Dudhsagar Trail

Jumpy! That's how I become if well-housed, well-warmed and well-fed for too long – I rationalize this as 'life oxidized - need for fresh oxygen'. Cramped in a four-walled cubicle, I was drowning into the routine – work, inhale, home, exhale, perish! I call my husband a saviour, yes, he might be a hopeless cook and never a home-mate, but an oxygen tank who can sense my madness and numbness both, all without a word exchanged and unshackle me from all that I every time tactlessly take on myself and get locked in! This time, he doped me with the magic word ‘Goa’!

Though Goa only rings a bell for its hip beaches, there is another side of this place beyond sea, sand and sun, which is greener, quieter and rare. So close to the city and yet so elusive. Wonder why! You would find many but accurate information online about this place, especially the trekking routes to this part of the country and that, I assume, was one of the sundry reasons which made me extra irked to witness the crash, the growl, the epic fall –  Dudhsagar Waterfall in Goa.

Honestly, I am not a trekker, not even a treadmill walker, but this one had me eyeing for it for long, more because of the ceaseless charm of walking barefoot through a ravine which is a part of a wildlife sanctuary (Bhagwan Mahavir Wildlife Sanctuary in the Western Ghats) just to touch the base of the humongous waterfall – it’s more than just trekking!

There is another route via Castle Rock railway station (Dudhsagar situated between Castle Rock and Kullem (another railway station ahead of Castle Rock). Dudhsagar is exactly 15 kms from Castle Rock station and it is said that this route is scarier in terms of the gradient of the track and the bridges and quainter for its numerous ancient tunnels on the way down (13 tunnels till Dudhsagar and 16 tunnels till Kulem Station). We took the easier or rather woodier path to the fall via Kullem station – yes, solely for the woods and the foliage to disguise our panting into pleasure in anticipation of spotting birds, and other hidden jewels of the legendary ‘Sea of Falls’ trail.

Our homework taught us that this Dudhsagar Fall is India's 5th tallest waterfall and 227th in the world and it is located at a height of 310 meters on the Mandovi River on Goa-Karnataka border. And with this little knowledge of the demography, we marked the beginning of a beautiful journey on an overcast October morning which certainly remained as one of my best expeditions in a while.

To put it meatily, we covered the distance between Mumbain and Margaon by a volvo semi-sleeper bus and an A.C. car thereafter to take us to our resort (Dudhsagar Spa Resort - 60 kms. from Margaon which costed around INR 500). 

The next morning, we were booked in a Government jeep from Kullem check-point along with the mandatory life jackets given to wear and deposit on our way back. The jeep crawled about an hour dodging the dips and dents of the dirt-uphill road while the rest was saved for those hair-raising twist and turns surging through small streams where groups of local kids merrily took their playful saunas. The muddy serpentine road left no stone unturned to give us all sorts of somersaults!

Many jeeps packed with foreigners came dashing down the same slim track causing a full stop to the stream of traffic. Impatient and dripping with sweat, we got off the vehicle and and what we saw left us sweating more - a seemingly endless queue of such jeeps at a standstill and humans in flock merrily climbing up the track with no questions asked. We kept waiting there - faces grim and patience nil. At last, we, oblivious as to how long this trek would be, decided to go with the crowd and hike up to the destination.

As I struggled trudging up the steep incline of the waterfall trail, I cursed myself, my unfitting shoes, my decision not to wait in the jeep and my ever-smiling, never-complaining husband ahead of me. The blazing sun and the newly found foot-sores crushed my commitment to birding – I was craving for water, breather and impetus. To distract my discouraging thoughts, I started mounting my camera lens and I happened to hear a deafening, thriving sound – sound of the falls – the adrenaline kicked in rapidly. Our spirits up, we expeditiously crisscrossed the slippery path and quite a few brooks and creeks - all barefooted. An hour more of such isometrics and we were undeniably in for a jolt as we got the glimpse of our much-awaited sight of Dudhsagar – literally, a gigantic sea of milk – looked silvery white while oozing powerfully out of the thick green cover and hitting to the auburn basin below! A never-before feeling of absorption in sheer amusement replaced my grogginess in a fleet of a second.

