Jeff Fuchs' Tea and Mountain Journals

Expedition Update: Purple and the Pass

Posted on September 7, 2013 by JeffFuchs

Mornings, and particularly bad one’s can be down to simply being unable to shut off the mind the night before, or too much cold, maybe the tent location is off, or sometimes they can simply be down to an unknown. Waking below the Parang Pass I’ve got the somewhat deadly condition of an ugly mood with no apparent reason. With all of the excitement in me that is generated by mountain passes I’m confused. There is no reason for the mood…it simply is there, like the vapid grey above our valley. Sometime in the night a fog moved into my mind and simply installed itself like a piece of bad furniture. We’re all up and moving about well before seven as we’ve got a long day ahead. The intention is to make the pass and get well off of it and into the Parang Chu valley and set up camp, but the day will likely be at least nine hours.

Michael with cup number 1 of tea

I avoid everyone and know what I must do to ‘cure’ myself: double the morning tea intake and stay away from everyone as long as it takes to get the irritability whisked away. Normally I simply drift off without much worry but for whatever reason the engine was somehow short-cicuited. I have cakes with me of great tea and this morning I get into the Lao Banzhang – a special tea for special times. I sit as Michael chats about the morning and his excitement of the upcoming pass.

Preparations to depart with none other than Sadanand in the middle of things

We’ve done many of these mountain ascents together and I make no mention or word of my dangerous feelings of explosiveness in the fear that even whispering the feelings will somehow break a code, or ruin the first daylight hours when all is kind and anticipated. This feeling isn’t towards him or anyone in particular. It is simply like some sort of power has me by the throat and has lodged in the being. I simply sit and sip tea and eventually, the tea and my silence do their work and I begin to feel vague little shards of my ‘other me’. One worry too, and there is always this little mind-game going on is that if I don’t mention it and particularly to Michael – who knows my moods well – that he will simply pick up on it, and this will disturb him as well. I simply clam my mouth shut and pray that the tea’s potent stimulants that I crave will evaporate the murkiness and vague sense of edge.

Yawns sometimes do not help

These moments happen to all on the trail in slightly different ways and for slightly different reasons. What goes on in the minds of the team, no one really knows until it is spoken, or ‘if’ it is spoken. Michael has his moments, epic Sadanand also has them, and maybe even Karma – our resident sage – has them, though I seriously doubt he allows such trivial thoughts to enter his sanctum of a brain. Me, I simply refer to them as my ‘Hungarian Moments’. It is akin to having a relative over who doesn’t like to call or announce their arrival, nor can they quite keep a lid on their inhibitions or inappropriateness. You deal with them because you know that they will always show up and that they will hopefully always depart. The faster they disperse, the better, but there is nothing to keep them at bay really. When they show up they show up. This process of exorcising the dark tinges is always and has always been aided by tea, so I keep the sips ‘sipping’.

The day begins when we’re on the trail.

Breakfast is wolfed down by Michael, who has a remarkable ability to simply inhale calories within minutes of jumping out of bed. I take much more time and need tea to prompt the grumblings of hunger, while he can dig in with a vengeance with seconds notice. Breakfasts down, we deconstruct our camp and we are ready to head for the pass by shortly after 7 am.

My one sure thing every single morning: a 1 litre container of Puerh tea

Tashi lets me know out of the blue that he has not slept well. I look at him and he too seems to look like I felt when first waking up: as though our minds had been altered by some filter colour for the day and camp. There is no disguise for this as the eyes look like they might jump out of the sockets and the muscles of the face feel as though someone has moved them around under the skin. These moods or whatever they are, are better simply put behind us. “Trekking and climbing” (I’m sure someone has said before) “is a kind of meditation in itself”, and in time the dark will go with the pressing of the feet on stone.

Michael with his Zhang Lang tea from Jalamteas…his fix of choice.

Every morning without fail it is the same for me. Once the mules are loaded and we are packed I feel an exhilaration, and a kind of glorious triumph that the day has begun with movement and that our caravan of bodies (however moody, odd shaped or otherwise) has once again found its direction and that the neurons are firing. Movement is in many ways vindication for all things and thoughts.

Our little unit moves over the high arid zones

The day’s first hour or two do not go smoothly though. The loads on the mules’ backs need tightening, shifting, and the mules themselves need soothing. On ascents a load not perfectly secured will cause the animal pain, and grief as the weights wiggle their way to becoming looser still causing friction and sometimes sores upon the bodies of the mules. This drives the poor animals completely mad to the point where they will either bolt or simply stop and refuse to budge.

Fun in the hills: Karma tries to coax a mule over a raging stream

Descents are not such an issue, but when ascending on an angle the mules will practically curse you within minutes if all is not well upon their backs. In our case this morning three mules decide to go on a walkabout as if in rebellion. Karma, Kaku and Sadanand patiently tie and retie the loads. Sadanand’s eyes are little diamonds of fire and he isn’t pleased, grunting and looking particularly livid.

Mules are precious

After a few muttered threats from Sadanand at the mules, and a few returned muttered threats from the mules to Sadanand, all is well, and we begin to make good time. Ochre and taupe seem the colours of the season as the stone ridges, piled like layer cake where the subterranean techtonic shifts lifted them, surround us. The sky remains a stoic coloured mess of grey, and not even an interesting grey at that. The tea in my blood has taken over and Michael and I – as we often do – stride ahead of the caravan to wander at will at our own pace.

Even when the lands are flat, there are river crossings to deal with

Karma shows his worth again and again, with him and Tashi urging the mules to continue to move forward rather than lounge too long at grazing. One mule, a bit of a naughty piece of work I’ve christened simply as “Purple” has a routine that is both clever and maddening all at once, though the beast entertains me continuously.

It will veer off course to munch on these mighty thistles that grow sporadically along our route and then feign ignorance when whistled at or screamed at in frustration. Then, it will try to create pandemonium by nipping at the other mules as though trying to distract the other mules and somehow escape notice.. It is the chaos theory or agent-provocateur perfectly enacted and put into practice. Purple seems to take particular pleasure in winding up Sadanand, who takes the bait every single time, and drives him to near hysteria at times. Once Sadanand seems ready to burst a blood vessel in a rage because of Purple’s intransigence, only then will Purple – in a perfect vision of good behavior – move on in orderly conduct. I decide that this mule is a neurotic genius.

A last crossing before we make camp

Passes in the Himalayas are not things of macho indulgence. They are necessary entry points and exit points for zones. They are informal borders that mark a successful passage over a ridge of mountains onto another side which might be the equivalent of walking from one climate zone into another, so different can these ‘up and over’s’ be in. They are also numerous. Passes, summits, peaks…these aren’t places for long hushed moments of meditation, but rather they are places to be treated with a tad of mortal trepidation, they are to be inhaled in a few deep breaths, and then they are to be said farewell to. Indecision upon their backs doesn’t end well.

