights.

The wait lasted more than twelve hours. Mothers with wailing babies and others stranded without food were in miserable conditions. Ours was one of the only “civilian” parties self-sufficient in provisions: our stoves were blazing, hot soups were out, and we had sleeping bags available. This time, I would not be caught off guard after a similar incident that took place previously! (See chapter 7)

This soon turned out to be a disadvantage. Guides escorting other Westerners became rather jealous of our self-sufficiency and, seeing blazing stoves and steaming soups brewing, egged on their guests with statements like “The Indian Army is a law unto itself and is always heavy handed. We should storm the checkpoint!” With a twelve hour wait in the open windswept plains of Dras and nothing to do, one odd New Yorker from our party, an eccentric sixty-year-old, “fell in” with this lot and approached me, parroting their demands. Fortunately, the rest of the group and I were able to restrain her from attempting to carry out this ridiculous suggestion. We waited it out instead.

Toward dusk, the very first truck, laden with bananas, rolled in. With a hungry horde waiting to pounce, they were sold out in minutes, to the loss of the citizenry of Leh. It was soon the downward convoy’s turn to start. My driver came to me and said his “friend and fellow driver” (not part of our troupe) was not feeling well. Would I mind allowing him to drive in front of our convoy so that he could be kept an eye on? Unwittingly, I said, “Sure.” Normally, we would make this high mountain journey in broad daylight. That day, because of the circumstances, we left past midnight. We slowly snaked our way through the treacherous track over the Himalayan watershed, at points where ice in winter was as thick as houses, over the 11,200-ft (3,500 m above sea level) pass of Zoji La toward the Baltal (which was one route to the famous Amarnath Cave) and Sonamarg valleys, 2,000 ft (609 m) below. Around each bend, through the swirling mists, the cars’ headlights would point to the inky, sheer depths of the Baltal Valley below (also a

Opposite Author on trek in the Kashmir Himalaya, above Lake Gangabal

base for the famous Amarnath Cave, of great importance to Hindus on account of its snow-and-ice Shiv Lingam).

This was a historic route, and as mentioned, the Himalayan watershed it straddled separated the lush Vale of Kashmir from the high, dry wasteland of Ladakh and the Tibetan Plateau. In 1980, one of the famous veterans I had escorted over it was the late Colonel Jimmy Roberts OBE (Order of the British Empire), mountaineer and pheasant breeder, who lived and died in Nepal and who told me of his experiences during a winter expedition in the 1940s over the Zoji La. One of his anecdotes was rather funny. Because the porters had to be paid in silver coinage, their payment was packed in a small, compact wooden box. Every day a new porter was seduced by the sight of it, and those in the know would have a belly laugh at his expense when the poor soul realized it was the heaviest item of baggage.

In the previous century, the famous Dogra general named Zorawar Singh, who marched to Tibet, also traversed this route. In 1947, the Pakistani Raiders

Author on the Alpine Lake Trek near Kishen Sar (Lord Krishna’s Lake) and Vishen Sar (Lord Vishnu’s Lake). Names from inancient Hindu mythology.

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infiltrating there were finally dislodged by the Sikh general (at that time captain) Rajinder Singh “Sparrow”, who (under the leadership of the famous Indian General “Timmy” Thimmaya) took a column of Stuart tanks to this tremendous height for this purpose. These famous characters, along with the men who died in the building of this great road, pointed to the strategic nature of the near impassable territory.

To continue the story of our adventure, we crossed a spire of rock standing over a precipice as a marker, known as Jimmy Gate (named after a soldier of the army’s Corps of Signals, coincidentally the regiment my father served with and whose emblem, the Greek god Mercury, was colloquially known as Jimmy). The sharp hairpin bends and slippery surface, especially in the pitch dark of night with low-visibility conditions, made this a deadly journey. In the midst of all this I saw a Gujjar, whistling up and herding his sheep and goats, walking along the cliff edge, oblivious to the bizarre night traffic. Just another day for these mountain Gujjars!

The car before us suddenly braked to a halt. It was the “unwell driver.” He stepped out of his car, parked on the sharp slope, and approached my driver. Behind us, another seven hundred vehicles slowly pulled to a halt, strung out along the tortuous Himalayan bends.

In Kashmiri he said to my driver, “We’ve reached Srinagar, have we?” We were taken aback, before realization began to dawn. He had mistaken a road gang crew’s tent and drum barrels for the outskirts of Srinagar. Worse, he was, as it turned out, high on opium!

Obviously too scared to make this journey, the usual case with this lot, and high on opium, he was at a completely different “elevation.” Realizing he was high, I curtly told my driver to drive on, as I was more worried about looking after my own travelers.

We came into the Sonamarg Valley at 2 am that night. A pack of mountain ponies blocked our path.

“Nightmares!” I muttered under my breath.

No Brakes and Blind Man’s Bluff, on the Banihal Pass

• Barry Bishop, famous American Everester, on the first American Everest Expedition

• Rescuing two American ladies from the clutches of Delhi’s heat and dust, Punjab’s militancy, and a bone-jarring, video-blaring cross-country drive from Delhi to Kashmir

• A driver who falls asleep on a dark night on a winding Himalayan road

Places mentioned: Everest, Zanskar, Dal Lake, Kashmir, Punjab, Banihal Pass, Jammu

One of America’s most famous mountaineering families is the Bishop family. Barry Bishop was on the first American Everest Expedition along with Lute Jerstad, one of my bosses in my first job (also mentioned in chapter 7) along with the Colonel John Wakefield. Barry, his wife, Lilah, and their son, Brent, were all avid mountain explorers, and Barry had helped Lute Jerstad when the latter was in the gray zone of blind exhaustion on that 1962 expedition.

Lilah began bringing American trekkers to Kashmir, and I was deputed to lead her and her clients from Kashmir to Ladakh on the three-week journeys through the Pir Panjal and Zanskar mountains. I have taken the opportunity in this book to reproduce some classic photos Lilah took on her trek in Mustang, when I was operating a foot-and-pony expedition there. I have also reproduced some of Kabir Mansingh’s unique photos lent to me for sending perhaps the first Western tourist to the Damshung Horse Festival in Tibet, even though the tourist in question could not hack the trek and never made it to the festival itself.

In August 1984, three years after leaving Mountain Travel to set up TigerPaw Adventures, I was self-assigned in Kashmir and made a courtesy call on Lilah at her houseboat on the Dal Lake. I went with one of her new trek leaders, and was rather aghast when I heard their conversation. Apparently two of their party, the wife of one member and the travel agent, also from Texas, did not have confirmed air tickets from Delhi to Srinagar, so Mountain Travel sent them across the torrid plains of the Punjab to Kashmir by ordinary bus. There were not many choices, but regardless, considering the profile of the travelers, the heat, the lack of basic amenities, and the bloody deeds of the Punjab ultras and

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the infamous Operation Blue Star on the Golden Temple, I advised the Mountain Travel representative to soften the blow. I suggested that he hire a private cab with a hamper of toiletries and food, and intercept the bus at its staging halt in Jammu to escort them personally by car into the valley. “Come with me,” he said, and as exhausted as I was from two months of arduous trekking, like a sucker, I agreed. The light was fading as we took a cab from the stands.

My companion, who had the flu, fell asleep, while I, who had already had numerous close shaves at the hands of rash drivers, attempted to keep an eye on the chauffeur. Hurtling toward the Banihal in the increasing dark, at one point I decided to move up front.

Seeing the driver’s eyes begin to droop, I asked him to let me drive. He refused to let me handle his car, however, so we carried on. Somewhere the demons and the gods both were watching us. I know not to this day what roused me from the deep and cozy sleep that had enveloped me like a thick blanket. But I opened my eyes and, as in a dream, saw in slow motion the winding road heading south over the Banihal Pass, and the car veering toward the edge of the road not more than thirty feet (09 m) from it, at right angles, with the raging Chenab River running parallel below.

The driver’s head was slumped forward on the wheel. My companion had long been in deep sleep. I grabbed the wheel and turned it into the hill face, and the bounder woke up with a start.

“Niklo bhar! Get out!” I shouted, and announced I was definitely going to drive. In Urdu he replied, “Sahib, be careful - there are no brakes.”

We drove hesitatingly to Jammu, me pumping furiously at the brake pedal. Unfortunately we could not find a replacement cab because of the shortage, and had to escort the ladies back to Srinagar in the same car. The menfolk greeted me as if I had pulled off a major rescue. I guess it was at that.

Blue Tents and Tin Tanks in the High Himalaya

Communications were always terrible in the Himalaya. The following is a conversation that went nowhere.

Me, in the Srinagar capital city of Jammu and Kashmir, shouting on a poor telephone line to an old friend serving in the military in Leh, district capital of Ladakh, as the aide-de-camp to the general officer commanding (GOC) at the time:

Me: “I need you to pass a message to my camp in Stok ...to send five blue tents for the Markha Trek.”

Him: “Five fruit tins?!”

Me: “No, no, five blue tents!”

Him: “Five tin tanks?!”

Author’s Sherpa Chewang Nerdup on Omasali Pass (5,394 m,17,000 st) and Glacier © Kunal Verma

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Stok - The Royal Palace, and Village, Ladakh

Setting up yurts and “Is it the attitude or the altitude?”

Before I began TigerPaw Adventures, and during the year I spent with Tiger Tops and Mountain Travel in India (started by that colorful gentleman, the late A. V. Jim Edwards), I was assigned by that company to conduct land-related project tasks in Leh, in winter, under Colonel John Wakefield, officer, gentleman, and octogenarian.

Being tasked to build the second phase of accommodation at Ladakh Serai, I prefabricated the yurts, the Serai’s key accommodation feature, in the heat of Delhi, then shipped them via truck up to Kashmir. Thereafter, I escorted the yurts over the Zoji La, the Fotu La, and the famous Hangroo Loops (a series of more

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than twenty sharp hairpin bends from the foot of the Indus valley floor at 11,000 ft/3,352 m or so above sea level), to the top of Foto La pass, an elevation gain of more than 4,000 ft/1,219 m; finally entered the Valley of Leh, crossed the Indus and up to Stok, where they were assembled permanently for the comfort of the foreign upscale traveler.

En route, one of my accompanying Himachali guides became a nervous wreck when caught in the middle of a swordfight between two drunk Sikh truck drivers. Another day in my life!

I had the task of setting up the second phase of a yurt camp in Stok (12,000 ft/4,000 m above sea level), where the company had a base, and where the Ladakhi Royal (the Rani of Stok) had been banished when the Dogra general

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Zorawar Singh marched to Tibet. The Stok palace was a classic piece of Ladakhi Tibetan architecture, with its inward sloping walls.

From the base in Stok, we made short treks to places like the Stok Kangri peak (20,135 ft/ 6137 m above sea level), the Stok La Pass, from which distant ranges of the Kun Lun Mountains toward Tibet are visible on a clear day, the Martho Gompa (whose monks practiced Tantric Buddhism, showed off masked dances, and slashed their tongues with swords in their trance states during the Martho Festival), and Hemis, the most famous Gompa or monastery in Ladakh.

Within its inner chambers, Hemis has ancient animal and bird sketetalia from the pre-Buddhist animist period. The monastery unfurls its largest scroll, or tangkha, once every dozen years, and it has been accorded great importance for the Kalchakra ceremonies by the Dalai Lama since his exile from Tibet. During my early stint in Ladakh, I did mad things here, as only youth do, like jogging at 12,000 ft, trekking fifteen kilometers from Leh to Stok under a full moon after a night in

town, first downhill over the alluvial spill that Leh stands on, then crossing the Indus River, and finally uphill over the second alluvial spill where the village of Stok sits. Stumbling across earth strewn with small boulders in the dark, one might come across partly burned human bones, the Ladakhi Buddhists resorting neither to a full burial or full cremation, but a little of both. In this harshest of landscapes, willow groves provide some shaded comfort in summer; in winter, freezing temperatues and howling wind will freeze urine while answering natures call!

At the Ladakh Serai, in Stok (El. 12,000 ft / 3,657 m ), there were some interesting personalities. Two in particular had rather large egos: an American, Leo Lebon, founder of Mountain Travel USA; and the late A. V. Jim Edwards, founder of Tiger Tops Nepal (and therefore owner of Ladakh Serai), which also acquired Mountain Travel Nepal, founded by Colonel Jimmy Roberts, OBE. The US company was a client of Tiger Tops Mountain Travel group. Here the two gents did not get on well at all. On the last day, when they’d had enough of each other, one was heard to say, “I don’t know what his problem is, whether it is the attitude or the altitude.”

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1,800 Kilometers on an Italian Vespa From New Delhi to Kashmir and Back

It was the fall season of 1980 in Kashmir, and the leaves were falling from the willow trees of Srinagar’s broad boulevards. My father wanted me back in Delhi immediately to help build the family house. I had driven up to Sringagar over the course of three days with Jeffrey Y. Campbell, who rode his Bullet Enfield, and it was now time to hare it down alone on my Italian Vespa (or Bajaj, as it was called in India).

Biting wind necessitated donning my feather-down jacket and pants, a gift from Lute. I cruised down until reaching the Banihal Pass, and entered the tunnel, where pitch-black, icy water flowed down its walls. I tried to navigate around the scree that had collected in the middle, but before I knew it, my little scooter skidded off the road, taking me and my backpack with it. Fortunately, there were no vehicles in the tunnel, allowing me to collect myself and exit the long Banihal reasonably intact. I had started at 9 am in Srinagar, and reached Jammu, a journey of about three-hundred kilometers, at 4 pm.

The next day, I set off at six in the morning. Soon I ran into the awful mugginess of the Punjab summer, as well as a fuel shortage (and had to buy two small five-liter cans to stick in the basket of the Vespa). After a nonstop (well, almost) journey of sixteen and a half hours that covered the six hundred kilometers from Jammu to New Delhi, I reached my destination at ten-thirty at night, having miraculously dodged the blinding lights and dangerous driving of Delhi’s trucks.

My father expressed neither amazement nor any particular joy at my arrival. My hair-raising journey, which I have vowed never to repeat on such a small bit of machinery, was nothing out of the ordinary for him, much to my gall.

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Adventures in the Garhwal Himalaya

Lost in the Garhwal While Heading to the Source of the Ganges in Winter

In God’s wilderness lies the hope of the world - the great fresh, unblighted, unredeemed wilderness.

—John Muir

Places mentioned: Goumukh, Bhojbasa, Delhi

Rivers: Ganges

Mountain peaks: Shivling

In 1981, my colleague Jeff Campbell and I were deputed to reconnoiter a trek route to the source of two of India’s holiest rivers, the Yamuna and the Ganga (Ganges). The trek was scheduled for the month of May, which meant that the reconnaissance had to be completed by March, very much a winter month in the Himalaya. Another traveling companion, Jeff’s buddy, the author Steve Alter, was part of our team. The May trip was at the request of Charles Allen, author of Plain Tales of the Raj and others. The book he would write during this trip was A Mountain in Tibet.

Although blocked by deep and impenetrable ringal cane forest on the “imagined” route between Yamnotri and Uttarkashi, our researchers in Delhi afforded us the opportunity to see some of the last unique wooden temples of the Garhwal. We also found ourselves in thick and impassable oak and rhododendron forest past the village of Triyug Narayan. En route to Lata Khara, we traversed the beautifully verdant and dense Bhilganga Gorge.

In those days no rucksacks or camp gear worth the name were available in India, so I had bought an aluminum-frame pack from an American trekker in Kashmir. The only problem was that the frame pack was customized to his height, all six feet six inches, (1.98 m) and given my mere five-foot, six-inch height (1.7 m), there was a foot-long section of tubular aluminum hanging behind my knees and getting caught in my ankles with each forward step.

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Three thirty in the afternoon brought overcast skies, thunder, and a light rain. We had hired a local guide, as the route was too dense even for our expert mountain guides from Himachal to discern.

Standing at the edge of the forest, I stopped to cover my sleeping bag from the rain while the others started into the forest. In the five or eight minutes it took me to perform this task, they had vanished, and the forest was too dense for a whistle or a shout to penetrate, what with the wind and rain.

I walked on and found a two-forked track. Choosing one path, I began what seemed like an endless journey. In deep forest with nary a sign of human presence, past or current, fading light, little water and no food, I was, quite obviously, in the wrong zone. I trudged on with my awful pack, climbing one small ridge, then another and then another. At one point, I ended up hip deep in dead leaves. At another, I suddenly came to a rise and to what I first thought was a lake, before realizing it was a limestone cliff opposite the drop below me.

With my pathetic compass and meager map (poory armed due to the Indian government’s porous security network, overzealous rules, and little attention to adventure travel - see suggestions for the tourism industry in the appendix!) I decided that I must take the northwesterly route, but it woulc have to wait until the next morning. I was too exhausted and dehydrated, and so I curled up under a tree.

Fortunately this was the right decision, for soon, in the pitch dark, I heard the shouts of my search party, which to my delight found and extricated me.

I had close to ten mugfuls of water. I was very lucky. Recovering my strength at camp, I listened to the radio and heard about another, much more awful fate that had befallen a friend. An Australian climber I had known in Nepal had just died on an expedition to Annupurna.

We carried on to Goumukh, the Cow’s Mouth Glacier, source of the Holy Ganges, and on to Shivling Peak, through beautiful terrain, snow bound with iridescent Monal and Kalij pheasant striking beautiful colors above the white blanket.

We traversed the Panwali ridge, and as we came up catching our breath, met an an old man who greeted us with:

“Jo chare panwanli ki charai, vo jeetay, German ji larai!”

(“He who scales the mountain of Panwali, will he win the war with the Germans!”)

It was an old saying going back to the time of World War I, when hundreds of thousands of young men went to fight for the Allied cause for making a free world, many laying down their lives.

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Typical mountainscape in the Garhwal Himalaya

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Quirky Englishmen and Again, the Source of the Ganges

Wilderness is the raw material out of which man has hammered the artifact called civilization.

—Aldo Leopold

• Author Charles Allen seeks material for his book A Mountain in Tibet

• An Englishman’s accoutrements on trek: cravat, brogues, Tyrolean hat, walking cane, plus twos, knickerbockers, a silver flask of whiskey, a vest full of holes

• The English gentleman is a victim of streetside rogues in Delhi ...

On the main trek, there was another Charles with us. He was typical of his breed. On trek he wore the following: a stiff upper lip, a cravat, knickerbockers or plus twos and brogues, along with Tyrolean hat, and cane. In the evenings, his silver flask and goblet were out, yet his vest was full of holes (as I saw when I had to share a tent with him), a contradiction I have since put down to English eccentricity.

We had camped near Bhojbasa, short of Gowmukh, the Cow’s Mouth Glacier, from where the true Ganges commenced. There was a Canadian doctor on the trek who was testing his theory on poor Charles, who was inflicted with an acute attack of dysentery. The doctor espoused the belief that no treatment was the best treatment. As I took a walk out of our campsite, I skirted a bend and was filled with the full frontal sight of Charles’s naked shanks trying to take cover behind sparse gorse bush. As we looked each other in the eye, he brought his hat down from his head to cover the side of his buttock, and in his most cultivated accent said, “Excuse me. I’ve got the trots.”

After the trek, the group went off sightseeing in Delhi. Afterward, we congregated at the bar of the Imperial Hotel to swap notes on the journey and the day in Delhi, and to say our good-byes. I inquired of Charles, “How was your day?”

“Very odd!” he exclaimed. “First I took a walk along Janpath and bumped into a shoeshine urchin. I suddenly saw a patch of paint on my brogues, and he offered to ‘remove’ it. I didn’t realize he had managed to put it there in the first place. When I fell for this, and gave him my shoes, he managed to remove the insole and showed it to me, again offering to repair it. Fed up, I then got onto a three-wheel

scooter rickshaw. The driver was one of you Sikhs” - he said, pointing to me - “and he offered me hashish, ganja, and more. I parted company with him, and then went into the Tibetan curio stores along Janpath. There I was browsing through, when the store owner whispered in my ear, ‘Sir, would you like my daughter for the night?’ When I protested and said, ‘No, no, I am a Christian gentleman,’ the man had the audacity to turn around and say, ‘Sir, in that case would you like my son?’”

Charles narrated his day’s experience with a mixture of affront and a hiccupping style of laugh, while we chortled and rolled around in pain from laughter.

In this business, I have, needless to say, interacted at length with eccentric Englishmen who are avid travelers and, I feel, from a nationality truly “born” to travel, being islanders.

As anyone from a boarding school background understands, there is much opportunity, as well as need, to take the mickey out of one’s fellows, and equally to be made fun of and take it like a man (not be effete and hypocritical “politically correct”). The comradeship of schoolboys, campouts, hard expeditions, and

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military culture all typify this behavior.

The English of old revel in oddity and eccentricism, and as the account on “hobin hunting” shows, it makes them easy and fun travel companions. But that brand of Englishman, and Englishwoman, for that matter, is a dying breed.

Traveling with Brits of the old guard was quite an experience. I understood their mad ways when out in the field. Political correctness was not a virtue, and I too find that beyond a point it becomes hypocritical and false. Using politically incorrect terms is sometimes an English way of showing how much at ease one is in another’s company, but is often misunderstood by those on the outside.

Equally, the old style of English manners is excellent to observe. I was once in a lift (elevator for Americans) with Simon Studholme Wilson, an old India hand. A stranger stood between us, and I continued my banter over his head, until Simon turned to him and said, “I’m so sorry to speak across you!” People of animated Asian cultures like those of the Subcontinent would not understand this!

I have pulled out some nuggets from some of the queerer ’uns I have received in correspondence.

Here is one from a journalist undergoing a divorce, obiously after a few drinks:

“I can finish off the article now, but I have been under a lot of stress. I have had terrible dreams. In one, I found myself punching a sofa because I thought it was a Barn Owl that was attacking me. In another, I badly damaged my right hand which is still bruised because I hit a table in my sleep—I had thought that it was a monster that was disputing with me over a guano concession.”

More on Language: A Foreign Journey; I Make a Language Gaffe with a Young British Lady

In 1983, I was traveling in England on my very first trip abroad. Fast food had just come into India, and the word quiche had not yet entered my vocabulary.

In London, I went to a pub, accompanied by a good English friend. I chivalrously asked her to wait while I went up to the counter and ordered a pint and something to eat. The young English lass behind the counter waited patiently while I studied the menu of the day chalked out on the blackboard behind her. I saw “QUICHELbs 3” badly scrawled, and said, “I’ll have that quickie for three pounds.”

“I beg your pardon, sir! That’s quiche!” she scolded.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, and scurried back to the table.

When I told tmy English friends, they either looked aghast and said, “You could have got clobbered” or “She must have been upset at the mere three quid!”

Rats! I was standing at the Old Delhi Railway Station, that once-imposing edifice of the Raj. I was escorting the contingent of the Second Royal Tank Regiment British Forces, stationed at Fallingbostel, Germany, setting them off on their mountaineering trip to conquer the 22,769-ft (6,940-m) Mount Kedar Dome in the Garhwal Himalaya.

The very young and newly recruited British Tommies standing at platform number one, soon took to their heels, or variously climbed into each others arms, squealing in mortal fear.

Not an edifying sight.

The enemy was no less than a mighty force of the biggest of Delhi’s sewer rats. Captain Simon Phipps, tough as nails and brusque, was not amused when I remarked, “I’ve finally seen the British Army on the run!”

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Expedition “Himalayan Hunter”

Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning to find out that going to the mountains is going home; that wilderness is a necessity; and that mountain parks and reservations are useful not only as fountains of timber and irrigating rivers, but as fountains of life.

—John Muir

THE ROYAL AIR FORCE KINLOSS 1999

EXPEDITION TO THE INDIAN HIMALAYA EXPEDITION TO MOUNT KEDAR DOME

Until I left for Canada, I had an excellent rapport with the defense attaches and their staff at the British High Commission in New Delhi. Lieutenant Colonel Roger Sinclair and his wife, Jan, are still close friends. Apart from the numerous ski mountaineering expeditions for the British Army’s Second Royal Tank Regimentand Royal Signals, I was able to secure for TigerPaw a prestigious expedition to Mount Kedar Dome for the Royal Air Force Kinloss in Scotland, through the High Commission. As mentioned elsewhere, I had to leave for North America to complete my Environmental Fellowship, and handed the planning of the expedition over to my poor father.

Sandy Murray, the expedition leader, is now a good friend of the company and the family. He, like Simon Phipps of the Second Royal Tank, has entered the travel business. Sandy now runs remote-area journeys in the Scottish Highlands under the name Osprey Adventures.

On the following pages is a summated account of the expedition by Sandy, followed by one from Sundar Singh Rana, our expedition cook and junior coordinator, who still serves us.

Sandy Murray’s account:

The British Armed Forces allow the mounting of expeditions, termed “adventurous training” and classed as military exercises, as a form of personal development for military personnel.

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Above and Below: The Bhagirathis

Below: Mt. Shivling from Kedar Dome, Uttrakhand (or Uttranchal) state India

For elevations, see main text

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Above: Kedar Dome from the Kirti Bamak Glacier Below: Mt. Shivling from Base Camp. For elevations, see main text

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In 1999, Royal Air Force Kinloss in northern Scotland mounted Expedition Himalayan Hunter, a mountaineering expedition to the Garhwal Himalaya in northern India. Falling under the Adventurous Training scheme, the aim of the expedition was to develop the planning, organizational, and leadership skills of personnel while attempting to successfully climb Kedar Dome (22,431 ft/6,837 m) close to the Gangotri glacier. In addition, focus was placed on personal development in individuals, concentrating on teamwork, confidence, determination, and resourcefulness.

The team comprised fourteen members of staff from the station. There was a good spread of ranks, and the ages of the team members also varied considerably. Among them, at least half had “big mountain” experience in the Himalaya or elsewhere.

The expedition agent was Major General Surjit Singh of New Delhi, who spent the months leading up to the expedition organizing the in-country logistics, such as transport, expedition staff, food, equipment, etc.

After flying to India from the United Kingdom, the expedition members left New Delhi and initially traveled north by bus through the foothills of the Himalaya to Uttarkashi for an overnight stop. In the morning, the journey continued through some spectacular scenery to Gangotri, one of the four holiest places in India, where they spent a couple of days organizing loads and hiring porters for the trek up to the base camp.

Sandy Murray Expedition Leader, with fellow climbers on Kedar Dome, Uttrakhand (or Uttranchal) state India

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From here, the journey was on foot, following the mighty River Ganga to its source at Gaumukh, or the cow’s mouth. After crossing the glacier, a steep climb up the lateral moraine led to the meadows of Tapovan and to base camp beyond.

The planning and organizational skills of all participants were soon put to the test as base camp was established. Individual teamwork and determination were also tested, as fatigue and the debilitating effects of the altitude started to take effect. The spectacular setting, directly below the slopes of Shivling, more than compensated for any temporary discomfort, however.

Although base camp was more than ten kilometers from the foot of the Kedar Dome, good progress was made, and a small assault camp was established after seven days. This Advance Base was at the foot of Kedar Dome, by the Kirti Bamak glacier.

A summit team of five station personnel and three high-altitude porters were selected to attempt the mountain first, with a further five Kinloss members taking a supporting role. As the summit team was transiting to occupy the top camp, one member fell ill and had to descend immediately to a lower elevation. Despite this unexpected problem, the summit bid continued. After struggling for ten hours in deteriorating weather and experiencing particularly dangerous snow conditions, the team abandoned the attempt at 21,000 ft (6,400 m).

The descent back to Advance Base was safely made, and plans to clear the mountain were considered. After much discussion, it was decided that one final attempt was possible, as a period of good weather was to hold for the next few days. Two team members, Sandy Murray and Dave Peel, and three high-altitude porters set out the next morning, carrying two small tents and two days’ rations, and climbed to an elevation of 18,400 ft. At this point, a high-altitude camp, Camp 1, was established. The team made preparations for the following morning and tried to catch a few hours’ sleep.

After an extremely cold night, the team started out toward the summit at 1:45 a.m., and managed to reach the top (22,431 ft / 6,837 m) just before 10:30 a.m. The weather was bitterly cold, and Dave Peel, on removing his glove momentarily to adjust his camera settings, found he was suffering from frostbite. A hasty retreat was made to Advance Base, where the extent of the frostbite injuries was ascertained and immediate medical treatment was administered. After following behind and breaking Camp 1, Sandy Murray also returned safely to Advance Base.

It soon became clear that Dave was not capable of walking off the mountain, as the frostbite had badly affected his feet as well as his hands. Major General Singh was

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contacted by satellite phone, and he quickly got in touch with both the Indian Air Force and the British defence attaché. The following day an IAF helicopter arrived at Advance Base and evacuated Dave to hospital in Delhi.

Over the next four days, all personnel and their equipment were moved to base camp and then back to Gangotri, from where they traveled to Delhi by coach. After an extremely successful but arduous and challenging expedition, everyone took a few days’ well-deserved rest and recuperation in and around Delhi and Agra, visiting the famous tourist attractions and buying souvenirs.

After spending a week in hospital in Delhi, Dave Peel was flown back to the United Kingdom, where his treatment continued. He lost some parts of his fingers and toes, but otherwise made a full recovery.

Sundar Singh Rana’s Account

General Surjit Singh, accompanied by TigerPaw staff Yashpal Sharma, Tsering Notup and Sunder Singh Rana, left Delhi for Uttarkashi via Chamba and stayed at the Nehru Institute of Mountaineering with the sixteen team members.

We proceeded on to the Police Guest House at Gowmukh. In our party we had seventyfive porters and high-altitude porters - ten plus seven, in total 108.