The majestic waterfall poured in to create a foaming torrent and formed into a deep green pool of fresh mountain spring water where the entire crowd was pulled into for obvious reasons. The green tropical canopy around us worked wonders for our aching legs and I, without complaining, dipped my bruised and blistering feet into the freezing cold water and instantly sensed a euphoria inside - I was up, close and personal with the legend - the long wait was over - I was standing right in front! Nothing could kept me from being charmed by its intense drift – I was in love with the symbiotic of the living and non-living, with the green and the white, with my coexistence with the nature and its splendour.

And when we thought that the trek has shown us all including the falls, the descent on our way back through the deep dark forest outdid all our expectations – the trail gifted us with those rare openings to the sighting of an indolent Green Vine Snake spiralling around a brushwood, a Giant Wood Spider feeding on its fresh catch, a Malabar Giant Squirrel quickly cutting across our path to climb up to one of the top tree branches and a Indian Bison munching on its day meal at a distance. Tickled and captivated as I then defined ourselves.

Gawking at the steep ridge on my right and the sea of milk gradually getting further distant, I picked up gratitude – a feeling far more intense than the waterfall and far deeper than the forest. I held my husband’s hand who was busy clicking our selfie with the incredible trekking trail behind – I promised! I promised not to let go of this moment, I swore not to whine again for anything in life, I thanked the almighty for this life and vowed to live through every moment of this gift called life. He beheld with the deepest smile ever and pressed my hand in couched reassurance - we were ready to get back to our bustling urban cycle - together as always!

An ounce of happiness at Nargole

13 km from Bordi, 25 km from Vapi, 30 km from Dahanu, 51 km from Valsad, 150 km from Mumbai, 362 km from Ahmedabad, Nargol (Nargole) is a coastal village located in south Gujarat.

Not visited by many, this secluded Parsi (Zoroastrian) dominated place is a tropical Indian countryside dotted with small farmhouses, buffalos swimming in the rivers along with traditional small fishing boats that patrol the coast in search of fish, quiet landscapes of dry savannah where only a few people have their homes. The seaside is part of the Gulf of Cambay (Gulf of Khambhat), the beaches wide and lonely with big tidal water level differences.

Far away from the hustle-bustle of maddening crowds and breath choking pollution of Mumbai, I landed here at this unspoiled beach - the calming stillness, the freshness of air after a heavy shower or the aloneness – not sure what brought my long lost self back. Unlike my well-thought-out earlier holidays in the jungles, this was a different one as I did not know what to expect from a beach which is neither a Goa nor a Pattaya. You don't even see a teal stall anywhere on the beach. 

It was rather a brash escape – to wriggle out of the mounting work pressure and to give a surprise day off to my parents who completed their 30 years together on this day.

We stayed at Bordi Orchard Resort as Nargole does not have comfortable stay options and ours was a restful one amidst a chikoo orchard. Crazy Crab – the restaurant there served fresh hot and lip-smacking crab, as you might have guessed by now.

Mornings, my dad would go for a walk into the nearby village with my husband while I and mom would grab a coffee and go on blabbering about everything under the sun, soaking in the airs, the skies, the sunrise and its never-ending magic. I defined it – LEISURE.

Dusk, only four of us strolled along the long stretch of twilight coated shoreline, laughing and talking, clicking pictures, beholding the sun melting down into the sea, putting our arms around one another – PEACE and HAPPINESS followed us for the rest of the nights.

Nargole is old-fashioned. It is rather depressing if you do not bring your share of happiness to fill the void. You cannot talk to strangers as most of them are fishermen and busy in fishing and collecting shells. The only company you get here is of a few mangroves grown in shallow marine, countless tiny crabs on the seaboard and dead shells.

