Canyoning in Nepal

After a gruelling forty hour mish-mash journey of planes and buses I had finally made it from Southern India to Kathmandu, the capital of Nepal. I had stopped over at Bangalore for a few hours where I had hung out with my couchsurfing friend Saji, smoked a few joints and returned to the airport. I had been so high that I had simply lain down on the airport floor, set an alarm and slept. Two flights later and I finally arrived in Kathmandu where I met my good friend Ben. We spent a few days bumming around Kathmandu and getting used to the change in pace before deciding to head further afield. Although we had only been in Kathmandu a few days it was already obvious that Nepal was very different to India. The people were simply more relaxed and touts tended to give up a lot easier when you rejected them, it was nice to be able to walk down a street without being followed by hawkers attempting a hard sell. We had come to Nepal not only to escape the heat and dirt of India but also to find adventure, danger even, nestled amongst the Himalayas. We wanted to trek, to raft, to try everything available to us. Within minutes of making this decision, we had signed up for a bit of an adventure with the cheapest and dodgiest tour company we could find.

“We forgot your helmet, you’ll be ok!” said the guide in a tone which suggested he didn’t really have a clue as to whether I would be ok or not. I looked at the churning waters below me and the three square foot ‘safe zone’ which I had to land in from a height of eight meters if I was to avoid smashing my head onto the rocky ledge opposite me. I looked at the rest of my group, safely clad in helmets. Figuring I had a pretty hard head, I took a few steps back, tensed and sprinted towards the void. Leaping over the edge it suddenly occurred to me that it really was quite a long way down. I opened my mouth to shout something manly or perhaps just scream like a little girl but before I could emit a sound I was under. With a flushed face and stinging hands I half swam and was half dragged by the current to the side of the pool where I quickly clipped my carabiner to the safety line. Gingerly almost reverently, I looked over the edge of the pool. Water cascaded down the side of the mountain, shooting off protruding rocks in powerful jets. I really don’t like heights and I really don’t like being unable to see where I am going. With some encouraging words; “I’m shitting myself, this looks deadly and there’s no backup rope”, Ben was gone as with gritted teeth he swung out into the abyss to abseil down the forty-five meter waterfall. I was next. “So, what exactly happens if I let go of the breaking rope?” I asked the guide tentatively. “Nothing happens, just you fall” he replied with a confused expression. “So, if I let go with my right hand, I fall and you can’t stop me?” Relieved to be asked a simpler question the guide smiled “Yes sir, you fall and you hurt very bad.” “And there are no other helmets?” “No sir, no helmet left for you, just don’t fall and you don’t die.”

The rope, which was frayed in many places and reassuringly gaffer taped in others, was securely attached to a rock above me but the bottom of the rope could run straight through my harness if I let go with my right hand due to for example smashing my unprotected head on a rock, getting bad rope burn or simply by being an idiot. Inch by painful inch I leant out into the sheer nothingness below me and cursed the guide for forgetting my helmet. Remarkably I was doing it, slowly but surely I was making my way down the waterfall. About half way down a huge jet of water caught me straight in the face and unsure of what else to do I stayed there for a bit being thoroughly drenched whilst my fake converse trainers, bought in a Nepalese market, scrabbled for purchase upon the slippery rock. With grim determination, I forced myself past the choking jets of water and managed to reach into my pocket with my left hand to grasp my waterproof camera. Turning the wheel against my face I finally heard the telltale click and raising the camera above my head succeeded in taking what I felt was probably an awesome picture of me conquering a waterfall but what turned out to be a snap of my left ear and a background tree. Tossing the smash proof camera over my shoulder, much to the shock of Ben who was directly below me, I continued down the final ten meters. The last few meters consisted of a tricky overhang where I had to push hard off the rock and let go with my right hand, the rope whipped past me with surprising speed as I plummeted backwards into the cool embrace of the Himalayan waters swirling beneath me.

