`ANYWHERE BUT HOME’ – A GOOD READ

anu-vaidyanathan-1Anu Vaidyanathan’s book, `Anywhere but Home,’ is an enjoyable read.

The language is simple and the narration, direct.

The author, who is a well-known triathlete, provides a breezy overview of her life. The choices made are stated as such without recourse to justification. Doing so, both triathlon and life in Anu Vaidyanathan’s book, are beautifully devoid of labored explanation. There is no manufactured heroism or manual on how to succeed, except perhaps what lingers obliquely as an idea of person (who is also triathlete). One of the great reliefs I found reading this book was its treatment of athlete’s life without making it seem extraordinary. The writing transcends given sport to underlying qualities.

The book spans growing up in India; studying overseas, the difference between here and there, managing a business, pursuing a PhD, the question of “ who am I?’’ and within all that – an engagement with the triathlon. It is a packed life; a triathlon of a life wherein the sport appears to have given physical expression to a person’s nature. Many outdoor and athletic pursuits inspire the need to progressively lighter one’s view to essentials. When `essentials’ becomes ink for writing, the pages turn. That’s so with this book.

Buy it, read it.

(The author, Shyam G Menon, is a freelance journalist based in Mumbai.)

VIEW FROM THE 16TH FLOOR

Praveen C. M (Photo: Jyothy Karat)

Praveen C. M (Photo: Jyothy Karat)

Bengaluru’s Clarence Public School has a reputation locally in sports.

Years ago, a seventh standard student with affection for running, jumping, throwing – in short, all that qualified to be the active school life – found himself on an excursion to Bannerghata, a little over 20 km from the city. By then his interest in sports had already harvested a collection of trophies – “ you know, the small ones indicative of everyone’s school days’’ – displayed at home. The student group was headed to Tulips Resort. En route, they stopped for a rappelling session. Hariprasad, the instructor, went beyond rappelling and showed some primary climbing moves and techniques to the students. Later, at the resort, there was a challenge to climb a eucalyptus tree; the prize was a box of chocolates. Praveen C.M bagged the prize. Intrigued by the boy’s natural talent, Hariprasad made him climb a couple of trees around. That paved the way for Praveen reporting to Yavanika, a state agency dealing with youth services and empowerment. Yavanika managed a 15 m-high plywood climbing wall on its premises, the only such wall in Karnataka state at that time.  “ At a certain point, the wall was eight feet wide. In that width, we had four top ropes; in the portion of the wall below the top roped climbers, others bouldered. And of course, there were the belayers. It was congested but managed well. Looking back, I feel those were the days when climbing actually grew in Bengaluru,’’ Praveen said. We were at a coffee shop on the city’s MG Road. Close by was a branch of Canara Bank. In the days Praveen discovered climbing, his father worked as a head clerk at Canara Bank.

On his second visit to Yavanika, Praveen found a state level climbing competition underway. He said he wanted to try one of the routes. Indulging the school boy’s request, the organizers put him on the climbing route for women. The youngster topped it. Muniraju, who was a good climber then, saw this. He asked Praveen to climb again. Soon thereafter, Praveen began frequenting the wall and climbing with Muniraju. In the first state level competition he attended following this phase, he finished third in his age category. In the next zonal competition he placed second. By 1998, he was at his first national level climbing competition, held at New Delhi on the old wall of the Indian Mountaineering Foundation (IMF), the apex body for matters related to mountaineering and sport climbing in India. “ I still remember the crux on the climbing route in that competition. It was a move requiring considerable reach; it was at the third or fourth clip. Of the eight minutes available to climb, I spent seven figuring out what to do at this point. Eventually in desperation, I jumped for the next hold but couldn’t make it. It was a move that was tough for short people,’’ Praveen said. He is a well-built climber of modest height.

Praveen, climbing in Badami (Photo: Jyothy Karat)

Praveen, climbing in Badami (Photo: Jyothy Karat)

That issue of inadequate reach would survive as fuel to navigate his way through climbing. It triggered two responses – first, in due course, it forced Praveen to be a dynamic climber on sport routes, resorting to lunges and leaps wherever he was challenged for want of reach. Second, it made him notice an often overlooked aspect of climbing – route setting. In India, a country with relentless rat race, the popular instinct of any alpha male is to shape environment according to his convenience. When it came to climbing routes, they were typically designed to showcase the climber who did it. In the outdoors for example, bolting wasn’t an inclusive art that took into account different body sizes and climbing styles. What’s the fun in climbing if it is to merely have rat race endorsed and one’s failures magnified? The route at the national competition intrigued. On the one hand, Praveen was encouraged by the fact that he had reached the third or fourth clip; on the other hand, his progress thereon was challenged by a move, he thought, was rather unfair given his shorter reach. It impressed upon him the importance of route setting as an art. It seemed the heart of sport climbing’s capacity for challenge and enjoyment.

Soon after his first national competition, Praveen joined the group of climbers being trained by Keerthi Pais. The group was called `Manav.’ It was a tightly knit group, perhaps too tightly knit to be easily accepting of newcomers. “ It took me almost a year to be trusted and counted,’’ Praveen said. But the persistence was worth it for the climbers Keerthi trained, turned out to be good. It was also an interesting time in India’s sport climbing map. The north zone was dominant; their climbers were ahead of the field. Keerthi was set to tilt the balance. “ The first medal for Manav – this one within the state – was won by Geetha,’’ Praveen said. Slowly, the group made its presence felt at the nationals through such climbers like Karthik, Archana and Vatsala. Keerthi’s group trained with commitment. Praveen recalled his life from that phase; those were the years of transitioning from Clarence Public School to Bengaluru’s National College. He stayed 18 km away from the climbing wall used for training. Those days, the city’s nascent metro rumbling overhead every few minutes near where we sat on MG Road, was not even a plan on the horizon. Buses to town from where he stayed were not many; certainly none very early in the morning. He left home at 4 AM and waited on the main road nearby for a lift. Sometimes the travel was managed in one vehicle all through to town. At other times, it was a series of lifts availed. The objective – report at the wall by 5.30 AM for the morning training session. Once training was finished, he went to college straight from the wall. College over, he returned to the climbing wall. The evening training session lasted till around 7 PM. He reached home by 9 PM. “ Buses plying on the route home would be packed with people. After a day of climbing at the wall, I would again be hanging on to something, except it was on the footboard of a bus. The routine was such that I didn’t know night and day,’’ Praveen said. He trained almost every day at the wall.

Praveen (Photo: Jyothy Karat)

Praveen (Photo: Jyothy Karat)

In 2000, Praveen secured top honors in the junior category at the national climbing competition held in Darjeeling. With Keerthi’s wards beginning to perform well, it was now increasingly evident that the center of gravity in competitive sport climbing was shifting to Bengaluru in south India. Sport climbing was small in the country but its aficionados had a rather even geographic spread. In 2003, Mumbai’s oldest mountaineering club, Girivihar, organized an open sport climbing competition – the first time it did so. The small annual event would grow to be a much loved one, held without break thereafter for over a decade. It became the seed for the 2016 IFSC World Cup held in Navi Mumbai. The geographic distribution and prevailing status of sport climbing in India was clear in the turnout of the competition’s initial years; climbers came from Delhi; Bikaner, Darjeeling, India’s north eastern states, Kolkata, Mumbai, Pune, Davengere and Bengaluru with Bengaluru as rising powerhouse.

Around the time Praveen won his first medal in the junior category at the national climbing competition, speed climbing made its debut. In 2001, at a competition (not the national one) held in Delhi, Praveen won in both lead and speed climbing disciplines. From roughly the next year onward he proceeded to become a regular fixture among toppers at the national climbing championship. According to him, he placed first for 16 years in one discipline or the other, including in one or two years, first place across all three disciplines – lead climbing, speed climbing and bouldering. Praveen said he does not view these disciplines as disparate and instead sees them as interlinked and synergic. Helping this embrace of all three disciplines, was the solution he had evolved to compensate for his physical size in climbing – his affection for dynamic moves. In his years in competition climbing, Praveen has represented India at international climbing competitions in several places; among them – Malaysia, China, Macau, Korea, Indonesia and France. His most recent appearance at the national climbing championship was in 2015, where he placed second in bouldering, fourth in lead climbing and qualified for the final in speed but didn’t take part. The names you hear as he recollects his years as a competition climber spans the who’s who of Indian sport climbing – Mohit, Karthik, Pranesh, Prashant, Norbu, Ganesh, Ravinder, Archana, Vatsala, Shanti Rani, Dasini, Kala, Vaibhav, Mangesh, Sandeep, Aziz, Tuhin, Somnath; all names that strike a chord with anyone who has known the sport in India for a while. He has also noticed how the larger environment in which the sport nestles, has changed.

At work, setting up a route on natural rock (Photo: Jyothy Karat)

At work, setting up a bolted sport climbing route on natural rock (Photo: Jyothy Karat)

Recalling the time when potential candidates for an Indian team headed to compete in Macau were shortlisted and training was underway, he said, “ if I finished climbing a route, I would think of how I can make you do that route. Each person used to think of helping the other build competence. Such bonding is much less at present. The team spirit has faded although we have strong individual climbers,’’ he said. Distractions have also multiplied. With everyone competing to attract sponsorship, social media has become important. The emphasis is on advertising oneself, not climbing. In the process, you have more and more attitudes and impressions / illusions of self to deal with. “ I never had a sponsor. As part of a national team, yes you got the support of whoever sponsored the team. But as an individual climber, I never had a sponsor; there was nobody for the long haul,’’ Praveen said.

There were also other trends, which Praveen touched upon as he reflected on the nearly two decades he has been in climbing, 16 years of that as regular topper at the national climbing championship. In Indian competition climbing, he said, both authorities and athletes have gone wrong in equal measure. “ When you go abroad to compete in an international competition, you are initially overwhelmed by what all you have heard about foreign climbers. You may also be a bit rattled by first impressions. But on closer look and after climbing with them at a competition, you come back realizing that you can bridge the gap. You also set for yourself what must be addressed to bridge the gap,’’ he said, adding, “ a big problem is – in India, we don’t invest long term. We support sports from event to event or we support an individual for one event expecting the world from him or her. When we don’t get that performance immediately, we say the person has failed; we discard that person and take someone else. That is not how it should be. Support must be sustained and long term. The result of this erratic approach is that by the time we manage to get back to an international competition, the overseas climbers have progressed by leaps and bounds from where they were when you first met them. They have a continuous calendar for competing and systematic training to back it up. We don’t.

In Badami (Photo: Jyothy Karat)

From Badami (Photo: Jyothy Karat)

“ The other thing is we don’t strive to make a good impression. Making a good impression is important for an athlete’s self-confidence. If let’s say, your home federation is so indifferent that they send you to an international competition in ill-fitting dress or don’t adequately back you up in paperwork, support and facilities, you automatically come across to event organizer and other competitors as disowned by your own people. Why would anyone else then give you a damn? That should not be the case. In one of the international competitions organized years ago, I remember, each overseas competitor had a chauffeur driven car for the ride from Delhi to the venue, some 380 km away. The Indian team went to the local bus terminus in Delhi, boarded a regular state transport bus, ate at dhabas along the way and reached the venue. I am not demanding special treatment; all I am saying is – if you don’t respect your athletes, none of them will respect you in return. Rather sadly, in the competition climbing set up in India, the ones who count the most are the judges. It must be appreciated that the people who create a competition are the athletes and the route setters. One climbs; the other challenges the climber with climbing routes. That is the basic competition climbing ecosystem. Judges intervene, when you have a tough decision or choice to make. Theirs is perspective meant to provide clarity in crunch situations. When imagining sport, it should be the sport and its ecosystem first, only after that, how to decide outcome. Please remember – if athletes are not there, none of the others will be there.’’

According to Praveen, athletes too have their share of emergent faults. The old dedication in training has become less. The bonding between athletes is less. Earlier, climbing was in focus. It was the only thing that mattered. Now, climbing as sport struggles to preserve its priority for athlete, in the growing matrix of smartphones; social media, fame and head-strong attitudes. Success goes to the head too quickly these days. Praveen is among those who felt disappointed by how the Indian team fared at the 2016 IFSC World Cup in Navi Mumbai. He believes that the attitude of some of the athletes and the impact that had on training, played a role in the outcome. An angle often discussed by rock climbers and sport climbers is whether the IMF with its greater familiarity of mountaineering, has what it takes to empathize sufficiently with sport climbing. Praveen said that in all these years, he came across only one senior official at IMF, who grasped the nuances of competition climbing and understood what support the athletes were looking for. Yet for all its flaws Praveen believes it is still the IMF that is best placed to manage sport climbing matters. Internationally, sport climbing moved out from the erstwhile umbrella body for all types of climbing (the UIAA) and formed its own distinct federation (the International Federation of Sport Climbing – IFSC). In India, there have been suggestions to mimic this move domestically. “ The problem in anyone trying so here is that, as yet, I have no reason to conclude anyone else has a better agenda than the IMF or will be different,’’ Praveen said.

On the subject of a vigorous domestic calendar for competition climbing, he welcomed more competitions including those driven by prize money. A series of local competitions (instead of one zonal competition), strong zonal teams and all of it feeding into a national championship or a rolling series of national competitions felt wonderful to his imagination. I asked if hypothetically, leagues – on the lines of what is happening in other sports with teams composed mostly of local athletes and a few foreign athletes to improve standards, made sense. He was supportive of the idea of a league but not as supportive of foreign athletes because the gap in climbing competence between here and overseas is at present, significant. Too glaring a gap and support for domestic athletes may wither. “ What makes greater sense for me is spending the money you have for these fancy competitions, on excellent training overseas. That way you bring up the quality of local talent and reduce the gap in competence before featuring any league with foreign climbers alongside. I have a dream in sport climbing. One in which, India has a good sport climbing team that athletes wish to get into and to do so, they compete in the sport. Once they are in the team, they should feel they are part of it and that they are set to perform well. I say this because I experienced the pain. Aside from the ecosystem Keerthi created which I was fortunate to be part of, I didn’t have a dedicated coach or a sponsor despite being on the podium at the national level for 16 years,’’ Praveen said.

In Badami (Photo: Jyothy Karat)

From Badami (Photo: Jyothy Karat)

Some time back, Praveen decided to address the old questions he had grappled with about climbing routes. He went to do a route setter’s course in Kazakhstan but on arrival there, found that the course had been cancelled. However he helped out with the Asian youth championship in climbing, which Kazakhstan was hosting. The competition’s route setter was impressed and invited him to join the route setting team for a competition in Korea. Following this stint, he did his international route setter’s course in Iran. For the two stints of work he had to mandatorily put in thereafter as aspirant route setter, he worked with a competition in Indonesia and later in May 2016, as part of the route setting team for the IFSC World Cup in Navi Mumbai. Some years ago, he also floated a company – Sportclimbing India. As of now it builds climbing walls; it is also distributor for Flat Holds, a Swiss manufacturer of climbing holds and Discovery, the Korea-based manufacturer of climbing walls. Additionally, he is training a team of climbers from Badami, Hubli, Davangere and Chitradurga. According to him, they are good, strong climbers who should soon be securing podium finishes. He is training them at his own expense.

Now 31 years old, Praveen hopes that at some point his climbing wall / holds business and the team he is grooming, become synergic; that a mutually complementing ecosystem in climbing, forms. Asked why he did not explore a regular job in some other more predictable, stable field, Praveen said, “ I was so much into climbing that I didn’t know anything else. I didn’t have a back-up plan.’’ There have also been forays into other branches of climbing. In 2015, Praveen had embarked on an expedition to climb Mt Everest. He was on the mountain when the devastating earthquake of that season struck Nepal killing thousands, including damage and casualties at Everest Base Camp. The expedition had to be aborted. The seed for this digression from sport climbing into a mountaineering expedition came from a little known trip in 2012. According to Praveen, that year, a 10 member-team composed of eight army personnel and two civilians and led by a civilian – Keerthi Pais – had recorded the first ascent of a rocky peak called Zambala on Ladakh’s Siachen Glacier. “ I was the only one who climbed all through. It is now a bolted climbing route at altitude,’’ Praveen said.

Sixteen floors up, Praveen’s tryst with climbing continues.

(The author, Shyam G Menon, is a freelance journalist based in Mumbai. Details of competitions are as recollected by the interviewee. All the photos used in this article are taken by Jyothy Karat. They were provided for use with this story, by Praveen.)     

LIVING THE INTERESTING LIFE

Grant Maughan (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Grant Maughan (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

“ I am just trying to fill my time with life and keep it all interesting’’

Grant Maughan, 52, is among the top endurance athletes and adventure racers in his age category worldwide. A seafarer from Australia, he took to running rather late. But in the time since, he has run nearly 60 races including some of the world’s toughest ultramarathons (a few of them several times), a clutch of triathlons and a much smaller number of marathons. He is also into surfing and mountaineering and loves to ride long distance on his motorcycle. In August 2016, he was joint winner in the 333 km-race of La Ultra, held in Ladakh (for that story please try this link: https://shyamgopan.wordpress.com/2016/09/16/the-captain-the-teacher-the-warrior-and-the-businessman/). 

This interview, done by email in October, was triggered by Grant’s penchant for a packed calendar in running, in particular the July-September 2016 period when he completed the Badwater Ultramarathon in California in sixth place overall, completed La Ultra in record time in Ladakh, completed the Leadville Trail 100 in Colorado, did a solo self-supported crossing of Badwater (from Death Valley to Mt Whitney Portal, pulling a trolley filled with supplies) in record time and completed Spartathlon, the famous ultramarathon in Greece. Why does he follow a packed schedule? Does it always work? What is its impact? Grant explains in this Q&A:    

Is the packed calendar one saw during July-September 2016, a regular pattern for you or is this stretch tad unusual?  Can you explain what drives you to do this?

It has been a regular pattern over the last couple of years; mainly because there have been a bunch of events I wanted to participate in and they happen to be around the same time. Last year, I had a similar schedule with Keys 100 in May, Ronda Del Cims (Andorra Ultra Trail) in June, Badwater in July and UTMB in August, finishing with Spartathlon in September. My main reason for doing this is that I love to race and cannot wait to spread events out over years. So I just get in and do them.