Michael and I atop Parang Pass

Our ascent up the nearly 5,600 metre pass is an exercise in breathing, in pace, and in the odd bit of wonder at what continually marks our passing. More than super human moments of effort the ascent is an act of ‘finding the ability to find the air’. A steady consistent pace, and a steady consistent breath, along with a discipline to avoid racing or stopping, is what makes it possible.

Getting off the pass in small steps

Shards of stone that split that miserable grey sky into sections mark the horizon like a series of gothic headstones. Winds tease with power before disappearing, leaving a surprising and rather depressing amount of dead-aired heat in the valleys that we make our way up. Sadanand is a man possessed, saying no to food or water and continuing to lead the mule team upwards. His pace – a hobbled grinding that is never ending – would annihilate many who tried to keep up.

Michael treats many of these ascents as personal tests as he pushes himself to move beyond limits and thresholds. Tashi is surprisingly strong and can keep pace with anyone, his short muscular legs churning through terrain.

Emptiness can be something of beauty

Around us the tight valleys give way and begin to open up, though the air stays a dull tone and nothing seems to move. One aspect that is often disconcerting to people when in the high mountains is the lack of ‘obvious’ life forms and the inability to properly judge distances. One senses that there is much life but that it chooses to remain locked in or hidden. Peaks that seem “just over there” might be twenty kilometres away.

The pass looks like a soft line that simply curves into the sky. The tight ‘V’ shape of the valley becomes a cup-shaped dome of open space, and I continually wonder and hope that the winds will begin to sing soon?

A glacier stream plunges on past us

They do start picking up, but only gently. Sadanand is his relentless self, grinding upwards in his green knit vest trudging in front of the mules. Bent and green, he has himself become a moving landmark for us and when he’s visible, all is well. Karma and Kaku pull up the rear and Tashi walks off to the side like an insurance policy. Michael is continuing his climb; this is the highest he will have ever been and therefore a kind of sacred passage for him and it is not lost on him. His breaths are deep but he is unrelenting. He will ascend! Here, it is worth noting that altitude has that ability to find the weak link in the body (and by extension the mind) and start to whittle away at it. I’ve known people to be reminded of an old injury that they had long forgotten. Joints, organs, blood and tissue all kneel down before altitude and its accompanying air-pressure systems that can bludgeon, depress, and make leaden in weight…but the heights can also stimulate like nothing else. Bodies react differently to its power.

Parang Pass doesn’t disappoint, for as we individually make the pass the winds begin to shriek and howl. Our path has been earth, dust, and stone thus far, but on the north-facing side a hardened crust of snow and ice carpets our descent. Finally, the white makes its appearance. A little celebrating from all of our team at the pass – including Sadanand who at long last dons another jacket…but not yet any boots – and we move off. There has long been a tradition that while a brief show of gratitude at such times is necessary, dallying and unnecessary celebrations are simply asking for trouble. The skies character can change in seconds and change the very world we occupy.

It is only when we break camp that we know most of the day is done. Purple stands in the foreground

A string of prayer flags snap in the winds, issuing out their song and piles of stones rest immobile, having been put up by successive waves of travelers, pilgrims, and wanderers. Passes carry few scars or signs of the centuries of use. It is the paths themselves that are most significant. The paths still exist, however vague.

The flags – little tributes of colour – and stone always move me, regardless of if I completely understand their meaning. I understand the idea and celebrate it…they are more than simply photographs. They are little icons and trinkets that contain the efforts of their makers.

Mules are sliding, skidding, righting themselves upright upon the snow-ice combination…it is the time of descent. Even with grey skies the ‘warmth’ and intensity of the light is biting. A glacier river off to our left, having burrowed its way through ice, gushes off to our left.

It will be another 3.5 hours before we camp. The pass has passed but like most passes leaves an impression embedded in the body and mind. It only takes minutes to cross but the feel is left inside. It is always the way with passes….

Entrances, exits, humps, delirious hurdles, sacrosanct windows…passes are all of these things, but they are never camps. Our own camp is a place of groans as we set up. Bodies are less supple and pliant than they should be. The day had taken a little more from us than usual and to provide a backdrop for this, black muscular clouds make their way from the pass towards us. Rain hits camp with a slap….

Posted in Explorations, Mountains | Tagged Expedition, Jeff Fuchs, Ladakh Exploration, Michael Kleinwort, mountain travel, Puerh tea, The route of wind and wool | 2 Comments

Expedition Update: An Epic Horseman

Posted on August 31, 2013 by JeffFuchs

Bandits and brigands who were ever creative would often strike not at or after the crossing of a pass but rather in the valleys leading to the great passes, where escape routes were numerous and sightlines blurred and blocked. Mountain Passes on the other hand were rarely used to stage such attacks. For so many reasons the passes are special: they are sacred, they are high, they are the dwelling places of deities, they host winds that rip and inspire, they are a small success on routes that were often beyond daunting.

The epic man in action securing a load. His was a face that brought a smile to us regularly.

Ladakh, who’s meaning is literally “Land of Passes” is a place where one has to travel over the mountains’ V-shaped passes. And for that we need a horseman…and we get one.

Sadanand had a way of convincing others to assist. Here we have our veggies loaded by a friend of Sadanand’s upon departure.

We now move as a team of six through one of these famed ‘valleys of thieves’ with Kaku, Karma, Tashi, Michael, myself and a hunched man of deep furrows and lines edging ever closer to the Parang La Pass. This man who is bent by years of mountains’ attentions wears a traditional Kullu wool cap and is, I think, perhaps a minor version of the ‘toughest man in the world’. At of 65 our horseman seems like someone who should be resting, but instead he wears a pair of white Croc sandals, woolen socks, pants, two pairs of long underwear, grunts an unending stream of unintelligible garble (no one fully understands his words) and uses the layering system I’m familiar with for his torso.

Wool…a commodity like few others. Only salt and tea can claim such ‘fame’ along the trade routes.

A hand-woven woolen vest of turquoise, a shirt, and under that two more long-sleeved shirts. He is a small package of indestructibility who has a slightly reckless look about him…apart from an immaculately kept thin moustache above his lip. In short, he is perfection. He wouldn’t be out of place in a dozen countries in the world, so powerful is his universality to me and it is these kinds of characters that add immeasurably to a journey.

A descent that needed every second of attention as we plunged down…and further down. The mules, led by our man Sadanand were inspiring.

Our mules have grunted and farted their way down a tight series of switchbacks and now we’re in a gorge that roars with yet another glacial river. We’ve had to cross, re-cross, and cross again as the swollen waters have eaten their way up the valley walls and swallowed the pathways. There simply aren’t alternatives to making it through the waters other than getting wet.