Spluttering, I crawled out of the pool and waded to Ben who was sitting on a rock. One waterfall down, two to go. The rest of the day was spent happily abseiling down the waterfalls, jumping into the deeper pools from various foolhardy heights and watching Ben get stuck on a rock ‘slide’ at the end point. Gallons of water smashed over and through him, as with much swearing he eventually wiggled himself free and like a cork from a bottle was flung into the calmer waters below. Trekking back to our camp we were welcomed with warm popcorn and mugs of strong Nepali wine. The ‘wine’ burnt on its way down but quickly warmed the stomach and brought feeling back to our frozen fingers and toes. Chatting with the guides we built a fire and, happily baking in the heat, danced around it like wild Indians to the accompaniment of an out of tune guitar and a traditional Nepalese drum. The guides, Tarzan and Raj, were absolutely brilliant and cooked up a fantastic dinner of pasta in a creamy cheese sauce. After jumping over the fire a few times and nearly singing my underwear in the process it was time to head to our tents and retreat to the comforting warmth of our fantastic new down sleeping bags, which we had bought in Kathmandu at a fraction of the price they would cost in Europe. The warm bags and wine quickly did their work and I fell asleep within minutes.

With an almighty bang, the wave hit our yellow raft and threatened to flip it. “Get down, Get doooown!” the guide shouted excitedly as myself and Ben, inexplicably holding hands, cowered in the bow of our craft. Freezing water, easily – 5, washed over us and for a minute the entire front of the raft was under before popping back up. “Forward paddle! Paddle fast, need power!” bellowed the guide from the safety of the stern. Smashing my paddle into the rolling waters I heaved with all my might and scanned the white tipped waters ahead. Rocks! Lots of rocks! They Jutted out of the water or even worse were hidden just below its surface. We smashed our way through them until we became stuck. Hopping to my feet I heaved with all my might, using my paddle as a lever, on the rock and tried to push us away as the grade 4+ rapids buffeted the side of the raft. With a great deal of cursing, I finally managed to free us just before a huge wave smashed into our bow, soaking us yet again. The current seized us and despite the best efforts of our guide turned the raft backwards. We were going backwards down the rapids. I half stood to turn around as the raft bounced and stretched beneath my feet. Suddenly we dropped a full couple of meters and I was thrown forwards. Clasping at the safety line ringing the raft I managed to stay on-board and hauled myself back to my position to help the others try to brute our way out of the hole we had stumbled straight into. With a great deal of frantic paddling, we punched a hole straight through the remaining rapids and out to the calmer waters beyond.

With a team salute and a shout of joy, we were finally able to admire the incredible beauty of the landscape we were paddling through. The river was a colour I have never even seen before; brilliantly blue and dappled with patches of emerald green. It was almost a perfect turquoise. Bordered by soft, white silt beaches the river threaded its way through a vibrant heavily forested valley with soaring peaks and tumbling waterfalls. The water seemed to come off the rock like smoke from a fire and filled the air with a soft, all-enveloping, haze of moisture. It had been a hell of a way to start the morning, we had emerged from our tents stiff and groggy but within half an hour we had all been bundled onto a raft and pointed in the direction of some grade 4 rapids by the senior guide who had decided to go back to bed. The guide sent with us had admitted that he had only done these rapids once before and had seemed nervous. We had punched straight through the first set of rapids and now were drifting down an increasingly beautiful stretch of river. This was only my second day in the Himalayas but they are unimaginably beautiful. The sheer power and ferocity of the rapids coupled with the calm strength of the mountains and the noises of the forest make for a wonderful contrast. I feel as though I have literally stepped into a postcard setting. I scanned the river ahead and caught sight of a lone rock, then a pair, suddenly I could see more and more points rising out of the water to meet us a mere fifty metres away, the water began to flow faster, it was time to battle the rapids again.

After our rafting excursion we headed back to Kathmandu, Ben was keen to embark on the Annapurna circuit trek but we hadn’t sorted out our permits yet and we had heard that something massive was going down in Kathmandu, we were keen to find out what exactly was happening and so decided to stay a couple of days whilst we sorted out our permits and trekking gear.