From the Leadville Trail Invitational (Photo: courtesy Grant Maughan)

From Leadville (Photo: courtesy Grant Maughan)

Some people argue that the other side of maintaining a packed calendar is that you may not have optimum performance at every event you participate in. Is this true? If it is true, does that matter to you?

I would imagine this is very true. I have felt tired and worn out in many events that I probably could have performed better at. However, sometimes I am more intent on seeing if I can get through this sort of grueling schedule as an endurance event within itself. Some people do a Grand Slam in the US containing a number of tough 100 milers. I think my self-made Grand Slams are way tougher. I certainly like to do as well as I can at any event. But I always say that I don’t go out looking for the podium. I prefer to put in a performance that I can be proud of.

Would you say you were fully recovered from each event for the races you ran in the 2016 July-October period? What are the consequences of poor recovery in races of this magnitude? How do you handle it?

Definitely not fully recovered. However I find that doing these tough races back to back helps keep me on some fitness plateau. It allows me to keep going. If I stop too long in between events, then I seem to lose some fire. So it’s better for me to keep on attempting challenges. Generally, poor recovery is outlined by sickness from immune system breakdown, lethargy and / or injury. I have had great success with keeping my crazy schedule, but like anyone, I have occasionally suffered bad flu type of sickness, which I could also associate with a heavy travel schedule, flying and not getting enough rest. My immune system has been definitely tested but I think I would have also gotten sick at times, racing or not. Generally, if I get sick, I stop all physical activity and try to nurture myself with good diet and rest.

From Iditarod (Photo: courtesy Grant Maughan)

From Iditarod (Photo: courtesy Grant Maughan)

From Iditarod Trail Invitational (Photo: courtesy Grant Maughan)

From Iditarod (Photo: courtesy Grant Maughan)

This blog is familiar with La Ultra including its 2016 edition. Its 333 km-segment, which you ran and completed in record time (along with Jovica Spajic), is a demanding race involving distance, a range of temperatures and above all, altitude. How tired were you after that? How long did it take for you to recover?

That was a tough race. No doubt about that. Just the distance alone with no other factors would be enough to require a long rest period afterwards. I felt beat down after the race but not to the point of not being able to continue my schedule. I think the incident on Khardung La when I got pulmonary edema slowed me somewhat but I didn’t feel any residual effects that would make me stop. When I got to Leadville, Colorado, I felt tired for want of sleep. My body actually felt okay but I knew I would feel fatigue during the race. I was determined to take it easy and just make it through. Eventually during the race my body seemed to come back alive somewhat and I managed to do a sub-24 hour finish. I think during this whole period from July to September I didn’t recover at all but just maintained a level of fitness and health that allowed me to pull it all off. Now after Spartathlon, I am taking a few months off from running (or impact at least). I will maintain a fitness base by doing other things like biking, swimming and other outdoor activities.

Grant, during Badwater 146 mile solo, self supported crossing he did in the days after the 2016 edition of La Ultra (Photo: courtesy Grant Maughan)

Grant, during Badwater 146 mile solo, self supported crossing he did in the days after the 2016 edition of La Ultra (Photo: courtesy Grant Maughan)

From the 333 km run at altitude in La Ultra you moved to Leadville and then, the Badwater solo crossing, which you did, pulling a trolley laden with the supplies you need, all the way from Death Valley to Mt Whitney Portal. While physical recovery is one thing, how do you handle your mind, moving from one demanding experience to another? What happens to your mind in the middle of any of your endurance events? Does it speak, rebel or does it switch off?

I don’t have any issues with my mind on these types of things. In fact, part of my mind is looking forward to all the pain and suffering of trying to get through to the end. I think I get this type of strength from being a loner, a hard worker and deep thinker. Like anyone I have my moments during these events when I ask myself: why am I bothering to put myself through this type of purgatory? But it’s usually fleeting and is always overridden by other parts of my mind urging me to go on and complete the job at hand. Other times, the mind just switches off. I seem to have the capacity to do that, sort of like a self-imposed meditation.

From Marathon Des Sables (Photo; courtesy Grant Maughan)

From Marathon Des Sables (Photo: courtesy Grant Maughan)

People always ask what I think of out there and I tell them that I think of many things and sometimes, absolutely nothing. I believe that the toughest thing for some people while trying to finish an ultramarathon or such events is the time. When they look at the watch and realize they may be out there for another 10, 15, 20 hours or more, I think that is the hardest part for some to accept; the actual measurement of time and how much longer they need to keep moving and feeling uncomfortable. It happens to me sometimes. But I can just shut off my mind to let the time go by. I can do this driving or riding a motorcycle long distance. I can drive across a country non-stop without a problem by just shutting off time perception to deal with the boredom of holding on to the wheel or handlebars, hour after hour. It is similar to working at sea, when you are crossing a featureless ocean for weeks at a time. The horizon is just a line with the sky and water. I believe seafaring has really helped me do long distance endurance events.

From Spartathlon (Photo: courtesy Grant Maughan)

From Spartathlon (Photo: courtesy Grant Maughan)

You had posted on the Internet that your 2016 Spartathlon experience was quite trying. You went into the race unwell and then endured some really hard moments. Can you tell us what happened? Do you suspect that your packed race schedule may have had something to do with your condition ahead of the race? Is Spartathlon reason enough for you to rethink your affection for packed schedule?

I actually wasn’t looking forward to doing Sparty. I ran it last year and wasn’t that impressed with the course; smog filled Athens and then industrial areas. When I got out into the country, I thought it would be pristine but it was garbage strewn and that really disappointed me. Last year, I turned up tired from another heavy schedule and battled through it even though I had run that distance before in the Coast to Kosci race in Australia in under 27 hours. This year, I again turned up after my crazy amount of races and felt tired of course but additionally, the day before the race, got swollen glands and tight larynx that made swallowing very painful. On the morning of the race I had a lot of mucus and felt very under the weather. I knew I shouldn’t start and should go back to bed but as happens, the vibe makes you want to have a go anyway. I figured on taking it easy and really didn’t have a choice. I wanted to quit so bad at the 50 mile checkpoint and at 100 miles but for some reason left the checkpoints before my saner side could take over. In the end I finished, passing many runners on the last big mountain range before going down to Sparta like last year, but my overall pace was slow. It was a very miserable experience getting through the race. I just didn’t feel like being there but I like to finish what I start; so I made myself go on.

In such physical states, time does seem to get elongated. An hour seemed like ten. So I really needed to put my brain to bed during the race and shut it off from reality. I can’t describe how relieved I was to stop at the finish line. Spartathlon is not a race you should finish a heavy season of events with. It is a fast, long ultra with no-compromise time cut-offs along the way. Sometime in the future, I may like to turn up there fresh and fit and see what time I can pull of when in a better physical state than the two times I have run it.

From Ultra Trail du Mont Blanc - UTMB (Photo: courtesy Grant Maughan)

From Ultra Trail du Mont Blanc – UTMB (Photo: courtesy Grant Maughan)

What are you seeking in all this? Is there anything you seek from universe through what you endure? Given you have experience of mountaineering, seafaring and love surfing and riding motorcycles, not to mention good enough at music to be a one man band, what do you describe yourself as?

Some people have described me as a renaissance man. I like that. I enjoy many variables in my existence. I think it keeps me alive and kicking. I also like the hybrid nature of all my hobbies. I feel they cover a wide span of things. I think of myself as a doer. I like to try new things and become competent at them. I don’t feel I am searching for anything or running away from anything. I am just trying to fill my time with life and keep it all interesting. I am very curious about many things and like to see the world in colour; not black and white.

Training, pulling a tyre (Photo: courtesy Grant Maughan)

Training, pulling a tyre (Photo: courtesy Grant Maughan)

How do you relax after your races? What do you do to unwind?

I am as good as anyone at lounging around, drinking a beer or eating chocolate while watching movies, playing guitar or just looking at the sky.

What are your next plans?

The next few months will be dedicated to recovery of my body and immune system before 2017, when I hope to start another year of exploring, traveling and racing. I have applied for the Arrowhead 135 in northern Minnesota in January (I did this event a couple of years ago). It is a winter race pulling a sled with mandatory survival gear in it. There are usually only three aid stations along the route, so you must carry a lot of fluids and calories. This year, they may be offering an unsupported class, which means you cannot stop at aid stations. I am interested in this. Then, in February I have the Iditarod 350 mile winter race in Alaska, which is a similar format though it also requires some navigation. I don’t have any firm plans after that but intend to keep busy.

(The interviewer, Shyam G Menon, is a freelance journalist based in Mumbai.)

 

THE CAPTAIN, THE TEACHER, THE WARRIOR AND THE BUSINESSMAN

Diskit's Maitreya Buddha statue (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Diskit’s Maitreya Buddha statue (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

An article in long form, on the 2016 edition of La Ultra-The High

August 10, 2016.

My hotel room has a fan and I can’t believe it.

The temperature didn’t warrant using it. Equally, if I turned it on I wouldn’t be very cold. The fan harked of early entrant whose time will come. As in the Bob Dylan song: the times, they are a changing. The food served at Hotel Siachen, amazed for the variety of vegetables in it. The hotel was in Diskit, Nubra Valley, Ladakh. “ The vegetables used were grown here,’’ the employee standing behind the buffet table informed. He said that weather patterns had been changing slowly in Ladakh. Winters aren’t as severely cold as before and in land famous for being high altitude cold desert, rain was getting through. That has its problems. The powdery soil of Ladakh’s mountains dislodges quickly with water. Rain makes people nervous. On the other hand, the rising warmth and occasional wetness has meant improved scope for home-grown vegetables on Siachen’s table.

Next day, around noon, a very light rain manifested briefly. The forecast, as available from a couple of days ago, wasn’t good. August 11 evening; there is a mass of dark grey gathering in the skies behind Diskit. A cold wind blew. The massive Maitreya Buddha statue on a hill near the Diskit monastery faced the approaching grey in peaceful meditation. It rained. Dr Rajat Chauhan looked past the statue to the clearer skies it guarded. Hope is a good word. It was still raining when the convoy of cars left Diskit. Ladakh’s roads are a study of curves and straight lines; curves on mountainsides, straight lines on vast, open flat land. The starting line was on a straight road below Diskit, close to the flood plains of the Shyok River. The vehicles bearing runners parked here, one behind the other. A small hamlet of headlamps took shape. The countdown had begun.

August 11, close to 8 PM, start line of the race. In the foreground are some of the 111km-runners including members of the Indian Navy team (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

August 11, close to 8 PM, start line of the race. In the foreground are some of the 111km-runners including members of the Indian Navy team (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

In 1992, director Ridley Scott made a movie: 1492: Conquest of Paradise. Garnering mixed reviews, the movie wasn’t commercially successful. Its theme music ` Conquest of Paradise,’ by the Greek composer Vangelis, however became popular, including as the preferred music at the start of the Ultra Trail du Mont-Blanc (UTMB) in Europe. A powerful, evocative musical composition, it played on the mobile phone of Dalibor, part of Jovica Spajic’s support team. Rain and cold notwithstanding, Jovica looked ready for action. By now the other runners too had got out from their vehicles – Grant Maughan, Mark Steven Woolley, Alexander Holzinger-Elias, Dariusz Strychalski, Nahila Hernandes, Dunya Elias, the team from the Indian Navy, Saachi Soni, Rahul Shukla, Ramanand Chaurasia and Kieren D’Souza. August 11, 8 PM, they set off. Minutes into the 2016 edition of La Ultra-The High, they tackled the first problem: a portion of the road submerged in ice cold water, thanks to an overflowing stream. That done, one by one, they drifted into the inky blackness of Nubra’s night, a series of headlamps making steady progress on the road. Kieren led the group. There was a ring of expectation around Kieren. He was a young Indian ultramarathon runner born in Nagpur, brought up there and in Bengaluru, now living in Faridabad. His well-wishers presented him as someone who had grasped the nuances of the sport. In 2014, he had participated in the 111 km race of La Ultra and failed to complete it; according to the official website of the event, his race ended at kilometer-48, a Did Not Finish (DNF). Two years later, he had elected to return with considerable training at altitude done. Besides races in India, he had been to UTMB. That night on the road leading to Khardung La, Kieren showed no lack of confidence. He ate up the miles, opened up a long lead and chugged steadily on to Khardung La.

La Ultra-The High is an ultramarathon composed of three separate races on the same course – 111 km, 222 km and 333 km. As the distance increases, so do difficulties. The average elevation of Ladakh is around 10,000 ft. The race is held on the road. Its highest elevations are mountain passes with roads through them. In the 111 km segment, you get Khardung La (17,582 ft), in the 222 km segment, you get Khardung La and Wari La (17,200 ft), in the 333 km segment you get both the earlier mentioned passes and Tanglang La (17,480 ft). Running this course, a runner will experience temperatures varying from 40 degrees centigrade to minus 10 degrees centigrade. Depending on altitude, atmospheric pressure will reduce to 50 per cent of what it is at sea level. This affects oxygen intake. Add to it progressive fatigue and susceptibility to adversities brought on by the elements – that’s what makes La Ultra particularly challenging. It currently ranks among the toughest ultramarathons in the world. It is also an expensive proposition given the mandatory acclimatization schedule. You have to be in Leh, days in advance. That makes it, a commitment.

Night of August 11; Grant Maughan crossing the waterlogged stretch of road (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Night of August 11, Grant Maughan crossing the waterlogged stretch of road (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

August 11th night. En route to Khardung La, Mark Woolley gets a quick refill of water from one of the support vehicles (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Night of August 11, en route to Khardung La, Mark Woolley gets a quick refill of water from one of the support vehicles (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

As some of the foreign athletes gathered to run the 333 km segment said, the race is little heard of in the global ultra-running circuit. Discerning runners are attracted by the fact that not everyone finishes it. Appreciated in this context, was how the organizers have preserved race parametres without diluting it to attract higher number of participants. Broadly speaking, this purity is a function of distance and cut off time. The whole race of 333 km is run at one go with runners moving through the night. They have to cope with sleep deprivation, planning their rest as they wish. However within this large single stage, there are cut offs (time limits within which sub sections must be run) to respect. This introduces a sense of constant momentum. Rest is typically eyes shut for some time. The whole course is covered in a mix of running and power-walking, rarely dipping below that in pace. Seventeen runners reported for the 2016 edition, twelve of them (two foreigners, rest Indians) for the 111 km race.

Very important for a race of this sort is the medical team. The Race Director (indeed its founder) is Dr Rajat Chauhan, who is a leading specialist in sports medicine. The 2016 medical team was composed of Tim Berrow and Nick Dillon, experienced in dealing with medical emergencies in remote locations. As they explained, a difference when working with an ultramarathon wherein athletes push their limits is, gauging how far a runner can push his / her limits safely and monitoring that appropriately. You don’t terminate his / her race without providing room for stretch.

Cdr. Sunil Handa of the Indian Navy gets back into running shoes after crossing the waterlogged stretch of road (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Cdr. Sunil Handa of the Indian Navy gets back into running shoes after crossing the waterlogged stretch of road (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

At a medical briefing for volunteers and support crew, Tim and Nick put their approach in perspective. While altitude is the most obvious challenge in La Ultra, the solution for altitude related complications like High Altitude Pulmonary Edema (HAPE) and High Altitude Cerebral Edema (HACE) – is as obvious. The best treatment for altitude issues is descent. With the race being held on the road and vehicles present for support, treatment was available at hand – get the patient down as quickly as possible. The medics were more worried about heat related complications – the consequences of losing heat or heating up. La Ultra debuted in 2010 as a 222 km race. Given its emphasis on adequate, prior ultra-running experience, it was partial to foreigners. Indians who attempted it, struggled to get past the race’s early stages. For a country getting used to the ultramarathon, 222 km at altitude with cut-off time alongside, was probably too big a first step. At the same time, some of the foreign runners who completed 222 km felt that a return to attempt the same distance wasn’t engaging. They sought greater challenge. That’s how the 111 km sub-race and the extension of overall length to 333 km happened. 2016 was special for the 111 km segment. The Indian Navy dispatched a team of six runners for the 111 km race. Their team leader Captain Rajesh Wadhwa had been podium finisher (along with Ramanand Chaurasia) at an ultramarathon in Garhwal, which serves as qualifier for La Ultra’s 111 km category. When he sought permission to participate in La Ultra, the navy, noticing the uniqueness of the race at altitude, recommended a team.

Kieren on the ascent to Khardung La (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Kieren on the ascent to Khardung La (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

If you want to know how fast runners can be – even in the hills – all you need to do is, eliminate traffic. Night does that for you. With nothing else around moving for distraction, running’s pace shines forth. An ultramarathon is slow. But even that seems a determined, consistent lapping up of distance when ultra-runners are the only ones moving in the frame. Past midnight, the slopes of Khardung La were pitch-dark. Kieren’s headlamp would bob in the distance and then slowly, unfailingly wind up the road’s curves to where one stood. As I prepared to ask “ all okay?’’ he quipped, “ are you okay?’’ On the road, the first half of the string of runners included Kieren, the 333 km-pack, some of the navy runners, Rahul and Ramanand and Dariusz (Darek) Strychalski of Poland. Darek had enrolled for the 222km segment. He runs mainly with one side of his body; the other side having been paralysed in an accident in childhood. The mishap affected his vision too. Recovering, he lived a lonely life. Running was accidental and testing. He used to run very early in the morning to avoid being seen as his gait was awkward; one leg and side of the body does most of the work, the other supports as best as it can. Initially people looked at him like an oddity. He persisted. Slowly he regained the company of people. After two years of running, he ran his first marathon. His best timing yet in the full marathon was 3:07. He also ran the Badwater Ultramarathon. “ In Poland he is called the Polish Forrest Gump,’’ Anna, Darek’s friend said. Darek, who spoke no English, had been to La Ultra before. In 2015, attempting 222 km, he had to pull out at kilometer-35. That time he had been unable to continue his run because of a leg injury. In Leh, in the run up to the 2016 edition, he had experienced return of the old leg injury. Running steep uphill sections challenged the man who counted on one good leg to do the bulk of the work. Darek never let the strain show. His face was always calm.