On day four, we proceeded from Gowmukh via Tapovan up to base Shivling: Kharapathar (Towering Rock) and established base camp. From here, peaks Bhagirathi 1, 2, and 3 were visible. The origin of the Gowmukh glacier is seen here, as is the Sunderban ice field. We spent sixteen days at base camp. Two additional camps were established between Base Camp and Summit Camp.

On day five, Camp 1 was established four kilometers up with all members: those suffering from the altitude returned with porters, who ferried members back, and food up for those who stayed. Stragglers stayed for a day or two.

On day six, Camp 2 was set up four kilometers away with six or seven members. There was an attrition of ten members who had to return.

On day seven, we went to Summit Camp, another four kilometers up, with two members: a lady and a gentleman. There was a attrition rateof 4-5 members. Notup made it to up to Summit Camp, and Yashpal up to Camp 1.

After the summit was made and Peel Sahib said he needed evacuation, Vijay Chauhan, the Liaison Officer, came back to Tapovan to get the Satellite phone into range and make the rescue call. Base camp members were restless because the chopper was delayed by 30 minutes due to cloudy weather.

Twenty minutes later, the Indian Air Force chopper was seen breaking through the clouds, and the whole group broke into cheer.

Sundar Singh still serves Tiger Paws at the Spashram River Mountain site. Tsering Notup, who was trained by Tiger Paw’s Canadian counterpart Nouveau Monde Aventures as a white water rafting guide, works on the Ganges River.

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Below: RAF expedition members enroute to Mt Kedar Dome

Base Camp After Snow

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Annapurna

Base Camp in Three

Rather Important American Ladies on a Winter Trek - Nepal

• The trek to Ghorapani

• An elderly lady comes to terms with herself

• Skidding on ice, first one, then two

• Cactus Pryor, host at radio station owned by Lady Bird Johnson, wife of the late US president Lyndon Johnson

• An attempted flight into Tijuana, Mexico, from Austin

Places mentioned: Austin, Texas; Nepal; Annapurna; Ghorapani

As a result of the Kashmir “rescue of the Texan ladies,” a year later I received a message from Meta Butler Hunt, the travel agent in Texas. She told me that Nancy Inman and two other high-profile companions wanted to do a winter trek in Nepal. “You are the only man I trust,” she said.

Nancy Inman was the wife of Admiral “Bobby” Ray Inman, a brain head who was the deputy director of the CIA and director of America’s National Security Agency. He was not allowed to travel overseas at the time, because of the very sensitive information he carried. No wonder Meta thought that Mrs. Inman, too, warranted proper care when traveling in the wilds of Nepal!

Winter conditions to the base of Annapurna meant traversing icy trails, even in the lower sections. One of the ladies suddenly slipped.

“I’m sorry, Inder Jit, I have this glass eye, you know.”

The next day, the second lady slipped on a trail.

“I’m sorry, Inder Jit, you know I have this steel pin in my hip”

I waited with some trepidation for the third lady to reveal an unknown condition.

The woman with the hip pin kept repeating, “I cannot do this! Why am I here?”

(a comment I had heard from other first-time Himalayan trekkers) and “Get me a chopper!” I explained that by the time someone marched out to call a chopper, we would have concluded our little trek. At one point, she was even too distraught to find a bush for answering a call of nature. At any rate, by the time she finished (the trek, I mean), her sense of accomplishment was tremendous!

I was later invited to Austin, Texas as a guest of the Inman family, and enjoyed their hospitality immensely. The third lady arranged to have her husband’s private plane fly me into Tijuana for the day. Unfortunately, clouds and rain put paid to this. Subsequently, I was put on a talk show at a radio station owned by Lady Bird Johnson (the wife of former US president Lyndon B. Johnson). The show was hosted by a character called Cactus Prior, who wanted to know how I had met Austin’s elite gentry, and to whom I had to reveal the details of my little rescue from the car with no brakes!

Minimum comfort on certain treks!

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Mountains Across the Border -Into Pakistan’s Northern Territories

Wilderness is a resource that can shrink but not grow ... the creation of new wilderness in the full sense of the word is impossible. - Aldo Leopold

• My host asks for items banned by Islam

• Trying to get certified as a drunk

• Smuggling whiskey across the border into Pakistan

• Bringing back walnut wine from the Kalaash tribes, Kalaash Valley, in the NWFP, back into India

• I receive an invitation to play polo in Chitral

• Shashtriji has no humor or understanding; the corrupt and stubble-bearded Sikh policemen at Wagah

Places mentioned: New Delhi, Amritsar, Wagah, Pakistan: Shandur, Islamabad, Peshawar, Chitral, Mastuj, Kalaash Valley

Regardless of the fact that I was a longtime Canadian passport holder and not a callow youth anymore, growing up in India as a military brat meant that I, like many Indians and Pakistanis, had some preconceived notions and expectations about our neighbors. This was due to the environment we grew up in, and because India and Pakistan had fought more than one war with each other. Nevertheless, the overriding love for travel and exploring other cultures made me excited at the prospect of a journey to Pakistan.

An opportunity arose when our German clients wished to visit Chitral on the North West Frontier as part of their overall Himalayan travel, following Michael Palin’s book and television series Himalaya. At a party in New Delhi hosted by Geoff Pyatt, the senior political counselor of the American Embassy, I met an American lady who was married to a Pakistani and made it a point to tell me that she truly enjoyed living in Pakistan. I told her of my Spanish clients who were eager to hunt wild boar on horseback, and she put me in touch with someone associated with the famous Shandur Polo tournaments. Shandur, at an elevation of 12,200 ft (3,719 m), is famous for its rustic and no-holds-barred polo matches, played the way it began here centuries ago. Even now, the love for the horse, horsemanship, and the sport of polo is manifest, when sixteen (once thirty and more) teams contend for the pride of place in a month-long tournament here. My contact was Siraj Ul

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Mountain scapes around Chitral, NWFP, Paskistan / Mt. Tirich Mir (7,708m / 25,289 ft) below

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Mulk, and one of my preconceived notions was dispelled in great haste when I erred in inquiring of him what I could bring from India. “Anything banned by Islam and in liquid form,” he said.

“If your customs chaps allow me,” I replied. “That’s your problem,” he retorted.

It therefore became both an obligation and a challenge to “make this my problem” and “solve it” for my host. Two bottles were packed, one the best “Indian whiskey,” the other a fine liqueur. The former was meant to fob off the customs wallahs for their pound of flesh.

I arrived at Wagah, the militarized land border, at opening time, and was informed by as reliable a smooth operator as one could find near no-man’s-land that “even Indian customs will not allow you to carry liquor, unless you have a doctor’s certificate stating you are an alcoholic.”

I called my local liaison and told him the problem. ”All sorted out,” he said, calling me back on my mobile. “I’ve spoken to a doctor who will issue this in minutes.”

So I raced back in the taxi I’d hired from Wagah to Amritsar, holiest of cities, for this unholy mission. I landed at the good doctor’s room, and in Punjabi he said, “Parchi bana leyo.”

Have your slip made. I raced to the reception, where the lady asked as to my malady. My escort and I muttered something, to a disgusted look. I returned to the doctor, but was checkmated by his nurse, who barked, “Sit! Blood pressure!” Before I could say Jack Robinson, my upper arm was strapped, and the blood pressure pump ballooning away. I wondered if it was visible on my visage, my rising anxiety while on the whiskey run across the border.

Author enroute to the Kalaash Valley NWFP

So that the good doctor would not feel that was asking him to lie blatantly, before he could say anything, I told him “I’m going to trek at a great height and ride horses in Pakistan’s Chitral province. I seriously need my tipple in the evenings.” Without even listening, he said in Punjabi again, “Ki hoi jaiyega yadi na peogey tey?” What will happen if you don’t drink? And then he added, “Tusa quam nu badnaam kar deyogey.” You’ll bring a bad name to the community.

Getting rather angry at the wretched fellow, I asked why he cast responsibility on me for correcting the image of the lusty Sikh community, à la Patiala Peg, which measured two fingers in the rather unusual fashion of first and last fingers, rather than with first and index, and why he didn’t bother to say so before I had turned the car back from the border at Wagah to elicit the blasted prescription!

So there I was racing back to Wagah, when I remembered a friend in customs. Try as I might, he would take my call, but I soon got a text message saying, “In meeting, can’t talk” (his team must have been deciding upon whom to swoop). I replied “Passport number XYZ … Carrying two bottles of gift whiskey.”

“Done! Speak to Mr. XYZ. He’ll be calling you.” Within minutes, I got the call.

As I entered the ”gate,” the Punjab policemen on duty, with their scraggly beards and minus their turbans, said in Punjabi, “How much money are you carrying?” and “You’ve got to change it there.” Knowing there was something underhanded, I went “there” and changed my currency. Fortunately, the Pakistan Tourism development manager had sent me the correct rates, so even though I knew I was getting gypped, I could tell it wasn’t by much. I also didn’t want to protest around too much! Needless to say, the licensed shop didn’t want to issue a receipt. When I insisted, they had to issue three different ones.

Polo in Chitral is played for honor only

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Mr. X asked me, “What about Pakistani Customs?”

“I’ll tackle that at that time,” I said. When I arrived at Pakistan Customs after clearing immigration, things were rather more casual. I was ushered into the office of the customs inspector, who said, “Five minutes, sardar sahib.”

“Take your time,” I said, desperately trying to think of some ruse. Finally, when he proffered his hand for my passport, I quickly urged in Urdu, “Please take this senior citizen’s passport, since he is elderly and wheelchair bound,” and pointed to the old man behind me in the queue.

Divine intervention played its part, and when the customs inspector finally took my passport, he issued me a gate pass as he had the old man. But he asked me, “Are you carrying any prohibited items?”

Always a bad liar, I took a long minute and said, to sound slightly mad, “No, just a pair of polo boots.” It was only because he was harried and confident in his Indian counterparts not having allowed any liquor that he let me walk away.

Just as I thought the worst was finished , I was accosted by a man in a salwar kameez asking “Are these your bags?!” in an annoyed, authoritative tone. I said “Yes,” and thought “That’s torn it” … until he showed his true hand.

“Have you any Canadian dollars?” (he had figured out my passport and was a bag inspector at customs) “I need twenty-five dollars.” I had two twenty-dollar bills, which I gave him. Surreptitiously, he led me to a side window and pulled out a bit of money from beneath the folds of his garment. Immediately seeing the whole canvas as a picture of all that was not pukka (“propah,” as the English say), I told him, “Keep the money. I don’t want any.” To me, getting away with the liquor intact into Pakistan for Siraj was bonus enough, and I certainly didn’t

Images from Chitral and Kalaash Valleys.

want to get caught for booze smuggling and illegal money changing to boot! He gave me what little he had, saying, “You are my brother.” Strange siblings I was incurring on this border run!

My chauffeur, Firdaus, spoke the most eloquent Punjabi, and his descriptive flair was captivating when I mentioned I had seen every party of India but never lived in the Punjab. “Then you have seen nothing,” he said. He went on to describe the food, music, and dances of the Punjab, which I had merely glimpsed. I stopped at the Amari Hotel, and mustachioed doormen, armed police and strangers alike came up to make conversation and share kind words of welcome. When I stopped at a pay phone, a dignified-looking elder smoking a hubble-bubble on a charpoy invited me to sit with him. It was, at that moment terrific to be Sikh, and I began to get a sense of both the nurturing and the pain that elders of my generation had undergone in the bloody Partition. I thought of how miserably the Raj and India’s leaders had failed at this hour, for after almost two centuries of frontier wars, all their exploitation, winning over tribals, setting up an administrative system, and reorganizing society, all their systems and all their strength of character could not help them avoid the demonic hell and evil slaughter of Partition … and in this sense they were abject failures. Every Pakistani who welcomed me enforced this message upon my mind. I suddenly had a great sense of understanding of the terrific grace and consideration my father always displayed, because the society that spawned him, and that I could now meet as a whole, generated this at a very personal level.

Passing by the beautiful towns of Naushera and Attock, one sees lush countryside and a general air of good health. Attock, on the junction of the Attock and Indus Rivers, is an impressive structure that created a wonderful view of the landscape.

I finally arrived at Siraj Ul Mulk’s residence, where I met his wonderful wife, Ghazala, her mother, and two most interesting English guests. Ghazala’s mother, a graceful ninety, had obviously been a beauty in her heyday, and she told how she missed times past and her cherished Sikh friends, with whom she had laughed, played, and eaten. The two English guests, who were in their eighties, had unique tales to tell. Tony, an old soldier and renowned mountaineer of his time, still remembered his essential Pashto (the language spoken by the Pashtun tribes of the northwest frontier of Pakistan, along the Afghan border) with the help of a nice whiskey.

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The next day was my flight to Chitral. However, thanks to Lalu Prasad Yadav, India’s minister of Railways, no health checks were conducted on the rail vendors’ wares at the New Delhi station, and I was sick as a dog … with an acute attack of Delhi Belly hampering my journey to Pakistan. My progress was stymied. Stopping by en route for Imodium, I carried on with Siraj to the airport.

Siraj was a storyteller by nature, an ex–artillery officer and then, for two decades, a pilot with Pakistan International Airlines. He therefore knew all and sundry at the airport, and I soon found myself in the belly of a C1 Hercules of the Pakistan Air Force. After briefly exchanging pleasantries with the warrant officer and pilot, who were very smart, flying in a no-frills-but-thrills military airplane was quite a bonus. The warrant officer was giving his junior a rather hard time, and there was no let-up in his constant instruction, questioning, and critiques. The young PAF pilot, who must have been under thirty, gave me a cordial smile. It was with mixed feelings that I later read about Indian POWs in Pakistan from the 1971 war, forgotten by the world and by their own countrymen. Included was an account of the iconic American Air Force pilot Chuck Yeager, who broke the sound barrier, training Pakistani Air Force officers actively during the ‘65 war and helping them notch up kills against Indian pilots. The young Indian pilots debriefed before torture were overawed to meet Yeager, who was in on the POWs’ questioning.

Essentially being in the adventure tourism business and adept at building cultural bridges easily, yet cast in a military mold in upbringing, my thoughts tended to toss in a seesaw—extreme bonhomie when I was in Pakistan, but tremendous anger at all those responsible for this sort of inhumanity, including those at home.

It was interesting, during the flight at a stop in Peshawar, to see the very similar bureaucracy and security mindedness of officials who were reluctant to let us use the men’s room at the airport. As civilians, we could not use the loo on the air force plane while on terra firma, so I was getting terribly infirm-aah!-and squiggly by the time Siraj finally got an all-clear from liaising airline staff. However, the security chap approached Siraj to say, ”I can lose my job.” I think, though, that my loss of self-esteem would surely have been the greater one that day.

Before I bring the reader to the landing at Chitral, one of Siraj’s many stories is worth repeating …

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The Late Col. K. Ul Mulk, Mehtar of Chitral in the lawns of his mud fortress home in Mastuj, Chitral, Pakistan.

One year, according to Siraj, he spotted two English girls who were visiting at the Peshwar airport (which has signs reading “Hand Your Firearms Here”!), trying to get to Chitral. Siraj told them there was only one route, and that if they were willing to risk it, he would take them if they dressed in burkhas.

They loved the idea and joined him in his jeep. At the Afghan border, just when he thought that all was clear, the Afghan border guard began peering transfixedly at the two women at the back. Siraj wondered why they had captured his curiosity, since they were veiled from head to toe.

He soon figured out why. Smoke was billowing from out under the burkhas, between the girls’ feet, from their eyeholes, sleeves, and everywhere… all because they had decided to have a smoke! The guard had never seen such a sight and was not entirely sure what was out of place. Siraj said, “Don’t mind them, my sisters are cigarette addicts,” and told them to douse off fast! He advised them not to write about the incident at all, which they promptly did in the English press.

A sign that gave me a good belly laugh in Peshawar was at a plush hotel, which had a notice in the men’s room stating, “Travelers Are Requested Not to Wash Their Feet in the Washbasin.”

At Siraj’s ancestral house, which is the seat of the mehtar (ruler) of Chitral at the Mastuj fort, is the ancient visitor’s book. The page reproduced overleaf is for those who are familiar with the exploratory history of the region, one of the most fascinating records of exploration in the Hindukush. It shows the entries of the German expedition members who traveled through the area on the famous German Hindukush Expedition of 1935, in itself a fascinating story of the Great Game between Germany and England.

Left

In the footsteps of the famous German Hindukush Expedition of 1935. Guest book at Mastuj

Below

A typical home in Chitral, overlooking the valley of Chitral

Right Pakistan soldiers and civilians in Swat valley

The Chitrali dancers here are unique because their pace tempers the pace of the accompanying drummer, not the other way around as per the usual.

After an hour flight to Chitral, I reported to the police station, where I was invited for a cup of tea with the officer in charge. We got talking about the Wakhan Corridor, known locally as Wakhan ki Patti, where they played polo on yaks.

The Wakhan Corridor was a high mountain desert created as a buffer and noman’s-land by the Russians and the English in the 1800s. Later at the Hindukush Heights hotel, Chitral’s best and owned by Siraj, he narrated a humorous story again. His hotel was visited by what were two very obvious American CIA types. They had heard rumors that Osama bin Laden was hiding in the Wakhan Corridor. With his inimitable laugh, Siraj told me that not a blade of grass grows there, and Osama would, with his height, stick out like a sore thumb. “But,” he went on, “I didn’t deny it, as I figured with tourism taking a dive, I could do with a few more officers on the US government’s payroll for Hindukush Heights.”

Siraj took me on an overnight trip to Mastuj, the idyllic mud fort and village, ancestral home of Chitral, the mehtar of Chitral, as Siraj’s father was titled. Lying en route to Shandur, Mastuj was quiet and delightful, and so was Siraj’s father, Colonel Ul Mulk. A cultured gent of the old school, he had trained at the Indian Military Academy, where he was a hockey blue (the Blue Blazer Crest awarded to those who excelled), among other sports, and was a batchmate of the famous Indian general Timmy-Thimmaya. He had incredible accounts to tell, including stories about the locations of the old forts of the famous Sikh general Hari Singh Nalwa, as well as the Sikh column that relieved the British garrison during the Siege of Chitral, the destruction of the beautiful groves of Waziristan, where Afghan refugees settled after the Russian invasion, and more, spanning pre-British and Cold War history.

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Siraj’s father was also responsible for breaking the only winter route into Chitral, which was via Afghanistan. In fact, the Chitralis were grateful to this man, who, at the age of seventy-five (and years after the Russian invasion, which left routes filled with landmines), decided to “clear and find a route” accessible in winter to Chitral from mainland Pakistan.

I also briefly met Siraj’s younger brother, captain of the Chitral polo team. In my one brief encounter with him, I saw him to be a true mountain man. He, his wife, and sons were traveling through the mountains, self-sufficient in the event of any sudden halts, in an outfitted van. He was a taciturn type, and the image of him taken when his team won against Gilgit shows what must b a rare smile. Polo at Shandur Pass is mentioned in the chapter about polo in this book.

Toward the end of my five-day stay in Chitral, I visited the Kalaash Valley, where we were taken to a home of a tribal couple. The Kalaash tribes were animist and closely related to the Drogpas of the Dras and Kargil regions of Jammu and Kashmir in India, where I had spent my early career years. Tall, light eyed, and hook-nosed, they were considered pure Aryan. As an aside, I should mention that during my trekking days in Kashmir, there were numerous cases of young German women attempting to cross the Inner Line into the villages of the Drogpas to impregnate themselves in order to bear pure Aryan childen. I also learned of a case where two female travelers were raped by soldiers, when they were caught in no-man’s-land.

Our visit took place during the holy month of Ramzan, so my Mohammedan driver could not eat or drink until sundown. Adult Kalaash Tribal women dancing with male drummer in background, watched by a Kalaash girl

The Kalaash woman whose house we visited taunted him in Urdu. “It is now the month of Ramzan. Unfortunately for you, you can neither eat nor drink. But praise be to Allah, we can!”

The Kalaash women and girls had half their heads fully tonsured, wore braided caps and skirts, and carried billowing stoles in one hand from shoulder to ground, even when scurrying across fields. Their deities were represented in ancient preHindu figurines. There was a common house to which menstruating women were confined. They made walnut and apricot wine, and I bought two bottles of the clear schnapps like firewater to take back with me.

For my return to India, again via Wagah, I boarded the Deluxe Lahore-Amritsar Bus. Treated as a VIP by the Tourism Development Corporation of Pakistan, I was accorded seat number one and generally looked after. The trip was a unique experience, because as a “diplomatic vehicle across borders,” it was accorded unprecedented state protocol. We were first piloted by the Pakistani Rangers from Lahore to Wagah, then by Punjab armed police, and finally by Delhi police.

I kept the Kalaash walnut wine in two large plastic Coke bottles. To make them look unobtrusive, they were tucked inside a lunch bag at my feet. While waiting for our passports stamps at Wagah, I got off to stretch my legs, when the Sikh bus driver approached and whispered in Punjabi, “Was there liquor in your bottle?”

“Yes,” I said. He told me there had been a bit of a brouhaha, when a woman from from the back of the bus had come to the front looking for bottled water, and instead of going to the bus’s cool box,

Young

Kalaash girls dance

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picked up my bottle. Worse, she gave a sip to her four-year-old! “This is alcohol!” she berated him. “It is banned!” He quietly admonished her for taking something from my bag, but being guilty on my behalf, kept voices down. I assured him no harm would come, as even Kalaash women give their toddlers a tot, but was still livid when I learned the woman had thrown out my entire bottle. Asked the driver, “Have you any more?” “Yes, but I am not telling you where it is!”

Again at Wagah, I became the victim of a bureaucratic and narrow-minded customs inspector. He was a Shastri, I recall, and obviously from the state of Uttar Pradesh. He had no humor when he saw the number of books I’d purchased in Pakistan. One was Imram Khan’s book, others were on the North West Frontier by Winston Churchill and others. Sikhs had played a key role in those territories on numerous occasions, and after all came from that region. This fellow saw Imram Khan’s coffee table book and first aid in consternation, “Is Pakistan really like that?” I said yes. He wanted to charge duty for having bought as many as twelve books. Finally, not receiving any leeway, he saw a distorted map of Kashmir printed in the book, and wanted to confiscate it. I asked him to deface it with a stamp instead, but he refused and tore the page away, thereby removing the text from the other side. I bring this incident to the reader’s notice to show the narrow-mindedness of our babudom (originating from the Indian word babu or “clerk,” and implying the worst of bureaucracy) as seen in other incidents in this book, beginning with a disbelief of pictorial imagery and a lack of sophistication in dealing with an issue. I also saw Punjabi bureaucrats on both sides get along with tremendous bonhomie, that was often scotched by other communities. This perhaps testifies to the fact that the Punjabis of both countries are really one ethnic stock, with two religions but much in common culturally. The Pakistani Tourism official told me that, at official meetings, the Punjabi Indian officials would often wink at them when there was a bureaucrat of some other background playing spoilsport over a decision. Also, I was told by well-heeled and well-intentioned Pakistanis how crudely they were dealt with by Indian immigration officials; they said it was like having to report to a police station every day.

This is a pity, because if both countries could see the wood for the trees and rise above, not tarnishing all with a single brush, there could be much genuine cordiality just as existed before 1947, for we are really one people.

And Then, Another Continent—Experiences in the American State of West Virginia

I come more and more to the conclusion that wilderness, in America or anywhere else, is the only thing left that is worth saving. — Edward Abbey

A Budd Quaker in America’s West Virginia, and trekking in the Appalachians

A border collie accompanies us to dinner

Beef burritos for breakfast, lunch, and dinner - all week

A “guide-only” trip on the raging Great Gauley River

Places mentioned:, Delhi; Franklin, West Virginia; San Francisco Rivers: The Gauley Mountains: The Appalachians

In 1995, I had recently ventured to West Virginia in connection with my Fellowship on Environmental Education with the Asia Foundation San Francisco, and in coordination with the Woodland Mountain Institute, my collaborators on the award we co-won for sustainability planning. I left Delhi, a torrid 93OF, and arrived straight into the cold rain and mist of the mountains around Franklin, West Virginia. The landscape was beautiful, and the condensation rose smokelike through the dense forest cover.

Driving in a truck with my American colleague, I noticed people fishing for trout in clear streams by the wayside off country roads; truly rich countryside, and excellently preserved. But with temperatures about twenty degrees cooler than where I’d been, a leaking tent, and a wet sleeping bag, I was in a state of pure misery.

After returning from the field trip to the institute, I was housed with a great outdoorsman and quirky chap called Jim. He had been born into a Quaker family, and besides being an excellent river guide (now retired) and mountaineer, he had old-world talents that included excellent smithy work and water divining. He had been influenced a little by Buddhism, so I called him a Budd Quaker. The amazing thing about America is its “systems,” and there were communities like

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Jim’s that subscribed to thrifty living, the group sharing knowledge on ways to best achieve this. Not a waste product went out of his house (this was something I noticed because I was on an environmental education program). I recall some (now amusing) incidents while staying with Jim.

Jim and I were invited to one of the local households for dinner. Jim, whose wife was traveling, took his border collie along. In rural areas, no one really minded. But after dinner, Jim coolly lowered his plate for his dog to lift the steak bone. The hostess noticed this and admonished, “Jim! You are terrible! You are always doing this!” Jim looked momentarily sheepish, but carried on without much pause.

At one point I got rather sick. I was a houseguest of Jim’s, but he was hardly about to cook or bring fresh provisions just for me. Instead, he merely pulled frozen beef burritos from the deep freeze - for breakfast, lunch, and dinner! When an American friend was aghast at my beef eating, all I could say was “Well, I figured the American cows are not a fraction as holy as ours, which have been worshipped for five thousand years.”

A most memorable experience with Jim was a raft trip on the Gauley River, or the Great Gauley, as it is called. It had just opened for the season, but only to professional river guides, and I was privileged to be taken along. I have never felt quite so intimidated on a river, which was swollen, had holes the size of mountains and a cauldron of boiling, ice cold, raging water. It was serious stuff and truly a fantastic experience, though I must admit I was a bit petrified.

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Tribals carrying jackfruit, cross between the jungles and weekly m.arket, Orissa, India

Chapter 8

the

sublime and the ridiculous in the indian jungle

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The Highland Tribes of Orissa and Central India

Like the weavers of Manipur, in Orissa, the Ikat weavers and their amazing designs awed even me, a layman in such matters.

My efforts at leading trips to meet the tribes of Orissa entailed much research and facilitation. This bore fruit for an American company, Turtle Tours (which shut shop after the owner, Irma Turtle, retired). Turtle Tours sent their clientele on these trips, which became their most successful tour program, along with our tribal exploratory trips to what is now Chattisgarh, Gujrat, and the northeast.

It is testimony indeed to India’s (rapidly homogenizing) diversity, that in spite of years of leading American special-interest tourists into remote African, Southeast Asian, and South American territories, this company found India programs the most rewarding, and that they went five years running before the owner retired. I daresay it was also testimony to TigerPaw and its team, which was able to present and conduct these unique journeys.

Young Kutya Kondh girl

Escaping the Barbed Arrow of the Bonda

• A scatter-brained tourist and an ill-tempered driver invite the wrath of Bonda warriors inebriated on toddy liquor

• The attire of the Bonda women, crew cut and naked except for beads and a mini

Places mentioned: Arizona, Onokudelli

Having urged Irma Turtle to bring a small trial group of tribal enthusiasts, we found ourselves in tribal country in the highlands of Orissa.

Initially, alerts and advisories about dangerous health and sanitation conditions in the region had our visitors petrified. I was careful to impose strict precautions on food, water and general hygiene, however, and they quickly gained a high level of comfort. As a testimony to our measures, I’m proud to say that not a single client fell sick on trips to these regions, where waterborne diseases ran rampant.

Bonda men were aggressive and not of genial nature (even accosting those who took photographs), but to some extent womenfolk were communicative with strangers, since they traded beads and conducted the commerce. The men merely sold toddy liquor, much of which was unsold and therefore consumed. Bonda women are unique in appearance because of their tonsured scalps and bare bosoms, hidden by strings of small beads. This custom goes back to that point of time in Hindu mythology and the great epic, the Ramayana, where Ram and his wife, Sita, were in exile in the forest. Bonda tribal mythology says that when their ancestors among the Bonda women encountered Sita in the forest, they derided her for her loss of grace, since she was no longer a royal, but a forest woman like themselves. The myth goes on to say that Sita cursed the Bonda women, and from that time, they stopped sporting the normal female long hair – hence the custom of tonsuring their heads.

Kutia Kondh smile. Orissa, India

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So here we were, approaching a village near Onokudelli in our convoy of three cars, with my local guide in the foremost and me bringing up the rear, when we were halted by a group of Bonda men who wanted a lift. They were armed with barbed arrows they typically used. The lead driver refused, and two of the Bonda tried to climb onto the dickey or “trunk” for American readers.

The driver stopped and got out; the other cars stopped, and I went to see what the problem was. One of our party, an elderly lady showing early signs of Alzheimer’s, soon took advantage of the impromptu stop, got out of the car and began clicking away, despite the warning not to take photographs. The lead driver tried to pull off, but the Bonda climbing on his car had spotted the visitor with her camera, and one of the men quickly jumped down and slung an arrow into his bow, all set to let fly. The local guide had “frozen,” so I hustled all back in and had the cars turned about in double quick time. Someone could have died of tetanus, if not the poison arrow tips, but we lived to tell the tale.