At his best…Sadanand going on about some ancient tale of the mountains.

So, with a particularly risky crossing in front of us, our horseman, Sadanand (we called him both Sadanand and Salman) sits down, strips off his pants and long-johns and gets down into his skivvies without a moment of consideration. His woolen socks and Crocs remain on and he commences his crossing. Earlier I had asked him about when he’d put his boots on and he responded in his grunting broken English “When we get to the snow”. The word “awesome” gets thrown around in my opinion where it often doesn’t belong…but this man of iron fully reserves the right to be termed “awesome”. He is a rare commodity.

The senses must contend with paying attention to every metre of rock below the feet, and the stunning sights that assault from every angle

Leading his favored mule first, old Sadanand pushes through the ice-cold currents with no hesitation. His short legs are hairless, powerful and bowlegged, but this combination seems to have created wonderfully powerful little engine that propels him through anything. Michael in seconds is grimacing and screaming that his feet were numb while our horseman seems singularly immune. The water is at a temperature that makes me wonder how it isn’t frozen. It bludgeons the bones of the feet and at times seems as though it is going to pulverize the very nerve endings in the lower legs. Meanwhile Sadanand and his ancient legs simply burrow forward. Using a series of whistles, screams, and bellows he urges the mules to follow. They seemed to hesitate but eventually decide that the old grizzled warrior who led them was also the man who’d be most likely to feed them at the end of the day. Mind you, he isn’t adverse to slapping the mules right on the snout when needed with a few words of abuse added on for extra colour.

One of Sadanand's classic 'looks'...never without a hint of a smile

One of Sadanand’s classic ‘looks’…best with a hint of a smile

Our team has carefully moved, hopped, and edged through the valley and it is here, deep beneath the pass to the north of us that bandits struck regularly. While the fear of bandits has dissipated the risks of weather haven’t. Flash floods that streak and pummel their way down would annihilate us in seconds, landslides would snap and cut down a caravan with horrifying results, but the days of human intervention are no more. Bandits were as much a part of the trade routes as the mules themselves but now only the environment and the elements remain to flex their very significant muscles.

Some of the snouts of our mules that patiently endured Sadanand…and us

Sadanand and Tashi have an oddly wonderful relationship, which develops daily in tiny bursts. Tashi usually looks for options that are considered and practical when traveling, whereas in a seemingly bizarre reversal of “the older one gets the more logical one becomes’, Sadanand usually goes with the first or most direct option, which is often a risk-ridden choice. We’ve realized that he doesn’t like being told anything if it is said in the wrong tone. Tashi though is a master of soft-spoken logic and usually can convince Sadanand with soft coo’s and a minimum of fuss. I say usually because there are still times when our grizzled horseman isn’t to be convinced of other’s words and he simply marches off to the bemused appreciation of the rest of the team.

Sadanand strips down…

Horseman I’ve noticed over the years, are quixotic blends of toughness, insecurity, and wonderful abilities who don’t need much, but they absolutely do need respect and the odd pat on the back lest they feel taken for granted. They are however, one of the vital components still of travel through the mountains. The are the first up, the last to eat, usually lonely to a degree (unless they can sing all night), and do not like being questioned on “why” they’ve decided to go a particular route or travel at a particular speed.

An ice-cold dip as we head upstream

Sadanand comes from an area known for traders and horseman called Kinnaur, yet another valley with its own history of routes. He has been working in the mountains, he tells us for 52 years, since he was a young boy. He’s also developed a way of communicating with his ‘minions’. Gruff and seemingly abusive to the mules, he actually is far more gentle than he’d like anyone to believe. He often talks to the various mules individually and there are times where I sense in them a kind of gentle tolerance to this man whose arms and abilities might not be quite what they once were. When he ties the loads the mules often look back at him with a kind of dismay as though asking him “is that as tight as you can manage”?

Another plunging descent

Sadanand has gotten into the habit of using Karma and Kaku to assist in the tying…and in everything else. One morning of note, we awake to find the mules gone. They’d left to find other grazing during the night. Sadanand’s line face smoldered briefly as he swore into the winds and pulled his over-sized pants on. His little hunched figure ploughing off into the winds stayed in the mind, while the rest of us inhaled more tea and spared a thought for him…and for the mules when Sadanand finds them.

We’ve doubled our daily travel distances in an effort to maximize time but for all of desires to push forward, the ultimate decision makers are the 6 four-legged mules. Our camps must have grazing for them and there are no forces around that can change this fact. Sadanand has an important role in our decision making as well. As much as we’d love to make entirely selfish decisions, the concept of a ‘team’ is sacrosanct. He and the mules are as vital to our journey as any.

Some of nature’s reckless and impulsive beauty thrown in

Trade items, which included items far beyond simply wool, salt, and tea, passed through these very valleys. As one trader we had met clarified, “Anything that was needed was traded using the barter system. Luxury items were not important. What was important was what was needed”. He emphasized the success of the barter system and the need for honour amongst trading parties.

Barley, wheat, horses, and leather goods were sent north to the Chantang area which is a vast region spanning India’s northern Himalaya region and east into the grand expanses of the nomads in Tibet. Salt and wool would come south. Pashmina (known locally as lèna), and salt from the high mountain salt lakes were the main commodities coming off of the Tibetan Plateau.

There are often times during our trek days when I simply stare at the pathways that are still visible but rarely used, and wonder at what has come before us. Hooves moving with loads of goods, but also ideas, DNA, news, and trends passed to and fro.

Camp before the Parang Pass is made upon a small and very temporary island. I wonder at the wisdom of camping upon a swath of land that in milliseconds could be flooded in a wave of ice water from above. There is little choice though as unless we are prepared to add another four hours of trekking to the next acceptable camp for the mules.

That evening we’re treated to Sadanand’s off-tune hymns and a rather brutal case of gas that he’s acquired. We hope its nothing permanent, for a number of reasons as we all have a long ascent tomorrow and don’t wish to be downwind of an ailing and flatulent Sadanand.

A fitting end to a day

Posted in Explorations, Mountains | Tagged Himalayan Expedition, Himalayan travel, Horseman, India Himalaya, Jeff Fuchs, Parangla, The route of wind and wool | Comments Off

Expedition Update: Spiti, The Middle Land

Posted on August 29, 2013 by JeffFuchs

Suresh and his power are gone. We have come out of the Chandra River Valley and climbed up and over and into the Spiti Valley…known to locals simply as the ‘Piti’ Valley or ‘Middle Land’. As significant Suresh’s powers are, he has gone home and his responsibilities have gone to Dharma, who seems to thrive in his role as leader almost surprisingly. The Spiti Valley is the home to Dharma and his ancestors, where his native tongue and knowledge can come to the fore. He is awkward about this newfound power but is humble wrapped in its cape.

