Flower packed

“The Bhyundar Valley was the most beautiful valley that any of us had seen. We camped in it for two days and we remembered it afterwards as the Valley of Flowers” said Frank S Smythe.

It is 5.30 in the morning as the train pulls in into Dehradun station. I must be in Joshimath by evening to claim my bed. A 100 yards from the station, the rain starts in earnest, testing my wet weather gear, which I unveil in a hurry – so begins a hectic day of mountain travel in shared taxis and buses.  
We follow the river all the way. It is the Ganga up to to Deoprayag and the Alakananda beyond. At Srinagar, I manage to get the coveted front window seat of the Trax running as a shared taxi and it is a great relief from having to sit sideways with a craned neck at the rear end. I look outside and see the signs of development invading the hills – visible are the tunnels and embankments of the Alakananda hydro power project.

Picturesque ride
I get talking to Sundra Singh Rana, the driver and learn that part of the beautiful Srinagar town is slated for submergence. He asks me how come I am travelling alone. In subsequent days, many others will ask me the same question. We exchange our little travel adventures from the past. Rana too is also planning to travel – to the plains, he says with a little laugh. He offers to show me around Rudra Prayag, his home and drop me back in Rishikesh on my return journey.

We exchange mobile numbers and he helps me board a bus leaving for Chamoli. I have made good time because of Rana speeding up the ghats. As we approach Joshimath, the banks of the river again look like a construction site.  A board proclaims NTPC’s Tapovan-Vishnugad hydropower project. 12 hours after leaving Dehradun, I reach the Garhwal Mandal guest house in Joshimath’s main bazaar and claim my room.

You can’t sleep after 4 am in Joshimath. That is when the hawkers start peddling the seats on the first buses leaving for Haridwar and there is bedlam in the main market. After the buses depart, the noise is replaced by the strains of the familiar Suprapadham. I am ready at the shared taxi stand by 6 am, but it is some time before the taxi has its full complement of 10 passengers and we start for Govindghat.
There is stunning scenery all the way but all I can see is the haversack that my nose is buried into. The trek starts at Govindghat where we cross the Alakananda on a suspension bridge. The path follows the Bhyundar valley and the Laxman Ganga river in a north easterly direction. It is 13 kms and a 4000 ft climb to the day’s destination, the tourist village of Ghangria that is used by pilgrims to Hemkund Sahib as a night halt. I decide to take a porter with me to carry my loaded haversack, which seems to have got much heavier since I started out.

Khet Raj Khemka, my Nepali porter, sets a fast pace and initially, I keep up, too proud to ask him to slow down. He has been in India only two months after interrupting his “plus two” studies to earn a living. The walk is scenic but the crowd of pilgrims and the constant care to be exercised to keep from getting pushed over the edge by ponies carrying people keeps one preoccupied.

All I want is to get quickly to my destination; and so, not unsurprisingly, does my porter. The last three kms of the trek coming just after crossing the Laxman Ganga are gruelling with a steep ascent. Five hours after leaving Govindghat, I am able to change out of my sweat drenched clothes at the comfortable Garhwal Mandal guest house at Ghangria.

Nature acts as relaxant
The rest of the day is spent in slow recovery – tea, food, a warm bath, sleep. Towards evening, I decide to try out a masseur who has been persistently doing the rounds of the rest house rendering his “tail maleesh” cry. Rajesh is from Bijnor in UP and spends the season – June to September – in Ghangria like the rest of the workers and shop keepers. The massage costing all of Rs 50 is indeed invigorating and brings new life into my tired legs. Next morning I am ready bright and early for the trek to the Valley.
It is a beautiful morning with the sky a royal blue, brilliant sunshine and a few wispy clouds playing hide and seek with the distant peaks. Crossing a small bridge over the Lakshman Ganga and entering the gates of the Valley of Flowers National Park in Uttranchal, one leaves behind the porters, the mules and the rush of pilgrims young and old. The path winds through a narrow gorge along the Pushpawati that merges downstream into the Laxman Ganga.

On either side are vertical rock walls rising 2000 ft described graphically by the explorer and mountaineer Frank Smythe in 1937. I reach the other end of the gorge, to a stunning view of green slopes climbing to rocky heights streaked with snow and partially hidden by clouds.

Emerging from the narrow gorge that remains in darkness most of the day, an alpine meadow begins to open up almost at right angles. The path suddenly disappears in a rock fall, but a helpful sign points the way over large boulders. The jagged mountain tops are in sharp focus as the sun comes out from behind the clouds – I miss my shades in the brilliant light. The path now turns due east. A helpful sign board gives directions and proclaims that we are at a height of 11,457 ft. The valley is visible in all its glory with the snow capped peak of Rataban (20,231 ft) at its head.

Flowers galore
Perhaps, spurred by the grandeur and loneliness of the place a thought lodges in my head — life may be a journey but there are some stations one must stop on the way. This place is certainly one of them. The gurgling of distant streams and the roar of closer waterfalls is ever present. I spot a beautiful red headed bird with predominantly pink and black colours – a Rosefinch.
Later, I look up Salim Ali – the Rosefinch breeds in the summer at 3000m and higher in the Himalayas and heads south in September. I replenish my water bottle from a stream with crystal clear water from the northern slopes of the valley. Further up on the path, I meet a person going the other way. “Nothing much to see ahead” is his unsolicited message.

Probably, he has been expecting something along the lines of a Lalbagh Flower show. Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder, I guess. The place is a veritable botanist’s paradise. There are hundreds of species crowding the valley floor with their exotic shapes and colours. I take close-up’s of a few flowers with my plain vanilla camera that I later identify with the  help of a plethora of online sources.
I have given myself time till noon, which would be five hours to walk outward before I turn back. The path leads to a rock on the banks of the Pushpawati from where the moraine at the head of the valley is visible. This is the perfect spot for lunch. I have also found a companion for the return journey and we have an easy walk back discovering the flowers and birds of the valley.

Clouds are fast descending down the peaks. At the park gate, I find out that 81 others have entered the park that day. It is 5 pm when we reach Ghangria. I stop at a bookshop and buy a copy of Frank Smythe’s 1937 classic ‘Valley of Flowers’. The 14 kms downward trek to the motor road at Govindghat the next morning is far easier. I mark every turn on the way down. I am sure I will be coming up this way again.