While on tour, rumors were rife about Hindu fundamentalists ired at Christian missionaries, supported by foreign money, wooing poor low-caste Hindus to Christianity with a range of incentives. In vengeance, the fundamentalists had supposedly raped a nun deep in the heart of Orissa’s jungles. If true, it was an unsavory and dastardly incident indeed, but it could not be kept away from discussions, especially as American visitors were aghast at the thought.

At dinner, having relaxed with a rum and lime (or two), and rather irritated with a particular client whose behavior had proven most immature on the trip, I watched this chap trying to tear a naan (bread) with his knife and fork. It was rather a silly sight. Everyone knows you eat naan with your fingers. “Don’t fork the naan, ol’ chap,” I couldn’t help but say!

A Witch Doctor at Work

Of a delirious patient with jungle fever; black magic and headless chickens.

On the border of Orissa and Madhya Pradesh, India’s middle kingdom, I stumbled upon two black magic ceremonies while leading my American clients for Turtle Tours with Irma. The first was performed for a good crop, and comprised beheading goats and chickens, then burying their entrails, along with inverted white earthen pots, in the fields. It was meant to repel the evil eye cast upon the farmer’s fields.

The second was a common scene among many indigenous communities. We came upon a household where a woman had been sick and in delirium for days. Because she was not recovering, it was believed by all that she was possessed.

Tribal dance, Orissa, Jharkhand states, border, India

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The witch doctor brought in a live chicken, and with incantations rotated it around her head numerous times. Next some grains of rice were fed to the chicken, and in short order it was taken outside and beheaded, the blood allowed to drip outside the rear of the tribal hut. The illness had, according to the witch doctor, transferred from the woman to the chicken, and the illness dispensed with through the act of beheading.

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Tribal dance, Orissa, Jharkhand states, border, India

A Corrupt Canteen Contractor at Jim Corbett National ParkThe Ridiculous Indian Babudom

When I founded TigerPaws, the adventure travel industry in India was barely an industry at all. The old hunting companies had ceased to exist, and it was only in the late seventies and early eighties that a few of us entered the field. India had no credit cards and no five-day week. American Express was a sleepy little establishment in India at the time, and it took five years of door knocking to persuade them to start adventure leisure programs.

And so, the country’s very first weekend adventures for the travel industry were started in an organized manner when American Express hired us to research and develop twelve, monthly mini expeditions. We launched these for their clientele, essentially expat, credit-card holders from the diplomatic community in Delhi (there were few multinationals), and organized weekend adventures to Binsar, Corbett, Nainital, Kumbalgarh, and Pushkar, among others.

One of these adventures during India’s nascent years was to Jim Corbett National Park, named after the famed British shikari (hunter), who hunted down maneating tigers. At Corbett, I selected Bijrani Bungalow, on a separate limb from the main park - not as dense in biodiversity, but quiet and without “hustle.” We booked the “dak bungalow” almost six months in advance. As a carryover from the days of the Raj, upon booking we received a note that was a receipt as well as an advisory, stating that the onus was on us to bring all of our provisions, but that the chowkidar who doubled as a cook would serve meals.

Unbeknown to me, a contractor had been awarded an annual agreement for catering in the main park. When I arrived at the park headquarters to check in, the panditji (learned bhramin of priestly class), bespectacled and with choti (a long tuft of hair), looking the epitome of honesty, asked if I had brought all my provisions, which indeed I had. “Yes.” I said, “just like your booking receipt says.” He coolly informed me that I would not be allowed to use them due to a new rule that all meals must be purchased from the contractor. I drove through the jungle driveway to the dak bungalow, and was met by the sight of cauldrons being taken off cooking fires and moved out by the previous occupants. These were a bunch of forest officers, no less! I then asked the chowkidar, who I knew, about

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this new “rule.” He said there was no such thing, and I could see that the people vacating had clearly brought their own provisions. I instructed my crew to move supplies into the kitchen and proceed!

I noticed a little tea shack in the compound, and the burly mustachioed “contractor” standing solitarily watching our moves. Realizing payoff was expected, I approached him and generally suggested that for a reasonable fee he may as well go home and relax, because he would not be able to provide the kind of food needed. Needless to say, we could not agree, so I informed my crew to “carry on and use the kitchen as before.” Soon the fat contractor had returned on his motorcycle with a “note” from park headquarters advising we could not use the kitchen!

I ignored the note. He trundled back through the forest on said motorcycle and came back with another note, saying that the kitchen would be “sealed” if I English clients about to enter the Jim Corbett National Park, Uttrakhand (or Uttranchal), India

refused to “cooperate.” I refused to cooperate. He went back through the forest on said motorcycle and came back with a man in khaki, who promptly locked the kitchen. I told my crew, “Take everything into the van, cook in the van, and tray the meals in.” The fat contractor went back on his motorcycle and returned with another note saying “cooking in the van” was not allowed. I told my crew to drive the van out of the park gate, cook outside, and drive in with the cooked meals. Well, it turned out that we did not see any charging elephants or tigers on that short weekend. The visiting clients were American diplomats. One of them aptly summed up the situation: “The only thing that is charging around here is American Express.” Actually, Corbett is a beautiful park and truly shows why old Raj hands found the Indian jungle prettier than Africa. But the babus were a species that has brought ruin to all India and, I feel, are in dire need of culling!

I moved on to other parks, and didn’t go back to Jim Corbett Park for twenty years. Actually objecting to the wildlife bandwagon and always touting tigers to tourists, I followed a policy of underplaying wildlife tourism, instead attempting to infect people with other enthusiasms, even for smaller species, which to a true nature lover can be equally rewarding.

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Elephant Journeys, and Racing Through the Jungles of Central India on an Elephant, Startled by a Tiger Startled by the Elephant

• The old British Cantonement of Jubbulpore, now Jabalpur

• The infamous Thugees and Colonel Sleeman

Places mentioned: Delhi, Jabalpur, Sleemanabad, Kanha National Park

The world as seen from the back of an animal is rather different from traveling by other means, especially car or bus. A Canadian journalist, who was once staying as a houseguest, put in a request for sightseeing on an elephant. When I announced over breakfast, “Your vehicle is here for your sightseeing tour,” she nearly fell over the window when she peered out to see a caparisoned elephant waiting outside. I accompanied her, and we slowly waded through Delhi’s awful traffic. The elephant was sedate and unruffled, and the rash drivers were very respectful of us. It was a most pleasant experience seeing Delhi from this height and this pace, for we were able to digest it all. This resulted in a small, compact, but highly effective program I launched for the discerning expatriate in Delhi: the Elephant Walk Along Humayun’s Tomb. It requires imagination to create something simple and effective in a day and age when permissions, space and other issues get in the way. The beautiful high stone walls along Humayun’s Tomb make a beautiful backdrop on a misty winter’s morning as the elephant wades through the white. The walk ends at the scenic Sikh Gurdwara Dam Dama Sahib (where my wife and I were married), where the tenth Sikh Guru’s Falcon is said

A large male tiger takes a break from his meal (asambhar stag) Ranthambhor National Park

to have defeated the tyrannical Mughal emperor’s war elephant in a symbolic battle in which good wins over evil. The journey is short enough not to cause cramps, and long enough for a little sense of adventure...as well as being a lark.

In May 1979, I completed my last year of school in the military cantonment of Jabalpur (or Jubbalpore, as it would have been called during the days of the Raj), following my father, who went from northeast India to this location. Close to Jabalpur there lies a small railway station called Sleemanabad, named after Colonel Sleeman, famous for having hunted down the notorious “thugees,” who plagued innocent travelers in the early days of the British Raj. In high school and college in Jabalpur, we were given to believe that many of the thugees ended up settling here, in which case it was no wonder that there were some really bad characters about, now called the “goonda.”

Here, given to studying history and geography, and indeed excelling in these at school, I showed an early tendency to live these subjects out. Hence I would

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Tiger at kill, Ranthambhor Nathional Park, Rajasthan, India

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cycle out alone in thick fog with a backpack, chocolate bar, map, and such to the riverbed of the Narbada, collecting unique rocks and carrying twenty-odd kilos back for the fifteen kilometers. I made other forays into Kanha and Kisli national parks with military families. I was livid, therefore, when one year later my mother tossed out this collection of the finest unusual rock and stone, terming it junk!

A few years after having left college and Jabalpur, I went back to the area, this time to guide a pair of British tourists into the famed Kanha Kisli National Park. We were on safari in the thick forest astride a young elephant walking through the dense jungle, when it suddenly lost its right foreleg in an unseen grass-filled ditch. Out jumped a young and startled tiger! The tiger bounded off, and the frightened elephant just bolted. Staying upright, and dodging thick branches and sharp brambles while being bumped about on a bolting pachyderm is no easy task. We held on as best we could to the side rails of the howdah (seat), until the adventure finally came to an end amid open grassland, when the young jumbo realized that the tiger had gone in a different direction.

Crouching Tiger: Bandavgarh Madhya Pradesh, India

The Beauty of the Indian Jungle: What Was and What Could Be: Sariska

Wilderness is not a luxury but a necessity of the human spirit — Edward Abbey

• A village lass comes flirting; close encounters with a machaan

• The simple joys of observing smaller game

• Species that I saw die and fade away

• The ruthless gang of Sansar Chand the poacher

Places mentioned: Sariska

Sariska National Park is one of India’s most scenic in terms of setting and terrain.

As everywhere in India, the presence within National Parks of historical monuments, ancient temples, nomads, and such adds a unique dimension. The former are pilgrimage spots that attract crowds, litter and noise, however, making them less than friendly to wildlife.

Sariska National Park’s proximity to Delhi made it one of my favorites, and Jeff Campbell and I would bike down, whether in bitter cold or blazing heat (depending on the month). The Meo and other tribes along the way have very conservative Mohammedan elements. One day, Jeff and I took a five-minute halt on his Royal Enfield (Bullet) motorcycle while en route. A young village lass, who was quite alone in the farming fields around the highway, came up to the road and tried to strike up a conversation with Jeff.

She being Muslim, I realized that she looked upon Jeff, who had a blond beard and fair looks, as an eminently eligible foreign Muslim, and most suited to marry! It was amusing watching Jeff extricate himself from this entirely unexpected attention in the middle of the Indian countryside.

In those days, it was possible to pitch camp on the fringe of the park and go night spotting, which we often did with the director, a grizzled veteran of the park.

One impromptu trip I embarked upon with Jeff was in the month of June, circa 1981. Sariska is one of the few parks open almost year-round. We sat in a hide, which was like a concrete pillbox, cramped and hot. Jeff carried a tape

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recorder; nature did the rest. It was wonderful to see animals, even as common as peacocks, come in so close to drink. Watching CHITAL (the spotted deer of India) and SAMBAR stag at a distance of a few feet also sent chrills down the spine. And then came a wild dog. There were apparently two in the park, the very last pair, and we were afforded a close view of one of them. Just like the tiger, the wild dogs have been exterminated. The last fishing owl in Sariska is another ill-fated species I was privileged to watch there. It was ridiculous to see the same Indian babudom shut the barn door after the horse has already bolted. After the ruthless poacher, Sansar Chand, was caught with the blood of the last tiger at Sariska on his hands, the Forest Department put armed police outside the park and began monitoring movements of travelers into the area.

Villagers in the surrounding region told me of killing the rare Indian grey wolf when one would stray from the fields outside. The Forest Department does nothing to engage in education or give incentives to people or animals. This is one of the most insidious organizations in modern-day India, as my comments on lessons learned at Spashram RiverMountain will show. Colleagues in the field, such as international cat specialist Tessa McGregor and documentary filmmaker Joanna Van Gruisen, have been frustrated because the Forest Department, although keeping everything tidy on paper, has allowed tigers at Sariska, Panna, and numerous other locations to be poached to death.

For many years after having formed TigerPaws Adventures, I refused to take clients on typical wildlife safaris in protest of the bandwagon approach by tour operators and visitors alike in wildlife parks, ie everyone wanted to see a tiger. Few realized he was a gentleman (or lady!) desirous of individual privacy at times. Tourists with less exposure chatted away merrily while on jeep safari, sure to disturb everything. Guides from the Forest Department, or otherwise, could not infect visitors with the joys of small (and to me equally exciting) game or avifauna. Seeing different species like the very shy caracal (desert lynx), fox, wolf, or indeed more common species, was to a true wildlife enthusiast no less exciting, for the presence of these animals only served to emphasize the area’s biodiversity.

School children abroad learn field craft and nature craft early on. They keep beetles and discover birds’ nests; they learn about the stars and nature in general. I remember a teacher of mine bringing a green pit viper into the classroom for

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a short while before it was released. The bright green of the pit viper set against the beige sand, in the glass jar, imprinted its image on a young mind. This is what builds up a true nurturing, knowledge and a society that learns to protect. It is something our schools should learn. Between 1979 and 1982, in the marshes of Suraj Kund, I would lie at seven o’clock in the morning, in the dead of winter, observing snipe...only to see the area come under the bulldozer for development by 1985. Later at the same site, after the destruction of the wetland, I saw signs for creation of a “bird sanctuary.” Only the Indian bureaucrat would be so unthinking and do things in reverse! I hope that the money spent on this book will allow for a translation into the vernacular, for schools and others to buy a copy and to understand these fundamental lessons.

The photos here are by Tessa McGregor, who I took to Sariska some years ago and who immediately cottoned on to the fact that no new tigers had been discovered for two years, going by the plaster casts we saw. A little later the

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Sambhar Stag: Sariska National Park, Rajasthan, India

news of Sansar Chand and his poachers confirmed what we had sensed. To me these images represent the innocent joys of being in the Indian jungle, once rated by old hands as more beautiful than the African.

We once received a request from a young college lass to explore the Indian jungle. Sabrina was a delightful Canadian who “took a huge blind date” with India. She felt her parents would go through the roof if they knew her intended destination. I heaved a sigh of relief that this innocent girl landed at TigerPaw’s door, as the sharks are mean and plentiful in the Indian “tour market.” I took her under my wing, knowing I could’nt let her go too far on her own; this was her first trip, not just to India, but indeed anywhere abroad. I reveled in her delight, tree climbing and all, as the pictures show. On the bits she did do on her own (Agra included), she managed well enough, though with very strict instructions as to chauffeurs, guides, et al. Her comments below may be of interest:

I really did not know what to expect, as I had never been to India before and did not do any research on it before arriving. What I experienced was more than I had ever imagined, and polo was only a small part of it. It was a journey; a lifealtering experience that I will never forget. Because of that experience, I now have a love for India, a love that will never be lost. I dream of returning because of the wonderful times I had and there are so many other things that I still have to see and do! It was the most adventurous and fascinating trip of my life, and I am eternally grateful to IJ for organizing it.

… there was a jeep waiting outside to take us on an expedition into the reserve. We stopped in the middle of the jungle.

I was constantly scanning the environment for tigers or leopards, but, sadly, did not see any. I have to say that after my trip to India, I was a HUGE fan of the jungle. After all, I had the most amazing adventures whilst in the jungle, especially riding elephants and looking for tigers.

Opposite

Across the bank of the lower Ganges facing the old Allababad Fort, built during the British Raj

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Although I have traveled and sent many a client to the south of India, and although it is a beautiful part of the world, there are few adventures to be had there, now that the days of big game are restricted to reserves.

I do, however, cherish the opportunity the south provided me in 1990 to improve my new-found, but limited, talent for pen-and-ink sketching various scenes and monuments observed while traveling. This is something I began the year before, purely out of frustration while on a very slow country boat on the Ganges from Allahabad to Mirzapur. In 1989, I had been tasked by Australian clients to commemorate the British author Eric Newby’s journey, written up in his book Slowly Down the Ganges. Newby, who served with the famous Black Watch regiment of the British Army, was also known for his book A Short Walk in the Hindukush. Our boat being brought to shore at sundown

It was an interesting journey. The grand Kumbh Mela was on. This immense human extravaganza, when millions of Hindus congregate for a holy dip in the Ganges, is an awe-inspiring event. Its scale, organization, and myriad types of devotees, including the naked or naga sadhus, are just some elements of this incredible event, which takes place only once every twelve years.

I chose to camp on the far bank of the Sangam across the Fort of Allahabad, that grand edifice of the Raj. The next morning, I met my clients and we rowed away, leaving the thronging millions of humanity representing the fervor of Hinduism. As we negotiated a bend in the river, passing small temples, wading birds, and typical river scenes, we came across a group of men in a huddle. They were distilling bootleg liquor. The irony was not lost on me or my visitors, that they were doing this on the holy waters of the Ganges at a spot just past the holiest of holy sites!

We carried on over the next few days, enjoying the beautiful river views that few modern travelers are privileged to see. There were wonderful wading birds migrating from colder climes, undisturbed. In some places, though, we were ever watchful, for stretches bordered the deadly bandit country of Bhind Morena.

We were able to stay, most fortunately, at a friend’s estate in safe environs. The old Raj-era bungalow built on the banks of the Ganges harked back to the days when cotton was brought up by riverboat before it was sent to the mills in England. The British developed cotton sources here after losing their colonies in America.

The nearest town was Mirzapur, famous for carpet weaving. Our host, the erudite Raj Dutt, a longtime family friend, invited my Aussie guests and me to the local club. There were just a handful of members, and on that day there were none except for our host and his guests. It was a small building, but had all the essentials of a club: a bar with stools, a billiards table, a newspaper reading rack, restrooms, and not much else, I recall. But the British expatriate, Oakley, I think his name was, had set it up with Raj and a couple of others. He was a bachelor and had his manservant link his cuffs each evening before dinner. If the sketches of mine reproduced here are none too good, the very first produced from the Ganges boat trip are definitely not worth reproducing!

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Camels on the dunes of Pushkar at sundown

Camels on the dunes of Pushkar at sundown

Camels on the dunes of Pushkar of sundown

Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Short Lowland Desert Adventures In India’s Gujrat and Rajasthan, and Jordan’s Baida Country

Short Lowland Desert Adventures In India’s Gujrat and Rajasthan, and Jordan’s Baida Country

Men have looked upon the desert as barren land, the free holding of whoever chose; but in fact, each hill and valley in it had a man who was its acknowledged owner and would quickly assert the right of his family or clan to it, against aggression.

Men have looked upon the desert as barren land, the free holding of whoever chose; but in fact, each hill and valley in it had a man who was its acknowledged owner and would quickly assert the right of his family or clan to it, against aggression.

—T. E. Lawrence

—T. E. Lawrence

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Desert Journeys in Gujrat’s Great Raan of Kutch

The colorful tribes and festivals of Gujarat are a must-see in India, and one year, with TigerPaw operating numerous journeys for Turtle Tours Arizona in addition to individual American clientele, we suggested this region. Our tribal and textile tours were often intertwined, showcasing the rich heritage of the Indian desert states of Rajasthan and Gujarat, as well as faraway places like Baluchistan and Nooristan. The tribes often saw no borders, and they were connected at a much more fundamental level, including the common struggle against a near common enemy: modern society. Therefore, it was not uncommon to see a beautiful handwoven garment from the North West Frontier of Pakistan’s tribal region in the hands of a local tribal that had come along the barter route.

Kutchhi tribal family in the Raan of Kutch, Gujrat, India

The Hungry Lion of Gir Forest; Camping Experiences Around Junagadh, Gir, and Diu Island

• The Portuguese seafarer Vasco da Gama and his fortress

• The basillicas of Diu

• A lion roars in the pitch dark of night, eyeing our camp for dinner

• Russell’s vipers in the moist grass

• The Jam Sahib of Nawanagar; the Siddhis, descendants of twelfth-century Abyssinian and Moorish slaves and seafarers

• A badminton court in the royal dining room

• An immense Mahseer presides o’er our lunch

Major halts on route: Ahemdabad Isle of Diu, Ahmedpur Mandvi, Somnath, Junagadh

Other places mentioned: Piroten Island

In 1989, I was asked to lead a group of students from an international embassy school to explore the Marine National Park off Piroten Island. This entailed a visit to Jamnagar, the launching point for Piroten-bound vessels, before heading south toward Junagadh, another old frontier town at the Indian end of the famous Silk Route.

Jamnagar, in spite of not being noteworthy in itself as a destination, set the tone for a memorable travel experience in Gujarat. My host here was the Jam Sahib, a potentate of yore who ran the Sir Peter Scott Trust, and who like many pacifists and protectors of forest and wildlife, ala Rajasthan’s Bishnoi, had become a staunch preservationist. The trust protected game on one of his vast estates, and included a strong and healthy herd of black buck. Before the group of fifteen students arrived, I had lunch at the Jam Sahib’s old palace. At the door of this immense edifice, which was practically fading into history before our eyes, I was

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met by an old family retainer, who took us past the veranda into the banquet hall.

There were a couple of other guests. The four of us sat down at the foot of an endless table, which was set in the banquet hall, large and high enough to house a badminton court, which in fact it did! The boundaries of the games court were marked in inlaid marble on the floor, covered by a rug when there was no play.

The old bearer served a fine meal in thalis (a large plate containing small bowls of separate food items for one person to eat from), including chargrilled fish and Gujarati vegetarian delicacies. The luncheon, all the while, was presided over by the largest stuffed Mahseer I have ever seen, mounted and staring at us, unblinking, victim of a battle long ago between angler and the Great Tiger of the River (hence the name Mahseer: Mah–“great” and sher–“tiger”) during the “good old days,” about which Jam Sahib, sporting an immense beard and long hair, reminisced. A Hindu

temple column sketched on the tri

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Because of logistics, the emphasis of the trip was changed from Piroten to Junagadh, Gir Forest, and the Isle of Diu. So after thanking my host, I headed south to Junagadh, a frontier sort of town, its bazaars a pleasant confusion of people descended from Turks, Abyssinians, Rajputs, and Bhils. Ruled until 1947 by a Muslim ruler, who opted to move to Pakistan after India’s Partition, Junagadh has unique mausoleums and mosques.

A common sight in the bazaars of Junagadh, was men piled high at the back of three-wheeled motorbike cabs. The drivers and passengers were usually mustachioed and ensconced in frock coats with churidars and caps (an attire worn by the Rabaris, nomadic sheepherders who claim descendancy from Lord Krishna). Funnily enough, white frock coats and churidars with Mardana caps made the men look very similar to their counterparts in far-off Himalayan Kullu.

This sketch from my notebook made at the Diu Jail (once the Portuguese fort with moat) shows the statue of the famous Portuguese explorer and seafarer Vasco da Gama, who landed here in 1469

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En route from Junagadh to Gir, the other interesting vehicles were the ancient 1950s-era Dodge cars carrying no fewer than fifteen passengers from village to village. On these drives one often encountered dark young men with pronounced Negroid features and muscular torsos, descendants of the Abyssinians and Moorish slaves and seafarers of the twelfth century. It was unusual, too, to see women of similar features and fuzzy hair wearing the salwar kameez, going about their chores. These communities were also made up of old tribes converted by the sword of Islam, all of them now collectively called Siddhis. The Siddhis are known for their distinctive acrobatic and energetic dances, naturally similar to African tribal dancing. Our group of fifteen students, led by a teacher who decided to bring her infant along, watched them in awe.

While traveling here, I noted the capacity for eating chillies among some of the locals. The bus driver’s breakfast at eight in the morning comprised a vegetable mixture of onions, tomatoes, and green chillies!

From Junagadh, entering Gir National Park is really coming into an oasis in the middle of rather dry country. Gir, the last bastion of the Asiatic lion once endemic from Persia to India, is a comparatively mall but interesting park, and once the regal preserve of the Junagadh rulers, later given prominence by George Schaller, the international expert on large felines.

The park has a fine old bungalow dating back to the days of the Raj, although the food is poor and supplies need to be supplemented.

At that time, however, we were able to pitch a jungle camp on the edges

Different empires ... The notebook sketch is of the Diu Mosque, and together with all the basilicas built by the Portuguese, will also be seen by the visitor today

of the park. The director of the park came for a visit, and said it was the best camp he had ever seen. But in the next breath, he informed me, my wards and their teachers that the lion was a bold animal and might well decide to stomp through the camp at night. We did not even have the armed guards who usually watch over visitors observing a pride.*

Needless to say, at three in the morning a low, a raspy cough emanated from the dark enveloping the forest edge, followed by some rather close roars. I clambered out of my tent and shone my flashlight, to be stared back at by a pair of eyes set between the muzzle and brow of an enormous lion surveying our camp, debating whether or not to tear into or walk away from our tents.

I tried to roust up my staff, but most of them, who were from the mountains and had never seen such a beast, at first refused to emerge. We finally lit a bonfire and switched on the engine and headlights of the van to discourage our large and carnivorous visitor and in turn to keep my group whole, rather than wholesome, for the big cat. At breakfast, I couldn’t elaborate too much on the night’s incident!

Even so, the campsite was quite beautiful, with the clear Hiran River flowing before us, dominated by a finely constructed stone bridge supported by arches rising from the water. Occasionally, a small goods train completed the riverside scene.

The month of March did, however, have the disadvantage of being a little too warm, attracting the occasional viper out of hibernation, thereby robbing us of the pleasure of walking barefoot in the grass. Regardless, all of these challenges gave off the feel of being in the wilderness, particularly when rewarded during forest drives with the sight of a complete pride of lions, or a reclusive leopard, wild boar, marsh mugger crocodile, and deer.

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Buildings in Junagadh, Gujrat, India

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From Gir, we drove to the island of Diu, about a four-hour drive away past the beach resort of Ahmedpur Mandvi. Diu, a truly tropical island, is a fine testimony to the Portuguese presence in India. The small island contains numerous large basilicas, chapels, and also a very interesting sea fort with a moat, fed by the sea tide, built by Vasco da Gama, Portuguese seafarer, who is commemorated by an immense bronze statue. The fort also currently houses the local jail.

We bicycled around quietly, stopping at small villages and eating meals of fish curry and rice with chilled beer (the last was not for the students!), a welcome relief after the parched-throat, prohibition policy of Gujarat (Gandhiji’s birthplace). In Diu, as I did oftentimes, I approached the district commissioner’s office, this time by literally stopping him and his car, something you could do only in a sleepy place like Diu. He was most kind in helping us locate a camping spot, and introduced us to the villagers, who were extremely pleasant and courteous. We camped on a very pleasant grassy meadow in the vicinity of a village, close to the coast and interesting because of its hamlets and wells.

Today, Diu has made attempts to put itself on the tourist map, with hotels and travel festivals alike. Even so, Junagadh, Gir, and Diu are still on the road less traveled. Also, with mainland Gujarat observing Gandhian prohibition, Diu provided succor for parched throats by way of chilled beer and other alcohol. The trip to Gujrat was successfully concluded after two nights on the island.

Other clients I took to Gujarat were Anne and Marty, while traveling to Manipur. One of the highlights was camping in the Raan (which the natives pronounce “rrhrunhh”). The old-style Raj-type tent, fully staffed and set before a seasonal lake, replete

with flamingos and pelicans in the hundreds, with the vast, empty tabletop flat land of the Raan all around us, made for a tremendous experience. Seeing a lone rare wolf skulk across the horizon at dusk was a rare pleasure. Now, close to fifteen years later, I remember having to struggle with the local suppliers’ staff to pack out our litter. Good manners at home, or bad ones in those early days, are what filled in for eco-consciousness or lack thereof, I realized.

Two more illustrations from book…

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Chapter 10b

Rajasthan: The Pushkar Fair, from Disaster to Accolade

• The world famous camel, cattle and religious fair of Pushkar

• Monopolistic suppliers

• A fort and a fief with a drunkard for a brother

• Pitching immense tents in the blazing heat of the day and the bitter cold of the night, dodging scorpions and snakes

Places mentioned: Pushkar, Gobindgarh, The Thar Desert (Rajasthan), Delhi

American Express had set up a system of customer feedback on our services using a scale of one to ten. Routinely, we received between eight and ten on all our trips. There was one close shave at Pushkar, however, when we were expecting the entire diplomatic staff of the American Embassy to come.

As a rule, we prefer to select the best spots in terms of independence, beauty, privacy and support. Noting the Mafia-like conditions in the sand dunes around Pushkar itself, where all and sundry set up camps and were forced to work with substandard partners, I opted instead to drive sixteen kilometers out to a small fort town called Gobindgarh. Here there was a small lake that offered a great campsite, and the family who owned the fort was keen to participate. Setting up camp here would also mean our guests avoided choking in the sandy dust that swirled around Pushkar’s camps, permeating food, tents, and so on.

Having established contact with the local fief, who also owned the fort, I went back to Delhi. In due course, the thakur (as the fief is known locally) informed me that he had other partners, who were the front for the family and claimed to be the “pros” with a background in the Kenyan hospitality industry. They insisted on providing the catering as part of the terms of business, and I had no choice but to outsource this component to them. I was in it now, and proceeded to work out plans. They asked me only to supply the very large tents we had, and assured me they would handle the rest.

The tents were massive, and in fact had to be sent by goods train, accompanied by two of my key camp guides from the mountains. They disembarked at Ajmer and proceeded to the one-horse town that was Gobindgarh. With my tents and key staff on hand, and with the local partnering team’s assurance that everything would be set up and I need arrive only one day early, I was reasonably complacent.

I decided, however, to arrive a day and a half early, with a plumber and plumbing supplies to set up a brick-and-mortar flush toilet and shower, using tanks fed by camels drawing water from the lake for each tent.