Time with Suresh. From left: myself, Suresh, and Kaku (resting)

The Chandra Valley and its outrageously beautiful silences of stone and wind have given way to villages and green life. Mortals – beyond our team – have made their way into our lives as well and Tibetan, Balti, Dard and other features have come together just have the confluence of rivers and valleys. It is a sumptuous place of reckless beauty and DNA and we lap it up in big heaving breaths.

Dharma sipping tea. Temporarily at least, he is the new ‘leader’

Our porter team too has left to go back to Manali to pick apples. Their season for carrying in the high mountains is shortly coming to an end, and they will head back to Nepal to rest for the winter months.

Porter Power. Left to Right: "Shoulders", "Leader", and "Mountain"...and myself. Honoured to have had a fearsome team in the mountains

Porter Power. Left to Right: “Shoulders”, “Leader”, and my man “Mountain”…and myself. Honoured to have had a fearsome team in the mountains

First order of business for us is sorting out permits. If travel were only so simple as to dream a little, pack a bag and see what happens! The tiny colouful village of Losar with its tea shop, police station and celebration of a newborn plays out in front of us within minutes of arriving in a change from stoic mountain scenes to something frenetic and alive.

We enter the Spiti Valley. Here, the wonderful little town of Losar…where everything is happening at once

We are back amidst moving life. Within two minutes of ordering tea, relatives of Dharma’s sit across from us and start up chatting. In a town of a few dozen homes word gets out and Dharma’s presence brings joy. Dharma glows…he is home! His sharp handsome features have become somehow boyish. Spiti and nearby Kinnaur have always literally and figuratively rested in the shadows of the more well known Ladakh to the north but trade and traders buzzed here too. Quiet valleys that themselves needed supplies and luxuries sent their own teams north, west, and east.

Habits die hard for shepherds who’ve no one to love but their herds. Here an old fashioned hooka…one that is used

The Spiti Valley is a departure point for us to head north by caravan to the great lake in the sky, Tso Moriri. Trade items made their way into and out of Spiti via the 5,500 metre Parang Pass. Throughout the lands of trade and amidst the traders, Parang was renowned for being both a brutal test of will and a thing of almost schizophrenic moods. Blizzards, gaping blue skies, winds that peeled skin off, and all sorts of tales were told of the big pass. Michael and I are like pointers with our noses pointed northwards at the pass waiting to leave. Passes for me have long been as wondrous and sacred as summits as they were the vital conduits to other worlds.

One of those moments that stops all things…a face that melts all in its path. A little Tibetan girl listens to a live music performance

Kaza, the ‘capital’, however unofficial, is a dusty hub with generators running most hours of the day, though the centre of town has living beating hub, where greetings are sprayed everywhere by everyone.

Solar Charging amidst the mountains

The language of choice is a mixed range that Dharma simply calls ‘Spiti language’ or ‘Buddhist language’ which takes and extracts from Tibetan, Ladakhi, Hindi, and some other tongues thrown in. Trade had much to do with shaping this portion of geography and in some ways trade and its delivery of culture, news, and goods shaped all of the cultural Himalayas, which lay in valleys or upon plateaus. It is this essence that I’ve come for: to trace these cultural routes, which just happen to pass through some of the planet’s most grueling and thrilling geography. Spiti Valley and Tibet have traditionally had much contact with trade, migrants, and travelers finding the journeys east and west simple and comforting. Much Tibetan influence remains though the nearby borders are still rife with tension as China and India continue a long tradition of agreeing to disagree.

The Kyi Monastery in the Spiti Valley

It is here in Spiti too that we meet our latest ‘lead guide’. Following Suresh’s almost flamboyant displays of leadership, this latest guide who I’ve heard much about, seems almost meek. Tashi’s parents were traders as were his grandparents and his small round body belie fierce strength and resolve, but at first this isn’t at all evident. His monotone is steady and he takes time to answer questions, which is rare.

A fun ride zip-lining 110 metres above a river gorge. We needed to cross to meet and interview an old trader.

He is considered and eloquent and doesn’t mind imparting news that isn’t to our liking. One other thing he has going for him is the obvious affection that Karma, my resident and very unofficial life councilor, seems to have for him. They sit for hours chatting over tea and even Kaku’s handsome wide-boned features soften.

A local in full costume that was passed down from his parents' parents. Versace, take warning....

A local of the Spiti Valley in full costume that was passed down from his parents’ parents. Versace, take warning….

The land we’re heading into is the land of the sheep, the goat, and the snow leopard. The snow leopards are remaining with us (at least in the mind), as the regions we are travelling through are theirs. They are seen as only half of this world by locals…private drifters with potent enough power to kill anything cleanly. Phantoms of refined, rapid, and exquisite skills, they are described with a kind of reverence and agitation that only truly special beings are. There are times when I wonder if they’re not far above us in the crags at times measuring our passing down below their perches.

Michael and I share a moment of “What”????

However, leopards aside, we are about to meet another kind of refined being shortly, though we have no warning of his coming into our lives…Sadanand will hobble (as he limps with some long ago sustained injury or miserable twist of fate) into our specter as a short, lined, and callused man of 65 who literally has the look of indestructible leather about him. He is our horseman for the coming section and his aura will loom large for the remainder of the trip and I suspect way beyond. What, after all, is an epic trip, without epic characters?

Posted in Explorations, Mountains | Tagged Himalayan Expeditions, Himalayan travel, India Himalaya, Jeff Fuchs, Jeff Fuchs Exploration, Michael Kleinwort, Spiti Valley, The route of wind and wool | 2 Comments

Expedition Update: The Glacier’s Breath

Posted on August 28, 2013 by JeffFuchs

Karma has gotten into the habit of preparing popcorn for us at night. We’re not sure when it began but it is welcome and it always comes as an ‘appetizer’. He has (as all characters in life do) begun revealing himself in small increments. His tent, which is always first to be erected is a kind of sanctum and worshipping centre for his abilities. Upon ‘his’ tent being erected, he quickly – regardless of temperatures – whips off his pants and dons a pair of long striped shorts, which are effectively his work clothes. Then he begins his nightly culinary meditations sitting cross-legged and issuing out soft instructions in bare feet. Even the mighty Suresh is sent on errands, which he attends to. In the camp set-up time, I come to refer to these moments as ‘Karma Time’. He doesn’t bask in any spotlight but he is very aware of every aspect of his little kingdom. He is the one person who, when speaking, is entirely listened to. His power only seems more complete when it is considered that ‘his’ tent – the kitchen tent – is also the sleeping quarters for himself, Kaku, Suresh, and Dharma.