Early morning August 12; Race Director Dr Rajat Chauhan counting down to cut-off at North Pullu (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Early morning August 12; Race Director Dr Rajat Chauhan counting down to cut-off at North Pullu (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

For the medics and the Race Director, the 111 km segment is the busiest section of the route as the number of runners is more and it includes the less experienced. At the first cut-off, a little over 20 km from the start, two runners missed the stage cut off time and had to withdraw. Punctuating the ascent and descent on Khardung La are South Pullu and North Pullu. They are check posts, both at approximately 15,500 ft. On the ascent from the Nubra side, you hit North Pullu first. The medics gave everyone a check-up here. Two more runners retired from the race at North Pullu as they failed to reach on time. Darek arrived at North Pullu before the cut off time. He was very cold and having low oxygen saturation. “ His lungs was clear, his pace had slowed down. He was okay but feeling very, very cold,’’ Nick Dillon, one half of the medic team, said. Darek was warmed up. He was the last one to leave North Pullu for Khardung La. Nick followed in his vehicle; he kept reassessing the runner’s condition. Not just Darek’s but as he put it – into a race, the back of the pack is where the ones needing help are.

Dariusz (Darek) Strychalski - seen in yellow jacket - exits the 2016 race. Medic Nick Dillon (kneeling) next to him; also seen are Dr Rajat Chauhan and Darek's friend, Anna. Although his race stood terminated, Darek returned to cheer other runners (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Dariusz (Darek) Strychalski – seen in yellow jacket – exits the 2016 race. Medic Nick Dillon (kneeling) next to him; also seen are Dr Rajat Chauhan and Darek’s friend, Anna. Although his race stood terminated, Darek returned to cheer other runners (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Between North Pullu and Khardung La. Nick Dillon grew worried about Darek. The runner’s lungs were clear, his mental clarity was good. His pace was very slow. At one point his oxygen saturation was 55 while that of everyone else in the medic vehicle was around 70 (these figures must be read in the context of altitude). What made Darek’s diagnosis difficult is that his medical history featuring partial paralysis, created a case for weak circulation. Even looking for ataxia (loss of balance, it is a symptom of altitude sickness) was difficult because Darek’s natural gait had a wobble to it. He was allowed to proceed because he seemed neurologically sound. But when the runner’s pulse slowed down and ataxia became strongly suspect, Nick decided to consult Dr Chauhan, the Race Director. The latter spoke to Darek who resolved to press on. About 50 metres from the Race Director’s vehicle, with Nick and Anna present, Darek stumbled pronouncedly. It was curtains for his second attempt at La Ultra. The Race Director pulled him off the race and Nick administered oxygen. “ It was a combination of factors and several things building up over time that resulted in this intervention,’’ Nick said. It was also a text book case of what the medics had promised – that they would assess, provide room for stretch, keep monitoring and if required, pull the runner out. Darek bore it stoically. He and Anna returned to the race to encourage and applaud fellow runners.

On the map of Europe, Slovakia lay to the south of Poland, south of Slovakia is Hungary and to Hungary’s south is Serbia. Straddling the junction of European and Asian cultural influences, East Europe has a tradition of being Europe’s powder keg; the world wars of the twentieth century were sparked by events in these parts. In the closing decades of that century, as the erstwhile Iron Curtain crumbled, the Yugoslav Wars broke out (Wikipedia describes them as conflicts spanning 1991-2001). Jovica Spajic was born in Priboj in Serbia in 1987. He grew up with his grandparents; he used to help his grandfather with work in the forest. “ These memories bring so much peace in me. I liked to talk about the future with my grandfather,’’ he said. His father worked in the police and following his basic education, Jovica attended secondary police school. Then he moved to Belgrade for “ real’’ police school to join the special-forces. For someone with that background, Jovica speaks passionately, emotionally. “ Till I turned 14 years old, we had war. That is too much for young people. Maybe it matured us with experience. You learnt to survive with little; a piece of bread and a glass of water. We enjoyed small things. Life was tough and beautiful at once,’’ he said. His grandparents died some years ago. “ There is a lot of empty space in my heart because of that,’’ he said. If there was a well-tuned running machine at the 2016 La Ultra, it had to be Jovica. A black belt in judo and jujitsu, he seemed energy reined in. He came to Leh with two close friends, Dalibor and Alex. Jovica met Dalibor much before his running career took off; at a “ small’’ run in Belgrade, “ a six hour-race for which I had arrived in walking shoes and jeans.’’ In the stipulated six hours, Jovica covered over 60 km. Dalibor encouraged him to take up running. “ That was the start of a voyage,’’ he said. Later, back in Belgrade after a mission in the mountains with the special-forces team, he chanced upon a magazine article on a race in the Sahara. He decided to go for it. He was the first Serbian to attempt the race and completed it in seventeenth position.

Jovica Spajic (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Jovica Spajic (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

On return, he and Dalibor formed a group called: Ultra-runners Serbia. “ It is like a community. There are people from age 15 to 55. It isn’t just about running; it is about life, friendship, progress. Each of us, have some talent, we express that in our community; we try to motivate others to find their strong point. There is nothing aggressive. We don’t judge anyone. That is not our purpose. The elder generation talks with sorrow and pessimism about world and war. We try to be different. We want to tell positive stories to the next generation and create in their head, space for forgiveness. We don’t blame anyone. We must put a full stop and move on; there is no use staying in the past,’’ Jovica said dipping into the many things ultra-running seemed, in his life, the first 14 years of it, affected by war. “ Ultra-running is like a river. It is like life, flowing along. Life is a synonym for ultra-running,’’ he said. According to him, Serbia’s ultra-running community has the quality of an oasis. “ It is our space. We don’t make huge plans. We take small steps. In big space you can’t make a difference; in small space you can,’’ he said. Following the race in the Sahara, Jovica started to regularly participate in races and push his limits. He ran Italy’s longest road race, the ` Ultra Milano San Remo’ and the ` Race of Titans’ in the Italian Alps. In due course he became the national record holder in running for 24 hour-runs, 48 hours, 72 hours and six day-races. Then he entered the Guinness Book of World Records for the maximum number of sit-ups – 30,000 repetitions in 24 hours. In 2015, he was accepted to run the Badwater Ultramarathon in California’s Death Valley, one of the hottest places on Earth. Training for it in Serbia with its nice weather, was tough. Jovica trained with several jackets piled on to create a very hot environment. “ It was odd doing so in the centre of town,’’ he said. In Death Valley, he had just one day to acclimatize. “ I had no strategy or tactics, I ran with my heart,’’ he said. Jovica completed the iconic race in about 29 hours to secure eighth position overall, the highest place that year for a European. On the final climb to Mt Whitney Portal, he had the best split timing; all that growing up in the forest and hills of Serbia must have helped, he said. Among those Jovica met at Badwater was, Grant Maughan. “ When you say Badwater, you think of Grant and a few other runners. It is like his playground,’’ Jovica said. Fifteen to 20 miles into the run in Death Valley, Jovica saw Grant struggle with stomach issues. He asked Grant if he needed help. “ He just laughed and said: everything is okay mate; this is normal, this is ultra-running. That’s one thing about Grant – one moment he is like near dead, 15 minutes later, he is full of energy,’’ Jovica said. Grant, who has been a podium finisher at Badwater, ended the 2015 race in ninth position overall, just after Jovica. In conversations that followed, Jovica said he would like to run with Grant sometime.

In Leh, Mark Woolley and I knocked on Grant’s door at the Leh-Chen hotel, to see if the 52 year-old would speak to freelance journalist. An athletic weather beaten man of medium height opened the door wondering why his sleep had been disturbed and yet ready for whatever the interruption held. Let me start the profile backwards, beginning with what I discovered last, long after the 2016 La Ultra had ended, Grant was in the US and I was in Mumbai. Grant Maughan is an excellent one man-band. Sometime amid his travels to run races, he should cut a disc. One of his songs is about the Australian Antarctic explorer Sir Douglas Mawson, who like Ernest Shackleton, had endured an epic story of survival. If you decide to compose a song for somebody, there must be much empathy therein and when the subject is exploration and Antarctica, you can imagine what the heart identifies with. Growing up in Australia, Grant liked the active life; he liked surfing, he also liked motorcycles becoming at some point in his life the owner of a KTM 640 (one of his travelogues is about an 8500 km-motorcycle trip around Scandinavia, including a visit to Murmansk in Arctic Russia). Travel and adventure appealed much to Grant. He became a sailor. He was skipper aboard yachts, ships and fishing trawlers. The world’s oceans taught him to cope with solitude and sleep deprivation; he also became familiar with the uncertainties of weather, how cold and icy things can be. Somewhere along the way, while helping to unload cargo that had been lashed down to the ship’s deck, a mishap occurred leaving him blind in one eye. Grant took to running only in 2011. He quickly moved through his first marathons to embrace the ultramarathon, which he felt was his calling. The portfolio of runs he has been to, is diverse – there are desert runs, runs in arid terrain and runs in snowbound terrain pulling sledges. He has a twin brother, who – according to Grant – is quite unlike him. Grant was married for 19 years. When he took to running, his wife joined the support crew for one of his races. “ It was nice of her to do so,’’ he said. He has no children. “ My wife and I, we made a conscious decision not to have children,’’ he said. The couple later separated because they weren’t getting much time together. They remain “ best of friends.’’

Grant Maughan (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Grant Maughan (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Grant seemed to keep a packed calendar. As of late August, his race history, available on the Internet, had been updated till February 2016 with the last event being the Alaskan winter classic, the Iditerod Trail Invitational. The list was an eclectic mix – many ultramarathons, a handful of marathons and a bunch of triathlons including Ironman; altogether 52 races, since 2011. In mid-July 2016, he successfully completed yet another edition of the Badwater Ultramarathon (finishing it in sixth position overall), by July end he was in Leh to acclimatize for the 333 km-La Ultra and race done in mid-August; he was expected within days thereafter in Colorado to run the Leadville Trail 100, a demanding 100 miler and among the world’s best known ultramarathons. “ I tend to recover well,’’ he said. Interestingly, Grant also said he gets bored very easily and needs activity. Further he is on a trip to stay healthy and get the most out of as little training as possible – the best option therefore, was to make running a lifestyle, hop from one race to another (one of the gathered runners pointed out that the flip side of this approach, is you may run some events sub-optimally). He found the people in ultra-running agreeable company. On the small lawns of Leh-Chen, on the eve of leaving for Diskit, he quipped how different the people around would be had it been a gathering of triathletes or marathon runners and not those into the ultramarathon. “ I find ultra-runners a quieter lot. They are an interesting bunch of people,’’ he said. Besides running, seafaring and surfing, Grant is also a mountaineer who has climbed in North and South America. He heard of La Ultra from among others, Mark Woolley. He registered for the 2016 race. Reaching Leh – a town he had visited decades ago as a young traveler – he rested and then progressively set out to acclimatize for the race. One of the things he did was go up Stok Kangri, the peak climbed by many for a shot at 20,000 ft. He felt good. For race bib number, he had chosen `640,’ after his bike. Coincidentally, another runner the organizers reached out to was his young admirer from the 2015 edition of Badwater, Jovica Spajic. The opportunity the latter had dreamt of – to run with Grant – materialized. Reaching Leh, Jovica and his team, after spending some time in town, moved to Wari La, the pass that sits in the middle of the La Ultra course, to train. August 11, from the start of the race in Diskit, Jovica and Grant ran together.

Tim Berrow (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Tim Berrow (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Nick Dillon (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Nick Dillon (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

The night of August 11, medics Tim and Nick were at North Pullu when the runners reported for their check-in. It had rained along the way and with elevation, it had got quite cold. The small café at North Pullu was where the runners were assessed and warm drinks had. The personnel of the local ambulance service, was also present. Jovica’s entry into the café made heads turn. He resembles Virat Kohli, India’s cricket sensation. At North Pullu, the medics did a quick assessment of Grant. “ He was okay, there was nothing out of the ordinary,’’ Tim said. Past North Pullu, problems began. Tim was by now tracking and checking the first lot of runners for although they led the pack, that very fact meant they were ascending fast. Gaining altitude quickly can be dangerous. As the medics put it, broadly speaking the vanguard of the runners’ column where the strong racers are, runs the danger of coming up too fast; the middle is usually alright, the caboose is slow for valid reasons. So their eyes were on the front and the rear of the column. Up ahead, Tim posed simple questions to the runners. “ What I was looking for was: can they answer me in a full sentence, a quick inspection of how they were running or walking…such things,’’ he said. At roughly 15,800 ft Grant who had slowed down, said he was finding it hard to breathe. Tim had noticed changes. So he kept monitoring. At Khardung La, he once again caught up with Grant. By now Grant’s difficulty in breathing was clear. “ It was obviously pulmonary edema. I didn’t have to get my stethoscope out, I could hear the crackling,’’ Tim said. The treatment for HAPE is descent to lower altitude and administering oxygen if needed. Inhaling bottled oxygen disqualifies a runner. So Tim walked with Grant till he descended to 15,800 ft on the other side. Tim’s vehicle followed with oxygen cylinder aboard. At 15,800 ft, Tim checked Grant once again. He seemed able to continue without medical assistance. “ This was a case of quick onset and quick recovery,’’ Tim said. Something else – something very central to the 2016 edition of La Ultra – happened at Khardung La. When Grant struggled, Jovica waited. Grant told the young Serbian runner to continue and not waste time. Jovica not only waited for Grant’s medical assessment to be done but on the descent thereafter, he carried Grant’s small backpack till he felt sufficiently well. Abhinav Sharma, one of the members of Grant’s support crew, was waiting for the runners at South Pullu on the Leh-side of Khardung La. “ It was a humanizing instance,’’ he said of the moment Grant reached South Pullu, the effects of Khardung La visible on him.

Kieren D'Souza (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Kieren D’Souza (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Towards noon, August 12, Kieren D’ Souza reached the finish line of the 111 km race. It was a new course record – 15:30 hours. The August 19, 2015 issue of Hindustan Times has the story of the previous course record; 17 hours and 57 minutes. It was set by Parwez Malik a scrap dealer from Dehradun in Uttarakhand. Parwez was the first Indian to complete the 111 km race of La Ultra. While Kieren placed first in the 111km segment in 2016, the second position was secured by Rahul Shukla, an engineer from Bhubaneshwar. Third was Hari Om of the Indian Navy. Kieren’s timing is considered to be very good for that distance, in a high altitude environment. “ Under similar conditions, the best we can expect internationally is just over 14 hours. However, we must appreciate that we got extremely lucky this year. We started off with poor weather conditions, which cleared very soon. Best conditions in the last seven years. Let’s not make too much of these timings as they can’t be compared from year to year for the earlier mentioned reasons,’’ Dr Chauhan said. In September, Kieren was scheduled to travel to Greece for Spartathlon. “ Give him 2-3 years, he will be right up there,’’ Dr Chauhan said. A remarkable story from the 111 km race would be that of Nahila Hernandez. Born in Azerbaijan and now a Mexican national, she is one of Latin America’s top female ultramarathon runners. Among other milestones in her career, she was the first woman to cross South America’s Atacama Desert. Nahila’s baggage arrived late in Leh upsetting her acclimatization plans. Then, a day before setting out for Diskit, she fell ill with food poisoning. Till the time of leaving for Diskit, she was under the care of the medics. Nahila had originally registered for La Ultra’s 222 km race. She switched to the shorter 111 km and essayed a wonderful run, surviving on just fluids. But what should interest amid all this is that the ones who immediately followed Kieren were those from the 333 km-pack; they had over 200 km more to go and yet their pace wasn’t terribly slow compared to Kieren’s.

Mark Steven Woolley was seated nearby when I interviewed Grant. They were of the same age. At one point, Mark couldn’t help intervening, hearing Grant’s views on running – it was so similar to his own. Yet as the two runners explored that similarity further, disparities emerged. Grant said he is a loner. Mark wasn’t, indeed among the gathered foreign runners he was the one who mixed with others the most. Grant didn’t think much of competing; Mark admitted to occasionally drawing energy from it. Late evening, on August 12, several kilometres away from Leh, the headlights of our car picked up a runner, paced by a member of his support crew and proceeding diligently to Sakti. It was Mark. He was in many ways the real hero of La Ultra’s 2016 edition. While people blaze their way to the finish line or complete strenuous races on their first attempt, Mark had been denied the satisfaction of completing the 333 km stretch twice before. Mark is an accomplished ultra-runner with races like UTMB, Badwater and Spartathlon under his belt. He was also into martial arts. Mark is an Englishman, living and running in Spain. He is a school teacher; he teaches Physics. Elena, his wife who was part of his support crew for the first time on the 2016 edition of La Ultra, is a photographer. Mark had previously completed the 222km version of the race successfully. According to La Ultra lore, his disinterest in coming back was among reasons that spawned the longer 333 km race.

Mark Steven Woolley (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Mark Steven Woolley (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

A new race born, in 2014, Mark attempted it. That first time at La Ultra’s 333 km race, he overtook his nearest competitor and led, till at kilometer-317 – past Tanglang La – he collapsed. He went into shock. The descent from Tanglang La to Dibrung, in its early portion, is a mix of sharply contrasting ambiances. Depending on the time of day, just after the pass, you get a sunlit mountain face. The road then proceeds to a gully, takes a U-turn and straddles the opposite mountain face, which is in the shadow and hence cold. “ Up there, the big issue is high altitude but sometimes you have the more common problems like hypothermia and hypoglycemia. Mark was extremely low on energy and suddenly the temperature dipped because he was in the shadow region,’’ Dr Chauhan said of what triggered collapse and shock. That year was weird. Probably because 2014 was the inaugural year for La Ultra’s 333 km-challenge, of nine people running the distance, eight ended up DNF. Only one – Kim Rasmussen of Denmark – finished. Mark’s was the last of the DNFs, which had begun from kilometer-48. On the second occasion, in 2015, Mark ran up and over Khardung La in good time but then began worrying if he had done it too fast. He wondered whether such an approach to altitude would elicit a toll later in the race. Next day, when he experienced difficulty breathing, a rather convincing notion that he was unwell, took hold. With memory of previous collapse alive in mind, he lost much time insisting on being checked by the medics when the medics couldn’t find anything wrong. Eventually he finished the race 52 minutes after the cut off time for the whole course. 2016 was his third attempt. “ I like to finish what I started,’’ Mark had said ahead of the 2016 race. If there was any runner, everyone wanted to see finish the race successfully – it was Mark. You have to have a big heart to return three times for La Ultra’s 333 km-ordeal. I had asked him if three times on the same route may deny runner’s mind a sense of motivation. “ No, you start with an empty head. Every race is new. Besides this is the Himalaya,’’ Mark said.