I drove into the town in my left-hand-drive Chevrolet van and happened upon my two staff members, who were frantically searching for a phone (there were no cell phones in those days). It was pure chance that we met on the street...or perhaps not, as there was no place else for them to go! These hardened mountain veterans were almost in tears because they had been prevented from doing anything. In

Rajasthani tribal lady, Pushkar, Rajasthan, India © Eliane Thweatt

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feudal Rajasthan, replete with princely nobles, my men narrated their tale of woe. They could not go and meet the local “royal,” because he was ensconce in his sanctum sanctorum, drinking constantly and refusing to condescend to speaking to lesser mortals. His elder brother, with whom I had come to agreement, was out of town. Nothing had been done. The vast tents lay among barbed wire in snake and scorpion infested sands. I was in a cold sweat and briefly pondered what my next move was to be. Call and cancel at this eleventh hour? The consequences on our credibility were too awful to contemplate. I strode into the royal’s bedroom and told him exactly what I thought of him.

My verbal barbs were pointed exactly where they would hit home, toward all that his warrior ancestors held dear: honor, valor, fair dealing, and so on. His drunken eyes blazed back in fury at me, an outsider insulting him in his home. He could well have reached for his sword, but he got the message. His elderly father came with a tractor. They pulled out a retired and respectable local policeman who had seen much service, and we strode into the sands by the lake. For thirty-

Rajput tribal men enjoying a smoke and a rest during their long march.

© IJ Singh

six hours my men and I barely stopped to eat. Years later, I did hear a news report of a family feud in which one member of the thakur was killed in a swordfight.

The father sent some wonderful home-cooked food (as you can get only in Rajasthan!) and certainly did not pause to answer any long calls of nature. The resulting headache had to be killed with aspirin. My two guides, the elderly policeman, and I began tackling the two-hundred pound (approximately 91 kilo) tents. After spending many hours variously driving across country, trying to get into the fort, arguing with the thakur’s brother, waiting for the tractor to clear the campgrounds, and such, pitching the huge tents ran into the dark of the desert night.

The heat of the sun by day; the bitter cold and lashing winds at night like ice on our backs; the thorns tearing our hands; the rat snakes (dhausa, as they were known locally) scurrying away from our tent poles; the occasional scorpions: all had to be ignored. It was past midnight when the catering team arrived. Sent as part of my collaborators’ undertaking, they had come from Ranthambhor, the world-famous tiger reserve. These bounders promptly opened their bedding to sleep in the tents we were laboriously setting up. Actually, one tent was large enough for six men on the ground. I was furious.

“Get up and lend a hand!” I shouted. The ringleader replied, “I am the cook and don’t do this stuff. I will walk out!”

I assued him that if he chose not to lend a hand, he would have no one to cook for, and further I was not about to give him the luxury of sleeping in my tent until the morning and then allowing him to quit. If he wanted to quit, he could nightmarch out rght now into the desert. That got them going.

At last, the tents were ready and the plumber had the toilets in place, all spickand-span, literally thirty minutes before the diplomats of the American Embassy arrived. The setup, the bonfires, the camels, the pleasant country drive, and the local firewater served, made for a highly successful camp. How ironic that the next year, the same camp setup (but with much more notice) ended up a fiasco, thanks to an asinine trip leader assigned by American Express (A woman I will call “R”). She had no field experience or perspective of life in the outdoors. Rather

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than come to me and ask questions in an aside, with great volubility she tried to pit herself on the side of the guests, against the host team.

In the cold desert night she asked, “No ice? Why is there no ice?”

“Because it is as cold as a witch’s left tit, you nit, and we are in the midst of the dunes of the Great Thar Desert!” I felt like saying, but held my tongue.

And so it went: ”Why can’t we get this and why can’t we get that?”

Thanks to the reproachable R, a trip coordinator from the Canadian High Commission obtained a series of signatures stating how terrible our services were! The run of eleven trips with nine- and ten-point ratings out of a possible ten had ended.

Marc Guernon, the immigration officer at the Canadian High Commission in New Delhi, invited me for a drink. He said, “Inder Jit, you know and I know that the trip was absolutely fine. But because this woman [the tour motivator] has not a little influence with the trip leader and has infected all to sign the letter, I have had to put my name to it as well, as I cannot go against my embassy colleagues.”

And so ended the first weekend getaways the Indian travel industry saw, and that we had developed for American Express. It took Anuroop Tony Singh, the dynamic manager, and Rajiv Burman, to restart a relationship when they asked me to set up team-building programs for American Express, the very first in India to be outsourced. These were a great success!

Now, with thirty years in the industry behind me, I realize the dichotomy that exists in the cultural India that we like to show our visitors, and the clash of civilizations when they visit. There is a certain propping up of feudal concepts, and it is a hard battle indeed to determine where customs are relevant today, where they interfere with progress, and the opening of horizons and opportunities (especially for the girl child, a phrase that has caught the imagination of modern India, as it conveys the great historical injustice of the past, when only a male heir was desired and females faced oppression).

Chapter 11

Seeing the World from Horseback-Riding and Polo Safaris in Faraway Places

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Experienced travellers know that a horse can take them where other means of transportation cannot, and seeing the countryside and sights from horseback offers an entirely different and qualitatively superior perspective.

To contribute toward the revival of the horse’s status, in modern Indian society (both urban and rural), I have included traditional Indian lore and history in the introduction to this section.

Horse are the dolphins of the plains, the spirits of the wind; yet we sit astride them for the sake of being well-groomed, whereas they could have all the desire in the world to bolt, but instead, they adjust their speed and grace, only to please us, never to displease.

~Lauren Salerno

The horse has lived in South Asia from about the mid-second millennium BC, more than two millennia after its domestication in Central Asia. The earliest irrefutable evidence of horse remains in the Indian Subcontinent are dated to about the early Swat culture (circa 1600 BC). One of the famous avatars of Lord Vishnu the preserver, Hayagriva, is depicted with a horse’s head and worshipped as the God of Knowledge.

A man of kindness to his horse, is kind, but brutal actions show a brutal mind. He was designed they servant, not they drudge. Remember his creator is thy judge.

~Unknown

Hindu legend says that the first horse emerged from the depth of the ocean during the churning of the seas, and was winged and white in color. This mythical creatures was known as Uchchaihshravas. The same legend also says that Lord Indra took away this mythical horse to his celestial abode, svarga (the heavens) and later severed the wings of the horse so that these animals would remain on earth, for mankind.

Attributed to Lady Thornicroft after the hunt, when a saboteur asked her why the horse was so hot and sweated up : "If I had you between my legs for two and a half hours, you, dear sir, would be equally as hot and sweaty."

Experienced travelers know that a horse can take them where other means of transportation cannot, and seeing the countryside and sights from horseback offers an entirely different and qualitatively superior perspective.

Opposite Watching big game in Africa, from horseback

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The Horse in Indian Culture

To contribute toward the revival of the horse's status in modern Indian society (as I believe that the horse's status in modern Indian society (as I believe that the horse's position in a society, is an index of its development), I have included traditional Indian lore and history in the introduction to this section

Where are your horses, where the reins? How came ye? How had ye the power? Rein was on nose and seat on back. The whip is laid upon the flank. The heroes stretch their thighs apart, like women when the babe is born.

~ Rig Veda, trans. Griffith

Horses are the dolphins of the plains, the spirits of the wind; yet we sit astride them for the sake of being well-groomed, whereas they could have all the desire in the world to bolt, but instead, they adjust their speed and grace, only to please us, never to displease.

The horse has lived in South Asia from about the mid-second millennium BC, more than two millennia after domestication in Central Asia. The earliest irrefutable evidence of the horse remains in the indian subcontinent are dated to about the early Swat culture (circa 1600 BC). One of the famous avatars of Lord Vishnu the preserver, Hayagriva, is depicted with a horse's head and worshipped as the God of Knowledge.

~ Lauren Salerno

A man of kindness to his horse, is kind, but brutal actions show a brutal mind. He was designed thy servant, not thy drudge. Remember his creator is thy judge.

Hindu legend says that the first horse emerged from the depths of the ocean during the churning of the seas, and was winged and white in color. These mythical creatures was known as Uchchaihshravas. The same legend also says that Lord Indra took away this mythical horse to his celestial abode, Svarga (the heavens) and later severed the wings of the horse so that these animals would remain on earth, for mankind.

~ Unknown

Four Things Greater than all things are, Women and Horses and Power and War.

Four things Greater than all things are, Women and Horses and Power and War.

~ Maharaja Ranjit Singh

~Maharaja Ranjit Singh

Attributed to Lady Thornicroft after the hunt, when a saboteur asked her why the horse was so hot and sweated up: “If I had you between my legs for two and a half hours, you, dear sir, would be equally as hot and sweaty.”

Where are your horses, where the reins? How came ye? How had ye the power? Rein was on nose and seat on back. The whip is laid upon the flank. The heroes stretch their thighs apart, like women when the babe is born

~Rig Veda, trans. Griffith

On a safari in Rajasthan, we learned that Hindu women consider it particularly auspicious when a horse is the first sight of the day. They will bow in reverence, for (as noted above) the horse is believed to be of the gods. Eaves of houses, forts, and palaces in Rajasthan are hence often adorned with horse heads, and occasionally elephant heads, as shown in the photographs.

The quotes above describe how the horse has been looked upon through the ages. The letters below (received over the years from visitors for whom I designed riding vacations in various parts of the world), offer insight into the thrills and adventure of safari on horseback.

Author on a long range safari in the Indian desert, circa 1996

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Equestrian sport binds dramatically different social echelons. All share the common bond of undertaking the discipline and training required to ride and know the horse, for which there are no half measures.

Raghubir Singh, an ex-cavalryman and former gold medalist in show jumping, pointed out to me an interesting facet of the horse. Unlike other animals with which man is associated, which beg or cry for food when hungry, the horse stomps the ground with its foreleg, demanding food as its right.

While I had an early penchant for horse riding and the wilderness, I was so deeply involved with treks and overland safaris that I could not take enough time out for this vital activity. This was a source of deep personal regret. So, when I arrived in Canada in 1996, I decided to launch an internet-based business that would promote polo and horseback vacations worldwide, allowing me to play out my passions while simultaneously creating a distinctive international business.

As with any new venture, it took some time to fully develop, and at first I found time to play only a handful of chukkers at my polo club in New Delhi. Finally, in 2004 at the age of forty-seven, I was able to acquire my own lot of polo ponies and take up the sport in more serious measure, on top of regularly leading visitors on horseback safaris.

Competing on the polo field against those younger than I am by a decade or two has, I suppose, presented certain physical challenges. Nevertheless, it has been most satisfying, and I would not hesitate to encourage anyone with a love of horses and reasonable level of fitness to take up one of the greatest sports of all.

Marwari Horse

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A typical Marwari horse, from which (it is said in India) the Arab descended.

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A traditional Nihang Sikh Warrior carrying the Sikh war drum. No leather is used by / for rider or horse.

Pictured here is a Nihang Sikh warrior. The Sikhs referred to their horses as jaan bhai, literally life or blood brother. In this picture, the holy book is carried on the horse, along with a war drum (harking to the days of the tenth warrior Sikh Guru, Guru Gobind Singh, who fought Mughal tyranny. Sikhs were summoned to battle from their guerrilla hideouts by the war drum).

Guru Gobind Singh is usually shown astride his special horse of a bluish-gray color, shown here in caricature form in the work of the Sikh artist, and usually also has his hunting falcon. Indian icons like Shivaji, Maharana Pratap, and the Princess Warrior Ahilyabhai are all synonymous with horse.

The martial Sikh Nihang Warrior rides barefoot and bears daggers on his turban and waist. Not a single piece of attire or horse tack is made of leather, as no leather can be used on the horse that carries the Sikh Holy Drum that rouses the faithful. In keeping with the sacred position of the cow in the Hindu faith, a sister religion, leather is not worn inside temples. The Nihangs are known to perform martial arts and trick riding ... especially during the Holla Mohalla Festival.

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Annual Republic Day Parade on January 26th at Vijay Chowk

Top: Chargers of the President’s Mounted Body Guard Below: A cavalryman of the 61st Cavalry

Top: Chargers of the President's Below: Girtoa, IJ

Photos by Phal Girtoa, IJ Singh

The British encouraged the Rajput Royal to put down their native Marwari's to encourage the sale of the English thoroughbred.

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Left: ancient cenotaph of Rajput warrior.

Below (Middle): Riding into the Dhoodwar Gorge, Rajasthan,India on polo thoroughbreds.

Below (Left): Author introduces visiting Dutch Equestrian to the horses of the President’s Bodyguard, Rashtrapati Bhavan, New Delhi, India .

Below (Right): Author escorts Australian clients on long ride on Marwari’s to Fort Chunwa, Luni, Rajasthan, India. © Harpreet Singh

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Stonework stairway showing horsehead step holders

Marwari Horse

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Galloping through the desert on a Marwari is an experience only to be had in Rajasthan, but it is hard to say if I enjoyed the Polo ponies on the Dhoondwar ride or Marwaris from Dundlod more... Riding through villages where time has stood still since the 15th century - women on their looms weaving carpets, children following as we made our way to the palace-turned-hotel with grooms waiting to receive our horses. The hospitality was beyond courteous, and I think I’m the only person I’ve met who has “gained” weight on a trip to India!

~

Maria Verridichhio, Canada

Journeying in Rajasthan’s Dhoondwar Valley, India

Just in case you wondered what happened to me ... I’m now back in Muscat, but I had a really fantastic time at the Roop Niwas. It’s just a shame that the time available was so short. The food was excellent, the horses were fabulous and the hospitality was overwhelming. I got some superb photos of the people and the horses. Many thanks for the reception in Delhi.

I felt that I had been made very welcome, and in addition I felt well looked after, while travelling!

~ Janet Olearski, England

Journeying in Rajasthan’s Shekhawati region, India

The missives below are from Ellen Jackson, a repeat American client each year from 2003 to 2006:

I still have such fond memories of the Rajasthan ride. These vacations you organize for me are truly life altering. I can count on you for finding something spectacular in Kenya.

~ After the ride to Rajasthan India on the Pushkar Camel Fair

Traversing across country on horseback is one of the best ways to experience territory and human culture and also natural biodiversity. For oftentimes, one can enter regions where the world is yet to reach.

~ After journeying on horseback in South Africa’s Ant’s Nest and the Okavango Delta, Botswana

Rajasthan in the Monsoon Can Be a Veritable Paradise!

• The world from horseback is unique

• Pedro and Alba on the romantic Rajasthan horseback trip we crafted

• I was able to teach them tent pegging, a sport suitable for women equestrians visiting India

For two years, Pedro Urquijo (a Spanish noble, equestrian member of the Spanish Household Cavalry, and businessman) had planned an Indian riding adventure for himself and his girlfriend Alba. His curiosity about India’s equestrian heritage had led him to become something of an authority on Indian cavalry and its exploits in the days of the Raj, when the horse was truly king.

Pedro’s visit had to be planned during the monsoon period, so I was somewhat apprehensive about laying on a suitable adventure. The first stage of anxiety hit when we conducted our reconnaissance, for in May 2004, the landscape of the Rajasthan desert was bleak, and the heat of the high summer was tremendous. My initial anxiety soon gave birth to another, brought on by tremendous flooding, gushing streams, and knee-deep melted chocolate (the mud of sand). My team and I had kittens.

As it turned out, both the enormous big wet we encountered and the aggravation of having to change our route and expedition format, were blessings in disguise. Barring one interruption to our ride, the combination of rain and sandstorms confined their timings to the night. Our dawn patrols were therefore conducted in blissfully overcast and cool conditions, accompanied by pleasant breezes.

The pictures that emerged from this unique, off-season adventure are truly memorable. The one complaint we received, needless to say, was “having prepared us so thoroughly for the extreme heat, we were not prepared for the vast amounts of water in the desert!” The locals, of course, told Pedro and Alba they brought them luck, as harbingers of rain!

Pedro and Alba’s trip began with their stay at New Delhi’s finest, the historic Imperial Hotel, a wonder in itself with its incredible collection of Raj-era lithographs and paintings and more; next an overnight at the Sariska Palace Hotel near the town

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of Alwar; and finally an exploration of Jaipur and a sojourn at the regal Rambagh Palace Hotel. The elephant walk up the mountain to Amber Palace and the sightseeing in Jaipur became a challenge and a swim due to tremendous rain, and the first night’s camp aborted because of a road breach.

I may mention here that the road from Delhi to Alwar was the traditional route to Jaipur. It is a wonderfully scenic route, especially the section between Alwar and Shahpura, with rolling hills and valleys, scrub forest, and villages.

The next day, I drove out to extricate my staff from the town of Bhadrawati, which was completely cut off by the flood. Having done trans-shipments of supplies at dawn, we moved our horses and set up our fixed camp at Dhula, at the Cenotaphs of the local fief. This was dominated by the Hula fort. The dry riverbed, which seemed to soak up all the water raining down, was our weeklong base. From palatial tents that were our home, we set out about 6:30 in the morning with a camel-borne guide and escort, who carried our packed breakfasts, coffee, and mats. Traversing quiet countryside and villages, with their unique sights, we would halt at a villager’s home, and Mahavir, our camelteer, would organize water for the horses and borrow a string charpoy (bed) to sit on.

Ancient monument surrounded by monsoonal verdure in Rajasthan

We faced only one hazard: a horde of unleashed children! They were, when p close to them, the most angelic and cherubic creatures, and the epitome of discipline. The moment we set off with our backs to them, however, they became like the invading hordes of Chengiz, chasing and shouting after us.

Returning about 11 a.m. we rested up, had lunch and a brief siesta until 3:30. Next, we set out in our air-conditioned four-by-four, exploring the unique sights and ancient ghost cities, such as Bhangarh and Abaneri (truly little-known but world-class architectural gems from the ancient world).

After a few hours exploration, we returned and saddled up about 6 for a half hour of stick and ball, and a bit of tent pegging, which Pedro and Alba became proficient at very fast (as the images on subsequent pages show). The trip had turned from near nightmare to sublime adventure, unlike some of the reversal of fortunes I had encountered on other expeditions!

Upon returning to Spain, Pedro wrote the following note:

Dear IJ,

At last a moment of peace to be able to drop you a line with some quiet ... IJ, our holiday was fantastic!!! Congratulations on your organization and logistics and absolute attention to detail - that is what really makes the difference between a real professional, and an amateur.

I am a person who pays a lot of attention to detail and is constantly on the lookout for improvement, and I must say there was very little of which I could say you have “overlooked” in your set up, well done.

Alba had a great time and she certainly didn’t expect to be looked after so well, the horses were in immaculate condition, the staff were fantastic and always willing to help and please, and the food was great. I must confess I did get a bit frustrated at the beginning with the weather, seeing we had come so far and weren’t going to manage to do the proper expedition, and it would have been ideal to move the camps, I think next time we probably will have to try and look at the dates more closely to avoid a full monsoon! But at the end it worked out,

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and it is a tribute to your resources that you managed given the conditions.

Your company and patience were also fantastic and both Alba and I have the feeling that we have forged a solid friendship with someone with whom we share so many interests, it was really a pleasure to get to know you and your fantastic parents.

I am already looking to the future, and after having seen the pictures my brothers and sisters are pounding on me every day to get going for Autumn 2006.

We just can’t wait to get back to India to enjoy being looked after by you again. Best regards and thank you once again.

Pedro

P.S. Alba has decided to write an article on the trip!

Note: Needless to say Pedro and Alba got married soon after this trip. I like to think that the trip I organized for them helped lead to this event! I was invited for the very grand wedding, and it was a memorable affair. The two Spanish royals and other notables were present, and the wedding celebrations began at 9 p.m. and ended in true Latin style at 5 a.m. I was told I was a great dancer, which was a laugh, because my wife always took digs at my maneuvers on the dance floor. Once again, the horse had led me to excellent company.

After this trip, I got requests from the Spanish riding fraternity to organize a boar bunt on horseback. The Spanish do not apologize for old-world sport. So when English and Spanish clients approached me, I chalked out a program across the border, though this never materialized because of the trouble in Pakistan. The government of Pakistan once kept a price on the head of wild boar. Even today, in Pakistan, because boar are considered vermin and unclean, they are hunted rather cruelly with pack dogs, so I proposed organizing the more humane method of hog hunting on horseback, being evenly matched and extremely dangerous for horse and rider. The following was the invitation that went out. The reader may recall the verbal orientation I received at the hands of John Wakefield.

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Almost at the Mercy of a Roguish Fief and His Equally Roguish Horses

In 2006, I was staying at the Shikarbadi Hotel, one of my favorites, and the farrier and I got to talking about horses. One thing led to another, and I found a visitor at my door at 9 p.m. He had been sent by Maharaj Narender Singh to press me to try out his equestrian services the next time I had a requirement in the area. Over the next few months, I received repeated calls and letters with the same message. Soon afterwards, I learned of four clients seeking a trip in the Udaipur area. Since four were too few to mount an expedition entirely myself that far away from home base, I decided to take up the old gent on his offer.

It happened gradually. First I was pressed to provide a riding instructor, because Maharaj Narender’s instructor was injured. Next I was asked to secure a cook, because his cook was sick... and so it went. I sent detailed menus, and got vague affirmations. When I said we would need to square the wages of the cook, he told me he had found another. I had committed to running with him on this one, but had a sixth sense of looming disaster (his missives stated “I’ll have my old cock on standby” - I belive he meant “cook”!). As part of my emergency backup, I decided to bring my camp cook and assistant, Sundar Singh Rana, and another camp hand, the poacher-turned-guide, as well as liquor, cakes (courtesy of my wife), warm linen sheets, and hot water bottles.

Jack, a tough eighty-five-year-old American client of mine, made the trip, flying nonstop from Oregon. He was a heart patient, who occasionally announced, “My pacer is playing up! I need to rest.” This did not slow down his zest for life or to accompany us, however. A wonderful couple full of laughs, Tim and Annie (he English and she Australian), and another American lady, Dawn Cowan (who was working at an orphanage in Jaipur), made up our band.

The trip was shaping up to be an absolute disaster, from meals, to camping, to horses. I kept looking for their cook and was told, “He is coming ... he is coming!” I kept looking for the provisions I had asked for, but none were to be found; therefore I had to hustle, threaten, and berate to ensure that fresh fruit, vegetables, and chilled beer were sourced on a daily basis. The month of March was hot and dry in Rajasthan. Worse, I was given a beast of a horse who threw back his head and tore at full gallop, and Tim was given one who suddenly collapsed on his knees

and tried to roll each time he came onto a sandy patch. Never knowing when his mount might resort to this trick, poor Tim had to show great alacrity.

Jack Baxter called me into his tent and commanded me to patch up the blisters on both buttocks. He dropped his pants to reveal very tender saddle lesions and a scrawny pair of old testicles, seen perforce past his ancient posterior, which had just faced up to the challenge of Rajasthan’s worst.

Fortunately, due to the excellent spirit and humor of this lot, my foresight in keeping the basic backup, and the fact that the rest of the trip TigerPaw organized went well, my reputation came out reasonably unscathed!

Dawn rated this trip as the best of Indian experiences. All I can say is that the orphanage must have been a very rough place indeed!

Tim with his naughty horse.

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Jordan: Riding in the Biblical Country of the Baida

When I went to Canada and began developing the very first international rides I was to operate from there, between 1996 and 2002, Dr. Sharon C. Cregier, who presided over one of the Canadian university’s equine studies chair, gave me a unique insight into the colonial history of the region and the role of the horse in campaigns there. She also gave me an introduction to Princess Alia of Jordan, a renowned horsewoman in her own right.

The royal stables had, of course, the crème de la crème of Arabian horseflesh, and the head trainer personally put two of the best horses through their paces for me. Since there was no one running equestrian vacations in Jordan, one thing led to another and I arrived in that country.

I found Jordan rather unusual, noting the sharp juxtaposition of a traditional land superimposed with ultramodern buildings and lifestyles. On arrival in Amman, I stayed at one of the premier hotels, where I decided to have my dinner in the café within the discotheque. I was stopped at the door. No one is allowed to enter the discotheque wearing a traditional headdress. I objected and called to speak to the general manager of the hotel, reminding him that my identity had been accepted when I entered his hotel with my passport (which showed my portrait picture as being with “my traditional headdress”) and that I was willing to call his boss, whoever that may be. He understood the point and instructed his staff to serve me my meal on the house.

Outside Amman, I took up the invitation to visit Princess Alia’s royal stables. Unfortunately she was not there, but had left instructions to show me around. Besides highly prized horseflesh, including naturally exquisite examples of the Arab, one of the world’s finest collections of saddles and related accoutrements is found here. I presented a small memento and carried on, proceeding to the Dead Sea, where I stayed at the deluxe Amari resort. I hated these swanky places, which were disconnected with the land. Next I proceeded to Petra. Truly one of the world’s great wonders, this Nabatean marvel is a must-see for the international traveler.

And then came the Arab horsemen. Used for tourists, the horses were all typical Arabians. Although I had really come to set up a safari operation for a local travel company and help them on their way, I was touted on the grapevine as the visiting horse guru. The horses owned by individuals seemed healthy and strong, but were badly maintained and poorly tacked with cruel bits. In short order, I was swamped by horse owners requesting advice with their mounts. I suggested they emulate the excellent example of horse care followed by their mounted police, and that hygiene and bitting had to be of a far higher order.

We proceeded into the Baida, a unique landscape set in a sea of rounded boulders and dotted with wild olive trees. with our Arab mounts and camp gear. Traversing this landscape and encountering the occasional Bedouin family camped in the desert, I could see this was truly biblical country. In the evenings, a spartan camp with fire-cooked meats, breads, and olives was the last brushstroke on this canvas. The horses were much like the Indian Marwari, with pointed ears and slender build. Indeed, Indians maintain that the Arab is descended from the Marwari, as Arab seafarers landed in India only in the twelfth century, whereas the horse has been in Indian society and mythology for eons.

It was all a spirited canter or full-blown gallop. I hated the rough bit on my mount and did not like the idea of the sharp stones on the trail. My local guide was unimpressed with me for being so slow, so I released my horse at full gallop. I pulled up sharply next to him and pointed to the gashes on his mount’s fetlocks, however, and warned him that visitors would not appreciate seeing horses badly treated.

Jordan now has more than one high-quality equestrian outfitter, and I find some satisfaction knowing I had a very small role to play.

Horses and the Jungles of Africa

But love of the wilderness is more than a hunger for what is always beyond reach; it is also an expression of loyalty to the earth which bore us and sustains us, the only home we shall ever know, the only paradise we ever need, if only we had

I have had an absolutely wonderful time at Ingwenya and improved my polo tremendously as also the rest of this great trip – thanks! The Trek to Mt. Kilimanjaro was great!

~ Elise Woods, USA

Traveled between September 28 and October 21, 2002, to Fji, South Africa’s Ingwenya Polo Club, and then Tanzania’s Safari Spa and Nduruma Polo Club, before concluding with the ascent of Mount Kilimanjaro

Your Tanzanian polo holiday was great! Jerome and Zsuzsa were incredibly hospitable, and the polo was a lot of fun. It was a terrific experience, and one I am not likely to forget. Do you have anything in Kenya or Zimbabwe? I am already thinking of my next adventure!

Opposite

Top: Ant’s Nest, South Africa watching giraffe and zebra from horseback

Bottom: Tanda Tula ~ author captured this image of a lion pulling lioness to mate

Following Pages Tom Schovsbo rides right up to a herd of elephants, including a big male tusker watching closely

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A Kenyan Journey

Kenya’s wildlife sanctuaries and wilderness areas are enthralling. The manipulations of man found on some private concessions in South Africa (where buying and selling big game to alter the wildlife populations on these private concessions change the bioscape) are not to be found here. The stay at Loldia House on Lake Navaisha was memorable, and met my thirst for recent military history. Loldia was built by Italian POWs for the English family that owned the estate during World War II.

At Loldia House, one could not step out at night, for hippos were at the veranda’s edge, necessitating guides armed with shotguns to keep a lookout. Neither could one walk without a guide in the marsh bush, where Cape buffalo were ever present. Both of these species are among the most dangerous of beasts. But the roads in Kenya ... Oh, the roads of Kenya!

When I arrived at the airport, my driver tellingly announced, “Mistah, in Kenya we dance without music.” Little did I know he was referring to the bone-cracking

The shores of the beautiful Lake Navaisha, Kenya

journey we were about to embark upon over crater-filled roads! The driver also lauded the role of the Singhs, as the Kenyan Sikhs were known (by their baptized names, singh meaning “lion”), in the freedom struggle in Kenya. As a Sikh, it was certainly interesting for me to see the positive contribution my community had made in the struggle for Kenyan independence from the colonial yoke, just as they had done in the land of our birth.

The title No Boda Boda comes from a sign I stumbled across near a military camp on this journey. It refers to the cycle-borne human smugglers who carried people to the Somali border illegally. The terrible droughts Kenya has recently undergone and the chilling ethnic wars from which it has recovered should not dissuade travelers from visiting this wonderful country and witnessing the migration of the wildebeest plunging by the thousands with blind primeval instinct into the great whirling and steaming Mara River. This is truly a lifetime’s experience, whether by horseback or by jeep, and sending clients there is part of the excitement for me.

Ellen Jackson wrote, “IJ, you are up there with the best. You have opened up a whole new world through your fantastic trips.” Postcard from Kenya’s Misai Mara

This sign warns smugglers of humans from crossing across the Somali Kenyan border, on bicycle

SOuTH AFRICA

Opposite

My Kenyan wildlife guide.

The guides are literate and can give explanations, and possess field guide books.