Remarkable and at times inscrutable: Karma at work (left) in ‘his’ tent with loyal Kaku aiding

Outside of the world of Karma’s lentils, rice, popcorn and magic the world around us is one that keeps the mind working and often silent for extended periods. Not even the moon in its nocturnal glory can distract from the ice and its erratic pathways down. Ice has carved, shaved, and scrubbed this landscape so completely it seems a kind of workshop or salon for its abilities. And it has been doing so for a long time.

The ice breathes upon the glacier

We have days to spend in this valley of ice, using the base-camp to return to as we use our time to look at ice, wonder about it, and push further up the valley further into it. It allows the team to rest while Michael and I wander at will with Suresh and Dharma joining us. Camps are like envelopes. They are not much but they contain, host and provide a shelter, however simple. There is a feeling of glee that the valley and its mass of ice-affected terrain are there for our senses to take in.

Dharma ‘the phantom’ and his new-look to protect against the sun

We’ve deliberately inundated ourselves with supplies so that we can determine and customize how much time we have in each location. We want what I always want when engaged with the mountains: autonomy and time. Our porters, who are all from Nepal are enjoying being in camp and not having to move.

The 'leader' of our porters gives one of those camp smiles that tells you all is right with the team. When he pouted, we knew there could be an issue

The ‘leader’ of our porters gives one of those smiles that tells you all is right with the team. When he pouted, we knew there could be an issue. Keeping the team happy is always a ‘crucial’.

Their salaries here are higher than they would make back home and in a way I am happy seeing them relax and cut eachother’s hair, change, and wash clothes in the frigid streams. Amongst them there are three absolute titans: one who looks the role with broad shoulders and powerful legs, another who is the leader and is always smiling and the last (a man I refer to simply as ‘mountain’) who is wire-thin and a man whose ability to haul huge loads and carry them fast is nothing short of remarkable.

A valley of ice and stone offers up one of the mountain’s gifts for the senses

I’ve long admired mountain peoples’ unthinking abilities in the arts of movement and strength. There was another level that they occupied in the pantheon of power. This particular gentleman whose name was Daku and his abilities and his threshold to deal with balance, pain, and strain move me. To add to it all, he is one of the most social of the porters who is always there for everyone, regardless of his state. He is always too, the first one to camp on long trek days.

Dharma looks down into a crevasse that had literally formed and opened up in the four hours since we had passed it in the morning

Nights are filled – though I remain contentedly ignorant due to oro-pax in my ears – with the groans, cracks and spilling sounds of ice and rock. The world around us is in a state of flux day and night, converting from solids to fluids and recreating itself because of heat. Walls of ice 25 metres high split the valley diagonally into a kind of maze. Ice tunnels ripple as they deepen with water gushing through them, while daunting crevasses literally shudder and gape while we watch.

Massive and inviting, an ice-tunnel digs deep beneath the glaciers above it

What is a stable route one morning will have become a lethal death hole by our afternoon’s return. Beauty here is in a state of perpetual change, and change here comes in a number of lethal and wonderful forms. Michael and I are both using solar chargers and there is sun a plenty to keep all of our intrusive but necessary equipment charged up. That orb of light though can only shoot into our valley for a few hours a day but when it does it steams in with a vengeance.

One of the great dangers upon the glacier is the penchant for crevasses to simply yawn open…and swallow up whatever might be lurking above

There is never enough time in these places and that is their challenge. It all beckons for one to stay longer and take more in. The valley that charts a course further beckons, the mountains in every single direction beckon, and of course the mind and body in turn beckon. High above our camp…Michael knows the altitude and time it took to get there, calories burned, etc…we come to what is simply a massive diagonal wall of ice.

One of the massive walls of ice that erupts out of the floor beneath us

The difference is that it is the height of a small apartment complex shorn and covered in dirty ice, and cuts our entire valley into sections. It is so complete and large that it literally divides our world into two parts. Compressed into perfection it leaks rivulets of water that make sounds as they plunge down the wall. Soft sounds but they rarely cease and this megalith of ice before us next year will be considerably smaller than it is now. Suresh, powerful in his own way, respects and fears these walks we take along the ice, at one point saying “We cannot play too long on this floor”.

The camp within the breath of the ice

The “floor” he refers to is the ice below our feet. He in his own way believes in the fates’ and nature’s powers surpassing his own. I like this aspect about him: regardless of his own feelings of strength, he is able to immediately see the folly in underestimating one single aspect of the mountains and these glaciers’ moods. Dharma is his phantom self, disappearing amidst the ice and stone sculptures and reappearing looking as though he has been hunting. I’ve learned to not worry about Dharma in his absences as he is, in his lithe and competent way, part of the very earth we walk. His eyes never rest and he’s now donning a kerchief around his head to ward off the sun with only his dark smoldering eyes visible.

I enjoy a rare wash, which was as startling as it was enjoyable

I enjoy watching our team members as each one of them is becoming less conscious of Michael and I and more prone to being what I imagine to be more purely ‘themselves’. Dharma and Suresh offer up a contrast that only real-life can. Suresh is easy in his power and suggestions, while Dharma is more hesitant and curious – great teams always do have these ‘conflicting strengths’, which reinforce balance. Dharma has our lunch stored in his bag and we sit on a giant patch of dirty moraine and take in spiced rice, lentils, and some curried cauliflower. Amidst ice we take in Karma’s minute masterpieces. One massive ice block, only visible from our tent is now accessible. It is a great swath of ice that comes from high above in a two-kilometre wide tongue.

Breaking camp under Suresh’s supervision – not surprisingly – goes remarkably smoothly

Upon it, boulders sit paralyzed. It is ominous and utterly beautiful. Across its great width melt-water streams in turquoise paths. Everything from mere trickles to torrents sweep down and it feels like the entire mountain is being funneled through these little channels of water. Traipsing along boulders that are held – no, welded – together by ice, we have a near mishap. Furious sun rays work at melting the ice every single day. I wonder at times if the thick ice fields will even make it through the year, so relentless are the rays from above. Sun has obviously eroded the boulder’s ice base and as Michael lands on a patch there is the sickening sound from beneath his feet of rocks giving way. There is always a split second where reactions kick in, a little luck takes hold (or doesn’t) before the results are in. Michael catches himself just as another boulder loosens and he must once again catch himself, which he does, and then we all simply wait saying nothing. It is a time when the subject usually doesn’t want to hear – nor utter – a word. A fall would crack bones, shattering our journey in a few brief uncaring moments.

A kind of reoccurring fantasy of mine from days earlier…a foot wash

Michael takes a few breaths and simply nods. We move on. It is an understated fact of life in the mountains that it is often the ‘little’ things that do the most damage. Around us, massive slabs of rock and ice pay us little mind. They could plunge down and crush us…or they may simply stay where they are for a few more months before crashing down with no one to hear.. They will continue on heaving in their big breaths of ice and air for as long as their base of ice holds. Their ‘health’, if one chooses to use that word appears to be that of intense and spectacular change. Locals agree, and it is again Suresh that sums up this speed of change so concisely saying, “The mountains that I know as white, my children will only know as grey or brown”.