Peace, love, solitude, happiness. Expected? No. Picked up? Yes. We came back home with a gift to my loving parents on their anniversary - some extraordinary memories of an ordinary small fishing town, some seashells and a consciousness – being a family means you are a part of something very wonderful. It means you will love and be loved for the rest of your life!

Footloose in Kumaon

“Chasing angels or fleeing demons, go to the mountains.” And it’s been how long long…5 years old memory of a touristy Himachali holiday popped up, as I cursed every idiot at work and my new reclining chair which I thought was the only reason beside work load for my shooting back pain. Glued to my system in office, flashes of myself sitting at the edge of a mountain and sipping coffee kept haunting me. As an ordinary mortal employee I just have 34 days of holidays per year so I have to allay my longing for the mountains during those holidays. Poor me, can’t even take a sick leave! I exactly knew what I was going to do next! I was going to fall sick. Of course, I have a shooting back and neck pain and can’t move my head an inch. Next few days were frantic. Wrapping up pending meetings and reports, catching up with a few new clients with my neck as stiff as a stone and making some very urgent phone calls,well, I had to book my stay in advenca. Weekend approached sooner than we expected, two air tickets to Delhi were already booked by my nature enthusiast hubby and yes, we were super ready to take our first trip to Pangot (also called Panghoot) in the Nainital District of Uttarakhand – the birding paradise.

It was late April, and the place was receiving some late showers. And though it was a bit damp in the morning, the sun peeped out happily as our journey started. It’s always nice to drive through the valley and the meadows, the beds of greens and yellows as far as you can possibly gape – roads lined up with towering trees on either side, little hamlets with busy villagers getting along with the day’s chores and the fresh smell of the morning air, that’s such a luxury for us city dwellers.

As we drove past Haldwani, there were only hills and hills, covered with thick forests of oak, pine, and rhododendron and paths littered with perky wild orchids. The only sounds were the song of the birds and tyres crunching dry leaves, and we got the first whiff of the pine-scented highlands. Ecstasy.

The best way to explore and appreciate the splendor of Pangot is on foot. We stayed at the Ramgarh Bungalows (Neemrana) and went for an early morning birding trail to the area (45 kms away) which was a mesh of deodar, oak and rhododendron. The trees towered over giant ferns and gleaming moss. Large mammals are usually difficult to spot in this area. However, you are assured of seeing a variety of common and rare birdies. Over 150 species have been recorded in this area, from flocks of thrushes, minivets and wagtails to exotic Himalayan species such as the Himalayan griffon, mountain-hawk eagle and the rare cheer pheasant. Sighting uncommon birds such as the Himalayan Monal may demand a vigorous walk up to the ridges and hill tops. Regrettably, I could not walk up to the hilltop as I, by then, developed a disintegrated heel while gleefully hiking. But we came across many endearing species, while lying in the hammock at our piece of prairie near the bungalow with bird feeding by our side. With a pair of binoculars and a bird book, I actually spent a whole day in Ramgarh on this delightful pursuit. The day translated into a gratified night with bowls full of Pahari mutton —smoky meat cooked over wood fire in ghee, whole spices and roti and slithering into the comforters with dreamy eyes. Bliss!

We were late in leaving for our next destination because of an elaborate brunch that included a nectar called rhododendron juice (have you ever imagined – juice made of rhododendron, snap!) and had to reach my most awaited destination – Jim Corbett National Park (JNP) by noon. We had too many things on our agenda before lunch but being late. So, I decided to withhold my desire to stop the car and make good use of my new DSLR camera. But yes I pledged, on my return, it’d be my way on this highway.

The road to JNP is a particularly picturesque one. Almost like yesteryear Hindi movie locations, we glided through the pinewood valleys crossing the Kosi River. It was still afternoon when we reached our resort tucked away in the midst of a mango and litchi orchard – Tiger Camp.   It had always been the case – my hubby’s picks on stays would beat mine at the end, I didn’t argue this time, chuckling at the thought of hanging around like ripe mangoes from the trees – my most preferred summer fruit, after all!