August 12. Ryoichi Sato and Mark on the approach to Goba Guest House, Leh (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

August 12. Ryoichi Sato (left) and Mark on the approach to Goba Guest House, Leh (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Morning of August 12, as they came off Khardung La and South Pullu, the 333 km-runners were free to halt at the Goba Guest House in Leh, which served as the race organizers’ base camp. Waiting for Mark there was Ryoichi Sato. In La Ultra circles, everyone spoke of the Japanese runner with respect. His visiting card offered a glimpse of the races he had run: among them were the Marathon Des Sables, Spartathlon, 24 Hour World Endurance Marathon, Annapurna 100, Mustang Mountain Trail Race and a clutch of races in Japan. In 2013, he required a pacemaker to be attached to his heart. Two months later, he completed La Ultra in its 222 km-avatar. “ I got to know of his pacemaker only after I reached Leh. That year’s medical director almost had a fit when she learnt of it. Sato has some crazy runs in some amazing times. The pacemaker wasn’t something that bothered me. I did tell him that he needed to listen to his body a bit more now and not be as reckless as he would have been a couple of years ago,’’ Dr Chauhan said. In 2014, Sato had attempted the 333 km-version of La Ultra along with Mark. “ Sato San’’ met Mark a little away from the guest house and ran a short distance with him. A while later, refreshed and rested, Mark left the guest house on the next leg of the race. That was hours ago. Now a blazing afternoon and much of an evening later, on the run up to Sakti, he seemed to have slowed down.

Alexander Holzinger-Elias (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Alexander (Alex) Holzinger-Elias (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Gone past Mark was Alexander (Alex) Holzinger-Elias, a German businessman based in Bahrain. Both Alex and his wife Dunya are into running. Alex, who has been a regular at The Comrades in South Africa, had completed the 111 km race of La Ultra in 2015. That year, he placed second, behind Parwez Malik. He had then taken a leap of faith and opted for the 333 km category in 2016, skipping progression through the intermediate 222 km option. Training was a problem. Bahrain is a hot place with neither mountains nor altitude. Alex opted to run long hours early in the morning and after work, besides making the best use of the treadmill and the stair-master. With Dunya as coach and manager, he also did a couple of races, which he thought may prepare him for La Ultra. Dunya’s bid at the 111 km race in 2016 ended quite early. She missed the North Pullu cut-off by 15 minutes. It was her second DNF; in 2015, she had stopped at kilometer-54. On August 12, she joined Alex’s crew. The least experienced of the 333 km-field, Alex kept a steady pace. He was the last of the four runners to reach Leh from Diskit, but by Karu, on the approach to Sakti, he had overtaken Mark. That was the pecking order August 12 evening; past Mark and his crew we came across Alex and his team. Ahead lay a small guest house – Solpon Camping & Home Stay – and beyond that, the 17,200 ft high-Wari La.

On the ascent to Wari La; Mark and Peter, the cyclist (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

On the ascent to Wari La; Mark and Peter, the cyclist (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Jovica and Grant had already reached Sakti and Solpon Camping & Home Stay. They rested for about an hour and 45 minutes. Late night, they set off for Wari La. Grant had to exercise caution. They were moving into high altitude. But Jovica was prepared for Wari La; this was where he had trained ahead of the race. The duo made brisk work of the pass. “ Their initial target was to reach the top of Wari La in about eight hours. They did so in six hours,’’ Dhanush K. N, who was part of Jovica’s support crew, said. Meanwhile very late at night, Alex and Mark too reached the guest house. Early morning as the sun revealed the beauty of Wari La and the view from there; all four runners were once again in the same region. Jovica and Grant were returning from the top while Alex and Mark were on their way up. Grant seemed fine after Wari La. Tim and Nick had an observation about the Jovica-Grant partnership. It worked to mutual benefit. The tough older runner had the drive of the younger one to draw motivation from; the younger one avoided the folly of heading too fast to altitude thanks to older runner around. It kept both in a stretched but mutually beneficial, relatively safe zone, aware of potential complications yet avoiding it. On the ascent to Wari La, Mark kept a slow, steady pace. He had chosen his crew carefully. Two of his crew members had been with him on his previous attempts; the third was Elena. “ For me, the most important thing in a crew is absence of conflict,’’ he said. He had that peace in his team; Mark’s was a happy, relaxed crew. It graced runner too. Mark was never beyond a “ hi’’ or a “ hello’’ on the road.

Peter (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Peter (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Unlike cities, mountains are quiet. From a couple of bends above, I heard Mark say hello to Peter. The cyclist had slowly caught up with Mark. Peter was a police officer from Germany. His touring bicycle – a Velotraum – had pannier bags at the rear and up front. Loaded, it was heavy. “ I like my independence,’’ he told me. For a while, cyclist and runner seemed side by side, a moment Elena tried to capture on camera. Then the cyclist pulled ahead. On Wari La, Peter watched from the side as Mark reached the pass and turned back. The Wari La portion of the La Ultra course, is an up and down along the same road. As Mark left, we went looking for Jovica and Grant. Peter stayed on alone at the pass, enjoying his rest, before cycling on to Nubra.

Grant rests for a while (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Grant rests for a while (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Jovica and Grant on the road to Rumtse (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Jovica and Grant on the road to Rumtse (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

The road to Sakti and Wari La branches off from Karu on the Manali-Leh highway. Jovica and Grant were not at Karu; they had already gone past the junction. The sun was now blazing; it was hot, close to noon. We met them at Upshi, where the duo had decided to break for lunch. Jovica sat in his support vehicle. Grant sat on a chair in a dhaba (a roadside eatery), dressed in racing attire amid a bunch of tourists. Few looked up from their banter, food and selfies. The road from Upshi to Rumtse was testing. Not only was it the hottest part of day, there was vehicular traffic and in Ladakh’s still air, every molecule of smoke invades one’s nose and lungs. The runners proceeded carefully on this section. By all accounts, it was Grant who kept the steadier head on these hot, irritating sections of road with traffic. Exhaustion was slowly creeping in. Jovica paused to rest. Grant walked considerably ahead and decided to take rest himself. The support crew created a chamber within their vehicle for him to rest, windows masked with dark fabric. He chose to lie down on the road, legs up on the vehicle’s bumper. Before the start of the race, Grant had mentioned that he would like to keep his breaks for rest, not full-fledged but partial. Bare earth was perfect; neither here, nor there. Late at night, after a two hour-halt at the guest house in Rumtse, Grant and Jovica set off for the last high pass on the La Ultra course – Tanglang La.

Grant, evening of August 13; Rumtse is still some ways off and beyond that lay, Tanglang La (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Grant, evening of August 13; Rumtse is still some ways off and beyond that lay, Tanglang La (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Probably because it is the highest and most publicized, when it comes to mountain passes in Ladakh, Khardung La is everything. Tourists in cars, bikers, cyclists – all want a photo or selfie there. When you run La Ultra from Diskit, things are different. As the first test by altitude along the way, Khardung La takes its toll. But a seasoned runner is still fresh and able to tackle the challenge. Next night, it is a tired runner who reaches Wari La. However Wari La is overall gentle unless the weather plays truant. Picturesque and tucked away, it pulls the visitor in without a mission mode in the frame. August 13 night, as Jovica and Grant began the ascent to Tanglang La, they were not only tired from being on the road (almost continuously) for more than two days, they were sleep deprived and the approach to the pass was long and winding. The dimensions of these mountains hit you. The frustration is perhaps more at night, for in the darkness you can’t see the far bends or estimate how much more distance is left to reach your objective. Headlamps show you the way; they don’t show you the world.

Jovica, evening of August 13 (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Jovica, evening of August 13; the 333 km-runners have been on the road from August 11, 8 PM, onward (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

The unending climb took its toll on Jovica. He grew tad irritable. At one point he asked me if I knew exactly how many kilometres remained to the pass. He seemed searching for an answer better than the regular Indian reply of: it’s just over there. Although I had been on that road before as a traveler, I hadn’t observed it well enough to estimate distance, particularly at night. My response was disappointingly vague. Another time Jovica wondered if this combination of endless ascent and their tired selves was “ some sort of scientific experiment.’’ Grant assured in a composed voice that their problems stemmed from the night denying them perspective to gauge distance. Grant was however battling other worries – it was cold, exhaustion had been creeping in and Tanglang La was once again, a return to elevation. Not far from the pass, the medics came by checking on the duo. The runners asked if the medic’s car could be driven slowly so that they could follow its lights to the pass. That’s how Jovica and Grant reached Tanglang La. It was bitterly cold.

Morning of August 14; Grant and Jovica on the final stretch to Dibrung (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Morning of August 14; past Tanglang La, Grant and Jovica on the final stretch to Dibrung (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

The medics assessed Grant. “ Jovica was tired. But Grant was not engaging mentally. He wasn’t responding. We quickly took him to the vehicle and turned the heating on. His oxygen saturation was 65 while everyone else was at about 75. He was told that medically he is unfit to continue for the next ten minutes. He accepted that,’’ Nick said. During the ten minutes that followed, Grant had a litre of water and two chocolate bars. He was reassessed. His oxygen saturation was now around 85. His lungs were clear. He was allowed to continue the race. According to Nick it was a case of exposure exhaustion. Jovica once again waited till Grant was back on his feet. Tanglang La, appearing late in the race when runner is exhausted, has always been the real challenge in La Ultra. “ The pass is 309 km into the race. That’s a lot of running by any standards even if it is in the plains. Now add high altitude and extreme cold to it. This year’s medics pushed my extreme approach too. They are thorough professionals who appreciate what runners are doing and what it means to them. As a support team, they were the find of the event. We are still learning how the human body responds to endurance events in such extreme conditions,’’ Dr Chauhan said.

Mark on the final stretch to Dibrung (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Mark on the final stretch to Dibrung (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

At the 2016 Badwater Ultramarathon where Grant finished sixth, completing the race in seventeenth position was Ray Sanchez. In 2011, Ray, running La Ultra in its then 222 km-avatar, had a memorable tryst with Tanglang La. It was there, delirious and disoriented, that he lost his lead to Sharon Gayter who went on to win that edition of the race. I didn’t specifically ask the runners but I suppose, crossing Tanglang La is a psychological threshold in La Ultra. You know you are now on the home stretch albeit still with work to do for someone racing against time, as there is one final cut-off – 333 km in 72 hours – to meet. The lead duo of 2016 had however made it to the pass with much time to spare. The peaks around wore a crown of early morning sunshine as Jovica and Grant jogged down the descent from Tanglang La. A little over a half marathon now remained. Their passage to Dibrung was largely uneventful. Sixty hours and 37 minutes after they commenced their run in Diskit, Jovica and Grant crossed the finish line in Dibrung, together. It was a new course record. Grant later described his partnership with Jovica during the race, as akin to a “ father-son relationship.’’

Grant, Jovica and their support crew at the finish line (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Grant, Jovica and their support crew at the finish line (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Mark and his crew reach the finish line in Dibrung (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Mark and his crew reach the finish line in Dibrung (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Alex at the finish line (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Alex at the finish line (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

The previous morning, Alex had reached Wari La before Mark. On the way down, Alex decided to rest some time at the guest house in Sakti. Mark didn’t. He regained his lead. But at Karu he rested and Alex went ahead. The latter, reaching Rumtse ahead of Mark elected to rest for about two hours. Mark reached Rumtse late but kept his rest short. Some hours after Jovica and Grant had crossed the finish line, it was Mark we met first on the Dibrung side of Tanglang La. Alex was still a bend or two below on the other side of the pass. At one point, as he walked down the sunlit face of Tanglang La, Mark said, “ my energy level is fine. My legs feel like blocks of concrete.’’ If you run your hand on the bone above Mark’s ankle, you can feel a line of screws beneath the skin. There’s a rod in there. On the knee of his other leg, to the side, is the scar of a surgery gone by. Both are joints that have seen much work. “ The ankle holds up but the knee tends to hurt,’’ he had said in Leh ahead of the race. Elena walked with him for a while on the home stretch to Dibrung. Just before the finish line he was joined by his whole team. That last bit, they walked together. On his third attempt at the 333 km race of La Ultra, Mark Woolley succeeded, completing it in 68 hours and 57 minutes. The finish is significant. Mark, 52, has been working on a book on his life in running. He can now write the chapter on La Ultra. It was evening by the time Alexander Holzinger-Elias reached the finish line. He had taken a chance at 333 km and cracked it in the very first attempt. He completed the race in 70 hours, 39 minutes. V.S. Ramachandran was part of Alex’s support team for the first half of the race. “ I was sure from start that Alex would complete the run,’’ he said.

Some fun at the finish line (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Some fun at the finish line while waiting for the runners (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

The thing about La Ultra is that because it is an extended commitment, it forges bonds. “ I think we are all sad that it’s over,’’ Alex said after the awards ceremony on August 15. “ Post-race blues,’’ Grant said smiling. Mark felt Grant is among the toughest adventure racers in his age category at present in the world. Grant thought of himself as a gypsy. This life – hopping from one race to another, encountering different cultures, enjoying the company of ultramarathon runners – suited him. He hadn’t worked the past six months. He had invested his earnings such that he could keep race-hopping. But resources were running out and he knew he would have to skipper a boat or two to further the gypsy life. I asked him if he had anticipated his troubles at Khardung La. “ I thought I went in good considering I acclimatized well and the distance seemed doable. It surprised me that the altitude got to me. There are quite a few bits and pieces of the race that I can’t remember,’’ he said. About Jovica he said, the Serbian is a talented runner, somebody to watch out for. As for La Ultra itself, Grant felt “ it is really, really extreme.’’ But describing any race as `toughest in the world,’ more than one runner cautioned, would be incorrect, for at day’s end perceptions are personal. I asked Elena if she would return to being on the support crew for Mark, now that she had made her debut at the job in Ladakh. A photographer, she didn’t consider herself a sportsperson. She wasn’t sure she would repeat the experience. People are different; some are into sports, some are creative. What each one is should be respected. She said of Mark, “ if he is angry or upset, you give him his running shoes. He goes out for a run, he is calm again.’’ Late August 2016 – I searched for Grant Maughan on the 2016 Leadville Trail 100 results. A week after La Ultra, he had finished second in his age category at Leadville.

Grant, during Badwater 146 mile solo, self supported crossing he did in the days after the 2016 edition of La Ultra (Photo: courtesy Grant Maughan)

Grant, during the Badwater 146 mile solo, self supported crossing he did in the days after the 2016 edition of La Ultra (Photo: courtesy Grant Maughan)

Postscript: One month after the 333 km race in Ladakh, Grant wrote in with a small synopsis of what he had been up to. He wrote: a few days after finishing La Ultra “ I was back in Colorado to run the Leadville 100 mile trail race which I managed to do in sub-24 hours. Then I drove for two days back to Death Valley and completed the Badwater 146 mile; solo, self supported crossing and broke the record by about six hours (49 hours 42 minutes). Solo means you have to carry enough water, food and gear to get from Badwater Basin in Death Valley all the way to the summit of Mount Whitney (highest mountain in lower 48 states of the US). I pulled all the stuff in a three wheeled cart. It weighed about 85 kilo at start because of all the water you need to carry. You are not allowed to resupply along the way or even get rid of garbage. Pretty cool!”

(The author, Shyam G Menon, is a freelance journalist based in Mumbai. The altitudes of mountain passes are as mentioned in the race route map. The details of DNF from earlier editions are taken from the race’s official website. There is an article on the 2011 edition of La Ultra available in the blog archives. At that time the race was of 222 km and it started from Khardung village. The organizers have been talking of increasing the distance of the race to 555 km and 666 km, making it multi-stage alongside. An article on that too can be found in the blog archives.)     

 

WAKING UP TO A SECOND CHANCE

The outdoors is not about achievement; it is about being there. Senior NOLS instructor, Shantanu Pandit, sketched this temple in Solang Nallah, Himachal Pradesh, years ago when he was a leading the hiking and camping season there for Mumbai based-outdoor company, Countryside (Illustration: courtesy Shantanu Pandit)

The outdoors isn’t all about achievement. It is also about being there and taking in worlds different from what one is used to. Senior NOLS instructor, Shantanu Pandit, sketched this house in Solang Nallah, Himachal Pradesh, years ago when he was leading the hiking and camping season there for Mumbai based-outdoor company, Countryside (Illustration: Shantanu Pandit)

This article is about a NOLS course I did in 2011. Shantanu Pandit helps bring in a touch of the mountains with his sketches. NOLS courses in India are held in Uttarakhand.

It had been a hard walk.

Not so much for the terrain or the duration. It was the weight in my backpack. I wasn’t used to hauling so much. Plus there was fatigue and ego. Once again in the outdoors, I was on the wrong side of age. I was among the oldest in my batch, if not the oldest. Anger, kindled from an earlier mountaineering course at an Indian institute, where everything had been partial to its dominant age group of the early twenties – worked its way into my blood. New to altitude and snow, I felt I was denied training and instead parceled off into existence as mediocre specimen. The word for it was `grade’; it graced everyone’s certificate like pedigree. From that certificate flowed, for all practical purposes, mountaineering’s hierarchy in India. Not again such imprisonment by grade, I said, as I pulled hard and raced off from everyone else on the first day of a Trip Leader India (TLI) course with the India branch of the National Outdoor Leadership School (NOLS).

Some hours earlier, we had been dropped off on the approach to Karmi village in Kumaon, the eastern half of the Indian state of Uttarakhand. It was hilly all around. As the crow flies, the snow-capped peaks of the Himalaya were not far off. It was day one. The jeeps left and a sense of you-are-on-your-own descended. We would be out for a little less than one month. Just then, the end seemed long way off. I looked at my course mates. Two or three were faces familiar from previous trips to the outdoors. The rest were strangers. The course began systematically with instructors emphasizing foot care (that’s the part of the anatomy you would use the most on a long hike), hydration and periodic breaks for refreshment. But I was in a different world haunted by old memories. I am unsure whether I adhered to the instructors’ advice. I saw the course as another tsunami of youth at my heels, waiting to sink my ship. Evening we halted to camp, gathering in a circle as NOLS loves to do. I remember sitting down on my backpack, in that circle. Then the world tilted like a ship deck heaving in stormy sea. Eventually the ship turned turtle and a peaceful darkness took hold.