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged Himalayan trade routes, India Himalaya, Jeff Fuchs, Ladakh expedition, Ladakh travel, The route of wind and wool | Comments Off

Expedition Update: The Ice Cometh and Porter Power

Posted on August 21, 2013 by JeffFuchs

Chandra River Valley

Mountain smiles are best. In the middle of literally nothing a small tea shop run by this woman selling goods to those thirsty, lost, broken down, or simply on a walk-about.

To fuel and propel our team we’ve had to enlist another team. Seven Nepali porters await us in this valley of the Chandra River. They wait in flip flops looking gentle but being tough beyond most concepts of the word.

Kaku in his habitual mountain ‘look’: a kerchief tied over his baseball cap. On the right stands Karma as we have an impromptu meeting about supplies

Gentle faces, supine legs and a kind of raw power courses through them. Their work is thankless, hellish stuff at times but they have eachother and they demand respect. Suresh is everywhere at once showing a talent for starting many projects without necessarily completing them. It is his ability though to command and initiate which radiates: it is his gift.

Two Powers: The force of nature that is Suresh within the natural power of the Chandra River Valley

Our routing is to cut back over the Chandra River and head west towards the Bara Shigiri glacier along a wind blown valley floor. As much as this journey is about the shepherds and trade routes, it too is a special opportunity to witness first hand one of the barometers of mountain health: glaciers. The Bara Shigiri is close to 30 km’s long and weaves amidst peaks of white. It doesn’t simply rest within the valley…it is the valley and every single thing pays homage to it. It is off the grid for all but climbers and the entrance to its curving, moraine-covered length is via a treacherous series of shale-pebble-boulder blankets. Here, paths are not paths but rather hints.

Moving through the winds. Myself and Michael take our own routes

We start out as a line of bodies, each with its own load, its own thoughts, and its own pace. Suresh leads while Dharma hovers like a shadow off to a side of our bodies in motion. He is a gazelle, taking in strides with smooth steps needing not an instant to figure out how to negotiate streams or other natural barriers.

Two of our porters methodically make their way up and through a world of rock

A worn shepherd with lines of sun and wind and wrapped in wools marks our passing with a smile. Along the valley, stone huts – the shepherd’s camps – are the only structures. Often alone, these men and their dogs keep vigil over their sheep and goats for the precious couple of summer. Precious wools around the globe can find their origins in these valleys of shuddering natural forces….amid stone, wind, and scant vegetation.

Shepherd Wisdom: The elements rule so learn to bend…and don’t forget the odd magnificent smile

Hitting a glacial stream emptying its cloudy glacier waters into the Chandra, we must zip-line over the powerful currents. Suresh tells me the tale of one recent man who had decided to forgo the zip-line and try his balance; he was swept away and drown. Whether he is warning me to listen or simply passing on gossipy news I don’t know but this bit of information is delivered with typical Suresh force.

Michael makes in across intact

It takes over an hour to get supplies, bodies, and minds over the swill of water and rock. We have that gift of time though, and keeping all beings content and safe is part of any wise long-term strategy. The commodity of ‘time’ in the mountains is the golden gift. When you have time you have possibilities and you have time to consider options.

Karma seems a face and spirit that I continually look to for gauging all things. Suresh is the dominant force, and Kaku and Dharma are loping figures of strength and agility but Karma is somehow the fulcrum and center-piece of it all. He is unafraid of assisting with anything and is competent and strong in all elements, without making a fuss of anything. He is smooth water. It is he with the power and I think that he does in fact know it.

Karma (right) and Dharma (left) have a look…it was inevitably Karma’s decision on most things though he knew well enough how to not seize leadership overtly

The breadth of space here and its width make judging any distances difficult so there is an understanding immediately that any kind of real control is automatically assigned to the natural world. We will simply react. We trudge along having spaced out into small figures and there is no longer in any discernable line. Kaku stays close to Karma as though he too needs the wise one’s guidance. We all have our thoughts, lack of thoughts, and this glory around us and we are to some degree in little shells. Once in a while our bodies convene and chat, informing and listening and then break off to be alone. It is one way of assessing mountain people…they listen. We have eachother as well, though we are dispersed over a space of two kilometres. Winds shimmy, recede and then return with a vengeance. Michael is off on his own, deep in thoughts as he inevitably is on long grinding hauls. I suck in winds that carry the tang of snow content to feel the impact of them as they drive into me.

What ends up encasing us on either side…peaks that themselves are encased in white

An absence of visible life around us isn’t quite accurate as where there are goats and sheep there will be the elusive master predator, the wolf, nearby. Snow leopards too also occasionally remind locals that they are around with a masterpiece kill, before they head back to their ghost-lands of the heights.

Glaciers run like dribble down valleys in every direction and we are covering an ever-widening swath. Our valleys are immense and they do feel like ours…or theirs-whoever ‘they’ might be. Powers, four legged animals, spirits, or simply the frozen water particles that glimmer and melt whatever is up there must look down upon us with a smile. There is the impression that everything is above us looking down at us somehow, though we are at four-thousand metres.

Where glaciers still rule…

The long tongue of the Bara Shigiri glacier finally rises up before us though we take a day and night to get there. Streams provide our water, imperturbable Karma providing lentils and rice and a succulent pile of treats from his ‘kitchen chest’. We have food for two weeks with us as we will wander at will and where we wander, our food supply too will wander. Autonomy, that ancient concept of old is at once both a natural fit and entirely necessary for this tracing of landscapes and memories.

Mid-flight….

The valley of Bara Shigiri is immense and it is dry. Sounds of streams deep within the ice below us emerge through gaping crevasses and rocks tumble from high above as their ice shelves melt away. As much as sun is an enemy of sorts, it is the lack of precipitation that is seeing an ever-quickening of ice melt away. A shepherd we have met says that he now sees mountains as dark where as there was a time when the mountains were only white. The snows are disappearing and the ice is melting. Groans are heard and things change – we’ve arrived to the empire where the cousins of stone and ice rule in harmony.

Our porters have powered up to a base-camp of sorts where we’ll rest at 4,600 metres. Our resting point is lodged between rock slops, clear ice-covered slopes and a clay wall which seems to be disintegrating before our very eyes.

Basecamp 1 in Bara Shigiri at 4600 metres

Setting up camp follows the same ritual every day. First the unloading, then the kitchen tent – Karma’s magical abode – goes up and then and only then do other camp items get sorted up. Water is boiled for our inevitable thirst for tea.