Following Pages

Fellow Traveller Dan Lion captured this beautiful African leopard on film

Ant's Nest is owned and operate by Tessa Baber and her husband, "Ant." The Baber family has been on the 50,000-acre estate, where Ant's Nest and Ant's Hill have been established for more than a century. This is a unique establishment and biosphere, as the pictures will tell. I was able to send some enthusiastic horsemen and horsewomen to Ant's, and even for the non-rider, it offers an excellent African experience at very good value.

Riders at Wait a Little, South Africa, watch a pair of cheetahs up close

Author prepares to take evasive action when a she rhinocerous with calf warns him off

South Africa is a country blessed in terms of land and biosphere. The picture on page 187 shows a male lion bringing a lioness by the tail to mate, and was taken while I was staying at Tanda Tula was taken by a fellow traveler, Dan Lion. The same leopard actually had a cub (not shown). Together they were being hounded by a hyena that was hoping for a mishap, so the leopardess moved the cub to safety and came back to her perch. On the same evening, we saw a pack of no less than a dozen wild dogs with beautiful markings and typical feral canine behavior, loping and every so often stopping and pausing to look up.

Ant’s Nest is owned and operated by Tessa Baber and her husband, “Ant.” The Baber family has been on the 50,000-acre estate, where Ant’s Nest and Ant’s Hill have been established for more than a century. This is a unique establishment and biosphere, as the pictures will tell. I was able to send some enthusiastic horsemen and horsewomen to Ant’s, and even for the non-rider, it offers an excellent African experience at very good value.

Opposite

My Kenyan wildlife guide.

The guides are literate, can give explanations, and possess field guide books.

Following Pages

Fellow traveller Dan Lion captured this beautiful African leopard on film.

Riders at Wait a Little, South Africa, watch a pair of cheetahs up close. Author prepares to take evasive action when a she rhinocerous with calf warns him off.

South Africa is a country blessed in terms of land and biosphere. The picture on page 187 shows a male lion bringing a lioness by the tail to mate, and was taken while I was staying at Tanda Tula Lodge near Kruger Reserve. The beautiful African leopard (following page) was taken by a fellow traveler, Dan Lion. The same leopard actually had a cub (not shown). Together they were being hounded by a hyena that was hoping for a mishap, so the leopardess moved the cub to safety and came back to her perch. On the same evening, we saw a pack of no less than a dozen wild dogs with beautiful markings and typical feral canine behavior, loping and every so often stopping and pausing to look up.

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Botswana, the Okavango Delta

The outstanding scientific discovery of the twentieth century is not television or radio, but rather the complexity of the land organism. Only those who know the most about it, can appreciate how little we know about it. The last word in ignorance is the man who says of an animal or plant: What good is it? If the land mechanism as a whole is good, then every part is good, whether we understand it or not. If the biota, in the course of eons, has built something we like but do not understand, then who but a fool would discard seemingly useless parts? To keep every cog and wheel is the first precaution of intelligent tinkering.

When I flew from Johannesburg in advance of the polo trip for my client’s Rugby School, it was from a city whose name had been etched in my mind ever since the vicarious thrill of reading Frederick Forsyth’s novel The Day of the Jackal. From Jo’burg, I flew to Maun, where I boarded a small aircraft to fly into the wilderness of the Okavango. After a bush landing, we drove off in especially souped-up Land Rovers, and arrived at our tented camp in the midst of the Okavango.

PJ Biestlink pulls up riders under a baobab tree, Okavango Delta, Botswana

The year before, I had sent clients to the Okavango Delta, where I found two unique operations. One was run by Sarah Jane Guillick, and the other by PJ and Barney Biestlink. The photos in this section are from a client (see list of credits) of the PJ and Barney’s safari operation, whose rides are featured on National Geographic. This is a unique couple whose hospitality, horses, staff, and outdoor skills I was privileged to see in action. PJ was the first to set up a horse operation in Botswana, after much convincing of the Game authorities. His knowledge of the African bush and horsemanship ensured that his outfit was allocated concessions for what is a truly fine operation. A good horseman or horsewoman is often a taciturn type, for mastering the horse brooks no nonsense. Mastering the horse and the bush, especially in the African wilderness with all its big game, takes special skills. Doing so with humor was a skill that made trips with PJ memorable.

At PJ and Barney’s camp, I entered my tent to read the placard instructions on the pole. Point No. 6, toward the end, declared: “While on the safari ... in the event of lion ...” I did not want to read more!

Transferring from bush plane to jungle land rover.

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Above: a pair of crane in the marshes | Below: a rider remounts

Above, Below and Opposite: PJ Biestlink and a fellow rider watching a tusker The four footed nature of the horse often helps big game in being more relaxed

Below: elephants and riders both take break

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Above: Pelicans coming in to land | Below: Author observing a hippopotamus

Above a mix of wading birds feeding | Below: horses take a break

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Above: A group of hippopotami enjoy a swim | Below: PJ’s local partner demonstrates spear fishing

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On horseback, watching the wildlife

On horseback, watching giraffe (above) and a tusker at the watering hole (below)

Rugby School Plays Polo in South Africa

My trip to Botswana and Kenya actually took place because of a trip I arranged for one of England’s most famous public schools.

I once conducted Sir (later Lord) Digby Jones, then chairman of the British Confederation of Industry, on a brief visit to Rajasthan. When I informed him of my unusual worldwide polo vacations and safaris and about my English clients, he remarked, “Do you mean to tell me that you are here sitting in India, and have taken Rugby on a ‘polo’ clinic and holiday to South Africa? Amazing!”

Established in 1567, Rugby is one of the most prestigious of English public schools. I often wondered at the paucity of establishments still functioning today that have such a hoary past. It was an early student of this school who was responsible for creating the game of rugby, when he “picked up the ball” rather than kicking it, thus inventing an entirely new sport.

The very first client for my newfangled concept of polo vacations (launched 1996 through poloholidays.com in the US when he wanted something no one else had experienced) once told me, “Inder Jit, you will have an impossible time trying to get the English on a polo safari to any country other than India. ”I thus took Sir Digby’s comment as a great compliment. I sent other English clients (mainly young ladies with good jobs) to Argentina for polo vacations, and also received accolades from the British press (the Independent’s “Jet Set” supplement), which reported: “IJ’s is the bespoke market leader” in this genre of vacations.

Jane Phelps of Rugby School asked us to suggest options for taking the school polo team overseas. Using our singular expertise and network strengths that mark us as a unique worldwide provider of polo, with vacations and clinics, we began the process of identifying the international venue that best met their needs.

There was an interesting exchange of documents between me and Rugby’s bursar. Jane sent me the most exhaustive of fill-in forms asking for confirmation that every electrical socket, stairway escape, and so on conformed to British standard codes. I tried my best to fill it out, but couldn’t help but insert a few tongue-in-cheek comments. In response to the question, “Does the establishment

you are staying at have British standard fittings?” I jotted down, “The students selected South Africa from amongst the other destinations, namely USA and Argentina. Presumably this was for the purpose of ‘adventure’! Since Africa has been historically known as ‘the Dark Continent’ from the time of Livingstone, as every English school child knows, it is quite unreasonable to expect British industry standards everywhere while traveling to that continent!”

Finally, I sent my six-page liability waiver form, drawn up for our American arm by a mean and tough lawyer. Another client of mine (again, a lawyer) once said about that form, “IJ, first you tell me that I may lose my head on the trip, then you not only ask me to sign away my rights, but my heirs have to sign away theirs as well! After you have practically promised me accident and injury, you expect me to sign this form!”

The bursar of Rugby School wrote to inform me that he had never seen such a document in all his life, and would not sign it. Jane exclaimed she would now have to stand on her head! “You throw out your form,” I wrote, “and I’ll throw out mine”! The trip went on without a hitch.

The aim was for students to “get in shape” before the English polo season. Seeking a venue that fit the bill in all aspects, we honed in on Franshoek Mountain Lodge and the nearby Frantisek Polo School in South Africa’s Orange Free State, in the region where the Greensburg and Malta mountain ranges abut Lesotho, a unique mountainous country destination in itself.

(Countess) Sophia Aboyne, who represented my polo brand for the trip in the United Kingdom, mediated with Jane at the school while I fine-tuned the requirements with the lodge and polo staff at Franshoek. This included chalking out the polo curriculum so the students would improve their game, and yet enjoy the in-between hours without being overly taxed.

Finally, on 27th of March 06, I personally met the 10-strong school group, accompanied by Jane and her husband Nigel, at Johannesburg airport. I escorted them down to Franshoek, carrying amongst other things, a few supplementary polo sticks of odd sizes, a first aid kit, a general polo orientation folder for each student, T-shirts, trophies and posters.

A grand trophy for the final presentation added to my baggage, which travelled from New Delhi to Johannesburg by way of Mumbai, Mombasa, and Nairobi. With four of the trophies damaged on arrival, I ventured to the industrial area of Johannesburg before the group arrived to have them repaired, rather than let any one student come away empty-handed. The Fairlawns Hotel, on a unique private estate in Johannesburg’s upscale Morningside area, was most helpful in accomplishing this, and their excellent and ever smiling driver Tando helped find the right place for the job. The Fairlawns is extremely well appointed and the Gandhi Suite, where I was put up, was par excellence. The owner, obviously of the old guard, was married to the granddaughter of an icon of apartheid era South Africa, the Boer Leader Jan Smuts.

Leaving Johannesburg airport, we drove four hours in two vans across Transvaal and Orange Free State, crossing rolling hills and open plains covered in cosmos flowers, a mosaic of white and pink, punctuated by the Vaal River. Poplar, Cypress and Willow Gum Trees added to the scenic beauty.

As anywhere, local people had a story to tell and vehicle drivers were an interesting source. Lawrence, who was of Slovak origin, narrated how he operated undercover for the police in the ‘anti-gun smuggling unit’ during the apartheid days, sporting earrings, long hair and jeans whenever on an assignment. After awhile, he decided it was too stressful and took up chauffeuring.

Later on the trip, another of my van drivers, this one a Black South African, explained how he had married a girl from another tribe (something impossible in the apartheid days), about the difficulty in crossing village or tribal zones in that period, and the

students of Rugby School

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strictures it posed on the population in something like finding a marital mate. For them and others on either side of the colour divide, including the young English émigré who owned the transport company, the modern South Africa was energetic and full of optimism, and the lifting of apartheid was the best thing that could have happened.

Occasionally there were others of an older, apartheid era generation, who held biases and older notions. But to the credit of all South Africans, I found it amazing that on radio talk shows, both sides could frankly and bluntly discuss their views on the subject of race related issues without being hostile. As a Sikh from India who immigrated to Canada, a country most mature and sagacious in dealing with such sharp divides, I found this aspect most fascinating during my stay in South Africa. Both in South Africa and in Kenya, which I visited later, the bonhomie amongst white and coloured rose several notches in rural areas.

The children’s-fairy-tale-like Franshoek Lodge, run by delightful hostesses Roz Evans and Ona (whose surname was not announced), is set amid the magical Malutis and was the perfect venue for the week. Shortly after arriving on the very first day, we introduced ourselves to the horses and went off on an hour-long hack

Rod Gurteridge with Students

into the hills and high plateaus. Cantering through the tall grass, seeing the lodge mascot chase an impala, and breathing pure open air was the best introduction we could ask for. And, of course, the next day onward there was polo.

The group of ten students, seven of whom were girls, was divided into two groups for the clinic. Their ages ranged from sixteen to eighteen, and (barring one) all were generally good riders. It is to their credit, and thanks to the team of instructors and horses as well, that each saw improvement in riding and polo skills by the end of the clinic.

On the last two days, the students played a game of England-Rugby versus Africa, with the young girls from Franshoek helping make up the Africa team. On the final day, in fact, the Butustu grooms, who were excellent horsemen, put up a fantastic fight for Africa, losing a nail-biting match by one goal. The youngest of these lads was just thirteen, testimony to Rod Guteridge’s excellent instruction and interest in teaching polo to native youth in this part of Africa, where polo was not just for the elite or the white man. A onetime trooper from the Zimbabwean Army, Guteridge was a tough and colorful character. Christian, who owned the polo estate with his son, was also supportive of this philosophy, and together with Tracey (Christian’s partner) they did a brilliant job of managing the clinic after receiving my initial guidelines.

Every evening after polo, people from the group either went straight back to the lodge, or trooped up to Rod’s beautiful, quaint lodge on the high meadow overlooking the polo fields below, with the massifs forming a backdrop in the distance. A sundowner and a golf swing were the order of the hour in the presence of Jane’s husband, Nigel, the golf enthusiast. Nigel had cleverly practiced the art of left-handed golf and brought the largest left-handed driver possible. Needless to say, his swing was par excellence and reached the far end of the polo field,

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whereas lesser mortals (myself included) usually hit the post and had to dive for cover to avoid the recoil. By the time we had mastered left-handed golf and found a right-handed driver, we had to re-learn right-handed golf all over again.

One day, we took turns exploring the incredible, massive, prehistoric caves, through which streams and pools silently passed. The solitude and beauty added to the thrill of discovery. A couple of evenings, neighbors brought African bongo drums and other instruments for all to enjoy around the fire; a dance with rather funky music compiled by Christian’s son Damien was another highlight.

We held our last roundup session on the sixth day. It had been a magical week, and we departed the next afternoon with more than a little sadness. I should also add that South Africa has some of the world’s best shopping in terms of wood carvings, including tribal carvings, and arts and crafts of ceramic, pewter, and more.

At the farewell, I presented prizes to the student players, and they in turn offered me a miniature rugby ball imprinted with their famous alma mater’s logo. It now adorns my study.

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Rod Gurteridge demonstrating a polo point.

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More on Polo

Under the auspices of my Canadian and American company, I run many other multi-country, high-value, complex trips offering multiple experiences. Thanks to polo, I met Monty Roberts (the man they call the Horse Whisperer), who was a fellow speaker at a Convention called Polo America. Another personality I had the pleasure of meeting on the polo field is John Walsh, at the invitation of polo buddies Sohail Quereshi and Balla Mallya (shown below, second from right, with author extreme right), at an event organized by the latter.

John Walsh, founder of the famous American television program America’s Most Wanted, is a different kind of man. He went public with a deep personal tragedy, the kidnapping and murder of his young son Adam, to take on society’s worst elements: child kidnappers and pedophiles. Rather than wallow in sorrow, John has worked for decades to push for changes in law, and see them through. His work has spawned a movement, and over 1,200 fugitives have been captured internationally through his efforts.

Child crimes are at the top of the list of heinous offenses. John Walsh and other champions like him who have lost their children (such as the Argentine Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo) are among the bravest of the brave in this day and age.

India-Regal Polo Safaris

The concept of the polo safari lends itself very well to India. In fact, our clientele were overwhelmed by the India experience, whereas the Argentine one merely “greatly satisfied” them. The splendor of the luxury hotels, pageants, grand military traditions, cultural pageantry and lore, the kind of extravaganzas one can arrange in India, and the unique wildlife experiences are unmatched.

Miles Lewis, who subsequently became a good friend and invited me to play polo at Ham outside London, wrote the following:

Your polo safari in Rajasthan was exactly the kind of holiday that we were looking for...and we had looked the world over...! To be able to play polo and ride and go on overland expeditions, stopping at wonderful old palaces and seeing images of India that my father, grandfather as well as great-grandfather did, serving with the military...was a dream come true.

Michiel Duinker, a Canadian polo player from the Ganaraska Polo Club who came with his son, an aficionado of the sitar, wrote the following:

Painting owned by author, showing 15th century Princess of the Mughal court playing polo, in India

Not only was the polo great, but the hacks, wildlife excursions and white water trip you customized for my son and I made this a trip of a lifetime for both me, the polo fanatic, and my son, the non-rider. We will treasure the sunrise from the Hill fort of Mundota forever.

Human memories are very short ... and in this context people forget that India has been numero uno in such sports as field hockey, with the likes of Major Dhyan Chand; running, represented by Milkha Singh; and polo in an era now past. With the imposition of the land ceiling, the withdrawals of the princely states’ cavalries, and Indian cavalrymen and horses laying down their lives in large numbers in foreign theaters of war (such as Deauville, Flanders, and Ypres), polo died a sudden death in India. Argentina, with its Criollo horses, vast pampas, and the cattle industry, filled the gap fast and has never let up. Needless to say, therefore, we had a significant demand from clients wanting to experience polo in Argentina. But the Indian polo experience stands unmatched today, simply because of the entire India experience.

Opposite : Scenes at Ramgarh, Rajasthan, India, Polo tournament organized by author with the support of the Royal House of Mewar: 1) Old stalwarts Bala Mallya (Dubai), Sohail Queraeshi (Palm Beach, Florida), Col. Kuldeep S Garcha (ex Commandant 61st Cavalry and 5 goaler of his day) and Aroonpal Singh share a point; 2) A happy polo family, all smiles after the game, at Kalaan Farms, Haryana, India; 3) Author working with his equine partner "Lightfoot" at the Army Polo & Riding Club Delhi; 4) Author lifts the ball, chased by Sohail and Shamir Queraeshi, father and son duo from Esque Polo in Palm Beach 5) Shamir demonstrates ball control, enviously watched by old campaigner Aroonpal Singh; 6) Author at Ramgarh; 7) Old world polo at Ramgarh; 8) Elizabeth Pfahl at tea on the Ramgarh Polo grounds; 9) Author and friends play tournament at Kalaan Farms Pataudi, Haryana, India; 10) Jagat Singh, polo die-hard and pro, receives his prize.

Opposite: Scenes at Ramgarh, Rajasthan, India, Polo tournament organized by author with the support of the Royal House of Mewar: 1) Old stalwarts Bala Mallya (Dubai), Sohail Queraeshi (Palm Beach, Florida), Col Kuldeep S Garcha (ex Commandant 61st Cavalry and 5 goaler of his day) and Aroonpal Singh share a point; 2) A happy polo family, all smiles after the game, at Kalaan Farms, Haryana, India; 3) Author working with his equine partner “Lightfoot” at the Army Polo & Riding Club, Delhi; 4) Author lifts the ball, chased by Sohail and Shamir Qures, father and son duo from Esque Polo in Palm Beach; 5) Shamir demonstrates ball control, enviously watched by old campaigner Aroonpal Singh; 6) Author at Ramgarh; 7) Old world polo at Ramgarh; 8) Elizabeth Pfahl at tea on the Ramgarh Polo grounds; 9) Author and friends play tournament at Kalaan Farms, Pataudi, Haryana, India; 10) Jagat Singh, polo die-hard and pro, receives his prize.

Below: Scenes at Ramgarh, India. Polo tournament organized by author with the support of the Royal House of Mewar. Image left: English pro Phillip Elliot, and Thakur Ram Pratap Singh with a guest Right - 5 Goaler Kr LS Rahore and his wife Princess Bhargavi Kumari of the Royal House of Mewar.

English Pro Phillip Elliot, with visiting Dutch trainer Caroline Van Veen and Thakur Ram Pratap Singh

Below Left:

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Below

Author on boards. Team Bentley’s back Lt. Colonel Navjit Sandhu of the famous 61 st, and 4 goals for team Bentley tackles the ball, Major Vishal Chauhan also of the 61st , and 4 goals in red tshirt chases. Here team Bentley won the semis over eight other teams to go to final

Images of Team Bentley entered by author for the historic Rao Raja Hanut Singh open Tournament, New Delhi, 2011

Left 4 goaler Manupal Godara, a second generation player

Above Navjit (Navo), also a national level showjumper, displays prowess during the finals

Back row: Meghan Walsh (in polka-dot saree) with author and grooms.

Left (from left) visiting player from Germany, Shri Lai (owner Beijing Polo Club), Sohail Quraeshi, John Walsh, Sabine Schaeffer and author.

Both ladies in photo are +1 players.

Caprisoned elephants in the background brought for closing ceremony.

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Patrons Cup (foreground, left to right): Callahan Walsh, Sohail Quraeshi (Patron Esque Polo, Palm Beach, Florida), John Walsh, Bala Mallya (host, in hat), Shri Lai and a spectator.

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Opposite Page

Top four images: during finals of the Rao Raja Hanut Singh Open (an 8 goal tournament) author in yellow helmet playing for Team Bentley.

Third Row Left: Author (in white) battles player of the President’s Body Guard during semi finals.

Third Row Right: Bala Mallya (on left in black shirt) tournament patronPatron’s Cup at Haryana Polo Club.

Bottom Left: Author’s wife Jasleen (on right) looks on while her husband plays.

Bottom right: Col Raj Kalaan (owner Haryana Polo Club) and guests, author on extreme right.

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Above, Lower Right: Vice President Hamid Ansari presents General Sparrow Centenary Polo Cup Other Images Above: Veterans Cup

JODHPuR POLO ~ A Royal Salute!

Polo in Jodhpur is a case in point, and from 2011 onward has been my chosen focus destination for keen polo enthusiasts who wish to visit with their spouses. The combination of opulence and hard sport, desert culture, ancient lore and hard partying makes for a special vacation. The entire Jodhpur Polo experience is under the patronage of His Highness Gaj Singh Ji Maharaja of Jodhpur; the Umaid Bhavan Palace (under the able management of Asheesh K. Rai); and the irrepressible Peter Prentice (the brand ambassador of Royal Salute and Chivas).

Others, like the home Jodhpur Team, steered by Yuvraj Kumar (Prince) K. V. Singh, and Sanjeev Bali, owner of the Mount Shivalik Breweries, help create most memorable experiences for the wellheeled overseas visitor.

Above Right:

With the Royal Salute billboard forming a backdrop for the stand, Bap ji, The Maharaja of Jodhpur (in hat and dark glasses), watches the field. To the extreme left (facing) is the irrepressible Peter Prentice, Master of the Quaich, Regional Vice President, Chivas Brothers/ Pernod Ricard, Asia Pacific.

Right:

The 8 goal underway, India’s top rated (+5 goals) Samir Suhag (in red helmet) leading the pack

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A family enjoys a ride in one of the Maharaha’s vintage cars, of which there is a large stable The Maharaja’s Band marching during an interlude between chukkas.

Bap Ji, and the Duke of Argyll (International Brand Ambassador for Royal Salute) present a bottle of the whiskey to the winners.

Author with friends Vanessa and Masha from Chivas

The Umaid Bhavan Palace (Taj Hotels) light up for the season’s festivities

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The Way Things Are... And the Way They Really Should Be in an Emerging India

Much ails Indian tourism and eco-practices. After a lifetime of working in India and other international territories, I strongly agree with futurists that we need to reinvent “invention itself ” if we are to sustain ourselves on planet Earth.

Because planet Earth is a homogenous unit, I am a firm believer that modern India’s environmental practices, along with those of other nations, will affect all mankind across the board, regardless of which part of the world they reside in.

I wish to use this opportunity to place on record some large-scale and blatant examples of environmental abuse, and the huge possibilities that exists to stem the tide. The proceeds of this book will ultimately be used for the further propagation of this message, including translations into vernacular languages in India, so that grassroots communities can learn about threats as well as potential.

Although much work is warranted by a host of entities (from governmental groups, nongovernmental groups and private corporations, including tourismsector-specific organizations), these examples are representative of serious gaps that urgently need to be addressed in the functioning and awareness in India, not only in the aforementioned sectors, but among the much wider fraternity of “those who manufacture, and those who consume.”

Military Organizations

A vast consumer, the military is ideally structured to impose operational discipline and act as a role model.

A major trigger that turned me into an “ecozealot” was my journey to the International Tri Junction (where India, China, Tibet, and Burma / Myanmar meet), while coordinating a first descent on the Lohit River above Kibithu for the Indian Army. The lush green hills with the Lohit River flowing below painted a tranquil canvas. Seeing the perfectly sited military transit camp, with exemplary maintenance in the frontage, like most things military, I was soon shocked to observe a mountain gulley behind the camp piled high with trash, spilling into the river far below. Imagine the vast scale of India’s military agencies, and the equally endemic practice of this kind of trash disposal (emulated by civic agencies in towns as well) inflicted upon pristine frontier biodiversities. Now imagine the impact in its totality.

When I conferred with young officers on long-range patrol, I learned they took indigenous guides and were armed with provisions like canned food, remnants of which they simply “left” behind. The packout concept, displayed as an “example”

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to native populaces who are unaware of the harmful effect of “modern” waste, is not that difficult to implement in the million-strong army that India maintains. Indeed, it would be more concealing!

The vast numbers of military convoys that move every day of the summer with supplies of diesel and such, and return empty, represent another wasted opportunity to exercise the pack-out concept. Glacial Himalayan watersheds are severely contaminated with supply and military waste.

I once arranged a trip to Ladakh for the Canadian defense attaché. He saw the kerosene and gas bukharis (stove burners) providing heat to the officers, and suggested that Canada could provide simple know-how on heat preservation so that they would not need such vast amounts of fuel consumption. Defense contractors want to sell vast amounts, however, and the “system” is a hard nut to crack.

Semi-autonomous Governmental Organizations

We recently took a wildlife safari group to Bandavgarh National Park. I was impressed both by the environmental certification issued by a British documentation agency and displayed at the Madhya Pradesh Tourism Development Corporation’s lodge, and by their charter of pursuing good ecopractices.

I quizzed a staffer on how trash was disposed of, and was informed that after the trash was separated, the plastic was burned in the forest. Again, the scale of these governmental semi-autonomous bodies throughout India is phenomenal, and the scale of environmental abuse is directly proportionate. In Uttarakhand, similarly, the cities of Hardwar and Rishikesh see all their trash disposed of at the edge of the Rajaji National Park, and the towns upriver have no method for disposing of non-biodegradable waste.

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The

Government’s Department of Road and Surface Transportation, and Forest Department

The Indian Ministry for highways both at the centre and states such as Uttrakhand had embarked upon an ambitious target of highway building in India. This has led to the percentage of forest cover dropping along highway zones, as well as causing tremendous geological instability and resultant flood havoc in states such as Uttrakhand in the terrible floods of recent years and especially 2013. Similarly, the Border Roads organization, which works throughout the Himalaya, builds roads by excavating the hill above the road and depositing tonnage of rocks and debris below, thereby bringing ruination to forest cover all around. In Canada, on the other hand, any excavation needs to be replanted by original growth vegetation, and dumping scree on eisting forest is not allowed.

Kamal Nath, the Indian minister for highways, is a businessman in his own right. He has stated his ambitious target of highway building in India. This has led to the percentage of forest cover dropping along highway zones at the time of writing. Similarly, the Border Roads Organization, which works throughout the Himalaya, builds roads by excavating the hill above the road and depositing tonnage of rocks and debris below, thereby bringing ruination to forest cover all around. In Canada, on the other hand, any excavation needs to be replanted by originalgrowth vegetation, and dumping scree on existing forest is not allowed.

India’s Forest Department has repeatedly been shown incapable of responding adequately with the desired resource, manpower, and time management efficiencies. In fact, the Forest Department was threatened when the Eco Task Force, made up of retired soldiers, took up the chore of re-greening the Dehra Dun hills, ruined by limestone mining companies, because they did not want their patch infringed upon. This last example testifies to the positive role the military services can in fact play in a country like India.

Author’s Brief Case Study

The Nanda Devi Biosphere Reserve: Observations on the Aurit Trek to the Valley of Flowers and Hemkund Lake: References Refer Canadian author, Heather Michaud’s book - Walking In The Footsteps of The Guru: Sikhs ad Seekers in The Indian Himalaya

As the images show on page 245, the Valley of Flowers and Hemkund are truly world-class natural wonders of geographical artistry.

Further, as the mythological background of Hemkund shows, it is of immense cultural importance as well.

THE LEGEND OF THE LAKE

Hemkund implies hem (snow) and kund (lake). It is set at 4,329 meters and surrounded by seven huge snow-clad mountains, collectively called Hemkund Parvat. Beyond Hemkund lies Tibet. The lake is the source of the Lakshmana Ganga (Hem Ganga) stream merging with the Pushpawati stream, flowing from the Valley of Flowers at Ghangaria. The river from this point on is called the Lakshmana Ganga.

The Lakshmana Temple or Lokpala Temple near the Gurudwara is the highest Hindu temple in the world. Legend says that Lakshmana, the younger brother of Ram, meditated by the lake. Another legend says that Rishi Medhasa of the Markandeya Purana and King Pandu (the father of the five Pandavas), performed penance here.

The Sikh community draws its faith in Hemkund from the description found in the Bachitar Natak, which roughly translated means “Resplendent Drama,” an autobiography attributed to Guru Gobind Singh himself, the tenth Sikh Guru, in the Dasam Granth. In poetic language, the author alludes to the place from which the Guru was called by God:

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(Dasam Guru Granth Sahib Ji 1952:54–55)

Hemkund Parvat Hai Jahan

Sapat Shring sobhit Hai Tahan.

Sapat Shring Tahan Nam Kahava.

Pandu Raj Jahan Yog Kamaya.

Tahan Hum Adhik Tapasya Sadhi.

Mahan Kal Kalika Aradhi.

Ehi Bidhi Karat Tapaya Bhaya.

Dwai Te Ek Rup Hwai Gayo.

Translation:

Where Hemkund Mountain is adorned by seven peaks, the place named Sapatsring where King Pandu did yoga, there did I perform intense meditation and austerities to contemplate God. Thus did I meditate until, from duality, two forms, God and myself, become one. My father and mother also contemplated the Formless One through several kinds of yoga and austere discipline. They served the Formless One and God was pleased with them. So God did command me to take birth in Kal Yug. I did not desire to come, as I was absorbed in devotion to God. When I understood his purpose, I came.