On my NOLS course, my planned redemption from `B’ grade at old mountaineering institute, I had fainted!

Damn.

A temple in Solang Nallah, Himachal Pradesh (Illustration: courtesy Shantanu Pandit)

A temple in Solang Nallah, Himachal Pradesh (Illustration: Shantanu Pandit)

We had been divided into tent groups. Each group was self-sufficient in shelter, food and cooking equipment. I don’t quite remember where I woke up or who I saw first. Was it my tent mates? Was it my instructors peering down at me? Anyway, I was told I came around to my senses, with some chocolate. That evening my tent mates quietly took care of me. Nobody made an issue of the fainting spell; nobody bothered me unnecessarily. I introspected, tracing the episode to both old anger and perhaps more importantly, long hours chair-bound before the computer, back in Mumbai where I eked out a living as freelance journalist. Not only had that life been increasingly sedentary but income had drastically dropped too, affecting nutrition. Once a rock climbing addict, I was forced to reduce my visits to the crags after I lost my erstwhile disciplined life to incessant typing. Typing for my life I would say, because as freelancer I was paid only as per what I wrote; there is no salary or security. Now I was paying for it. In my tent, I felt like an idiot. I expected to be sent out, packed back to the NOLS India base in Ranikhet. Such was the legacy of the old mountaineering course in my head. The outdoors is all about performance, right?

Mercifully, that didn’t happen.

We had three instructors. The course leader was Margo van den Berg, an American of Dutch origin. Competent climber, she kept a studied distance from all till we approached course’s end. She carried a sketchbook in which she collected drawings of outdoor scenes. If I recall right, she also liked to dance and did something similar to a polka once. The second instructor was Ariel Greene; American, strong hiker, well read and majored in literature, also accomplished musician. A rather quiet individual, he was capable of engaging conversation on subjects that captured his interest. The third was Pranesh Manchaiah; Indian, at that time one of the best rock climbers in the country. He was very approachable and the active interface of the instructor team with the students. They must have discussed my case. The next morning, they made sure to check on me. I also knew I was probably being observed. But that was it – day two, kicked off like any other day. I had made a mistake. It seemed alright. What mattered more was – would I learn from my mistake?

I liked that approach, that second chance.

Kitchen tent, from a trip in Ladakh years ago (Illustration: courtesy Shantanu Pandit)

Kitchen tent, from a trip in Ladakh years ago (Illustration: Shantanu Pandit)

I sorely needed it. The combination of mountaineering institute, climbing club and my own limitations as climber had jammed me into a funk. An unexpected high altitude hike with a friend, who was a NOLS instructor and the way he taught me some simple steps in snow craft, got me thinking of this outdoor school. How about doing a NOLS course? – I thought. I started with a first aid course, which made sense for I was already working occasionally as an outdoor educator. Even in that course, taught at Ranikhet, the NOLS teaching style stood out. A typical class was of modest size, not the too many which characterized Indian scenarios. Modest size meant better attention and observation. There was fun. Yet there was a high degree of personal ownership among all. That dreaded word `grade,’ which plagued my old mountaineering course wasn’t prominent. The times it grew prominent were when Indian students featured it in their private discussions for we worship life by degrees, grades and such licenses for exclusivity ingrained in us. Worse, unable to live without A, B and C grades for distinction, we focus our teaching efforts on the most promising. At my old mountaineering institute, I remember explicit encouragement and support for the naturally talented, while the stragglers lived like failures. The NOLS faculty on the other hand, seemed to see teaching as exactly that – teaching those who don’t know. Indeed I would say, the less you know something, the better a NOLS course works for you, provided you are there to learn. At the end of the first aid course, there was a test. It went by like a breeze for free of fearing grade and genuinely wanting to be good at what we did, we had studied well every day. Each of us got a certificate valid for two years. NOLS was clear that rusted skills didn’t mean much. After two years, you re-certify.

My experience of the first aid course made me curious. The school’s philosophy seemed to agree with my own belief – you are as good as how often you are in the outdoors, not what grade you hold from an old course at mountaineering institute. I also liked the reduced machismo in the air. Quite unlike the Indian habit of viewing the outdoors as domain of the tough and seeking champions in everything, the tenor at NOLS seemed to be to make people comfortable in the outdoors with the champion bit, left for personal pursuit. What they did was put the basics like risk assessment, camping skills, navigation and Leave No Trace in place. In India, NOLS ran mountaineering and backpacking courses. The regular courses have one major drawback. They are expensive. However the Indian branch had a local outreach programme structured for educators – that’s the one I chose to do after my first aid course.

The first time I heard of NOLS was at my longstanding mountaineering club in Mumbai. We were on a diet of regular rock climbing in the local hills with occasional visits to climb mountains in the Himalaya. We were a rough, tough lot, shaped by climbing and eminently capable of turning our backs on anyone who deemed us crazy. We had need only for each other. What we didn’t know was how much that made us inward looking, measuring everything and everyone through the prism of climbing and to that extent, not different from settled society which views the world through the prism of well settled life. We often poked fun of NOLS, which seemed tame with its emphasis on safety, risk assessment et al and its pronounced appreciation for hiking as right context to teach outdoor curriculum. Climbers look down on hikers. In the company of my club, I submitted myself to measurement by climbing grade, worshiped super humans and wept at my measly strengths in the field. There was also another reason, I guess, why NOLS was looked at the way it was, in the Mumbai climbing circles I was exposed to. Clubs are a great way to start off something. But over a period of time, they can lose the ability to be self critical and become a self righteous fold of the mutually familiar. At the time I did my course, I found NOLS quite different compared to the outdoor club and mountaineering institute, I was coming from.

View from Khardung La, Ladakh (Illustration: Shantanu Pandit)

View from Khardung La, Ladakh (Illustration: Shantanu Pandit)

On our NOLS course, we had contour maps, compasses to orient them; indeed compasses using which we could have gone through the old routine of bearing and back bearing – the works, tying ourselves up in a math most of us hate. At NOLS, past map-orientation, our instructors encouraged us to keep the compass aside. A major component of navigation was observation of context. We slowly learnt to pick out features from the surrounding geography and locate them on the map. Looking around became important. As you looked up from traditional entrapment by performance and immediate world, you saw mountains, passes, even your fellow students. Throughout my NOLS course, I struggled with navigation (I still do). It was an indication of how much I had to get away from tunnel vision and impatience. I remembered my first mountaineering expedition in the Zanskar Himalaya, where I had once spent a long time frantically looking for the rest who had moved fast and disappeared from sight. Since then, having people ahead and within sight had been my map, my sense of security. Now map in hand, I was looking around, using my head even as it loathed math.

Mountains are lovely classrooms. Long hiking days and path-finding often threw up fantastic junctures for an instructor to intervene. Entrusted with responsibility and beset with error and challenge, the students opened up to learning. We learnt to work as a team, co-operate and have fun. I recognized this fun quickly as the inexplicable bonhomie I knew from my climbing crags, that sheer delight of being in the outdoors with others who love it. Describing it is difficult, probably not required. The difference on the NOLS course was this – we discovered it wasn’t magic but something we could create. We were not annoyingly judgmental. We were accommodating, willing to explain our problems with the world and each other, contributing thus to a quality missed in Indian education – a safe learning environment.

For example, I was, still am, a very average cook. But even the worst cook gains confidence and tries to improve when your turn to cook is accompanied by supportive tent mates and cooking is part of field curriculum being taught. That said, for many Indians, cooking is akin to the loss of vertical as stamp of high adventure. What has cooking – usually identified with the ladies – got to do with the macho outdoors? In Indian context with premium on masculinity, it takes the sheen off adventurer expected to handle nothing but ropes and gear. Cooking at NOLS addressed a very fundamental point – if you can’t take care of yourself in the outdoors, how can you say you are adventurer chasing peak, pass or summit? If you exist, your chance of reaching the destination is more. On such simple things ranging from cooking to personal hygiene, listening to team members and learning to lead, ran a NOLS course. The concept of self-sustained expeditions, which form the backbone of all NOLS experiences, is perfect backdrop for these dynamics to unravel.

A scene from Ladakh (Illustration: Shantanu Pandit)

A scene from just outside Karzyok, Ladakh (Illustration: Shantanu Pandit)

Many days of hiking went by. Roughly put, our route ran east from Karmi towards Munsyari, hugging modest elevation but having enough rough terrain to make the hiking experience span walking on proper trail to bushwhacking. Doing the latter with students as navigators and instructor passively accompanying till the evolving situation warranted intervention, we had some long strenuous days. Split every morning into self-contained hiking groups, I remember one extended day that slowly slid to late evening, destination not yet reached and students beginning to get nervous. Margo who walked with us was however cool. She occasionally checked the geographical features around to gauge direction, played silent spectator to our team management and scouting trips and when darkness approached, stayed calm for after all we were a self-contained group. It brought alive that load in my backpack as my survival kit and not excuse to show-off my ability to haul weight. As things turned out, my group did reach the assigned camping spot to a warm welcome of flying snow balls from the rest of the batch, arrived earlier. It was early summer in the Himalaya. Snow was around in shaded areas and the higher reaches of our route. Often, it rained, making the world wet-cold. Our last camp was at Dhapa, high on the banks of the Goriganga near Munsyari. By then we had crossed two other major river valleys en route, those of the Pindar and Saryu rivers, besides other minor valleys identified with local streams. Every time we climbed up from a valley to height, we would see the snow clad Kumaon Himalaya not far away.

Slowly but steadily, I had become fit as a fiddle; happy to be out. I could have turned around and asked the guy who fainted – are you me? The near 25 kilo-backpacks were a load, no doubt. But we knew the pattern – it weighed most just after re-ration and tapered slowly towards the next re-ration. So we cooked and ate. We attended classes despite weather gone bad, wearing rain coats, puff jackets and wind cheaters under a tarp propped up by tree branches and trekking poles, for shelter. We saw each other in the light of headlamps. We waded through cold streams, kicked steps on snow and bushwhacked. At camps, we took classes; something, anything that you could share with your fellow students or teach them. From strangers, we evolved to friends. I remember young Zanskar, who thanks to his familiarity with Kumaon, was a walking encyclopedia on local flora and fauna. I remember Joshi, who everyone remembers, for the rhododendron-paratha he made. I remember quiet, solid Soumitra. I remember the ever upbeat Amrit. I remember Vinay, Anish, Stanzin, Kamakshi, Tara, Hitendra, Ravi, Manjunath, Shaleel. We got along well.

Then one day, close to course’s end, your instructor – they assigned one as mentor for each student – met up with you to discuss evaluation and grade. I appreciated the personal meeting, the discussion and the detailed evaluation with explanations. A, B, C or shades in between – they told you why. Most important – it wasn’t a certificate that dovetailed as input for a bureaucratic administration of access to the mountains, saying: a person with this grade can do this, that grade can do only so much…so on and so forth. They weren’t gifting me a straight-jacket for life as the Indian mountaineering institute did. The NOLS certificate felt like an evaluation in time, a snapshot in life. What a snapshot shows of you at 20 isn’t how you would be at 40, which in turn may not be how you are at 60. Life is a journey. It is for you to decide what to do with it. A snapshot isn’t all of your life at one go. It is just a slice, a pointer.

I liked that.

I felt free.

(The author, Shyam G Menon, is a freelance journalist based in Mumbai. This article was developed from a piece originally written and published in The Outdoor Journal [http://www.outdoorjournal.in/] in early 2014. My gratitude to Shantanu Pandit for asking me about the old article and making me want to share it afresh.)               

 

“ I AM BY NATURE A SOLO RUNNER’’

Breeze Sharma (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Breeze Sharma (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Breeze Sharma spoke with no intent to impress.

There was an air of – this is what I am; take it or leave it.

He minced no words in his description of the emergent world of Mumbai running. In particular, how support and sponsorship grace mostly the media savvy.

Breeze wasn’t wrong in his perception. A couple of weeks after we met him, Outside magazine ran an article on the same problem as felt in expeditions. It would be easy to say that what is going wrong in the matrix of money, media and marketing can be set right by further tweaks to technology or that the maze can be negotiated by hiring consultants adept at the task. The real issue is something else. It has to do with what drives the matrix, dominance by the matrix and the distortion it brings.

It was a hot summer morning.

Breeze sat in the café, like runner trapped, mind lost to what he must do. He had just finished a long run in the morning and after meeting us, would head out for another session in the blazing sun. In the middle of busy city with people ensconced in the air conditioned comfort of their cars and offices, a lone runner adding mileage on scorched road. Breeze is among Mumbai’s best known ultra-marathon runners. He was preparing for the Badwater Ultra Marathon, a foot race enduring extreme temperature variations and elevation change, often described in the world of running as the toughest event around.

Breeze on Kang Yatse (Photo: courtesy Breeze Sharma)

Breeze on Kang Yatse I. This is the main peak, not the shoulder many climb to (Photo: courtesy Breeze Sharma)

“ I don’t think I got accepted at Badwater because I am a runner. I am a mountaineer,’’ he said. Born January 1974 into a large family in Jaipur, Breeze Sharma considers mountaineering his first love. He did his mountaineering courses from the Jawahar Institute of Mountaineering in Batot, the Nehru Institute of Mountaineering (NIM) Uttarkasi, the Atal Bihari Vajpayee Institute of Mountaineering and Allied Sports, Manali and the High Altitude Warfare School (HAWS) in Gulmarg. Long haired and tattooed, Breeze, works with the Indian Navy; on the civilian side. He has been associated with the navy’s Adventure Cell for several years. Climbing mountains, he has been on peaks like Nanda Kot, Bhanoti , Friendship, Shitidhar, Chamser Kangri, Lungser Kangri, Deo Tibba, Baljuri, Kang Yatse, Shinkun East, Shinkun West, Ramjak, Mentok Kangri,  DKD-II and Independence 50. The altitude involved in these climbs, ranges from 17,000ft to 22,000ft. A bachelor, he stays in Mumbai, in a house close to the Sanjay Gandhi National Park (it is the biggest forest within a city anywhere in the world), getting occasional visits from the park’s slithery residents. Aside from mountaineering and running, Breeze also handles snakes.

It was Mumbai runner Suresh Pillai who introduced Breeze to running. Suresh is a colleague in the navy. “ Breeze was very active in the Adventure Cell. I had accompanied him on some treks.  I told him that he should get into running, that he will enjoy it,’’ Suresh said. Breeze’s first running event was the Vasai-Virar Marathon of 2012, incidentally the same year that he began running. Starting almost 25 minutes late, Breeze finished the full marathon in 5 hours, 38 minutes, last in the field. Nobody saw him finish. Suresh had to intervene and get him a finisher’s medal. “ I was interested only in the full marathon,’’ Breeze said when asked why he didn’t pick any of the smaller distances at his first running event. Discouraged by his showing, he left the finish line, thinking he didn’t have what it takes to be a good runner. However, the opposite unfolded. Following his Vasai-Virar experience, Breeze started to run regularly. He ran the 2013 Standard Chartered Mumbai Marathon (SCMM) under navy quota, completing the full marathon in 4 hours, 31minutes. His next full marathon was in Chandigarh. Then, in October 2013, he ran his first ultra-marathon, the 80km-Bhatti Lakes Ultra, running the distance in 11 hours, 22 minutes. He ended third in that race. In December 2013, he ran a 100km ultra in the Nilgiris, lapping up the distance in 15 hours, 29 minutes. “ With this race, I came to accept that ultra-running is my passion,’’ Breeze said. He set his eyes on a hundred miler (161km). That happened with an event in the Rann of Kutch in Gujarat, where he ran 161km in 34 hours, 56 minutes to place second.

From Himalayan Crossing (Photo: courtesy Breeze Sharma)

From Himalayan Crossing (Photo: courtesy Breeze Sharma)

June 2014, found him running 80km in 10 hours, 46 minutes at the Shimla Ultra. Next he opted for a multi-day race spanning July 7-11 and covering 335 km, called Himalayan Crossing. Between the Shimla Ultra and this multi-day race, Breeze embarked on an expedition to Deo Tibba. At Chikka, he was bitten by a Russels Viper. Fortunately, the bite was on a finger, with that much distance, anatomically, between area of bite and vital organs. Only one fang made contact. Rushing him back to Manali, his guide alerted the District Magistrate and ensured that a helicopter was kept on standby. In another stroke of luck, enquiries revealed that the relevant antivenin was available at a hospital in Kullu. Breeze was brought unconscious to Kullu, where the antivenin was injected. He survived; he was discharged eight hours after regaining consciousness. It was a narrow escape. It left him with ten days to attempt the Himalayan Crossing. Its route straddled an average elevation of 12,000ft. As it turned out, he was the only one running. Starting from a village in Spiti, he ran the distance, crossing the Kunzum La and Rohtang La (both high passes) en route. He completed the run in 55 hours, 45 minutes. “ It was in this event that I discovered the endurance runner in me,’’ Breeze said. Suresh put it in perspective, “ Breeze has very good endurance because of his mountaineering activity.’’ The Himalayan Crossing – which earned him a place in the Limca Book of Records – happened in July 2014.

From Himalayan Crossing (Photo: courtesy Breeze Sharma)

Running in the Himalaya (Photo: courtesy Breeze Sharma)

On August 3rd, Breeze ran the 12 hour-stadium run in Bengaluru, covering 92.8km to place fifth. He also ran the Mumbai Ultra of August 15. As if this wasn’t enough, Breeze reached Ladakh in September to run the Khardung La Challenge. In November 2014, still in running mode, he ran 162km to secure third place in the 24 hour-segment of the Bangalore Ultra. Then he ran for a second time, the 100km ultra in the Nilgiris, completing it in 14 hours, 29 minutes. “ I ran the maximum number of ultras I have done so far, in 2014,’’ Breeze said. Inderpal Khalsa is a young, promising ultra-marathon runner. He has run a few ultra-marathons with Breeze. “ One thing I have observed is that he has very strong will power and his mind is determined and focused. I have seen him on extreme terrain, unwilling to stop, just looking down and continuing to run at a slow pace. He can run for hours and hours without a break because he focuses on strength training and spends a lot of time in the mountains,’’ Inderpal said.