As we set up our tent a series of black mountain clouds race in disturbing the sun’s rays, before racing off again. They are merely reminding us that they are there.

Posted in Explorations, Mountains | Tagged Bara Shigiri Glacier, Chandra River, Himalayan Expedition, Himalayan travel, Jeff Fuchs, Jeff Fuchs expedition, Michael Kleinwort, The route of wind and wool | 1 Comment

Expedition Update: Faces of the Mountains – A Team Convenes

Posted on August 21, 2013 by JeffFuchs

Manali

Assembling a team that is about to enter into the mountains for a prolonged period of time is part art, part availability, part luck…and perhaps some providence. We have known our team’s names and that they have worked together before. Some times this is enough. Together they have weathered snow passes, eaten in blizzard ravaged tents, and just walked underneath the great skies. It is as much about the little things as it is the big, so the meeting of a team is always something curious. It is a time to imagine how things might work and how the pieces might fit…or not.

A doorway in Old Manali adorned for worship. Colour, smells, and sounds with meaning

Our informal ‘meeting’ of our team lasts 30 minutes in Manali and is helped along by a sipping of tea – me sipping really – at a round table while we all briefly introduce ourselves and while Michael and I explain our motives for being on this journey. There are head nods but I know that their own personalities will come out when it matters most or they may not come out at all.

Happily, a guest house I stayed at over ten years ago in Manali’s Old Town remains intact with its original owners

Karma our cook is calm personified with features that remind me of the formidable Khampas of eastern Tibet (it turns out he is of Khampa blood). It is his calm that is in every movement and nod that brings with it a sense that he is entirely good for this journey. His manners assure me as does a kind of ability to keep himself inward. This is – in my eyes at least – a true strength. High-strung bulls are always necessary, but there must always be calm energy forces on mountain teams.

Having a sip of the local kind of tea: milk, powerful amounts of sugar and tea of the black variety…with a touch of cinnamon

Cooks have long been in my books as the linchpins of expeditions. They calm and tend with care, warmth, and competence…or they don’t. If they don’t, a day (or days) can unwind in short order. A stroke of impetuous genius with a meal on the road can wipe a brutal day from the mind and put the stomach to bed with a smile. The feet and stomachs are the portions that need to be happy on mountain journeys I’ve found and if they are in rebellion one’s days are in peril.

Group photos before departures…to see how we all looked then, when we didn’t ‘quite’ know one another. Left to right: myself, Geza, Dharma, Michael, Suresh, Kaku, and the indomitable Karma. Game faces are ‘on’

Kaku is a sharp-eyed handsome man-boy who will be the “do-everything” character on the team. Lean with low-slung baggy jeans, and a baseball cap, Kaku has eyes that never rest, as though somehow movement and action settle him. His hands are clasped in front of him the entire time and he often looks to Karma as though somehow making sure he is correct in all things. Both he and Karma will be with us for the next month every single day.

Details matter…an ancient clay stove in the old town awaits some action

Suresh is our mountain man. Big and handsome with an immaculately trimmed beard, it is he who is the alpha male. He isn’t at all worried about showing it either Even as Michael and I meet him for the first time, Suresh emanates power and authority and he is unafraid of letting his paunch poke out of his shirt. He is a man who is unable to rest still, and when he speaks he must make an attempt to keep his tone down as he splays his arms wide to emphasize everything. He is a man who takes big bites out of life, and I suspect, who’s had big bites taken out of him. Such are leaders. Suresh will be with us for the first segment of our journey only.

Statements on T-shirts matter: never quite figured this one out but loved it

The fourth of the team is a long lean gazelle of a man whose features perfectly describe the mixed DNA of the region. Desert eyes, a beautiful nose and cheekbones and a long hunter’s body make Dharma a bit of an enigma. He strikes me as someone who’s likely to be a kind of point man wandering off into the distance alone.

Suresh (right) and Kaku (middle) negotiate for liquid sugar…the sale didn’t happen

It is a team that reflects the vibrancy of cultures that trade and mountain corridors brought together. Manali in its present incarnation is our departure point and mini-logistics hub but it will soon be a place of the past.

This expedition, like any, is a route plotted to follow the trail of pashmina, wool, salt, and gems in this northern portion of sub-Himalayas stretching into the high Himalayas. Like any ‘route’ in the mountains, there isn’t in fact one definitive route but rather a series of pathways that buzz off into the heights, over the snow passes, wandering through every corridor and along every waterway. Speaking to five people of these lands will bring five passionate pleas to take “that route”, see “that person”, or “head over those passes”. We’ve come up with a route that will take in some of the more remote routes

A little bit of Manali’s charm from the old town

Heading north out of Manali, which long served as a collector point for gems and trading families, we’ll enter the remote wind-blasted Chandra River Valley where glaciers and ancient shepherds await.

Suresh signs off our meeting with one of those impromptu mountain comments I’ve come to love, “tomorrow we’ll see how the mountains are”.

Where we head – up

Posted in Explorations, Mountains | Tagged Himalayan trade routes, Himalayas, Jeff Fuchs, Ladakh travel, Manali, The route of wind and wool, Wool Trade | Comments Off

Expedition ‘The Route of Wind and Wool’ – Getting There

Posted on August 1, 2013 by JeffFuchs

A trader once said that there was no point thinking too much about how one would spend his money when he was only half way to his destination to trade. Too much could happen, the fates could decide an alternative ending, or sometimes simply the sense of expectation could destroy a dream before it arrived.

At Hong Kong’s brilliant terminal 1 with lots of colour…onwards. Thanks Edna

This trader was a veteran of Himalayan travel and trade and knew well that the world of mountains had much variety and that nothing was entirely certain until it was in the past. Mountains after all are for many, the origin of all life, and no origin of all life could possibly be a ‘simple’ place. Those traders always had words that somehow summed up all in a moment.

A trader named Nyma whose quotes continue to inspire

So, with that in mind, after a 5 hour flight from Hong Kong, a three hour sleep in Delhi and then a 7 am departure by train from Delhi’s train station for Chandigarh.

Michael with about 8 hours sleep in 48 hours of running, at the Delhi train station

Michael and I have in fact arrived to our prime point of departure, Manali, which sits in the alpine grace of the Himalayan foothills. At Chandigarh the thick powerful Raju and the smiling driver Dav retrieved us for the 9 hour drive to Manali.

No one does colourful chaos like India. A world that moves and shifts without end. Delhi’s train station

Monsoon rains would come and then disappear with every bend in the road and the roads (once we hit Himachal Pradesh) become unchanged in the nearly ten years it has been since I’ve been on this road of holes, of teahouses, of cripples and of vibrancy.