Here, the rishi (sage or holy man in solitary meditation) is known variously as Samundh Rishi, Rishi Medhasa, Rishi Bishala, or simply Asan Rishi, which refers to his posture of meditation on the lion skin. In one version, the rishi was a disciple of the goddess. When the goddess granted him a boon, he himself became Dusht Daman. In another version, the rishi did not shake the lion skin, but instead offered a prayer for God’s intercession. A bright light appeared that manifested itself into the form of the Shakti. As a continuation of the legend Shakti and the rishi were reborn in Kal Yug, the former as Guru Gobind Singh and the latter as his earthly father, Guru Tegh Bahadur. Further, his earthly mother, Mata Gujri Ji, is said to be the reincarnation of the goddess who sought the rishi’s help. The myth and legend are important, as they show the intertwining of the Sikh and Hindu faiths.

The valley is an enchanting sight with an impressive array of rare wildflowers, inchlindg geraniums, marsh marigolds and Primulas, to name but three of the hundreds that bloom here. Many of the flowers have medicinal value.

Hindu legend says that the Valley of Flowers has been associated spiritually with the name of Hanuman the monkey god, the legendary hero of the great Indian Hindu epic the Ramayana.

THE REDISCOVERY OF HEMKuND LAKE

The search for and discovery of Hemkund arose out of the Sikh community’s desire to erect shrines to honor places consecrated by the visit of the tenth Guru. Although the Bachitra Natak was included in the Dasam Granth some time in the 1730s, Sikhs apparently did not search for Hemkund until the late nineteenth century. Pandit Tara Singh Narotam, a nineteenth-century scholar of the Nirmala school, was the first to trace the geographical location of Hemkund. He wrote of it as one among the 508 Sikh shrines he described in Sri Gur Tirath Sangrah (which he first published in 1884).

In 1932, Sohan Singh, a retired granthi (religious teacher/priest) from the Indian Army who was working in a gurdwara (Sikh temple) in Tehri Garhwal, read the description of Hemkund in Bhai Vir Sing’s Sri Kalgidhar Chamatkar (1929). This account of the place and the meditation by a great yogi was based on the tale of Guru Gobind Singh’s life and previous life, as told in Bachitra Natak and the Suraj [Prakash] Granth.

In 1930, Sant Sohan Singh, assisted by another Sikh soldier, Havildar Modan Singh of the Bengal Sappers, laid the foundation of the first building and opened access to the public through Govindghat.

THE REDISCOVERY OF THE VALLEY OF FLOWERS

Lost to the modern world, the valley was brought back into the limelight in 1931, when Frank Smythe, the British naturalist mountaineer, stumbled upon it purely by chance after scaling the 7,756-m Mount Kamet. Smythe later explored the valley extensively, assisted by eminent English botanist R. L. Holdsworth. Currently it has been reclassified as the Pushpavati National Park.

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The memorial stone erected by Margarate Lagge’s sister reads:

I will lift up mine eyes unto the Hills from whence cometh my help.

The images taken by Gregory Aurit and me, and the observations alongside them, testify to the serious threat brought by existing bad management practices.

Governmental agencies aside, challenges and opportunities lie with public agencies and individuals, who need to address and participate in correcting serious flaws in management, the lack of leadership and implementation of the law, and greater public awareness.

Kevin Mcarthy ~ photographed by husband Greg Aurit in “Mountain Exuberance”

The Good, the Bad, and the Downright ugly

The idea of wilderness needs no defense. It only needs more defenders.

~ Edward Abbey

The Nanda Devi Sanctuary region is legally protected by governmental law because it has been declared part of the NDBR (Nanda Devi Biodiversity Reserve). The Valley of Flowers is fairly strictly monitored by Indian standards.

The general valley approaching the Valley of Flowers and Hemkund is also reasonably strictly monitored by Indian standards. Waste bins have been placed at regular intervals.

The road to Joshimath and Gobind Ghat, and one that my clients Greg and his wife, Kevin, found quite fascinating, affords incredible views, especially at the height of the monsoons. The high peaks and deep gorges are resplendent with immense, gushing waterfalls. Although this is not the best time for flowers, the monsoon season is not to be missed.

There are, however, two ills scarring the beauty of the Garhwal Himalaya. One is waste abuse, and the other is ruthless construction, primarily of immense hydroelectric dams and barrages. Unfortunately, these do not address the need for fish ladders that will ensure migration of the mighty Mahseer fish for spawning, and are thereby killing the Great Ganges.

The hotels en route are crummy and dirty, except for one or two, and I would certainly not recommend the GMVN (the monopolistic statewide semiautonomous government tourist organization) establishment at Kudiyalla early on the road, or the Mount View at Joshimath. Women should be involved in the hospitality industry, for their caring nature makes them better suited to ensure that good food and clean rooms are presented. The cloistered nature of hill society prevents this, however, hence the problem. This certainly needs to be faced by the tourism industry.

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Gobind Ghat, from which the trailhead starts, is itself not a very clean hamlet. After crossing Pulna and Byhundar on a scenic route, the first day’s march of four hours uphill on rough pathway ends at Ghangaria, an otherwise wholly avoidable town, comprising shanties with seasonal shopkeepers providing for every need of the pilgrim. There is a small patch of meadow to camp on, governed by the Eco Development Committee, an initiative begun by a Forest Department officer. Unfortunately, with limited skills, vision, resources, mandate, and leadership, they are incapable of doing anything effective. Once again, I say government should pull out of business and confine itself to enforcement. For example, they should stop monopolizing and then doing a poor job of accommodation management at Ghangaria, and instead work with the Eco Development Committee dynamically.

To begin our trek, an opportunity presented by my American clients Gregory Aurit and his wife, Kevin, we started at the trailhead at Gobind Ghat. There, sweepers sweep the main street, but that is where the cleanliness stops. This is a rampant problem countrywide, for everything heads toward the river.

Camping, Accommodation and the National Park: Future visitors will have a difficult time entering the Valley of Flowers unless a pragmatic system of rotating the one available campsite is put into effect by the park authorities, in partnership with the Eco Development Committee. There is simply no place to camp. Villages en route will need to be encouraged to make space for bed-andbreakfasts. This will warrant education and preparedness for change descending upon village society as well as the in situ community.

The Army Engineers–run Guest House near the helipad needs to conform with the park rules by not allowing bonfires, running a generator, and ensuring visitors are using dead wood and that this practice is allowed to all campers. Park authorities should be more pragmatic and realize that a campfire of deadwood in rainy weather on a meadow poses no risk to the forest. Forest Park rangers are largely absent and, further, unmotivated. Also, rather than cracking the whip on small camp parties lighting up in this situation, they should act upon garbage that attracts bears. On numerous occasions, our party sighted bear at close quarters drawn by garbage from previous camps. No one in the Nanda Devi Biosphere Reserve, including the various governmental and other agencies, Forest, GMVN, Eco Development Committee or military seems to pay attention to this issue.

There is complacency, lack of motivation, and lack of strict law enforcement for the minor, but more endemic (and therefore more damaging) environmental abuse that takes place on a daily, sustained basis.

The level of education of Forest Department officials needs to be substantially higher than it is, since they interface with Indian and international visitors. As examples:

1. Both days, we brought back trash left by other trekkers on the trail. After day one, we hoped the rangers might take our not-so-subtle hint they weren’t doing their jobs, and be a bit more watchful and stricter on the second day of our visit. Unfortunately, all we got was a thank-you. The second day, I suggested they might ask visitors to produce all that they were carrying in for inspection, to ensure that the same number of candy and chocolate wrappers were carried out.

2. There are no brochures, floral guides or the like on hand. The Forest Department should go into this small-scale business. Frankly, the bigger areas of business investment, such as the semi-autonomous Nigams (tourism corporations), which the state loves running and does such a good job of running into the red (as

The Pilgrim Trail is drowning in garbage. It looks tidy here, but this is by no means all the waste on the trail. With the rain the waste contaminates the countryside and gets washed into the river.

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well as into the ground in terms of hygiene standards, staff training, information services, and so on), should be where government disinvests, especially when all the government audit reports show that they are losing money year after year. Since all government entities here are seriously deprived of motivation and efficient law to invoke, they need to overhaul their functioning and raison d’etre. They should merely act as watchdogs for ensuring maintenance of law and standards, after gaining adequate exposure to what the latter means.

The garbage is collected as shown in the images, but it remains this way for months, with numerous trash piles simply merging with trail sludge. Gravity, rains, and snow collectively ensure that they move down to the river over time. I declare the state government GUILTY!

Eco-Profile of Sikh Pilgrims on the Trail

Sikh pilgrims are of two types: the one senior and aged, as shown in the images I captured, and the other young and middle class.

The seniors were spartan and did not carry modern throwaway items like chocolate and candy wrappers. They walked with the bare minimum, and many did not even carry water. If they carried food, it was compact, home cooked, and certainly not in cellophane! These items of trash are things that the middle class carriy. Education and law is needed both from government and temporal authorities, and the latter need to weave environmental codes of conduct into their sermons and ensure better practice in their “surroundings” (note, not premises, as these are clean!). In the context of Sikh and Hindu mythology myth and legend, perhaps this form of public awareness can be used for a positive outcome.

The Powerful Mascot of the Guru

The sparrow hawk or hunting falcon is the symbolic representative of good over evil that the tenth Guru of the Sikhs, Guru Gobind Singh, is always shown carrying on his forearm.

Belief to float: “The day when the sparrow hawk perishes will be the day when all humanity perishes.” I hope this is a positive belief to float in a fatalistic audience given to believing in myth and legend, with a positive outcome.

The dhaba (tea stalls) on the routes are magnets for trail filth. I asked one owner to give me a broom to clean the area. In response to his surprised question “Why should you?” I explained I was seeking an opportunity for penance. Prefering to leave his environs filthy over allowing a customer to show him up, he refused! This was truly criminal. I spoke to a Sikh youth, and he concurred that there was much need for work in this regard. Even if they were not practitioners, I am pleased that many modern Sikh youth were aware when the issue was raised.

The average Sikh pilgrim, who comes in deep devotion, should know the ramifications of the degradation of one of our most sacred sites, and allegations of corruption in the Gurdwara management, which (I was told by the man running a permanent camp at Ghangaria), sold donations of materials given by the devout. This fueled the construction of the town of Ghangaria. The army camp has piped water and this is sold (!) to private camps permanently stationed near the helipad during the summer, as are rations of the Sikh troops, who get their food from the common langar (guru’s kitchen), along with their rum rations.

I have no way of knowing the validity of these statements. But, if they are true, these are the dark pictures of one of the world’s most beautiful regions and pilgrimage spots, and I urge the worldwide Sikh community to help cleanse the trail to Hemkund.

Lastly, the eco-terrorists who paint their names and cell-phone numbers on the rock faces should be booked by the Forest Department for defacing natural edifices, and the painted evidence they leave behind should itself be used against them.

Trash points are left overflowing for weeks, beautiful countryside is defaced with the painting of names. There is an effort and the toilets are clean, but the efforts need to be of a significantly greater efficiency.

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The street of Ghangaria is clean, but the dirt and standard of hygiene in ancillary buildings needs to be greatly improved.

The true beauty of the region is actually represented in the images of the Valley of Flowers shown in the section on Himalayan treks to follow.

My own experience at Hemkund

It is said in our community that you go when you are called from above (by God).

The trail to the Valley of Flowers and the Holy Lake of Hemkund venerated by Sikhs and Hindus.

I was feeling awfully unfit. I trekked in pain the first two days, including through the section up the Valley of Flowers. The first fourteen kilometers from Gobind Ghat to Ghangariya itself warrants a combination of faith and fitness, and the less fit one is, the more faith one needs to draw upon! And so it goes, all the way.

The walk into the Valley of Flowers is relatively gentle, just four kilometers each way. The incredible amount of rainfall all along made things difficult. Seeing the stoic resilience of folk much older than I made me wonder at their strength and fortitude.

Below: Elderly Sikh pilgrims on the trail.

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Then the big one. A six-kilometer trek each way (twelve in all) from approximately 10,000 ft (3,048 m) above sea level to a sheer 14,000 ft (4,267 m), with Ghangaria at 10,000 ft (3,048 m) and Hemkund Sahib at 14,202 ft (4,329 m).

On the night before our ascent to Hemkund, it rained incessantly. The morning was wet when we set out at six thirty. I saw a newlywed girl walking up the mountain trail barefoot, quite incredibly, singing a hymn that was inspiring to all. It was a stiff vertical to scale. The girl’s singing was inspirational, and more than once, emotions drew tears to the eye. The faithful were being summoned by the Guru (the Lord), who knew all and could see through the soul.

Suddenly, the sun broke through the mist and we could look directly up the mountain to see the Nishan Sahib (temporal flag of the Sikhs) flying high. The chanting of hymns filtered down the mountain. Later Gregory Aurit, the American client, said it was “truly mystical.” Marveling at the faithful, he said, “Americans would never embark on such a journey.”

Energized, I raced ahead of the others and took the steep flight of narrow stairs cut into the rock, which saved me a kilometer. I arrived and took my holy dip in the glacial lake. Feeling cleansed and energized, I walked to the ancient Laxman temple. The myth of Lokpal, the very ancient lore from distant Hindu mythology, drew me there. Unlike many modern Sikh youth who deny their ancient Hindu roots, I preferred to acknowledge them, for it gave me a sense of identity. Instead it gave me a sense of more, “the ancient, and the cutting edge.” Many times did I hear the cry, “Jo Boley Soney Hal Sat sri akal” (Blessed is he who chants the truth, chants the Timeless Being’s [Lord’s]) name). This encouragement given and taken between fellow pilgrims is followed by the chant “Satnam (Name of the pure, the Lord) … Wahe Guru (the One God) … Wahe Guru … Satnam.”

Always accused of having too deep a bellow, I was too shy to lead the cry on my own. But I needed to release the cry from the depths of my guts, so I came to a bend in the mountain hidden from view, and when it appeared no one was close, I let out the loudest cry I was capable of: “Boleeeey Soneeyhaaaal …Saat! Sreee akaaal!!!” Some pilgrims emerged a few minutes later. Obviously, I was the one who had let out the bellowing war cry of the Sikhs. They paid me scant regard. The loudest I could produce was naught on the Guru’s mountain.

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To make this book useful as a reference of unusual journeys, especially on some rare and memorable adventures, I have decided to compile this section from my personal experience and records created over the years. As the reader would have sensed from the main body of the book, there are far too many adventure journeys to list here.

Therefore I have simply worked to include three broad travel themes.

1. The main body in the book’s preceding section serves as a “tease” for the many special wilderness areas I have been fortunate to experience in more than one country. With their unique human, animal, avian, and plant biodiversities, I hope they will be of interest to readers.

2. In this section, I include two high-altitude foot treks in the Indian Himalaya as examples of the many more available in India. Treks in the Indian Himalaya are unique in the tapestry of mountain treks worldwide. The Indian Himalaya is a region on which I wish to put the spotlight in this book, as it is critical in terms of climate change and biodiversity, and because India needs to do much more to protect its Himalayan belt. On such treks I believe that enlightened trekkers willing to pay a ”privilege fee” can play a positive role in the monitoring and protection of this eco-zone.

3. The last section has horseback journeys. As the equestrian journeys will have revealed to the reader, the world as seen from horseback is unique, and the noble animal itself (the horse) needs to have its story told, with the hope more people will make space in their daily lives for this magnificent animal.

India: Himalayan Treks

The two Himalayan foot treks I have included here are for just about anyone to get up close and personal.

The first is the Kuari Pass trek, which traverses on the rim of the Nanda Devi Mountain Sanctuary in the state of Uttarakhand and in the Garhwal district. The other is in the state of Himachal Pradesh over the Hampta Pass, up to the 4,500-m-high Deo Tibba Mountain.

These two treks are representative of the many beautiful high-altitude journeys available in the Indian Himalaya, and give an insight of what the region looked like when the early European mountain explorers came at the turn of the previous century.

The Indian government has a longstanding moratorium on timber felling, which has helped, along with the excellent work by Mr. Jairam Ramesh, the upstanding and bold minister of environment. However, pragmatic steps to not only protect what is left, but to “bring back what is lost” are needed.

These steps will be included in the sequel to this book, along with other suggestions indicated here, and will in due course be embodied in an “India guidebook to practical eco-adventure tourism policy.”

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India’s Garhwal Himalaya—uttarakhand

State

• The Kuari Pass (or Lord Curzon Trail) Trek

• The Valley of Flowers extension: Garhwal

• The Trek over the Kuari Pass or Lord Curzon’s Trail, with a Mahseer Fishing Option

The Kuari Pass is one of India’s most beautiful treks, famous for the enchanting view of the snow-clad peaks of Neelkanth (21,640 ft/6,596 m), Kamet (25,446 ft/7,756 m), Mukut Parbat, Mana, Nilgiri Parbat, Trishul (23,359 ft/7,120 m), Hardeol, Dronagiri, Rishi Pahar, Kalanka, Chaukhamba (23,385 ft/7,128 m), Lampak, Changabang (22,519 ft/6,864 m), Ronthi, Beathertoli, Kamatt (25,449 ft/7,757 m), and others.

On a clear day, most of the time you are trekking in the company of these mountains, giving you a thrilling experience of the mighty Himalaya, particularly the Nanda Devi Massif (of which Sir Edmund Hillary said in his autobiography, “the Nanda Devi Sanctuary is God-gifted wilderness – India’s training ground for adventure”). Dr. T. Longstaff , renowned mountaineer, naturalist, and trekker, has described Garhwal as “the most beautiful land in the mountains of the Asian subcontinent.” Garhwal, with its beautiful mountain ranges and dense forests, has immense opportunities for adventure, and trekking options there are unlimited.

Nanda Devi (25,649 ft/7,818 m), the beloved mountain goddess of Garhwal Himalaya whose territories mark one of the highest national parks in the world, abounds in some of the most fascinating mountain peaks, such as Dunagiri (23,182 ft/7,066 m), Changbang (22,519 ft/6,864 m), Kalanka (22,742 ft/6,932 m), Rishipahar (22,939 ft/6,992 m), Trishul I and II (23,654 ft/7,210 m and 20,731 ft/6,319 m), Mrigthuni (21,538 ft/6,565 m), and Bethartoli Himal (20,839 ft/6,352 m). It is also home to some rare Himalayan fauna, like the snow leopard, musk deer, and monal pheasant, as well as a great variety of birds, butterflies, and rare Himalayan flora. These mountains, though far away, appear very close. The trail was named after Lord Curzon, the British viceroy of Raj-era India, who was a keen trekker, and it is said that the path was specially improved so that he could trek. With independence it was renamed the Nehru Trail, but is now popularly known as the Kuari Pass Trek.

All of the above can be experienced or encountered at their best on the Kuari Pass Trek, which starts at Auli, one of the best winter ski slopes in Asia. The entire trek goes through excellent meadows and thick forests of oak and fir (cedar), with extraordinary views of Mount Nanda Devi in different moods. It also involves negotiating a high pass, the Kuari (14,002 ft/4,268 m). The trek begins at Joshimath, and passes and finishes it in a circuit, again at Auli. The journey goes through mountain villages, giving visitors a chance to encounter the settlement patterns of locals with their lifestyle, dialect, dress, jewelry, and so on.

Day 1: ARRIVE DELHI

Day 2: DELHI, HARIDWAR, RISHIKESH

A full day in Delhi to be used for collection of bags, if necessary; later depart Delhi by overnight train 4041 (the Mussoorie Express) at 2105 hrs; arrive early morning at Haridwar, from which we drive 30 km to Rishikesh. Overnight: train

The Bhram Kamal- (Bhrama is the creator in Hindu mythology, Kamal- Lotus)

Anaphalis margaritacea ~ genus Asteraceae ~ The Sunflower Family | Photos: Gregory Aurit and Inder Jit Singh

Day 3: HARIDWAR, RISHIKESH, SPASHRAM RIVERMOuNTAIN RETREAT

Above temple towns on the Holy Ganges. Morning 0525 arrive Haridwar, drive to Rishikesh (both holy cities on the Ganges), later drive to Spashram RiverMountain Retreat, where we spend the rest of the day. The retreat is set on the banks of the Upper Ganga in the Garhwal district of Uttar Pradesh, en route to Rudraprayag, famous for Jim Corbett’s Maneater of Rudraprayag. Overnight: Spashram RiverMountain Retreat

Day 4: SPASHRAM RIVERMOuNTAIN RETREAT, TAPOVAN (1,829 m)

Early breakfast and with packed lunch, drive to Tapovan (225 km, 6-7 hrs), along with your support team, driving along Alaknanda, passing through Devprayag, Rudraprayag, Shrinagar, and Karnprayag. Lunch en route at the most famous confluences of Garhwal Himalaya at Nandprayag. Overnight: camp

The site of Spashram River Mountain

Day 5: TAPOVAN

Full day in Tapovan, where visitors can take short, hillside treks to get acclimatized. Tapovan is where the famous Adiguru Shankaracharya attained enlightenment before beginning his campaign for the unification of India and revitalization of Hinduism. There is a temple here called the Na Singh, and a legend about its statue says when its arm finally breaks, the road to Badrinath will be blocked. The arm gets smaller every year! It is the center of the Indian ski scene, and the cable car up to the resort of Auli starts in the middle of Joshimath. Overnight: camp

Day 6: TAPOVAN, KHALLARA/GAILGARH | Trek Day 1

Ascending all the way through the forested trail featuring deodar and with the Nanda Devi ranges visible on the right, visitors trek about 14 km to reach a campsite surrounded by bugyals (meadow) at Khallara (10,500 ft/3,200 m), where entire ranges of the Nanda Devi Sanctuary can be seen. 4–6 hrs. Overnight: camp

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Day 7: KHALLARA, KAuRI PASS | Trek Day 2:

(14,000 ft/4,268 m); Dhakwani (11,700 ft/3,552 m) 14 km / 7 hrs

After an early breakfast climb over Kauri Pass 7 km away, a small col in a grassy ridge. From the pass, there are beautiful views of Nanda Devi (25,643 ft/7.816 m) and Nandi Devi East (24,389 ft/7,434 m). The imposing peaks appear so close that they alost seem touchable. After lunch, The descent along the right side of the gorge down to a clearing at Dhakwani (11,700 ft/7 hrs) begins. Overnight: camp

Magnifient views from the trekking trail

Day 8: DHAKWANI, SARTOLI | Trek Day 3

(8,736 ft/2,650 m to 11,000 ft/3,353 m approx.) 10 km / 5–7 hrs

This is another long but spectacular day. The trail leads visitors down to a small wooden bridge over the River Brehey, which flows through the Kuari Pass, a tributary of the Alakananda River, the main arm of the Ganges/Ganga. After crossing the bridge, there is a steep ascent to a small ridge before a short descent to an impressive waterfall. Crossing another bridge, there is another ascent, steep in places, until meeting a path going toward Sathholi meadow.

The route traverses above the village (Pana Irani) and then starts a steep climb up into rhododendron forest, with many zigzags. It is a broad, well-made track, but after quite a number of false summits, a col is reached at 9.842 ft/3,000 m. The path now descends gently, traversing along the valley, to open meadows with views directly across to the Kuari Pass. It winds down around the side of the

valley, across several streams, before plunging down a very steep, loose section, much of which has been washed away by the monsoons, making it an awkward and loose descent.

A final climb of about an hour and a half rises above the tree line to the campsite on the large pastures, where sheep and goats graze in summer, with the Kauri Pass towering above. Camp overnight.

Day 9: SARTOLI, JHENJIPATNI | Trek Day 4

(5,000 ft/1,524 m) 12 km / 5–6 hrs

Trek through dense deodar forest on a level track for approximately 3 km, then descend deep toward a gorge, traverse another stream and ascend sharply upward. The overnight camp is at the village of Jhenjipatni, which has a lush vegetable crop. Overnight: camp

Day 10: JHENJIPATNI to GHuNI | Trek Day 5

(6,500 ft/1,982 m) 13 km / 6–7 hrs

After breakfast, visitors ascend sharply for 3 km from Jhenjipatni up to midway, and then start descending 2-2.5 km. We cross a small bridge over a stream before ascending sharply for a similar distance. There is a level 1-km walk before a sharp descent to Ghuni, traversing thick forest favored by graziers. Dinner and overnight in tents. Overnight: camp

Day

11: GHuNI, CHEFNA | Trek Day 6

(4,400 ft/1,339 m) 4 km/3 hrs trek; Byasghat, 120 km / 5 hrs

The trek begins after breakfast. It’s a nice walk next to the Mandakni River, followed by a descent through coniferous and mixed forests. The walk goes by a wooded ridge, allowing a view of Ramni village, across and from which one can exit at Ghat (a typical Garhwal village of friendly people and attractive houses, with heavy slate roofs and paved alleys surrounded by fertile fields). If required, there is a 4-km detour. On the left, the trail leads to the famous Roopkund Lake. Nanda Devi affords a grand view on this route.

Later, there is a drive to Byas Ghat (120 km, 5 hrs), which has rewarded anglers with some of the biggest Mahseer. See Geoffrey Moor house’s 55-pounder on page 257. Overnight: tented camp

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There is an option to drive back to Spashram RiverMountain on Day 11, and on Day 12 to Rishikesh/Haridwar/Dehradun for connections to Delhi.

Those visiting in September and up to the first week of October may consider adding the supplementary program below:

Day 12: BYASGHAT FISHING

Set up and spend full day fishing from the bank near camp. Overnight: tented camp

Day 13: BYAS GHAT FISHING for the Mighty Mahseer

BYAS GHAT is an angler’s paradise, famous for the golden Mahseer. We camp on the beach on the junction of the Nayyar and Ganges Rivers, the former a wellknown spawning river. Depart Delhi at 0500 and reach destination in time for a spot of afternoon fishing. Overnight: tented camp

Day 14: SPASHRAM RIVER MOuNTAIN RETREAT ON THE GANGES

Early-morning fishing followed by breakfast and drive to the Spashram Retreat downstream near Byasi on the main Ganges. L ate-afternoon fishing (Sept.–Oct.).

Overnight: Spashram RiverMountain Retreat

Day 15: FINAL DAY

Drive to Hardwar and board train to Delhi

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Himachal Pradesh ~ The Trek Over the Hampta Pass to Deo

Tibba Mountain

India Himalaya Treks Continued:

This journey is presented in abbreviated form and with many pictorials, as there are a number of possible variations to fit into your schedule. For those with more than a week, long-range treks can be arranged into the Dhauladars, up to Chandratal Lake and into Lahoul and Spiti, the Inner Valleys of Kalantapitra (what the ancients knew as the End of the Habitable World). Beyond this lie the high deserts of Ladakh, and then Tibet.

This trek is ideal for all ages in good physical condition and has gentleness as well as challenge built in. Its highlight is a close-up view of Deo Tibba, at 19,200 ft /5,852 m above sea level.

Elevation range: Manali (6,300 ft /1,920 m) to Hampta Pass base (11,688 ft/3,562 m)

Visitors should add days in Delhi, Chandigarh and Manali prior to and after the trek.

The core of the trek itinerary is shown below. A range of additional trek days can be added and the permutations vary, depending on time of year, fitness of visitors, objectives, and other factors.

Sample bullet core trek itinerary:

• Day 1: Pick up from Manali after lunch and drive to Preeni village. Trek up to Jobra, and then to Chika to camp overnight.

• Day 2: Trek from Chika to Balu-ka-gera.

• Day 3: Trek from Balu-ka-gera to Sheagoru via Hampta Pass.

• Day 4: Trek from Sheagoru to Chatru.

• Day 5: Pick up at Chatru’s road head and drive to Manali. Arrival at Manali approximately 3 p.m.

Opposite, Top: Sir David John KCMG, Lady Gillian John, Simon Studholme Wilson (all in their early seventies) and Ceri and Tessa John Bottom: Alston and Holly Beinhorn on what was a six-night trek

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DESCRIPTIVE EXTRACTS ON TREK DAY

DAY 1: PREENI, JOBRA, CHIKA

Easy ascent up to 9,800 ft/2,987 m. / 6 hrs

Drive from Manali ,and from Prini village walk to Jobra, camping short of Chikha.

Forest of pine with occasional maple trees are part of the vegetation. The Rani River flows here, with meadows all along and immense mountain rock features on either side; there are hills with rock faces behind them. Graziers and shepherds will be seen moving up in summer and down in the fall. Camp: Chikha

DAY 2: CHIKA TO BALu KA GERA

Gradual ascent / 4 hrs

The destination for the day is Balu Ka Gera. Walking along on the left bank of the river, the initial climb is maily over stones and boulders. The going is never too difficult. The right bank of the river is laced with dwarf rhododendrons in the lower and middle region of the mountain, and birch trees at the upper end.

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The famous Dhauladhar ranges with snow-clad peaks can be seen in the distance. Crossing waterfalls, you move to the right, heading toward the river until Jwara.

Walk along the Rani River into a valley replete with tiny flowers in a myriad of colors. Camp near Balu-Ka-Gera, looking toward Hampta Pass. Elevation 11,000 ft/3,352 m.

DAY 3: BALu-KA-GERA TO SHEA GORu, CROSSING HAMPTA PASS

(Hampta Pass 14,300 ft/4,358 m)

Easy to moderately steep ascents, followed by a sharp descent / 8–9 hrs Today’s trek can be broken into two stages: the climb to Hampta Pass, which is moderately steep, and then the steep descent from Hampta Pass to Sheagoru.