In early 2015, four days after SCMM, Breeze ran a 24 hour-treadmill challenge, covering 196.64km, earning him a place in the Limca Book of Records. In February, he repeated the ultra in the Rann of Kutch, running 100 miles in 28 hours, 55 minutes. Breeze won this race. Then an unexpected twist occurred, one that dealt him a severe mental blow. At noon, April 25, 2015, a devastating earthquake struck Nepal shaking up the Everest region with considerable damage inflicted as far away as Kathmandu. Over 8000 people died, more than 20,000 were injured. The temblor triggered a major avalanche at Everest Base Camp. Among those buried under the snow was Breeze Sharma. For over a decade, the mountaineer and ultra-marathoner had been saving up money for an expedition to Everest. Everest is a costly affair. He sank his savings into the project and borrowed some more. His plan was to climb both Everest and Lhotse. All that effort and a chance to attempt the summit, ended up under the snow. Buried by avalanche, Breeze eventually broke through to the surface. In the hours that followed at camp, he had an injured woman die in his arms. In all, 21 people died due to the avalanche at Everest Base Camp. The experience rattled him. Atop the trauma of earthquake and avalanche, was the spectre of returning home to a huge debt. “ I was bankrupt,’’ Breeze said. Laid low by these developments, he quit running. It was one of those dead end scenarios when nothing appears to work positively for human being.

From the ultra-marathon in the Rann of Kutch (Photo: courtesy Breeze Sharma)

Breeze, during the ultra-marathon in the Rann of Kutch (Photo: courtesy Breeze Sharma)

One of those who kept in touch with Breeze during this phase was Vijaya Nadar. She lives in the US. “ Breeze struggled to fund his Everest expedition because a sponsor who had promised ten lakhs for the same had to decline and some other funds he was banking on wasn’t released on time. Some of his runner friends had promised to help raise funds; that too didn’t happen. It led to a panicky situation. He had no money to even buy insurance, before the trip. But he left for Everest all the same. After the earthquake and avalanche, he not only had to come to terms with his failure but also the mountain of loans – around 15 lakh rupees – which he had taken from his family and friends. He was broke and absolutely sure that he will not be able to recover. I would tell him to get back on his feet, though I myself wondered how. But all credit to the guy, he cleared his debts in six months and got back to running,’’ Vijaya said. The navy also helped. However some things precious, were lost. A keen biker, Breeze kept a small collection of motorcycles. He sold off his Harley Davidson, two Enfield Bullets and a KTM Duke to help repay the debt. In August 2015, Breeze ran the 24 hour-stadium run in Bengaluru, in an indifferent manner. He walked for 7-8 hours. “ I was not at all happy with my performance,’’ he said. Looking for a metaphorical summit to push himself onward in life, he found Badwater. The iconic ultra-marathon starts 279ft below sea level in the Badwater Basin of California’s Death Valley and ends at an elevation of 8360ft at Whitney Portal, the trailhead to Mt Whitney.  The race can see day time temperatures soar above 50 degrees Celsius. The course is 217km (135 miles) long. Not every ultra-marathoner finishes Badwater.

Among eligibility criteria for Badwater is that an applicant must have done three 100 milers. Breeze already had two 100 milers to his credit, both done in the Rann of Kutch. He needed one more. That manifested in December 2015. He ran a 100 miler in Pune called the Western Ghats Ultra. “ There were six participants. I would call this the toughest race in India. The last 85km is steep,’’ Breeze said. He ended up first, finishing the race in 27 hours, 20 minutes. He could now apply for Badwater. The race is scheduled for July 18, 2016. So far from India, only Arun Bhardwaj has completed the race. Breeze’s Badwater attempt is happening just 26 months after he got into ultra-running. That’s why he calls himself a mountaineer first, for it was in the mountains that he acquired the mind needed to take on challenges and physical hardships. “ Ultra-running is a game of the mind. I am by nature a solo runner,’’ he said, an observation mountaineers will quickly identify with. “ Breeze enjoys running solo. He occasionally runs with company but mostly likes running alone,’’ Suresh said.

After the Western Ghats Ultra (Photo: courtesy Breeze Sharma)

On the podium after the Western Ghats Ultra (Photo: courtesy Breeze Sharma)

When we met Breeze for a chat, he was very much into the training phase for Badwater. He had run 30km that morning and was set to do another 30km in the evening. Overall, his preparations for Badwater entailed covering 5000km in four months in various conditions. The month preceding our meet-up, he had been logging on the average over 40km per day. That doesn’t mean he runs every day; it is an average. “ I don’t run every day. But I do heavy workouts in the gym. I run whenever I am in the mood to do so,’’ he said. You need a support crew when running the Badwater ultra-marathon. “ For crew, besides me it will be Craig Foster, who has run several 100 miles in the US, and has crewed at Badwater four times. It will be his fifth with Breeze. Then there is Avasa Singh, who is a very enthusiastic runner herself and preparing for her first 100 miles,’’ Vijaya said. There will be a mini van trailing the runner stocked with food, hydration needs, medicines, foot care essentials, extra shoes and importantly – ice boxes to cool the runner should the temperature be extreme. Some of the crew members will also occasionally pace the runner to keep him motivated. Between the preparations now underway for Badwater and the earlier Western Ghats Ultra, which set him up to apply for the race in California’s Death Valley, Breeze returned to the Rann of Kutch in February 2016, to run an ultra-marathon there for a third time (this one was different from the first two, it was called ` Run the Rann’). He finished first.

One suspects the Breeze Sharma-story is never complete without a mountain in the head to climb. Apart from the running, the Badwater chapter has its other challenges – mainly cost. Fresh from his struggles to repay debts over Everest, Breeze was trying to raise the six to seven lakh rupees he needed for Badwater.  It isn’t an easy task. It can be frustrating when the world’s capacity to support is partial to those playing by its PR rules. Breeze is not naturally wired for it. “ He needs to get more support but because he is not in the front line and not engaging in publicity with his running, he loses out,’’ Suresh said.

Conversation over, Breeze left the same way he spoke.

We shook hands and he walked off without looking back.

(The authors, Latha Venktatraman and Shyam G Menon, are independent journalists based in Mumbai. Please note: the timings at races and the list of mountains attempted / climbed are as provided by the interviewee.)

 

LIVING WITH NO BRAKES, THE SHIVA KESHAVAN STORY

Shiva Keshavan (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Shiva Keshavan (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

1973. That year, a traveller from Thalassery in Kerala, reached a Manali, quieter, greener and less touristy than today. “ There was no direct bus from Delhi to Manali. There was a Youth Hostel you could stay at for one rupee a night or so. The now well known Pandoh Dam was yet to be completed,’’ K.P. Sudhakaran said. The way he spoke, his travels resting light on his shoulders, reminded me of someone else I knew in Kerala; a person who had seen a tonne of films. You wouldn’t know his knowledge of movies till you coaxed him to speak about it. The pre-Facebook generation, I told myself.

Sudhakaran made Manali home, settling down there with his Italian wife Rosalba Lucioli. They met in the hill town. Sudhakaran used to trek a lot. In the hill tourism scene of that time, Jammu & Kashmir was perceived as “ commercial.’’ Himachal Pradesh was “ relaxed.’’ When Kashmir grew troubled, Sudhakaran’s hikes became more focussed on Himachal. In 1984-85, long before contemporary Manali and its plethora of adventure tour operators, Sudhakaran founded Panman Adventure Travels. Its main activity was organizing outdoor trips and camps for school students. Later, he and his wife started an Italian restaurant, Rose Garden. Panman Adventure Travels exists no more. But Rose Garden does. Located on the road to Vasisht, it is currently managed by Sudhakaran’s son Shiva Keshavan and his wife, Namita. That’s where I first met Sudhakaran. We had a small chat over coffee. Shiva, India’s best known luger, was away in Italy. Sudhakaran splits his time between Manali and a coffee estate in Wayanad, Kerala.

A luge is a small one or two person-sled, on which one sleds supine (face up) and feet-first – that’s how Wikipedia describes it. Many of us, who checked out the sport after Shiva Keshavan grabbed our attention, would recall the specially made track on which races are held. Like all sports, born for fun, evolving organically and then shaped by the compulsions of modern sport and entertainment, the luge too wasn’t born for a track. While the earliest recorded sled races are said to have been in Norway, luge is traced to Switzerland; its history includes a hotel entrepreneur at whose resort, guests adapted sleds used by delivery boys, to speed down the lanes and alleys of the village for fun. Needless to say, there were collisions with pedestrians. The first organized meeting of the sport was in 1883 in Switzerland, the first world championship in the sport was in 1955 in Oslo, Norway. While the modern Olympic Games began in Athens in 1896, the first Winter Olympics – recognized so in retrospect – was at Chamonix in 1924. Luge made its Olympic debut at the 1964 Winter Olympics in Innsbruck, Austria.

Early March 2016, months after meeting Sudhkaran in Manali and exchanging mails with a Shiva busy training and competing, I got a call. Father and son were flying from Kozhikode to Delhi via Mumbai. We met at the airport in Santa Cruz. Two men, four or five pieces of luggage, one with the Olympic rings on it – I will never forget that. Sudhakaran and Rosalba have two sons, Shiva and Devan, who is a licensed football coach for FIFA. Shiva was born in August 1981. “ Born and brought up in Vasisht,’’ the luger said. A year before Sudhakaran reached Manali, in February1972, the Winter Olympic Games was held for the first time at a venue outside Europe and North America – it was hosted by Sapporo, Japan. Luge in Sapporo was dominated by the East Germans. They bagged eight of the nine medals in the event. The planet’s Winter Olympics don’t fascinate the media as much as the bigger Summer Olympics. The 1970s were also years before television acquired national presence in India. The February snows of Sapporo were 6000 kilometres east of Manali; out of sight, out of mind.

Youngsters with an improvised winter sled near Manali (Photo: courtesy Shiva Keshavan)

Youngsters with an improvised winter sled near Manali (Photo: courtesy Shiva Keshavan)

Located just south of the main Himalaya cutting diagonally across the crown of India, Manali receives good precipitation. Ladakh to the north may be higher and colder but it is drier. In winter, Manali and its nearby localities like Solang, receive good snowfall. Solang is known for skiing. The children of Rosalba and Sudhakaran grew up on Manali’s mountain slopes, enjoying the snow. If you look carefully, like cricket played in alleys and hockey played with tin cans, the seed of all sports exist everywhere. With little access to modern skiing equipment, the Manali of Shiva’s childhood had its resident skiers; they took to winter’s snow with crude, homemade skis. “ You know the blade of the saw used to cut logs? Strips of that would be attached to the bottom of wooden skis,’’ Sudhakaran said. Also around were improvised sleds. According to Sudhakaran, the family spent a lot of time in Solang. Shiva grew to be a decent skier. Unlike skiing, which stayed confined to winters, the sled metamorphosed to year round-life.

Youngsters with improvised summer luges on the hill slopes near Manali (Photo: courtesy Shiva Keshavan)

Youngsters with improvised summer luges on the hill slopes near Manali (Photo: courtesy Shiva Keshavan)

The first time I saw the summer avatar of a sled was in Darjeeling, in 1996. A boy seated on a wooden platform fitted with four tiny, noisy metal wheels, his hands clutching a tight arc of rope in front to keep body in place – came hurtling down the winding road. Holding the rope, he leaned back on the platform, legs stretched out in front and torso rising to an upright position every time he needed to slow down the contraption. Brakes, it had none, save its high decibel, grating noise on rough road as early warning to avoid collision. Similar, improvised contraptions existed in Manali too, entertaining Shiva and his friends. They took to it, rolling down Manali’s roads (one media report also talks of a small sled gifted to Shiva by his Italian grandparents). When you are young, you are free of fear. Although Sudhakaran took his family to the snows every winter and watched his sons enjoy skiing, he was restrained by the baggage of fear, which accompanies adulthood. “ I was a grown man and suitably scared,’’ he said. Shiva became a promising national level skier in the sub junior and junior categories, winning prizes. However, participating in events like the National Winter Games wasn’t easy for this son of immigrants to the Himalaya. Unable to secure a berth through the local winter sports body, Shiva recalled that his first participation at national level had to be through the Rajasthan Skiing Association. Born in a Himalayan state and needing a desert state’s team, to ski at national level – such is the organizational architecture and politics of Indian sport. It was the beginning of a long, rough relationship with domestic sport authorities, many of them hewn from that typically Indian controlling-mindset, which ensures that any sport has a well entrenched bureaucracy even before people take to the sport. Shiva never competed at the senior national level in skiing. He gave up competitive skiing after he was excluded from the team selected for the Junior Asian Championships. Unknown to him, those improvised sleds and the experience they offered, would become the stuff of his destiny

Established in 1847, The Lawrence School at Sanawar in Kasauli is among India’s most prestigious boarding schools. This is where Shiva studied. He was very active in sports with presence in gymnastics; athletics, football, hockey and skiing. It was during his years at this school that he was dispatched for a` ` ski camp’’ at Panchkula. A skier being sent to a ski camp was quite understandable, except for one puzzling detail – Panchkula is in Haryana. You don’t get snow there. The camp was held by the International Luge Federation (FIL) and Shiva, already intrigued by Panchkula as choice of camp location, had no idea what luge was. At the camp was well known Austrian luger, Gunter Lemmerer. He had participated in two Winter Olympics, been a gold medallist in the European championships and thrice won (with fellow Austrian luger Reinhold Sulzbacher) the men’s doubles Luge World Cup. For the camp, Gunter had brought along a couple of modified sleds in which, the blades had been replaced with wheels. Shiva warmed up to what he saw. Luge was similar to what he had done on improvised sleds back in Manali. “ At this point, it was all fun with no future plan in mind,’’ Shiva said. However, as things turned out, he and another youngster were selected for further training in Austria. “ The whole skiing experience had been disappointing, so we wanted to try luge,’’ Sudhakaran said. In 1996, He and Rosalba sent Shiva to Austria. The transition from the sleds with wheels Shiva used at Panchkula, to a real luge on ice was significant. The luge on ice was much faster. Newcomers started their training on the less steep lower portions of the luge course and slowly worked their way up. Shiva’s Indian partner at luge (they were two selected from the Panchkula camp) suffered a crash. He needed medical attention and the duo had no insurance specifically for such mishaps. Eventually it had to be passed off as an accident that occurred while travelling.

A modern luge adapted for the road, fitted with wheels. From a talent scouting camp held by Shiva and Namita at Solang near Manali (Photo: courtesy Shiva Keshavan)

A modern luge adapted for the road, fitted with wheels. From a talent scouting camp held by Shiva and Namita at Solang near Manali (Photo: courtesy Shiva Keshavan)

Luger coasting down the road at Solang; from the talent scouting camp (Photo: courtesy Shiva Keshavan)

Luger coasting down the road at Solang; from the talent scouting camp (Photo: courtesy Shiva Keshavan)

The following year, 1997, Shiva was back in Europe – Austria and Germany – training for a longer time. He was around international athletes. That gave him his first reference point in luge, an idea of where he stood in the sport with his competence, what he had to do to improve. “ They found it funny that an Indian family was trying to get a toehold in luge,’’ he said. But one thing worked – athletes help each other, they provide you tips, particularly when you are in that performance category, which poses no threat. He learnt. The international athletes let Shiva be a `forerunner’ opening the track for them at the World Cup in Igls near Innsbruck. He did so and zoomed the whole distance down the course. To his surprise and likely everyone else’s, the timing he returned was good enough to participate in the upcoming Winter Olympics. Until 1998, there was no formal selection to participate in the Winter Olympics. It was up to each country to select athletes and send them. “ People started misusing this. I was the first Indian to reach the Winter Olympics through a formal qualifying system,’’ Shiva said. This process wasn’t easy. Although his timing at Igls was good, the eligibility process required Shiva to qualify for five of nine World Cup competitions held every year. Gunter Lemmerer advised Shiva to return to India and start training for the World Cup events. Somehow his parents came up with the money for the exercise. At the first of these World Cups in Innsbruck, he raced with a broken foot. This was followed by two World Cups in Germany, one in Norway and one in Japan. “ Incredibly at each of these races, I didn’t make a mistake. I qualified at all five,’’ Shiva said. The 1998 Winter Olympics were scheduled to be held in Nagano, Japan, the second time the Winter Olympics would be held in Asia. Sudhakaran had reached Manali the year after the first Winter Olympics in Asia, in Sapporo, Japan. In the time since, he had married, raised a family and now his son was heading for nothing less than the Winter Olympics.

According to Wikipedia, racing sleds for luge singles weigh between 21-25 kilos; in the case of doubles, between 25-30 kilos. Lugers can reach speeds of up to 140 kilometres per hour. The highest speed reported so far (as of March 2016) was 154 kilometres per hour set by Austria’s Manuel Pfister in 2010. In videos, a luger passing by resembles a streak. The luge is designed for speed. A luge sled rides on a pair of steel blades made such that the craft slides fast over ice. The sled has no saddle. You lay down flat on the sled and slide down the course feet first, which is the most aerodynamic position you can have. In training, lugers are known to use wind tunnels to figure out the best aerodynamics they can have. But because you are supine and going feet first, you are challenged to see clearly where you are headed. The runners (blades) underneath the sled curve up in front and touch the athlete’s legs as he lay supine. Steering is done by pushing on the runners with your legs and flexing the sled with one’s shoulders. The luger is clad in a special suit designed to make him aerodynamic. A fast object like the luge also needs stability. Strength and weight therefore matter. A light luger may add artificial weight. When starting off at the top of a course, the luger uses his arms to propel forward. The athlete must be powerful around the shoulders and arms. Lying supine on a platform lacking saddle and controlling the luge requires excellent core strength. It shows in Shiva – he is over six feet tall and well built without being heavy. You get a sense of person reverse engineered from the needs of life on sled. With so much emphasis on speed and aerodynamics, luge is a precisely timed sport; in fact among sports, one of the most precisely timed. Amazingly, amid this obsession with speed and despite its minimalist flying projectile-character, the luge does not have a brake. Marry all this to the high speed the luge is capable of. It is a risky sport. The most recent high profile accident was Georgian luger Nodar Kumaritashvili’s demise in a crash during a practice run at the 2010 Winter Olympics. Rosalba accompanied Shiva on his tours just once. She couldn’t take it after that. Sudhakaran has watched Shiva in action, more. “ Every time he zips down that course, my heart is in my mouth,’’ Sudhakaran said. With no means to afford a coach for his son, Sudhakaran, who had watched Shiva’s journey from the sidelines, decided to accompany him as his coach, to Nagano.