The nearby destructive rains that have flooded and killed so many this year further east of us here have managed to swell the rivers, including the Sutlej to massive widths and steaming power. Rains are one of our concerns as it is still the Monsoon season and while the greens of the hillsides take the breath with their lush potency, rain in mountains carries with it the risk of landslides, flooding and route closures.

Rain turns the world cool, slick, and slippery

Altitude brings with it changes in the features on people’s faces, it brings some respite from the heat and it brings a huge relief that we are in fact arriving. Yes, the bodies ache from travel and the eyes fill up with groggy swelling but we do get a wonderful rush of what I like to refer to as ‘peace’.

Some well needed moments of catch-up sleep

Reports tell us that our intended route bearing towards Batal is clear and relatively dry, though neither of us are particularly worried – nor impressed – as in the words of that trader I mentioned, so much can happen. We are intact, our gear is intact, and the minds are clear and content. For now that is enough.

Hill towns and the ‘hill-people’ energy, regardless of their location in the Himalayas carry a sense of similar – both literally and figuratively – DNA and somehow they envelop you. It is as though by simply reaching them, one has reached the energies that protect all places of the heights. Where we are now is a kind of crucible of valleys, trade paths and wandering little strands that disappear to villages…and deeper north into the mountains.

Manali awaits

We have one piece of news that though not unexpected, confirms the inevitable: we will not have access to 3G or connectivity for much of our 30 + day journey. Satellite phones in the region are forbidden and we’ll simply have to abide and enjoy a world without wires, which in many ways gives a bit of joy and reminds us that delicious sense of being where we should be: ‘away’.

And finally yes, some time for tea which will always bring a smile to me

Our alpine style rooms over look the valley which is steeped in black and coloured lights and when morning does decide to come, a snow pass and mountain will be there for the senses to contemplate while taking a tea.

We order a last tea and sit on a veranda with sounds of night and still air hosting the backdrop and tuck into a last meal of local mushrooms, lentils and rice.

An ‘arrival dinner’…sometimes the best kind

We will try posting while we can but it is an inevitability that we will collect our tales and unleash them when we are back amidst the world of wires. For now we simply enjoy a bit of time in Manali, sip some tea, go over our gear list, and indulge in lentils.

Somewhere out in Manali’s night air a soft bell of worship rings.

Posted in Explorations, Mountains | Tagged Expedition, Himalayan travel, Himalayas, India travel, Indian Himalayas, Jeff Fuchs, Michael Kleinwort, mountain travel, tea travel, The route of wind and wool, trekking, Trekking in the Himalayas | 1 Comment

Expedition Preparation in Hong Kong – The Route of Wind and Wool

Posted on July 26, 2013 by JeffFuchs

With Hong Kong’s torrents coming down and heat coming off of every surface, it seems strange to be packing down jackets, crampons, gloves, and kit for the mountains (though tea will not seem a strange addition to any). With the speed of Hong Kong, the engines, and lines and modern swank, it is an oddly welcome feeling to be preparing to hop into the mountains where winds, memories, and spires still hold sway.

Greens, rain, and Hong Kong’s heat and generosity host our preparations.

We’ll have to be as autonomous as possible which brings with it the magic of having all we need on our backs (and the necessary backs of others). No electricity for up to three weeks means we’ll be using solar power to charge up gear – and that’s assuming there actually will be a sun to harness. We’ll be using the brilliant durable GoalZero ‘Sherpa 50‘ portable solar power kit, along with panels which is the only way to ensure power up there in those heights.

GoalZero’s mighty – and brilliantly portable – ‘Sherpa 50’ portable solar kit.

Michael and I will now be sorting out the ‘what to brings’. Teas have been selected: A Zhang Lang unfermented Puerh and a mild Jing Mai fermented Puerh from Jalamteas will accompany a partial cake of Lao Banzhang of mine to ‘enhance’ our journey.

Michael in full flight skirting around kit on the floor. Gear will be sorted and resorted.

Michael has already done a series of edits of clothing, medicines, and necessaries. My own gear is generously spread out over good friends’ Rosy and Andy’s floor (a thank you for turning your eyes away while I throw colourful kit around with glee).

My version of the “what”? look.

Only few short days – but thankfully many many sips of tea – left before departure.

A stunning array of colours that The North Face has sent on. They want – I suspect – to ensure I can be found and with these colours I will be a veritable beacon.

All of our kit will be transported by bodies – both two and four-legged varieties – and we’ll be slurping away at my own stock of teas as well as our guides’ who will be preparing their own blends of potent ‘chai’ – loaded with spices, and sugar.

One of our prime fuels on this journey will be Tea. “There is never not a prime time for tea”.

More preparation updates to follow shortly.

Posted in Explorations, Mountains, Tea | Tagged Goal Zero, Himalaya Travel, Himalayan Expedition, Jalamteas, Jeff Fuchs, Ladakh, Michael Kleinwort, Solar Charging, The North Face, The route of wind and wool | Comments Off

Johnny Jet Interviews Jeff Fuchs for Travel Style

Posted on July 19, 2013 by JeffFuchs

A bit of fun about favourites, ‘un-favourites’, food and why’s with America’s Mr. Travel Johnny Jet here.

Photo courtesy of David Atkin

Posted in Media | Tagged Jeff Fuchs Interview, Johnny Jet, Travel | Comments Off

Expedition Update: Jalamteas sponsors ‘The Route of Wind of Wool’ with green fuel

Posted on July 18, 2013 by JeffFuchs

Not coming as a shock to many, our expedition has gained some fuel of the ancient green variety from my own co-founded ‘Jalamteas‘. Michael and I will sip of the tea trees of southern Yunnan with a variety of leaves while we are on our journey through the Himalayas.

One of the world’s most understated fuels, tea, and its pungent green power will be our daily liquid ritual and stimulant. It will also add some weight to my old mantra of ‘fuelled by tea’.

We’ll take a few of our signature cakes of Bada unfermented Puerh – one of this year’s vegetal best (which Jalamteas will be offering in September). It will be the afternoon blast of fresh green and after lunch ‘digestif’. We’ll also take a dose of Lao Banzhang unfermented Puerh (8 years old) from old trees as with age it has become more mild and will be the morning tea of choice.

Tea cakes, along with other ‘formed’ teas were once critical for their ease of transport. They will once again fill that happy role on our own journey. Here some 100 gram Bada cakes and what is left of a Lao Banzhang that will be jammed into a pack and ready for serving daily.

Posted in Explorations, Media, Mountains, Tea | Tagged Himalayan exploration, Himalayan trade route, Himalayan travel, India Himalaya, Jalamteas, Jeff Fuchs, Ladakh expedition, Puer tea, Puerh tea, Tea, tea cake, The route of wind and wool, Yunnan tea | 4 Comments

Search

Newsletter

Tags

Outdoor

Like Tea? Visit JalamTeas

Categories