We head out toward the mountains from Balu-Ka-Gera, and half an hour of climbing brings us to the first plateau. If you visit in early summer, there is a good chance that this entire section will be snowbound. Grand views of the Deo Tibba peak are visible.

The descent is trickier than the ascent, and It can vary slightly depending on the snow conditions, too (sliding down may be an option if there is snow). In an hour and a half, we are down to the base of the valley. Tall snow-clad mountains surround us from three sides, and the open side leads us to Sheagoru, an almostlevel walk from here. It should be an easy walk, though some may find it tiring after the long day traversing the pass.

Having crossed the Hampta, we find the river flowing to our right, choose a nice campsite close to the river, and retire.

DAY 4: SHEAGORu TO CHATRu

Easy, with some difficult sections | 4 - 4 1/2 hrs of downhill trek It’s a gentle downhill walk in the beginning from Sheagoru, and we walk along the river in the valley between the mountain ranges. After an hour, in the distance we can see the road at Chatru and the barren mountains of Spiti.

When we move closer to the road, the descent gets a little tricky as we traverse along rock edges. Sometimes, it is easier to get down into the river/glacier bed below, skipping the rocky section and slippery slopes, before ascending again.

This section takes up to 3 hours to get beyond the main body of high mountain ranges. Although we are still at a towering height when we emerge, we have the road head across from us, separated by the powerful Chandra River, which we span via a foot bridge.

Immense glacial flows descend from the mountains on the side to the Chandra River. We negotiate these glaciers to reach a camping spot that has water. Cutting steps on the ice may be necessary to create a better foothold to those who are new to snow.

Chatru is a lovely camping site, and we choose a spot close to one of the numerous streams that join the river. There are lovely views of the different mountain ranges, and the fast-flowing Chandra River rages below.

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DAY 5: CHATRu TO CHANDRATAL OR CHATRu TO MANALI

(depending on the road conditions)

If the roads are clear and devoid of snow, a visit to Chandratal, the “moon lake,” is a must when you are in Spiti. Chatru is about 70 km away from Chandratal, and a vehicle will be ordered from Manali to take us there. We reach Chandratal by late afternoon and pitch our tents by the lake for the night. We drive back to Manali the next day, and reach our desination by 3–4 p.m.

Manali is a quaint town with a pleasant air about it, and offers easy access to numerous nice walks, ancient temples, and villages, including those with unique customs and architecture. Legend says that Selecus Nicator, a rebel general from Alexander’s army, escaped and settled in the region after tiring of war - hence the Grecian features, and strange language and customs of the twin villages of Malana and Nagar.

The end of the trek can be spent with a pleasant sojourn in relaxed and scenic Manali, which has some wonderful nearby attractions (such as the Roerich Art Gallery and nice temples) and is surrounded by quaint villages. The people are extremely friendly and charming.

Opposite

Top: A camp of shepherds shearing before the winter sets in

Bottom: Typical village architecture

Below

Tessa John, Simon Studholme Wilson, Staff hand Anand Negi on trek with me on this route ~ September 2010

Horseback and Polo Safaris

Horseback and Polo Safaris are a unique genre of travel, and I have included some of the most enjoyable venues, in my experience, as conducted for our clients over the years.

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Below

A Polo celebration in Shandur

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India

The Maharaja and Maharani’s Polo & Horseback Safari Jodhpur

Susan Briganti, San Francisco:

Maharajas and Maharani’s Polo Safari … I also never expected to be introduced to so many of the Royal and Noble Families, all of whom seemed delighted to include us in polo matches, parties, and festivals. In India, a guest is almost higher than God, and we feel a level of warmth and aff ection here, that can not be captured with such a word as “Hospitality” which in America has come to mean a sort of merchandised service for purely economic motives.

Author being congratulated by HH Maharaja of Jodhpur

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Maharajas is an invitation-only program (details supplied upon receiving request and credentials). If you are a rated international player and wish to play for one of the Historic Polo Cups, please write to us with the subject Royal Jodhpur Polo.

The Maharajas’ itinerary takes you to Rajasthan, India’s colorful desert state, replete with forts, palaces, pomp and splendor, which can be experienced to this day. Our base is JODHPUR, where, like its sister city JAIPUR (the Pink City), famous English, American, and Indian names of the ’30s, ’40s, and ’50s visited to play and watch the King of Games in years past. Today, Jodhpur is an exclusive polo venue for the well-heeled of India and overseas, and we stay at the royal palaces of yore, from which the royals watched the King of Games.

The first famous matches of the game were played in Jaipur, when the English and maharajas patronized it, and when India and England played famous tournaments. The Rambagh Palace, now a hotel, still houses the famous Polo Bar, resplendent with famous photographs of that polo-playing era. Jaipur is also home to the famous 61st Cavalry (the erstwhile Jodhpur Lancers renowned for defeating the Turks under Allenby in Palestine), and the regiment still celebrates this victorious charge every September 23 as Haifa Day. The erstwhile Princely State of Alwar and Jodhpur sent their armies to fight during World War I, and came away with great military accomplishments.

In Jodhpur, we play polo in the afternoons. In the mornings, you can explore open country or bazaars, as we do on nonpolo days, with visits to tie-dye textile factories, curio shops, etc. Do what you will! Each evening, we are entertained by local folk artists, dancers, and bards. We stay at the luxurious Umaid Bhavan Palace (built by the Jodhpur maharajas in the 1930s), the Ajit Bhavan Palace or Rambuka Palace, each unique in its own way. Wherever you visit, you will see polo history exuding itself with ancient pictures of polo-playing rulers, cavalrymen, and more.

Your week of polo can be followed by an additional week designed to fit your own agenda. You can choose from any number of possibilities, including (among other options) desert dune overlanding by four-by-four; horse safaris; wildlife safaris; camel polo; fort, palace, and city exploration; visiting tie-dye and craft bazaars, desert dancers at the Desert Festival, or Spashram RiverMountain Retreat.

Africa ~ The Okavango Delta, Botswana, with PJ and Barney Biestlink

Below

Pelicans preside over the lunch hour in the Okavango

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Phil Salt enjoys outwitting the local trout

South America

Argentina

Add-on Journeys to Argentine Polo (Palermo Plus)

Dear Inder Jit,

I loved Argentina. Thanks for all your help making our trip to Argentina so pleasant to see and do as well as continue with polo. Many thanks to you and your staff. You have a very good crew down in Argentina! Everything went like clockwork. Please keep in touch.

Ren & Michael Duniker—Canada

See Phil Salt’s images and José JIMENEZ DEL TORO’s itinerary below.

Over the years in Canada, I served diverse upscale clients who wanted different mix-and-match options to experience the best of Argentina, from outdoor and equestrian pleasures to the nightlife of Buenos Aires; on different estancias and in different natural settings, ranging from venues close to Buenos Aires, to those in the famous Lake District of Cordoba, and to Patagonia. The Bariloche; Tierra del Fuego (once home to an incredible community of native Indians living off the inhospitable snowy wastelands, who I had learned about as schoolboy); the petrified forests of the north; ancient Jesuit chapels; fairs; variations of the sport of polo, like pato; the tango; the Palermo - Argentine Polo Open: all were ingredients in our varied program menus.

I trained Toya Lynch Trapaga (wife of a six-goal Argentine polo player) long distance from Canada, via phone and e-mail, on what we needed. She set up the programs for many of our initial clients, who stayed at Estancia La Paz. Once the private estate of the Argentine presidency, it is a grand and stylish establishment in the Argentine Lake District of Cordoba.

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One of the venues to which I sent clientele was Estancia Huahuwe, run by Jane Williams, a tough Anglo-Argentine. She leads a dedicated and earthy operation at her estancia and the surrounding territory, images of which are shown below.

Other images of Argentina are from Los Porteros, another place we have sent English and American clients in the past. The horse is truly king in Argentina. The beef cattle industry, Criollo horses, open rolling pampas, the Argentine people and their culture come together to create all the right ingredients.

For our multifaceted trips in Argentina, we relied upon José Jimenez del Toro. Our Canadian friends were very pleased with the trip, which included fishing, an estancia stay, kayaking, and trekking to coincide with the Palermo Open. The program is included here for the reader’s interest.

Patagonia Program ~ November trip for 3 people (pax)

Day 1, Nov. 25: Arrival in Bariloche and transfer to hotel. Rest of the day free to walk around in this very nice and well-known city of northern Patagonia. Lodging in Design Suites Hotel, big suite for 3 people.

Day 2, Nov. 26: Full-day fly-fishing excursion in the Limay River, including lunch, guide, and equipment.

Description of the day

In Patagonia, the fishing season opens in November and closes at the end of April. During November and December, when the rivers are running high, we find many large trout, both rainbow and brown, returning to the lakes, and the chances of a trophy catch are very good!

The Limay River is a great treasure with plenty of delightful channels and islands. Its name comes from an aboriginal language and means “crystal waters,” and it is exactly this: a fast-moving, high-volume river with true clarity. This famous river is known for its large browns and rainbows that can be tough to fish, but are definitely worth the effort.

There are different options to try your luck, and depending on the time of year and river levels, there are many fishing locations. To ease the process, we organize

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an outing with a fly-cast guide who has a lifetime of experience in the rivers of Patagonia. All equipment is provided. Floating on the river, accessing corners where you’ll not see another fisher, we’ll find incredibly tough, fighting wild trout.

Day 3, Nov. 27: Full-day horseback ride to Bastion del Manso, including lunch and local guide. Lodging.

Description of the day

This is your chance to journey deep into a place untouched by time, where nature shines in its truly pristine state. You’ll meet the charming settlers and get to know the secrets of this ruggedly beautiful area. Travel down trails encircled by the unique charm of the Andes, or venture into the wide openness of the Patagonian Steppe. After you adventure in a majestic landscape, finish it all off with a magnificent and traditional asado (barbecue).

A fine trout. Caught, only to be released

Horseback Riding, Fortín Chacabuco

The Fortín Chacabuco Estancia ranch is 25 km from the center of Bariloche and offers everything we need: excellent horses and native bilingual guides who will lead us into places beyond our imagination, with panoramic views of Bariloche and the Andes beyond. We’ll hope to see plenty of deer, Patagonian hares and perhaps some red foxes, and of course all the bountiful flora of the area.

We’ll ride for two hours in the morning, and at lunch share a typical Argentine barbecue, an authentic asado criollo. In the afternoon, we’ll take a ride through swamps, canyons, and valleys. Before heading back into Bariloche, we’ll have a break for yerba mate tea and homemade pastries.

Day 4, Nov. 28: Full-day trekking excursion to Cerro Bella Vista, including lunch and local English-speaking guide. Lodging.

Kirsty Maxwell, enjoys the great outdoors

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Description of the day

Bariloche is an ideal place for trekking, since the surrounding mountains offer incredible natural scenery and a well-developed series of connected mountain huts, or refugios. The trails linking the huts provide many options for circuits that can be adjusted to meet your trekking experience, and fitness and energy levels.

It’s not all roughing it! Gourmet meets the trail on these treks, as we combine our hiking with food and wine tastings in fabulous settings. It’s all in the hands of professional guides, who willingly share the many secrets and gifts of these spectacular mountains.

Day 5, Nov. 29: Full-day kayak excursion, including box lunch and local guide. Lodging.

Kayak touring, or sea kayaking, is a journey of discovery into unexplored and unique places accessible only with this type of vessel. The kayaks are stable and easy to maneuver, which means that all can enjoy this activity.

If you have only a short amount of time, there are half-day outings to Lago Gutierrez, a lake surrounded by huge snowy peaks and thick forests of native trees, where you can enjoy the peace of the national park. For full-day outings, we can head to any of a huge variety of local lakes, including Hess, Nahuel Huapi, Mascardi, Guillelmo or Steffen.

Day 6, Nov. 30: Transfer to local airport for journey home.

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Patagonia’s Estancia Huechahue

With host Jane Williams, hers are amongst Argentina’s best rides.

This is a program we offer every spring. Estancia Huechahue, where we are based, is a cattle ranch, but we also have another piece of land 50 km away called Estancia El Nido. El Nido is in the mountains and under snow in the winter. Every spring, we take half our animals (about 300 head) from Huechahue to El Nido for the summer months, and then in the autumn we bring them back again before the snows start.

November is our spring. Since 1997, we have run this program, which involves a couple of days riding on Huechahue to get everyone used to their horses, saddles, and so on, and understand how we work the cattle. Thereafter, we take two days to drive the cattle from Huechahue to El Nido. This is the real thing; it is not put on, and therefore it is hard work and can involve long hours in the saddle. After all, you can’t just decide you’ve had enough and abandon the cows! It is a wonderful feeling of achievement, and makes up for all the hard work, when we reach El Nido with the animals. After the drive, we return by vehicle to Huechahue, where most guests have a day off riding to rest (and clean up!), although they can ride if they like. We have another day’s riding at Huechahue before returning to El Nido by vehicle (about 45 mins), getting back on the horses we used for the cattle drive (now that they’ve had a rest as well!), and continuing with a 3-day camping trek through the Lanin National Park.

The distance from awesome Iguazu Falls in the north to the inhospitable glaciers of Tierra del Fuego is as great as from Novia Scotia to the Florida Keys, or from London to Timbuktu. The capital, Buenos Aires, is one of the biggest and most lively cities in the world. There are the vast pampas in the east and the towering chain of the Andes in the west, and in the south there is the expanse of Patagonia.

In his book In Patagonia, Bruce Chatwin describes some of the explorers, outlaws, missionaries, and gauchos who have found their way to Patagonia. The romance of the American cowboy has captured the world’s imagination, but the lives and traditions of the Argentine version are just as colorful and picturesque. At Estancia Huechahue you may not hear reports of sightings of Butch Cassidy and

the Sundance Kid, but you will experience some of the way of life on a working estancia in this wild land.

Estancia Huechahue covers 15,000 acres in the foothills of the Andes. It is 1,000 miles southwest of Buenos Aires, 45 miles east of San Martin de los Andes, and 125 miles northeast of Bariloche.

Getting There

The nearest airport is Chapelco Airport at San Martin de los Andes, which has five flights a week from Buenos Aires (daily flights Dec. to March). Transfer (1/2 hour) to and from Chapelco is included in the daily rate. There is also an airport at Bariloche that has several flights daily from Buenos Aires.

There are other outfitters in Argentina, and Yvonne Corbett is another Patagonian operator.

Rides with Jane Williams from Estancia Huechahue. Shown here, Lanin Volcano in Lanin National Park, views from Chenque Hill

The lakes which typify the Argentine Chilean Patagonia

Above: Gauchos on horseback enroute to a rural fair.

Below: Asado grilled over the coals

Chile’s Great Andean Condor Adventure

The Inca and Gold Digger Trail with Ludwig Bierwirth of Hacienda Los Andes. All-inclusive package! For nonriders and riders. In the saddle through the Andes along Inca trails and gold diggers’ paths. 8 Days / 7 Nights

Riding the paths of the Inca and gold diggers, right through the Andes off civilization, this horseback adventure offers three trips in seven days. You will explore the wild sierra and the huge Andes, and experience romantic and pure nature. Hacienda Los Andes, which is under German and Austrian management, guarantees you 100 percent nature and adventure in the sun.

Day 1: Transfer (2:30 p.m.) from the colonial city La Serena to the hacienda. Time for jacuzzi, sauna, a walk across the 1,000-acre nature reserve. Dinner. Overnight stay, room with private bath.

Day 2: American breakfast, meet the team and tour briefing. You will get to know your horse and the Chilean riding style (similar to Western style). Riding tour through the valley Rio Hurtado, finally reaching an idyllic mountain village. Picnic in the garden of the plaza. Returning to the hacienda through the Andean landscape. Dinner in front of the fireplace. Overnight stay at the hacienda.

Day 3 (Pack Day 1): Breakfast, then pack saddlebags and ride along the gold diggers’ path through the calmness of the sierra and lonely valleys. It leads us through canyons, finally reaching the Andean plateau Oro Blanco, meaning “white gold.” In the afternoon, we leave the wilderness behind and stay overnight at a hermitage. We camp and have dinner under fig trees. Overnight stay in comfortable Hilleberg tent with inflatable sleeping mats and warm sleeping bag.

Day 4 (Pack Day 2): Andean breakfast: self-made bread, goat cheese, sausage, and fresh eggs. Starting from the oasis, at a height of 2,000 m, we ride along the historic mule trail of the gold diggers up to the Andes. We are surrounded by a gigantic panorama, tremendous overlook, and untouched nature. Lunch break at a spring. In the afternoon, the ride takes us through a canyon to the Rio Hurtado. In the evening, we reach the goatherd village Las Breas, where we camp beside the river and have a campfire.

Day 5 (Pack Day 4): Breakfast with a family. After meeting the local people, we continue our tour. The track winds through the wide Andean valley, passing small, idyllic villages. Picnic in a small village inn, and return to the hacienda along shepherds’ paths. Time for jacuzzi, a swim in the river, or sunbathing under the palm tree. Dinner and overnight stay at the hacienda.

Day 6 (Pack Day 5): Big breakfast. Today, we are after another adventure with our horses: the Inca trail. We cross two passes and visit the cave drawings of the Molle Indians, who lived with the Inca. You will have a totally different landscape than before: wide Andean plateaus, small valleys, natural meadows, and animals. Picnic lunch. Passing the colorful sierra. In the evening, we are guests at a 120-year-old, plain pioneer farm. Overnight stay in tents beside the mountain stream. Campfire, meeting people, and stories.

Day 7 (Pack Day 6): We experience the romantic and lonely Andes from the saddle. Along the Inca trail, we cross a pass and come through lonely valleys to the ceremonial place Laguna, where glaciers and peaks are the features of this panorama. Picnic. We follow an ancient trading track that still leads to Argentina, and ride across a romantic Western-style landscape for hours. Back at the hacienda, it is time for relaxing: sunbathing, swimming in the river, swinging in the hammock. Dinner and overnight stay at the hacienda.

Day 8 (Pack Day 5): 8 a.m. transfer to the airport in La Serena. Certainly you may stay some more days at the hacienda and join other adventure activities.

GREAT ADVENTURE DATES:

Oct.–Apr. dates on inquiry

CAPACITY: Minimum 2, Maximum 8

DURATION: 8 Days / 7 Nights (4 in hacienda, 3 nights in comfortable tents) Transfer in and out of Hacienda Los Andes from and to La Serena

Airport, Ovalle, and Vicuña. Three overnight stays in comfortable tents, 4 overnight stays at the hacienda. All meals. Equipment for riding explorations: comfortable gaucho saddle with sheep-fur padding, sleeping bag and clean inlet, thermal

mat, tent, personal pannier (cup, etc.), ice box, thermos bottle, safety helmet by request, sombrero head and riding gaiters, first-aid kit, saddlebags, and finally, one of our well-trained and calm Chilean mountain horses. Any facilities of the hacienda, such as sauna, Jacuzzi, nature trail, and river access. Explorations accompanied by English, German, and Spanish-speaking guides.

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Ecuador: The Ride from the Cloud Forest to the Highlands

With Hosts Gabriel and Patty Espanoza, owners of Hacienda La Alegria

Hacienda La Alegria is just about an hour’s drive south of Quito, the capital of Ecuadory. We are ideally situated on the lower slopes of Volcan Corazon (4,788 m/15,708 ft) in the heart of the “Avenue of the Volcanoes,” a spectacular valley dividing the eastern and western ranges of the Andes. From the garden of the hacienda, you can enjoy breathtaking views across the valley to the extinct volcanoes of Ruminahui (4,712 m/15,459 ft), Pasochoa (4,250 m/13,943 ft), Atacazo (4,463 m/14,642 ft), and in the distance the mighty cone of Cotopaxi, (5,897 m/19,347 ft ) the highest active volcano in the world.

The hacienda is close to the village of Aloag, 40 km (25 miles) south of Quito on the west side of the Panamericana highway. Buses leave Quito every ten minutes on average, and take approximately one hour to get to Aloag, where we will be happy to pick you up. If you book in advance, we may also be able to pick you up from Quito.

The old narrow-gauge railway that once connected Quito to the coast, but that now runs only as far as Cotopaxi National Park, passes the back of the garden. An alternative way of getting to La Alegria is to “ride the roof” and ask the conductor to stop the train at the farm (km 415).

Our ride selected below can take either place after or before a stay at Hacienda La Alegria, a holiday in itself.

Day 1: Quito - Nature Reserve Bellavista / No riding

From Quito we’ll drive over the western cordillera toward the Pacific cloud forest, where our horses await us. On our way, we have the chance to visit the Equator Monument 15 km north of Quito. We enjoy a typical Ecuadorian lunch and drive to Bellavista nature reserve, where we’ll be welcomed to a cozy lodge with hot showers and delicious, wholesome food. From the balcony of our shared room, we can enjoy a breathtaking view far over the cloud forest and listen to the sounds of exotic birds. (Lunch/Dinner)

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Day 2: Ride Day 1. Nature Reserve Bellavista, Nono / Riding time 5 1/2 hours

On horseback, we’ll head through a lush green region of virgin forests studded with waterfalls toward the Tandayapa fishing resort, and then ride slightly uphill for several hours, drawing closer to Pichincha volcano, which towers above us at almost 4,800 m (15,748 ft). We begin our trek along the northwest side to the tiny, picturesque village of Nono, where we set up camp at a farm. Next to a warm fireplace, the farmer’s family might tell us some interesting stories about people and lifestyles. (Breakfast/Lunch/Dinner)

Day 3: Ride Day 2. Nono, Calacali / Riding time 4 hrs

We’ll ride along green, hilly pastures, passing several stately farms, where we can observe fighting bulls and flower crops for exportation, getting a good impression of the present and past of the country.

Accommodation within the 200-year-old walls of a romantic farm hostel and a hot evening meal await us, next to the volcanic springs of Calacal. Bring your swimming gear in case it’s a hot day. (Breakfast/Lunch/Dinner)

Day 4: Ride Day 3. Calacali to Pululahua / Riding time 5 hrs

After crossing the equator from the southern to the northern part of the globe, we’ll ride downhill through forests of bamboo into the crater of Pululahua, the ancient volcano with its magnificent scenery. Along the way, we come across only a few small farmhouses, where the highland farmers scratch out a meager income from the steep, infertile land beside the forest.

At the bottom of the crater, a mystical and very peaceful place, we’ll rest in a nice little country cottage, until the call of a donkey or cockerel awakes us the next morning. (Breakfast/Lunch/Dinner)

Day 5: Ride Day 4. Pululahua to Aguacatal / Riding time 4 hrs

Leaving the volcano through the small gate in its crater walls, we’ll pass by deep gorges, crossing eroded lahar fields blooming with wild orchids, to finally enter the narrow valley of the Rio Blanco with its warm and tropical climate, where we find coffee bushes, fields of sugarcane, and a lot of tropical fruits. Prehistoric ruins can be observed along the way. Aguacatal is the name of the very remote and beautiful farm that offers us beds for the night. (Breakfast/Lunch/Dinner)

Day 6: Ride Day 5 / Rest day in Aguacatal / Riding Optional

Having gone half our way to Otavalo, we will make a rest day today, for those who want to rest, that is! Those who could spend their lives on horseback also have the chance to explore the beautiful surroundings by horse on their own. Those who’d like a change of activity are invited to accompany us by jeep to the Inca ruins of Rumicucho, with their famous sun channel, and after that take an interesting ride by mountain bike back to El Aguacatal.

Last but not least, you can also just hang out for a day, walk around, and enjoy the peaceful scenery of our rest place. (Breakfast/Lunch/Dinner)

Day 7: Ride Day 6. Aguacatal, San José de Minas / Riding time 7 1/2 hrs

This is the day for the adventurous! After crossing the bridge over the furious and turbulent River Guayllabamba, we’ll be trekking along a challenging trail above

A magnificent equine against the backdrop of the famous volcano, Mount Cotopaxi

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the river for several hours, following its direction upstream, leading us through the most breathtaking landscapes you can possibly imagine. We will have to dismount on several sections of this trail, as it is very steep in sections. Fitness required!

In the late afternoon, we’ll reach the village of San Jos. de Minas, which lost its glory as an important mining place when it was bypassed by the new road from Quito to Otavalo. The view of the town is dominated by a mighty colonial church with stories to tell. Amid the stony archways of a local hostel, we find shelter and eat at a restaurant within its confines. (Breakfast/Lunch/Dinner)

Day 8: Ride Day 7. San Jos. de Minas - Cuicocha / Riding time 6 hrs

Riding across the fields and pastures of the Paramo into wild and windy heights, we’ll reach the beautiful lakes of Cuicocha in the afternoon, encircled by rugged mountain walls. Here, we spend the night in a hostel at an altitude of 3,700 m (12,139 ft) above sea level. Bring warm clothing and a warm sleeping bag; playing cards welcome! (Breakfast/Lunch/Dinner)

Day 9: Day 8. Cuicocha, Otavalo, Quito / No riding

After breakfast, our accompanying vehicle will pick us up and drive us down to Otavalo, with a far-reaching view over the next valley and the surrounding mountains. In the small Andean town, world famous for its handicrafts and woolen products, we’ll have the chance to visit its lively, colorful indigenous market. Our main program has ended, and participants will have the choice of either staying in Otavalo on their own (nearby attractions are the Peguche waterfall or San Antonio de Ibarra) or driving back with us to Quito, where we will say goodbye at your hotel. (Breakfast/Lunch)

Opposite: Spashram RiverMountain Retreat on the Upper Ganges

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The proceeds of this book will aid our efforts at our preservation projects from this pilot site, which include developing sister sites in due course in the desert, jungles, and other terrain. To this end, I wish to draw attention to one of the most beautiful regions of the world under serious environmental threat and warranting urgent attention. The two treks elaborated at the end, the Lord Curzon Trail and the Hampta Pass Trek, are conducted from this base. Part of the proceeds will contribute toward our efforts at mitigating the significant areas of impact we see during the course of our operations here. Implementing the lessons learned over three decades is our road map for the future.

Spashram RiverMountain is a unique site, which thankfully I was blessed with the vision to acquire when I first stumbled upon it - truly a divine gift. Even my family misjudged its strategic and aesthetic beauty, and only the late Lieutenant General R. K. Jasbir Singh (family friend, mentor, and fishing companion) encouraged me to acquire it. It is from here that we have been able to display all our skills of adventure, alternative energy, hospitality, and biodiversity protection with rural inclusive development.

Today, when the world’s most futuristic thinkers (as quoted in the must-see film Eleventh Hour) and experts like David Susuki point out the real costs of using nature, and when others speak of the urgent need to reinvent invention itself, I sense an opportunity to be a national role model afforded by this location and our years of work in pioneering ecotourism. During the course of these years, I have been under significant pressure by “experts,” financial constraints, and other factors to “develop” this site. It has been a battle of willpower, but aided by my family’s faith in me, I was able to pace out the thought process to determine the final course of action. After all, if God took millennia to make this site, my taking fifteen years to decide how to best use and preserve it is no big deal! It therefore is a fitting gift to bequeath as a model to the nation, as well as to my daughter, who is as keen an environmentalist as the best of them, and at her tender age forces me to write letters to all the prime ministers and presidents of the world, to save the tigers and nature, and takes me to task when I drag my feet!

With field experts, like Dr. Chandan Jani, we have been able to develop concepts on key features, client types, and operating and zoning policies for this site. As part of our ethno-botany and traditional medicine practice, we have forged

The riverine and forest ecology of the Upper Ganges near Spashram RiverMountain.

Right: 55 pound Mahaseer © Geoff Moorehouse: shown before being released back into the river.

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unique linkages with committed people, such as Kat Morgenstein, and evolve policy for the medicinal plants and trees nurtured here over time, an orchidarium display, a butterfly park and an eco- and environmental interpretation display for the villagers and masses of pilgrims to learn from. Non horticultural flowers support the wild honey apiary. The staff is encouraged to revitalize their old and disused water mills, and to provide the Spashram lodge with coarse grain, for organic breads, and other organic supplies from their lands. To this end, we structured a flexible leave policy for staff to tend their lands. This means providing training skills and microfinance for part-time staff from the nearby areas. All the while, the region provides our guests with a playground for ongoing adventure, from longrange mountain treks, to white-water rafting, big-game fishing and beyond.

Similarly, Chandan and I have embarked on procedures to ensure operational practices are adapted to attract wildlife for the right reasons, and not repel it for the wrong ones. To this end, food at Spashram is healthful, looks appetizing and tastes great, but the actual preparation process does not create strong food odors, which would first attract and then repel wildlife. Though Spashram is not in a national park or reserve, the surrounding protected forest harbors Himalayan black bear, leopard, anteater, ratel, muntjac, goral, and wild boar, among others. These are just some of the practices that make the Spashram RiverMountain Eco Lodge unique.

TigerPaw has thrived on innovation in travel and pioneered ecotourism, whitewater rafting, and polo safaris in India and worldwide. We have dramatically refined the basic medi-voluntourism initiatives I undertook on trek in Ladakh in the eighties to make a resilient and sustainable contemporary program at Spashram. For example, we commenced our Medivoluntourism Community Program with international school students. Now an annual program, it allows us to ensure inclusive growth in our village community, one that can be improved upon year after year. Similar programs are available to other sensitive travelers.

The background of stumbling upon this site, living on it, and surviving it … is to be found etched into the copper plaques of the unique Leopard Longhouse. My notes were used for the contents of the plaque.