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

The father and son team from India were the first people to reach the Olympic village. The Indian authorities hadn’t yet sent in his documents. It caused confusion over whether they can be allowed in or not. The Japanese were courteous and hospitable. After some discussions, they let them in. Although India hadn’t yet sent in Shiva’s papers, the organizers knew of him. There was a reason – he was 16 years old, the youngest athlete to qualify for luge in the history of the Winter Olympics. On February 3, 1998, Jere Longman’s article appeared in The New York Times headlined, ` Olympics: Nagano 1998; Teenage Luger Carries All of India.’ Longman wrote in the introduction: Of all the places that Sudhakaran Palankandy expected to be next Saturday morning, none of them included walking with his son in the opening ceremony at the 1998 Winter Olympics. “ We never thought luge would start in India,’’ the innkeeper said. As a mode of transportation for India’s 896 million people, sliding is not high on the list. But 16 year-old Shiva Keshavan Palankandy has improbably qualified as the only athlete to represent India at the Nagano Games. On Saturday, he will carry the national flag in the opening ceremony, while his father walks behind him as the team leader. Nagano is where the Shiva Keshavan story took off. For his age and experience, he reckons he did well. “ Obviously I wanted to do better,’’ he said. But listening to him and Sudhakaran, I felt, it was at Nagano that world and sport reached out to support them The New York Times article mentions that Shiva received some financial assistance from FIL to participate at Nagano. His travel cost was borne by Rosalba and Sudhakaran. He found fellow athletes being helpful towards him, providing tips on how to improve at luge. “ The sport is dangerous. So people don’t hold back on advice,’’ Shiva said. Perhaps the most interesting thing was that he had no luge. At his first World Cup, the Korean team loaned him a luge they used for practice. At other events including Nagano, the story was similar – Shiva’s luge was borrowed. Incredibly, it would be another 12 years before India’s Winter Olympics athlete, the youngest luger in the history of the Games to qualify for the sport, would acquire his own luge. “ I bought my first luge in 2010,’’ Shiva said.

A luge Shiva made; one of the earlier models he used (Photo: courtesy Shiva Keshavan)

A luge Shiva made; one of the earlier models he used (Photo: courtesy Shiva Keshavan)

From 1998 till the time of writing this article, Shiva Keshavan had participated in five Winter Olympics. In 2005 and 2008, he secured bronze at the Asian Luge Cup, in 2009 he secured silver and in 2011 and 2012, he secured gold. In 2011, he set a new Asian speed record in luge, racing down the course at 134.3 kilometres per hour. The fastest he has ever been is 149.9 kilometres per hour. I asked him what he felt lying supine on a luge, moving super fast down an ice laden course. “ The run lasts less than a minute but for me on the luge, it is like never ending. That’s one of the incredible things about this sport – it feels like you are stretching time,’’ Shiva said. Within that sense of stretched time, the luger is alert to every small detail for steering the luge is a matter of tiny body movements capable of great impact on projectile’s fate.

The luge was using at the time of writing this article (early 2016); made in league with Duncan Kennedy and Clarkson University (Photo: courtesy Shiva Keshavan)

The luge Shiva was using at the time of writing this article (early 2016); made in league with Duncan Kennedy and Clarkson University (Photo: courtesy Shiva Keshavan)

“ Ice is a sensitive surface that exaggerates response. Any small twitch of your body and the sled responds. The first challenge in luge is to handle things very calmly despite the obvious dangers in that stretched period of time. You have to discipline your mind. It happens on its own on the sled. Your body knows it is in danger,’’ he said. And what does he think about the luge not having any brakes? “ I never really thought of it that way. It kind of unlocks your fear. It reduces options and puts the focus on natural talent. There is no room for slowing down or being cautious. You have to approach it 100 per cent.’’ Competitions happen on well established courses. As a competitive athlete, Shiva does a lot of visualization of the course while preparing for an event. He has been down all the courses used at luge World Cups, except the new track coming up in South Korea for the next Winter Olympics. However, notwithstanding repeated visits and the benefits of visualization, there are subtle variations in atmospheric and ice conditions that act as variables to tackle on a given competition day.

At Nagano, Shiva was one of the youngest athletes around. Now 34 years old, he is part of the older lot but still having room to improve for there are winners in luge who are in their forties. His struggle so far has been getting his act together, for luge is not just about excellence by luger, you need a good coach, support team and a good luge. In his early years at competitions, Team Shiva Keshavan used to be a combination of self, parents and borrowed luge. Although that has changed, it is still a far cry from how other teams turn up. “ They come with cutting edge sleds, sled technicians, five to six coaches, physiotherapist and biomechanics specialists,’’ Shiva said. He has been lucky enough to not need a physiotherapist so far. But the lack of a good coach hurts. “ I have never been able to hire a good coach. I never had the money for it,’’ he said. Another challenge was the sled, the luge itself. For years he reported to competitions without his own luge, competing eventually with a sled somebody else provided. That may have challenged him personally to improve his being and techniques but the point is – the more a luger improves, the more he deserves a fine luge. His first sleds were all “ hand-me-down’’ specimens. In 2010, he got his own luge built in Albertville, France. It was based on moulds taken from a model he had used with some innovations thrown in. “ It was very simple but didn’t have adequate symmetry. I wasted many years trying to innovate wrongly. The idea was good but I wasn’t doing it the right way,’’ Shiva said. To understand what luge is to top notch luger, we should imagine Formula One racing. There are technical parameters to comply with regarding one’s ride and room for innovation. Shiva did try working with Indian institutions; at one point he spoke to the Indian Institute of Technology (IIT) Delhi on designing his luge. It didn’t work. The reasons were not articulated but it can be gauged: designing a fine luge entails convergence of engineering, knowledge of materials and ability to think back from the sport. It is hard finding this convergent fascination in India. If you dwell on it, a luge for Shiva is a fine chance to showcase design, knowledge of materials, engineering ability and manufacturing skill in an uncluttered product for the sled is a simple object to behold. Made, it will be used by a luger who hasn’t hesitated to push his limits. Somehow, this opportunity hasn’t captivated India’s designing and engineering minds.

Sudhakaran and Shiva (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Sudhakaran and Shiva (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Eventually in 2015, Shiva began working with Duncan Kennedy, the retired American luger who had competed in three Winter Olympics, placed second twice in the Luge World Cup and was the first American to win a World Cup event. Duncan builds sleds; he has a workshop where he does it. They – Shiva, Duncan and the New York based-Clarkson University (essaying the role Shiva once expected from IIT Delhi) – started working together. “ The luge I had for the last season, is the first real Indian design luge,’’ Shiva said. But his struggles are not over. He would like to retain Duncan as his coach. That requires getting a good sponsor. In all these years Shiva hasn’t enjoyed a good, reliable long term sponsorship contract with any Indian company. “ I get short term support. What I want is meaningful, long term support,’’ he said. As for sports bodies in India, he said clearly, “ in almost 20 years of competing, I haven’t got any monetary support from the domestic sports associations.’’ He received help from overseas bodies. The International Olympic Committee, for example, provided Shiva IOC Solidarity Scholarships and helped him get started in the sport. But the funds crunch can be quite impactful; over 2006-2008 it was so bad that Shiva wondered whether he would be able to continue. In that phase he married Namita who had studied management; she became his sports manager. Shiva also credits renowned shooter and Olympic gold medallist Abhinav Bindra for helping him continue in luge. What amazes in this hunt for resources in an India loving its story of corporate success, is that Shiva’s annual budget is a mere one crore rupees (approx $ 150,000 at the exchange rate of one dollar = 66.84 rupees; March 27, 2016). The day after I met him, he had a sponsorship deal being finalized. “ If I get two more deals of the same sort, I am set for this year,’’ he said. He also had a couple of crowd funding campaigns going on.

It had been a long time chatting.

A few quick photos and I watched father and son rush off to catch their flight to Delhi.

(The author, Shyam G Menon, is a freelance journalist based in Mumbai.)

THREE PEAKS AND A PASS

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

Mid-2015, I went looking for a certain café in Leh.

It wasn’t there anymore.

That café had provided a post script for an expedition.

Fresh from the trip, Punit and I were enjoying a cup of coffee there, when a group of young Indian climbers walked in. Seeing our sun burnt faces, they asked which mountain we had been on. “ Chamser Kangri,’’ I said enthusiastically. “ Oh, that one – that is an easy walk,’’ one of them said dismissively. The youngsters took their seats and huddled in talk, wrapped in a blanket of their youth. We looked at each other and sipped our coffee quietly. I licked my wounds.

Sometimes we find ourselves at a sweet spot, an intersection in universe crisscrossed by possibilities, which on given day works supportively for a person called you. The word for it is – luck. I had a lucky trip in 2011. Lucky not because I was in trouble and got saved or something like that but because, except for one unsavory incident three quarters into the whole trip, there was no trouble at all. The universe stood by me. I was right person passing through a right intersection at the right time. That year, when I decided to attempt Chamser Kangri, the correct approach wasn’t hard to guess. The then 43 year-old seaside dweller had best start with the less high Stok Kangri. I had climbed this 20,300ft high-peak in July 2009 and repeating it seemed a good way to acclimatize. It was a mountain often rubbished by Mumbai’s mountaineering circles for being a trekking peak, a non-technical ascent. I told nobody in Mumbai about my Stok Kangri plan. I climbed the peak with two Ladakhi friends for who the mountains are a way of life and debates of technical / non-technical ascents, a distant urban affliction. That was two years before.

Early August 2011, at Leh airport, the first thing I did was look toward Stok Kangri. Then I headed for guest house and work reporting La Ultra: The High, the ultra marathon held in Ladakh. This work gave me days in Leh, getting used to the altitude. As luck would have it, the ultra marathon story also took me across and back over the Khardung La pass, something useful when a Stok Kangri-climb is due. Ultra marathon work done, I joined a commercial trip to Stok Kangri. Of particular relevance to me was that the climb had been merged to a preceding multi-day trek starting near Leh, going up the Stok La pass and on to Stok Kangri Base Camp. This would help team members acclimatize. At my age and predominant existence as chair bound-journalist, acclimatization is everything. While that was a pleasant departure from my 2009 experience of hitting Base Camp straight with the climb thereafter, there was a shocking change in store.

Stok Kangri (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Stok Kangri (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

In July 2009, the base camp had three to four tents – a large parachute tent for canteen and probably three small ones, including mine, belonging to climbers. This time, it was a minor township of tents, big enough for us to designate a team member as ` Mayor of Stok Kangri.’ Unfortunately the town planning improvements he contemplated were frustrated by a steady stream of fresh arrivals compounding the township-look. Somewhere in the middle of that displaced urbanization, we left one midnight for the summit. Again unlike in 2009, there were many headlamps that night on the mountain and as dawn broke, climbers could be seen like segmented ant columns. Thanks to a spell of bad weather earlier, there was much unsettled snow near the summit and verglas (thin ice on rock) all along. In that condition it was tricky progress on the summit slopes. With the summit visible very close-by the team turned back to stay safe. I couldn’t agree more. On a commercial expedition, safety is paramount. Besides if you ask me, a summit that close, isn’t summit lost.

Back in Leh, I found that one of my Ladakhi friends from the 2009 Stok Kangri trip, who had agreed to accompany me to the 21,800ft high-Chamser Kangri, had backed out. He had personal work to attend to. The expedition seemed a non-starter because I don’t feel comfortable yet, hiking and climbing alone. There is always that thought of how to manage an emergency should anything go wrong. I prefer agreeable company. However ` agreeable’ is increasingly difficult to find. I sensed Chamser Kangri slipping away.

At bottom right corner - a lone kiang, Tso-mo-ri-ri in the backdrop (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

View from Base Camp: at bottom right – a lone kiang, Tso-mo-ri-ri in the backdrop (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Then out of the blue, a call came. Punit Mehta, who I knew was trekking to Ladakh from Himachal Pradesh, was in town. His next trip was with a group from Bengaluru led by Dinesh K.S. Both Punit and Dinesh have worked as instructors at the National Outdoor Leadership School (NOLS), an organization I am familiar with. Dinesh’s expedition had a two pronged agenda – to partly go up the approach to Chamser Kangri and install a plaque in memory of a friend who died there on a previous expedition and then attempt the 20,600ft high-Mentok Kangri, a peak on the opposite side of the Tso-mo-ri-ri lake. It was soon obvious that a more efficient expedition would be one that continued up Chamser Kangri and attempted that peak instead of Mentok Kangri. Suddenly my plans appeared salvaged. The team was kind enough to count me in. I will always remember this meet-up with Punit and Dinesh as a miracle of sorts. In the countdown to leaving Leh for Tso-mo-ri-ri in south eastern Ladakh, Punit and I cycled to stay fit. It was my first taste of cycling at altitude and within days I knew, I had found a new interest.

On the Internet, you will find descriptions of Chamser and Lungser Kangri as easy peaks joined by a common ridge. My learning from the outdoors: don’t go by what someone else says; respect every mountain (that goes for Stok Kangri too). While most of the team headed straight to Base Camp, Punit and I elected to spend a night near Tso-mo-ri-ri and then hike along the lake’s edge before commencing the ascent to Base Camp. The night by the lake was pretty cold; my bivy sack (an all weather outer layer into which, you and sleeping bag can tuck in when camping without a tent) was covered in frost next morning.

Broody evening at intermediate camp (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Evening at intermediate camp (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Chamser Kangri is not an impressive-looking triangular peak. It resembles more a beached whale. The hike to Base Camp tracking the contours of Tso-mo-ri-ri’s shoreline and then climbing up, was tad tiring; during the day Ladakh’s high altitude sun can be an unforgiving orb of bright light and warm sunshine. Camp was tucked some ways up from the lake’s shore, a couple of tiers of relatively flat, open space intervened between the lake and camp. On that flat land, at various times of day, a kiang or two grazed or ran around. The animal is also called Tibetan wild ass and is the largest of the world’s wild asses. In India, you find it in Ladakh. Over the next couple of days, we made our way up the mountain. After the installation of the plaque, two expedition members who had come mainly for that ceremony, returned to Leh. Of the rest, as we gained height, two developed altitude related problems despite a strict regimen of ascending and descending the mountain that Dinesh had maintained for the team.

The last of the altitude related evacuations happened at intermediate camp. Most people left. Kul Bahadur and I stayed behind. The expedition seemed near cancelled. Neither that day nor the next seemed to indicate fine weather ahead. Dark clouds gathered. The evening sky was spectacular but ominously grey, a deep shade of grey laced with the red of the vanishing sun. Something told me that if you wanted to attempt the summit, it better be soon for the window of opportunity appeared shaky. But we didn’t want to move this way or that without some word on how the rest of the team was. Personally for me, it was turning out to be one of my best expeditions. The support staff and arrangements for the trip had been put together by Punit and Tsewang Phunchok. We had motivated support staff in the form of a cook – Kul Bahadur, helper – Ram Bahadur and a young guide called Stanzin Chosgial. In addition to this encouraging ambiance, the preceding Stok Kangri climb, the cycling that followed and Dinesh’s insistence that we not break the fundamental mountain rule of working high and sleeping low – all had me well acclimatized and tuned to climbing. Both Kul Bahadur and I would have been sad had Dinesh and Punit decided that the whole team should retreat. I was feeling good; Kul Bahadur was in no hurry to go anywhere else, his heart was right there. It was the perfect frame of mind to proceed. Then, Punit and Stanzin who had gone to escort out those who were leaving, returned to join us at high camp. They brought me an unforgettable note from Dinesh wishing me luck and reminding me to climb safely for “ the mountain will always be there.’’ That same day we moved to still higher camp at 19,000ft at the base of Chamser Kangri’s sprawling summit ridge. It was below freezing by evening.

Stanzin on Chamser Kangri (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Stanzin on Chamser Kangri (Photos, above and below: Shyam G Menon)

Stanzin on Chamser Kangri (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Around 3 AM, Stanzin and I set off for the summit. Our progress was in darkness, immediate world lit by the beam from our headlamps. It was the first time on Chamser Kangri for both of us. So we followed our instinct, exploring and correcting the route as required. As the first sliver of sunlight pierced the horizon we reached the summit ridge. Measured by my very average physical fitness and technical competence, it had been a stiff ascent up rock and snow in plastic climbing boots but no crampons. A little way up the ridge the snow transformed to hard, wind-swept type. I sat down to wear crampons. This was followed by a stretch where we decided to court the well snowed-in side of the mountain, instead of the ridge. It was an engaging, snow clad mountain face. We ascended using our axes for support. The detour helped us gain height quicker than how it would have been had we stuck to the ridge. But the enjoyment was diluted by the subsequent steady plod, back on the ridge. It kept going on and on. “ When will this ridge end?’’ Stanzin asked. Amazingly when it did end after a long time, he simply called it quits. I was stunned by his decision. So near the goal and he gives up the chase?

I looked around. Next door, Lungser Kangri resembled a giant softie; there was so much snow. Far below Tso-mo-ri-ri was a serene blue. The scene was ringed by endless snow-capped peaks. Albeit in the distance, very prominent was a snow white pyramid and close to it a large rocky massif, which I was told, was the remote peak, Gya. The 22,420ft high-peak at the tri-junction of Ladakh, Spiti and Tibet is the highest in Himachal Pradesh and until some years ago most attempts to climb it had ended up on its sub-summits, not the main peak. My mind returned to Chamser. There were two highpoints visible – ten minutes of further plodding would bring me to a cairn, usually signifying summit. On the other hand, I had been told that the real summit was not the obvious one. Closer to where we were, a high ridge took off like a Mohawk haircut for the peak; one side was a plunge. Its apex wasn’t marked by any cairn but it seemed as high, if not higher than where the cairn stood. A trick played by perspective? I don’t know. I looked toward Stanzin. He had already taken out his prayer flags and was busy putting them up. It was a humbling experience for me to see him so capable of turning his back on a summit when the majority of us won’t be happy without gaining the highest point. Although he had climbed before in the neighborhood it was his first time too up Chamser Kangri. I got as far as I reached because he was with me. I moved independently but the awareness that there was another to assist should something go wrong meant a lot. Yet, unlike me, Stanzin wasn’t chasing a milestone.