The next day was for our much awaited safari into the Bijrani zone of JNP – we booked only one safari owing to my bad heel condition, so, kept our finger crossed for the first time as we somehow expected that the chances of spotting the big cat would be hard-hitting and bleak, considering their lesser number in the area as well as us staying outside the forest (the boarders of the government rest houses inside the forest start their safari early and hence stand better chance of sighting).

Dhanuji was a local man of few words but immense birding knowledge and guided us scrupulously by making us aware not only of the old history of the forest, but its trees and particularly birds. He had eyes of a hawk and made us feel like birding experts as we experienced some never-before moments of our life right in front of our eyes.

I am not a bird-watcher, in any sense of the term, I keep visiting the national parks only to spot the animals of wonders, esp. big cats, but it was only while visiting the oldest and the first tiger reserve in Asia, Jim Corbett National Park, I was wholly absorbed into the assortment of diverse bird songs and to my surprise, I found myself quite a bird-lover toward the end. I learnt their names nippily once my birding guide dhanu ji identified them to me, ‘madam, look there, a Shikra feeding on its fresh kill, a rat – very rare, you are lucky madam!” And there were as many goose bumps on my hands as I had when I saw the leopard in Kabini last time. I was elated like a baby to get a glimpse of the asian paradise flycatcher for the first time and red wattled lapwing hatching its eggs - some of which could only be caught in memory and as luck would have it, not the camera.

Just on our way up the jungle path, a lonely tusker in 'musth' condition loomed large. Sweat broke out. ‘Did he see us? Would he charge? Where do we go now?’ – we kept on asking Dhanuji, he asked the driver to keep the jeep moving on the reverse side, we were not ready, cameras shook while capturing him crushing the plants in an attacking disposition – once he looked at our vehicle and then moved on into the thickets leaving us gasping. He was huge, his eyes looked unpleasant and restless. Gobsmacked!

Seeing elephants in the wild is a raw, exhilarating experience. The Corbett Park is the best place in Northern India to observe them at fairly close quarters. Dhanuji later told us that about 300 - 350 Asiatic elephants roam around the park in herds, along the river Ramganga or foraging in the grasslands. Humans should stay away from elephants suffering from musth (the frenzied state of certain male animals, especially elephants or camels, that is associated with the rutting season) as they could be even more dangerous than the big cat.

Between the Himalayas and the Terai and the streams, rivers and ridges crisscrossing, Jim Corbett is a residence of a spectacular variety of landscapes - woodlands and open grasslands, forest-grassland edges, reservoirs and mountainous terrain. This forest is beautiful in its own way and I have one word to describe it – incredible - it breathes alive every time you try to think about it.

I didn’t care if I had a fractured heel then, and I didn’t want to lament either. And so, I pulled my socks up and hiked up to the river bed to catch the morning sun on the next day – to be witness to the mystical game played by the fog and mist – the peacocks singing at a distance – the pied kingfisher in pursuit of fly-fishing – and us sipping our last steaming black coffee of the trip. The first touch of the golden sunshine touched our body after hours of cold wind slicing the faces - we felt and fondled the warmth of the sun. The wide expanse of the forest stood in front of us - tranquil – only its colour kept changing from blue to emerald green against the blushing horizon. The sun-kissed mountains looked so deceivingly close, you disremember your own existence. You disapprove your civilization. Surreal!

Trust me, I could not feel the pain of my left swollen heel on my flight back to Delhi. All I wanted was the memory of this trip to be alive forever. I could effortlessly recall John Marsden of A Killing Frost “I'm a person of the mountains and the open paddocks and the big empty sky, that's me, and I knew if I spent too long away from all that I'd die; I don't know what of, I just knew I'd die.”