Remarkable incidents

• September 1989, Leopard spotted on beach

• IJ coordinates and Erik Austin leads the first-ever high-water rafting expedition on the 21st of September in a pot-boiling river, in monsoonal flood, in paddle rafts. A historic first. IJ rescues Canadian lady while they are in the big deep. Other rafting outfitters awed by the Canadians and our native guides. IJ Singh leads outfitters to form Indian Association of Professional Rafting Outfitte rs in the face of “vested interests” who manifest their hand through government and political elements. Two of three rafts flip ... Luc Bombardier videographs in his special raft outfitted to carry gear, with floors cut out.

• Pierre Delisle gets caught in the Wall in his sportayak and dislocates shoulder in process of extricating himself. The sportayak remains locked in the vicious eddy and ejects itself after bursting.

• Delisle has himself pushed while in cockpit of kayak from the 80-ft rock massif at Deoprayag, plunging into the Ganges below.

• The local policeman at Byasi is taken some months later on a “free ride” and gets caught at the same spot, so has to rock climb over cliff. He becomes a policeman who respects others.

WRATH OF NATuRE

The Uttarkashi (in the Himalayan state of Uttrakhand) earthquake occurred in the early hours of October 20, 1991. This moderate-magnitude earthquake created havoc in Uttarkashi and nearby areas. The official figure of loss of human lives for this earthquake is 769.

October 20, 1991: On the night of the quake, tremors jolted IJ and his river guides while camped at Kudiyalla. Boulders could be heard rolling down the mountain, and a wildcat (specifically a jungle cat) crept into one of our tents. The panic created by the tremors and rolling boulders made wild jungle animals flee toward open ground. Having found our campsite, the jungle cat decided to enter the tent of our river guide, who had left the flap open. He could not budge for fear of being slashed and clawed, until the cat left at dawn. The Australian High Commission staff, led by Ray Marzden (deputy high commissioner), had dined and drunk well the evening prior, of course slept through the great quake in Uttarkashi, robustly ignoring its distant tremors, felt by all the rest of us that night. Parameters

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Date: 20.10.1991

Time: 02 hrs: 53 min: 16.4 sec. (IST)

Epicenter: 30.75 N78.86 E

Focal Depth: 12 Km

Magnitude: 6.6

Getting to our own camp was not possible, as there had been landslides due to road widening and heavy rain while taking German journalist for rafting; Jasleen, IJ’s wife, pulls out stove and provisions and cooks for all to survive the nights on the road, away from camp.

HISTORY

When I left Kashmir and Ladakh in 1988, I decided to start white-water rafting operations on the Ganges by setting up a temporary camp at Kudiyalla, above the Daniel’s Dip rapid two kilometers upstream from this site. Mine was the fourth rafting operation on the river, and was operated by my company, TigerPaw Adventures. With vested interests attempting to force closure on competing rafting operations and the rule of law being misused, I decided to buy land in a difficult-to-access spot, where the wrong kind of visitor would “fear to tread.” Thus I came to buy what is now Spashram RiverMountain, known locally as the TigerPaws camp, but really my private estate.

A policy of recruiting only native mountain youth from the hill regions to be trained as whitewater river guides was implemented and followed, after training under a Canadian company, New World River Expeditions. Among the best river guides anywhere, the Canadians provided coaching to ensure that TigerPaws could put its stamp with distinction on India’s

rivers, in addition to the mountain expeditions it would conduct. The following noteworthy expeditions were carried out, the first on the Ganges itself, and others much farther beyond (see map on page 13).

Rural mountain areas are steeped in mythology and legend, making inhabitants believe deeply in superstition, casteism, and such. Myths and legends, therefore, can be used for garnering and showing the relevance of old lore for current situations. For example, the Holy Ganges is considered the female manifestation of Shiva’s wife, Parvati. Abuse of the Holy Ganges, or its Mahseer fish, is thus an act against Parvati herself. While in the maelstrom of change and development India is undergoing infrastructurally, societally, and thus ideologically, there is still much scope to use ancient myth and legend to address New Age challenges and opportunities, such as garbage pollution, water management, reforestation, recycling, and alternative technology. With the larger aim of preserving and protecting existing biodiversity and revitalizing wasteland, for natives as well as visiting tourism populations to the Upper Ganges Valley where our pilot project has run, we have used this methodology successfully. In this case, sound pollution from a temple’s loudspeaker across the river was disturbing others in meditation, as well as animal life. The important roles meditation and sanctity of forest life have played historically in India resonated directly with the priest when I pointed this out to him. After that day, the loudspeaker was never used!

From the Spashram RiverMountain site, changes my staff and I are passionately working for include the following goals: for the state administration and the local surrounding village populations to understand the threat they face from pollution of all kinds, including plastic and noise pollution, and destructive road-building techniques; to appreciate the wildlife, avifauna, and other natural resources of the region and the threats they face; and to appreciate opportunities and the critical position of the Upper Ganges valley in the face of climate change.

This is an idyllic spot, as the images show, and also sacred to me because of its positioning on the Pilgrim Trail to the Abode of Gods, where Hindus and Sikhs flock to numerous shrines nestled in the high Himalaya. It may take another 15 years to grapple with the challenges it faces by man (again, no length of time considering God took millennia to create it), but I hope that since its “problems” are man made, I can play “changemaker” within this life span.

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The Spashram site, which sees numerous visitors, has been a sacred space where biodiversity is given preference and construction is secondary. On my personal estate, visitors are invited for short stays, based on their profile and amenability to accepting the cultural and biodiversity codes enshrined at this site, which is also visited by leopard, boar, fox, porcupine, anteater, and the Himalayan ratel, among others. Avifauna includes the Indian cormorant, Phalacrocorax fuscicollis; Oriental darter, Anhinga melanogaster; and the Red Himalayan jungle fowl, as well as the fishing eagle, the Himalayan Flamebacked woodpecker, and the Asian Paradise Flycatcher.

Some of the main fauna species to be found in the immediate vicinity of Spashram RiverMountain include:

• Goral (latin name: Naemorhedus goral)

• Barking Deer (Muntiacus muntjak, whose yelp can be heard at night)

• Leopard (Panthera pardus, whose pug marks can be seen on the beach)

• Wild Boar (Sus scrofa, who comes from the Chanth approach); and

• Honey Badger (Mellivora capensis, also known as ratel, seen across the river) When the corn is out, the Himalayan black bear (Selenarctos thibetanus) can also be found (a young girl was once out cutting grass when she was mauled by a she-bear with a cub).

The womenfolk here are hardy and brave and truly bear the burden of the household, literally.

More than three thousand trees and plants, including medicinal plants, have been planted in repeated plantation attempts since 1996. The mortality rate has been high, as water had to be carried up the mountain’s heights. Bamboo including Golden bamboo, Neem, Amla, Amaltas, Dhak, Sal, along with Mango, Guava, and Imli or Tamarind are some that have survived well.

Being committed to preserving the culture of the region, including traditional agrarian and forest practices, I am concerned by the changing riverscape at places like Nilguddu village, where villagers have sold out to commercial dwellers. As traditional land practice is eroded and gives way to plain-style hotels, we lose the impressive array of wildlife the region has been blessed with. For this reason,

at Spashram we have struggled to maintain the right balance of mixed forest and land use, and give biodiversity preference at all times.

The foundation for Spashram’s first longhouse was built in 1997 (to earthquakeproof standards following the great Uttarkashi earthquake in 1991), and the building brought an element of permanence with its completion in January, 2008. Hand-hewn stone was carved and laid out by Anand Singh Negi, who hails from the village Aikhola in Kumaon and has been employed since December 1999. He has built every retaining wall found on Spashram RiverMountain with his own hands, along with the combined efforts of Sundar Singh Rana (of village Purvila, employed since December 20, 1996) and Roop Singh Rawat (of Singthali, employed since 2004). The woodcraft artisan of the village, Sudama, installed all the woodwork, and others from Singthali, like Thekedar Raghuvir Singh Rawat, were contracted to build the new path to the lodge (with the concurrence of all the villagers from Chaanth, since the traditional path below the road coming from the village near Jagvali Kher and Bora Par was damaged from years of road construction and disuse). The slate flooring was bought from the village drummer, and the carved timbers were gifted by the “Lala.” (Merchant).

The traditional path was to be relaid in 2010, even though it was only for monitoring the biodiversity of the adjoining land (for which I was made custodian by the subdivisional magistrate after the recommendation of the village patwari Puran Singh in 1996). The access path that came with the purchase of the land (Noniya) was wrongfully blocked when the plot to our northwest was sold to another owner. Access was thereafter purchased, and it was agreed to by the villagers that we build a path into the mountain down to the titled land. In 2006, Canadian mural artist Susanne Pink painted the leopard and Mahseer murals on the walls of the longhouse. The resident monkeys shrieked in alarm at the leopard, before realizing it was inanimate. The myth and legend of Spashram RiverMountain includes experiences of the supernatural, experienced by all those who have lived alone on the site. These are recorded only by word of mouth, and you, the reader, may have your own personal experience.

When I first came to the region, I brought visiting Canadian river guides, who operated the paddle raft (unlike the three other operators, who used only frame rafts). It was September 21, 1989, and the first-ever post-monsoon high-water

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expedition (previously, the Ganges was only operated October onwards - another first!). There tended to be many cremations upstream, and my commitment to the environment ensured that all staff used only driftwood, even if it had floated down from a funeral pyre. Some guides were petrified of the consequences. But this, I believe, is how old taboos are broken and equally ancient beliefs maintained, for Mother Earth is a living thing and needs protection from our assaults. What better way to worship nature than by defying fear from imagined consequences?

On Spashram RiverMountain, 3,500 medicinal, commercial, and fruiting trees and plants have been planted. Not all survived, but among others are The Indian Amla, Sal (Shorea Robusta); The “Imli,” Tamarindus Indica Jasminum Humile (chameli), Bombax ceiba (semul); Cassia Siama (kassod), Cassia Fistula (amaltas), Nerium Oleander (kaner); and Jacaranda Mimosifolia. Varieties of bamboo, along with jackfruit, mango, litchi, and others are also to be found growing well now.

This site is being henceforth protected and nurtured for Samira IJ Singh (born November 26, 2002), who is being groomed to learn about the challenges as well as opportunities in the realm of Himalayan biodiversity, so that she may grow up to make positive contributions to the environment of the region.

“Fantastic weekend—would love to come back next year, great location ...” WELL DONE, IJ!

Frank Hancock, head, ABN Amro Financial Services

And from some others of the ABN Amro team:

“It’s been a dream come true—three cheers to IJ and his team!”

Lathe Manikhar

This copper plaque sealed and embedded here ~ IJ Singh This 10th day of February 2008 Chaanth, Patti Dogi, Gram Singtali

Chapter 15

CONCLUSION

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In conclusion, I can truly say that I have been privileged to experience nature at its best, and would do it all over again. I hope that future generations will live to see something of natural biodiversities in the manner I have. In the name of development and progress, the human tribal and First Nations elements of these biodiversities are severely under threat as the outside world enters. The slow invatsion of these pure ecosystems in turn severely impacts the overall environment.

Top Left

Angami Chief, Nagaland © Leon Verhaegen

Top Right Warrior displaying spear action Nagaland, India

“Lhota” Mokochung © Kieron Nelson

Left Kuki Women and men before commuity dance

Above: Tengima- Angami wearing a Tsula, Nagaland, India © Kieron Nelson

Below: Dafla Witch Doctor, Nagaland, India © Kieron Nelson

Bottom

Top Left

Mopin lady Arunachal during rice festival

Bottom Right

Sherdukpen men’s dance

Top Right

Rengma Naga Men displaying spear action

Middle Right

Sherdukpen priests

Right

Chakesang Naga women dancing

ANNEXURES

Two Articles by Jayadeva

Ranade

About the Author

Jayadeva Ranade is a former additional secretary in the Cabinet Secretariat, government of India.

“Tibet: Colossus of Asia’s Environment”

This article was first published in the July 2010 issue of the Issue Brief, published by the Centre for Air Power Studies, New Delhi, India. Jayante Ranade and I met purely by chance in New Delhi circa January 2010. We discovered that we had both spent our early career years in Leh, Ladakh, he with the government’s Home Ministry and security. Our common interest in the region and the continuing “Great Game” has made us good friends.

Tibet has been part of India’s collective consciousness since ancient times. Hindus believe that Lord Shiva resides in Mount Kailash in Tibet. Savants and sages from India continue to ascend the high Himalaya in search of nirvana. The Mansorovar Lake in Tibet, which is venerated by Hindus, at one level symbolizes the importance of the waters of Tibet for India.

Most major rivers of northern India and south and southeast Asia originate in the cold high-altitude Tibetan Plateau and are fed by the glaciers there. This geostrategic positioning of Tibet introduces the potential for either tension or display of a high order of statesmanship by China and the lower riparian nations. The English word for rivalry, derived from the Latin term meaning “one who uses the same stream as another,” is apt, as tinkering with the Tibetan Plateau’s environment affects the entire region. The unprecedented cloudburst and flash floods in Leh recently were a vivid demonstration.

The glaciers and annual snowfall of the Tibetan Plateau feed rivers catering to the needs of almost 47 percent of mankind. Four of the world’s ten major rivers, the Brahmaputra (Yarlung Tsangpo), Yangtze, Mekong, and Huang Ho (Yellow River) have their headwaters on the Tibetan Plateau. Other major rivers

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originating in Tibet are the Salween, Irrawaddi, Arun, Karnali, Sutlej, and Indus. Ninety percent of their runoff flows downstream to China, India, Bangladesh, Nepal, Pakistan, Thailand, Myanmar, Laos, Cambodia, and Vietnam. For India, the Indus-Sutlej river system and Brahmaputra originate in Tibet and are fed by the glaciers there. What happens in Tibet, therefore, impacts India directly, and the 40 crore (400,000,000) people residing in the plains fed by the Indus, Ganges, and Brahmaputra river systems. Disturbingly, the headwaters area of these rivers has been generally getting warmer and drier in recent decades.

The Himalaya have the world’s third-largest glacier reserve of 1 trillion cubic meters in an area of 11,000 square kilometers. As glaciers melt because of rising temperatures, all countries of the region will be adversely impacted. China’s Meteorological Administration has revealed that 82 percent of glacial surfaces on the plateau have retreated, and the glacier area has decreased by 4.5 percent in the past twenty years. The plateau has also lost 10 percent of its permafrost layer in the past decade. This can potentially create water shortages that could affect more than 1 billion people.

Human and construction activity has contributed to warming of the Tibetan Plateau. In Tibet, China has focused on mining and construction projects and building modern all-weather road networks. Construction of the Qinghai–Lhasa railway further contributed to warming of the high altitude plateau and damaged the permafrost layer. Future plans envision construction of fifty-nine modern airports in and around Tibet. Aircraft release large quantities of nitrogen oxides and carbon dioxide into the atmosphere. Airports also contribute to warming and underground water pollution. After the 9/11 terror strike, when all aircraft throughout the country were grounded for three days, scientists confirmed that the difference in daytime and nighttime temperature had expanded by an entire one degree centigrade. Also, the ill effects of radiation around Xihai township in Tibet, where China tested its first atomic bomb in the 1960s, continue to linger.

Warming of the Tibetan Plateau and resultant acceleration in glacial melt will impact food production. For each degree Celsius rise in temperature above the norm during the growing season, farmers can expect a 10 percent decline in wheat, rice, and corn yields. Coupled with a decline in flow of rivers in the IndoGangetic basin, India’s national food production will be severely affected.

Since “liberation” China’s leaders have accorded importance to food security, but efforts have been hampered by perennial water scarcity. The north and northwest, where approximately 400 million people, or 30 percent of the population, reside has more than half the country’s arable land but only 7 percent of its surface water. Mao Zedong, possibly encouraged by the 1,200-mile Grand Canal completed in 610 AD, first proposed the idea of south–north water diversion in 1952. His intention was to ease water shortages in Beijing, Tianjin, and the northern provinces of Hebei, Henan, and Shandong. One possibility was to divert waters from the Great Bend of the Yarlung Tsangpo, north of the McMahon Line, by building a megastructure. The scheme received fresh impetus with the appointment of Hu Jintao and Wen Jiabao, both hydraulic engineers, as China’s president and premier, and was formally approved in August 2002. It got a boost in November 2005 with the publication of the book Save China Through Water From Tibet. High-level military support was evident in the foreword of the book, written by Zhao Nanqi, chief of the PLA’s General Logistics Department.

Of the three routes in the $65 billion project intended to transport 44 billion cubic meters of water across China, the Western Route directly affects India. This will take water mainly from the Brahmaputra across the Tibetan Plateau into the Yellow River and to north China. Work began this year with completion scheduled for 2050. Plans provide for a hydropower plant (38,000 MW) at Motuo or Daduqia, both near the border with India. Though Chinese President Hu Jintao officially denied plans to divert the Brahmaputra while meeting Indian Prime Minister Manmohan Singh in Delhi in 2006, there is evidence that construction of dams at various places has started. China has completed ten dams on the Brahmaputra, three are under construction, seven are under active consideration, and eight more are proposed. Five large dams are proposed on the Bumchu (Arun river) and one large dam on the Loro Chu (Subansiri river).

International law is ambiguous on the subject of the rights of lower riparian states.

China’s domestic imperatives and its leadership’s determination will frustrate attempts at international arbitration. The lower riparian nations have little option other than to raise this issue, which has global dimensions and to them is an existential threat, with Beijing. Hints are available of China’s willingness to acknowledge these concerns. A mechanism could be proposed whereby China

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and the affected nations together tackle China’s water-related concerns and the issue of warming of the Tibetan Plateau, while safeguarding the interests of lower riparian nations.

Meanwhile, India and the other lower riparian states should fast-track their own projects for harnessing, augmenting, and conserving domestic water resources and boosting agriculture production.

Wen Jiabao Comes Calling on New Delhi

The article below was first published in the New Indian Express on January 7, 2011.

Chinese premier Wen Jiabao’s visit to India of less than forty-eight hours, the second in his tenure, belied the hopes of even the usually optimistic analysts and yielded no substantive indication that Beijing was intent on arresting the downward slide in Sino-Indian bilateral relations. At the same time, the second leg of his two-nation tour reinforced China’s commitment to its enduring and “allweather” relationship with Pakistan.

Wen Jiabao’s visit occurred at a crucial juncture in the Sino-Indian relationship, described just days before his arrival by the Chinese ambassador in Delhi as “fragile.” It came at a time when Beijing is giving the final touches to its new “Asia policy,” when there is a visible assertiveness in China’s policies and quick on the heels of unmistakable warnings issued by China’s official media to India and Japan in the context of China’s territorial claims on the South China Sea archipelagos. Coinciding with the visit to India of Zhou Yongkang, Chinese Politburo Standing Committee member, the Chinese Communist Party mouthpiece People’s Daily on November 2 published an article by its editor Li Hongmei. Commenting on the Indian prime minister’s visits to Japan, Malaysia, and Vietnam the previous month, the article described India’s “Look East Policy” as “Look to Encircle China” and concluded with the veiled warning that “India’s leadership will not rashly board the ship of Japan without giving a glance at China’s expression.”

The absence of warm rhetoric also contrasted with the visits of the four other heads of governments of the permanent member nations of the UN Security Council, who all visited New Delhi between October and December 2010.

Beijing had carefully choreographed the premier’s visit from December 15 to 17 to emphasize the economic and trade aspect of the relationship, including getting almost 400 representatives of Chinese corporations to accompany him. A slew of agreements totaling approximately $16 billion were signed by Chinese and Indian companies, but virtually all represented sales of low-cost products by Chinese companies to Indian business houses. The financial agreements that were signed pave the way for the entry of large Chinese banks into India to facilitate easy credit terms. For example, the leading Chinese telecommunications company Huawei, which has continuing close ties to the People’s Liberation Army, placed prominent advertisements in the national print media announcing plans to accelerate penetration of India’s sensitive telecommunications sector. Missing was any mention of Chinese investments, advanced-technology sales, or purchase agreements by Chinese companies, revealing that the sharply skewed trade imbalance is set to widen further. The effort is an evident attempt to create pockets of pro-China business lobbies in order to apply pressure on the government to dilute national interests in pursuit of personal profit.

As anticipated, the visiting Chinese dignitary avoided public comment on issues adversely affecting India’s sovereignty and territorial integrity. During what was billed as the keynote speech at the Indian Council of World Affairs in New Delhi on December 16, Wen Jiabao repeated the standard Chinese formulation that the “complicated” border issue “left over by history” would take time to resolve, but he lengthened the time horizon by saying that it could be settled by the successor generation. The matter of stapled visas for residents of Jammu and Kashmir, though raised repeatedly by India at various levels, was pointedly not addressed. The Chinese premier, however, reiterated a remark made by Zhou Yongkang, that for all “controversial issues and disagreements, the two countries should properly handle them on the basis of mutual respect, consultations on equal basis and mutual understanding, and mutual accommodation, so as not to let specific issues affect the overall relations.” The implication is clearly that China’s new policy regarding Jammu and Kashmir is deliberate and part of a larger Chinese agenda. Chinese pressure on India on the Kashmir issue can be expected to increase. Overall, Wen Jiabao chose to avoid public reference to specific issues of dispute, like the exchange of defense delegations, although they did figure in the brief closed-door discussions but did not find an acceptable solution. The latter became abundantly evident in the joint communiqué where India quite significantly declined to oblige China, with the assertion that Beijing

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now ritually insists from all governments that it accepts the Tibet Autonomous Region and Taiwan as part of the People’s Republic of China.

Another important issue of concern that has the potential to impact the livelihood of millions of people is the diversion of the Brahmaputra. The Chinese premier gave no assurance that this concern would be addressed. China’s position in the matter has been opaque thus far, and queries have been reluctantly answered and that too only piecemeal. The issue is also of wider concern as China’s developmental activities in and around Tibet and construction of dams on the upper reaches of the Mekong River have begun to impact the neighboring environment, resulting in the retreat of glaciers and the reduced flow of water in the rivers.

At this time when the geopolitical situation in Asia and the Asia-Pacific is in a state of flux, India hosted two high-level visitors from China in quick succession. The first visitor, Zhou Yongkang, arrived in early November. His ranking at the bottom of the list of the nine-member Politburo Standing Committee, the Chinese Communist Party’s all-powerful apex body, belies his true importance and influence as China’s security czar. In this capacity Zhou Yongkang has considerable say in decisions and policies regarding the national minorities and autonomous regions, especially concerning the Uyghurs in Xinjiang and Tibetans in Xizang, or the Tibet Autonomous Region.

His responsibility for policies relating to China’s minority nationalities was not lost on the Tibetan community in India, who staged a protest when he was in Delhi on November 1. They staged protests during Wen Jiabao’s visit too. Significantly, Zhou Yongkang has also been given a major role in formulating China’s new Asia policy, which includes India. His visit to India was also in this connection. Wen Jiabao was the second visitor. Both of them are due to demit office on retirement at the next Chinese Communist Party Congress scheduled to be held around October 2012.

Neither of the high-level Chinese visitors utilized the opportunity to ease the strain in relations or assure India that its concerns would be addressed. Any meaningful lifting of pressure on India by China in the near to medium term seems unlikely.

Author’s suggested reading: India and China, Sudhakar Bhat: Popular Book Services New Delhi.

Photo Credits

Some of my photos are included, but I took very in the course of the last three decades. I was always too involved in the actual situation of leading in or out (I did at one point sketch a bit, and some of these travel sketches are shown in the book)! The memories that were brought to life in color, therefore, were done so through the lens of the many travelers, in some cases professional photographers, in others simply avid travelers. As said, because some of these images go back many years, it was not possible for me to put each credit to each image. I have tried my best, however, to mention all those who graciously allowed me to use their photos. In the event I have erroneously missed a name (or indeed cited the name of someone who did not supply photos) I trust no ill intent is seen! In some cases, the panapoly of images that could not be squeezed into the book will feature on the website: www.nobodaboda.com.

Professional Photographers

Anwar Saji, Pakistan (Chitral images); Chivas Brothers, London, UK, Royal Salute (polo images); David Sangtam, India, with Leon Verhaegen, Holland (tribal north east images); Elaine Thweate, USA (Tribal Rafasthan Lady in bluesaree cover); Gertie Wait A Little, South Africa (riders watching pair of cheetah); Harpreet Singh, India (Rajasthan horse trek images); Irma Turtle, USA (tribal Orissa images); Luc Bombardier, Canada (images Rafting on the Ganges); Jain Brothers, India (India Polo images); James Allen Zuckerman, USA, Kieron Nelson, Canada (Blue Boy, Bonda Bead lady drinking and Angami Naga Warrior with spear, athletes vertical leaps); Maria Verridichio, Canada, Matias Nillson, Sweden (Spashram image); Phal Girota, India (Indian Cavalry images); Paul Nevin, Australia (Pakistan Chitral polo field images); Tessa and Ant Baber, South Africa (Cover rhino image and of author on horse near Giraffe); Tessa McGregor, Scotland (sambhar stag); Tom Schovsbo, Safaris Tanzania (Rider meeting African Elephant); Leon Verhaegen, Holland

Amateur photographers

Dr. Anthony Pryer, UK (Garhwal Trek images); Bala Mally, Dubai (India Polo images); Bernd Maracke, Germany (crouching tiger image); Beverley Adlewan USA (Nagaland images); Bobby Alford, Charlie of Rugby School, UK (Polo South Africa images); Dan Lion, UK (African leopard image); Gregory Aurit, USA (Valley of Flowers and Hemkund Lake images); Gerd Tessmer SDP, Reisen, Germany (recent inages of His Holiness The Dalai Lama); The Fighting Fifth Batallion of The Assam Rifles India (historic images of the Dalai Lama’s escape into India); Holly Beinhorn, USA (The Hampta Pass Himachal Pradesh, India), Inder Jit Singh, India; Jeffrey Y. Campbell, India (tiger eating kill); the Late Colonel John Wakefield, India (tiger twins on rock, elephant safari tracking family of tiger); the Late St. Gen RK Jasbir Singh PVSM, India (mahaseer fishing); Keith & Christine Jones with PJ & Barney Biestlink, UK (Botswana wildlife and horse safari); Kunal Verma, India (Ladakh images); Mark Curtoys, UK (Northeast travel); Nancy Ray Inman, USA (Nepal trek); Col Narinder Singh, India (native sikh Nihang warrior); Peter Prentice, Hong Kong (AVJ Edwards group photo); Pedro and Alba Urquijo Arroz, Spain (Monsoon horse trek Rajasthan), PE Salt, Canada (Argentine journeys and Palermo Open), Sandy Murray, UK Osprey Adventures (Mountaineering Expedition images); Dr Sidiq Wahid, India (Ladakh Yurts/Sarai); TE Field UK (Northeast India travel). Images in the section of Author’s pick of unique journeys have been provided by the respective hosts named at the outset of these sections.

About the Author

Born in Shillong, Meghalaya, on January 18, 1959, Inder Jit Singh found that his fascination with the wild and wonderful places of the Indian Subcontinent began while he was a schoolboy and “military brat” in the early 1970s in the northeast while in his formative teen years with his father, who served with the unique frontier force the Assam Rifles. These early years of travel led to his fascination with the indigenous culture and biodiversity of the region, which now feature in the professional adventure, anthropological, and World War II history trips and expeditions he has promoted and conducted since 1979.

Having been schooled under the Irish Christian Brothers in India, Inder Jit pursued a degree in commerce, and after college he led Himalayan expeditions in Kashmir and Ladakh. In 1982 he set up his own adventure travel company, Tiger Paw India Adventures Ltd., conducting high-altitude treks in Kashmir and Ladakh in the summers and overland expeditions during the winters in Rajasthan, Gujrat, Madhya Pradesh, Southern India, and Garhwal. In 1995 he reincorporated the company in Canada, where he launched Poloholidays and Horsebackholidays, worldwide in addition to his India bound trips.

Inder Jit has had a strong interest in ecotourism, becoming one of the first five Indians to be nominated for a Fellowship on Environmental Education of semiliterate and illiterate groups by the Asia Foundation, San Francisco’s US–ASIA Environmental Partnership program. He was also point man in a joint project with a U.S. nonprofit in being awarded one of five prestigious Australasia-wide grants from the Biodiversity Conservation Network (a consortium of the World Wide Fund for Nature, The Nature Conservancy, and the World Resources Institute–Washington, D.C.) for sustainability planning in the Eastern Himalaya.

Besides running all kinds of educational adventure trips, Inder Jit has been instrumental in developing offbeat trips for American Express and the American Embassy School New Delhi, teambuilding and outdoor management programs for the American Express Human Resources Division, and training programs in high-altitude treks and rafting expeditions for the British Army and Royal Air Force, as well as first descents in Himalayan rafting for forward formations of the Indian Army, and all-women’s rafting teams from the Central Reserve Police Force. He has also conducted offsite team-building and leadership programs for ABN Amro Bank, HSBC, Philip Morris, and other blue chip multinational companies for top-level executive teams.

Inder Jit has compiled travelogues, including sketch-based stories set in India, and has contributed to the international Worldwide Riding Vacations by Arthur Sacks and British equestrian John Ruler.

Currently, Inder Jit, who shares his time between India and Canada, is working on ecotourism projects that integrate medicinal plant land banks with biodiversity planning and health in the face of conflict arising from “development”. His estate in the Garhwal Himalaya on the Upper Ganges at Spashram RiverMountain is a pilot site also pursuing new concepts like medivoluntourism with doctors and students. Married to Jasleen Singh, they have a daughter, Samira, who is also being groomed to appreciate nature and play a future role in propogating the ethos that Spashram RiverMountain represents.