Leaving him to his work, I set out along the high ridge. Less than forty feet from its faintly corniced apex I stopped. I am a timid adventurer who likes to preserve himself for God willing, more adventures. The point where I stopped seemed the edge of safe existence by my technical skills. I had come to love Chamser Kangri and it didn’t make sense to stand on its absolute head, its ` summit.’ Plus there was Stanzin below, who was already happy. A Ladakhi with more rightful ownership of the mountain than I, he was a picture of contentment without needing to stand on Chamser Kangri’s head. What is a summit anyway? – I thought. Am I here to pass one of those board exams where 100 becomes first and 99.75, is second? Summit this is – I said, and turned back.

Stanzin's prayer flags with the highest point we reached on the trip in the backdrop (Photo: Shyam G Menon).

Stanzin’s prayer flags with the highest point we reached on the trip in the backdrop (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

We returned via a snow slope above the mountain’s glacier, a portion we mistook to be firm. It was the only stretch where we roped-up because our footsteps sent weird cracking sounds all across the brittle snow. It felt like slabs snapping underneath. The sun was also up, not a good time to linger around. Looking back, that stretch of brittle snow did cause a problem. Finding it unwise to continue along that portion, we were forced to abandon the seemingly comfortable line of descent we had originally seen and pick a more precipitous rock strewn-route down. As the rocks, which were glued to the mountain side by nightly ice dislodged in the rising heat of day, we had to avoid being one above the other. It was touch and go with more than once, a bunch of rocks sliding down with man surfing on top. Eventually, we reached the bottom and walked toward camp. Punit, who has unashamedly embraced hiking over climbing, had in the mean time done his own exploratory walks in the area. That strength – the ability to turn his back on a summit despite having been a climber, is something I respect Punit for. It doesn’t come easy if you have tasted climbing. With Punit, you discover a side of the Himalaya easily overlooked in the race to climb its prized heights – the immense sprawl of the range, home to many wonderful treks.

My original plan was – climb Stok Kangri, Chamser Kangri, Ladakhi and Shetidhar. The latter two were near Manali. After Punit left for Delhi, I continued my cycling, including one trip to Stok village, where I reached in time to see another group set off for Stok Kangri. I also fell in love with a particular cycle available at Summer Holidays, the shop where I rent cycles in Leh. It had been sold to them by a foreign tourist. I sought it out every day. Some cycles just match a cyclist’s anatomy and this was my long lost soul mate.

A week later, I was in Manali and soon thereafter at Iceland Hotel in Solang, where Khem Raj Thakur, had assembled a support group for the Ladakhi-Shetidhar leg. It was a young team of guides, cook and helper; once again a good team. But we had two problems. Just before reaching Beas Kund, a bitter quarrel erupted between me and one of my friends who had come along for the trip. It was to remain a lesson because high altitude is the last place where anyone should provoke or succumb to provocation. I succumbed to provocation. In turn the incident has made me resolve that doing something one can do independently however lowly in stature it maybe, is better than chasing an achievement with folks you can’t get along with. Second, while we had initially thought of attempting the two peaks because they are linked by a common ridge, we learnt late that camping on the ridge was discouraged as it is cold and windy. So we settled for just Shetidhar.

An early morning, we climbed the 17,500ft-high peak. It was a short, stiff climb, enjoyably essayed with ice axe, boots and crampons; no roping-up. The summit was corniced. We stayed off the cantilevering snow. Five and a half hours after we began the climb, we were back at high camp. Our assessment of the 17,600ft-high Ladakhi was not wrong – although connected by a common ridge, it was rather distant from Shetidhar and the climbing route wound around the peak. Climbing both Shetidhar and Ladakhi, back to back from high camp below, would have been exhausting and I was anyway beginning to tire from having been out for so long. It was now late September.

Shetidhar (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Shetidhar (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Here I must pause and say: I liked Shetidhar. The area where it stands is dominated by the immense rock wall and ice fortification of the 19,560ft high-Hanuman Tibba. Given its modest height Shetidhar does not receive the attention Stok Kangri gets. The latter is India’s busiest trekking peak and a money spinner for authorities because a lot of people come for the comparatively easy shot at 20,000ft it promises. Shetidhar on the other hand, packs into a small, sharp punch, a much better challenge – it has an evolved walk-in to high camp which you can make harder by carrying your full rucksack; its summit attempt is a swift affair but the snow slope is quite inclined and familiarity with climbing, therefore an asset. Compared to that Stok Kangri is a much longer haul on summit day with little else for challenge except climbing conditions and altitude. But like Everest, best known mountain and yet not the most difficult peak around, Stok Kangri’s height and accessibility attracts more people than Shetidhar. In Leh, veteran mountaineer Sonam Wangyal, who administers climbing permits in the area, had pointed out that nobody has any curiosity for Stok Kangri. It is plain request for permission to touch 20,000ft. Nothing illustrates the public’s obsession with height more than Stok Kangri’s neighbor, Golep Kangri, which is less than 20,000ft and unlike Stok Kangri, slightly technical at the top. Very few go there although both peaks share the same base camp. For most of us from the plains, our pursuit in the mountains too, is a distinction. It has only got worse in the age of high population and media. The two – population and media – has made the need for distinction, a contagion, highlighting saleable statistic at the expense of savoring an experience.

Few days after Shetidhar, we hired cycles in Manali for a final piece of action – cycling up the Rohtang Pass. It wasn’t our aim when we started out that morning but gradually we realized the pass was achievable. Unfortunately I had to stop six kilometers ahead of the pass because the road, which was being widened, was in terrible shape. There were bulldozers at work, too many waterlogged portions, plenty of mud and reckless traffic. I will try again another time.

The good fortune of the 2011 trip didn’t visit me again. While I have no control over luck, the more tangible reason was that I didn’t anymore have the money for extended trips. Mountains entail cost. I am no foreigner or Non Resident Indian with dollars in the bank; I am no rich Indian either. As my freelance journalism continued with matching shortage of resources to frequent the mountains, I have often looked at the 2011 trip – Three Peaks and a Pass, as I call it – as treasured memory. I have this sense amid resource crunch that it is as far as I will ever reach. Within that, the Chamser Kangri expedition was clear highpoint for the way in which things converged well for me. Two other instances from the outdoors have provided similar happiness – the time I ran from Munsyari to Kalamuni Pass and back and the occasion I was part of a cycle trip from Ranikhet to Lansdowne and beyond .

Leh, 2009 (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Leh, 2009 (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

On subsequent visits to Leh, I learnt that Stanzin Chosgial had joined the security forces. Leh is growing, changing. Mid-2015, I went looking for a particular café; it wasn’t there anymore. That café had provided a post script for the Chamser Kangri expedition. Fresh from the trip and happy for it, Punit and I were enjoying a cup of coffee there, when a group of young Indian climbers walked in. Seeing our sun burnt faces, they asked which mountain we had been on. “ Chamser Kangri,’’ I said enthusiastically. “ Oh, that one – that is an easy walk,’’ one of them said dismissively. The youngsters took their seats and huddled in talk, wrapped in a blanket of their youth. We looked at each other and sipped our coffee quietly. As you age, you realize that happiness is an escape from human habits. I had the joy of the universe coursing through my veins, till measurement by human cluster busted the illusion. A mountain was climbed but it wasn’t hard enough to make the cut in the cluster. I licked my wounds. I wondered what the young climber would think of Stanzin. He grew up with the mountains in his backyard and when he got to the top of one, didn’t feel anything remarkably different for it. Stanzin, I suspect, could sense universe. The youngster at the cafe breathed verticality, physical strain and climbing’s grades. Maybe, he sensed universe in an utterly difficult climb. Are you blessed if you have to bloody yourself to sense universe or can do the same much earlier, on gentler terrain? I don’t know. All I know is that I prefer universe to people. For some time after his quip I wished that young man had spared me my freedom to exist, self esteem intact, in my own fantasy as mountaineer. Then something about my age, ageing and the pleasure of seeing the mountains differently each passing year, spoke to me. I was pretty fine a while later.

(The author, Shyam G Menon, is a freelance journalist based in Mumbai. An abridged version of this article appeared in MW magazine. For more on the 2009 trip please visit https://shyamgopan.wordpress.com/2014/12/23/twenty-thousand-feet/. For more on La Ultra: The High, please visit https://shyamgopan.wordpress.com/2013/10/19/an-ultra-marathon-from-the-sidelines/. For more on the run from Munsyari to Kalamuni Pass, please click on this link: https://shyamgopan.wordpress.com/2014/12/11/running-in-the-hills/; for more on the cycle trip in Kumaon please visit https://shyamgopan.wordpress.com/2014/12/31/the-ghost-who-writes/)

ABOUT A BICYCLE

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

A story from many years ago about the first bicycle I rode in the mountains:

It was a simple bicycle.

No gears, painted silver and red, odd size.

A person of average height traveled the road bordering our camp like a stiff Victorian gentleman. His knees nearly knocked against the handle bar to avoid which, he had to keep himself straight and proper on the seat. A tall person would have to be at the rear edge of the seat or off it on the luggage rack. The bright paint served to distract from the cycle’s manufacturing quality; the frame was heavy steel, the joints bore crude welding marks. It wasn’t a solitary specimen in remoteness. There were similar others in Mori, a settlement on the banks of the Tons River in the Garhwal half of Uttarakhand.

Dayal, who worked in the camp kitchen and owned the cycle, took good care of it. But there was only so much he could do to domesticate an animal rather wild from birth. When the cycle arrived, most of the male instructors at camp and the one or two ladies who could cycle were elated. Here was an engaging way to stay occupied after work, particularly if you weren’t the type who could keep on playing volleyball till eternity. I don’t like games. Squaring off to compete and then determining a winner and loser from the contest, never appealed to me. I think the value of competing must be understood in context. I am unsure of competition’s value as an ethic, in our crowded, congested times. At Mori, I used to run to keep myself fit. It provided solo time. But given a slightly weak left leg, cycling seemed better option than running. It was human-powered and not much different from trekking, you moved along taking in the ambiance. There was the Tons River always in sight by the snaking road, beautiful people and village children, who no matter how many cycles they had seen could never resist chasing one. Thanks to all this, the bicycle excited.

The cycle though, had other ideas.

It punctuated every trip with a slip of its chain.

You began the excursion with fanfare; a group of village children for escort. They would gather around in anticipation and then trot alongside, a laughing, giggling bunch of boys and girls. As the cycle started moving and you settled into a small procession on the road, the chain would slip dispatching the legs into a couple of quick spins. “ Gaya, chain gaya,’’ the older of the children would shout as break-down replaced procession for novelty. The two kilometers from camp to Mori usually featured at least a couple of such injuries to one’s pride. To their credit, the children were quite sympathetic to cyclist’s plight. They didn’t mock; they sat down on the road observing the cyclist put the chain back in place. When the job was done, they got up, happy to resume the procession. In due course it was possible to figure out who had been cycling from the grease on their palms. Following one too many chain-slips, the bicycle was hauled to the doctors. We stood in a circle around it, scratched our chins and put our heads together.  Its ailment was diagnosed as a sag in the chain. Everyone concurred. Its chain did have a sagged appearance like what happens to a man’s tummy after too much time with beer and idleness. “ Clipping a chain link should solve the problem,’’ cycling’s medics decreed. Mori didn’t have a cycle shop. But there was a man who fixed everything. He was the local go-to for anything in need of repair. Our cycle was admitted to his care. The quack clipped and the bike’s sagging, jingling belly popped right back in. The bicycle came back looking athletic, sudden run-away muscularity to its stance thanks to new belly-tuck.

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

What neither the quack nor Dayal – or for that matter any of us – knew, was that the cycle’s real issue was attitude. I am yet to hear of a psychologist for bicycles – a bike whisperer. We needed one for the bicycle was challenging our capabilities. The damned chain continued to slip, to the point that fewer people now courted the bicycle and those who did, returned unsure if the experience was best called cycling or greasing. We cycled slowly, delicately, Zen-like attention in each pound of pressure applied on the pedals. All focus was on avoiding a chain-slip. Rather unconsciously, a new world opened up. Where cycling had previously been an offshoot of daily exercise, thanks to the extra attention, it now became meditation. We became monks on wheels. Our mind withdrew from the world we were cycling through to total focus on neural pathway between brain and precisely exerted force underfoot.  The village children no longer ran alongside shouting. They walked solemnly like little priests for a new order of self realization and world peace. Wisdom on Wheels: The Cycling Monks of Mori – we may well have become that hadn’t a rebellion against pattern, as old as the universe, struck.

One day, the Zen Master in me lost his marbles. I got bored of being gentle and meditative. I metamorphosed into a head banging rock star. I wanted speed, I wanted the wind in my hair or more accurately the few strands of hair on my bald head, and I wanted to work up a sweat. The children were left behind as I zoomed off on the uphill road leading to Netwar. The bike lunged like a horse breaking into gallop. The trick was to cycle with full contact and uniform pressure on the pedal at all times. It was the jerk of a break-and-resume pattern that typically caused the chain to slip. Not far from camp was a steep uphill climb and although the simple cycle had no gears, I made it up without any erratic jerks to the pedaling. Out of sight of the children – they had given up their pursuit by now – and out of sight of the camp, I halted to allow my hard breathing to slow down. Ahead, a gang of soot stained workers were repairing the road. Road repair crews in the Indian Himalaya are a story by themselves. The bulk of these workers hail from elsewhere, typically the states of eastern India (not to be confused with north-east) and sometimes from Nepal. You find them working in small groups. The road repair crew on the road to Netwar stopped their work to check me out. My bulging eyes and hard breathing, no more resembled monastic peace. Aware of being studied, I pulled myself together and got back on the cycle. I went past the repair team, turned the corner and then, the bicycle gifted me a chain-slip. Problem corrected and cycle positioned on a clearly uphill road, I whispered a small prayer, then got  down to getting self on two wheels moving.

The chain held, it held for some time, it seemed to hold longer – that was when I suspected a tremor in the handle bar. Was it beginning to lower? I felt a slouch gain on me. As with most bikes, the cycle’s handle bar was gently curved, dipping at the centre and rising towards the ends. Slowly, ever so slowly but ever so surely as it always does when things go wrong, my shoulders dropped lower and lower in tune with a handle bar that had come lose. Undone from the central clamp, it was dropping down. My posture resembled that of a buffalo. Even with head raised, the crown of the head, horns and neck tracked a straight line to the animal’s spine. Aerodynamic – yes, but aerodynamic with dancing handle bar was surely no recipe for cycling. And the cycle’s handle bar was dancing; having slipped down, it kept swinging forward and backward, it was also sliding sideways. When it struck, the sideways slide made man on cycle lose sense of symmetry and with it, direction. You drifted into travel at angles. The only way out was to grip the handle bar dead center, where it joined the head tube, making sure there was equal lengths of steel to either side. Your palms served as central clamp. But that made you wobbly on potholed winding roads. The traction of uphill helped. Somehow, I made it to my destination, the first major bridge on the road, at best two kilometers from camp. There I took stock. I had no tools, nothing. The solution to check the slipping and sliding handle bar was to wedge something into the clamp holding it. I inspected twig after twig from the roadside till I found one good enough to jam into the clamp. It appeared to hold. I could spare my hands the onus of being clamp. Going downhill would also keep the chain problem sidelined. The world seemed good. However, I had gravely under-estimated the bike’s capacity for creativity.

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

Bonding with the cycle, the rattle from the road traveled up its rim and spokes like hot gossip. It darted up through the fork and onto the clamp designed to keep the handle bar in place. The twig started getting pounded. It threatened to dislodge. I pressed the twig in; the pressure broke it. Now I had no means to maneuver the twig in place. What remained of it inside the clamp was squashed and poised to get ejected as chewed up twig bits. I brought my hands as close to the bar’s center as I could in an attempt to keep it clamped in. That’s the beauty of a cycle. Everything about it is simple, when things go wrong you improvise. Nothing complicated, only very simplified complications, as the next problem showed.

I was going downhill, my hands on the center of the handle bar. It posed a simple question: do I quit using the brakes, which are located at the ends of the handle bar? As the bicycle and I gathered speed, I shifted hands to apply the brakes and the lose handle bar having ejected the squashed twigs, gifted me a slouched position. It happened suddenly as the tips of the handle bar dropped low with that central clamp loosening. Then I discovered another little devil in the bag of tricks opening up. The smart little cycle had a weak back brake and sharp front brake. If I wasn’t adequately tactful, the front brake would send me flying. Wonderful! By the time I reached the road gang I was a mess, anything but Zen and trying my level best to look composed. The workers looked at me curiously. Something about my apparent cool and calm must not have convinced. I don’t blame them; I was worried. I needed my composure badly because at camp, it wouldn’t be a road gang of rank strangers who I would never meet again in my life, to cope with, but a bunch of high school students I required to spend the next week with. They would be scrutinizing my descent. If I got off the cycle and pushed it, that would mean I had failed in something as simple as cycling. Thanks to relentless competition, today’s students speak just two words – winner, loser. Who wants a loser as teacher at camp? Perhaps I was forgetting myself. I too was once student in school thick with competition. We have forgotten – failure is the biggest teacher there is. Like a general returning victorious from battle, I had to reach camp on the horse’s back. Just short of the final downhill slope and before becoming visible from camp, I jammed two twigs in, kept one hand near the center of the handle bar and the other on the front brake-lever. It was getting dark, so nobody got a close view of the strange shifts to position I kept making to retain balance. We arrived in one piece. I quietly informed Dayal of the handle bar, parked the bicycle near the kitchen and withdrew to my tent.

Ravi’s struggle in contrast was more severe. But the outcome was top notch. He had mentioned of a unicycle long ago. The day he was expected at camp, I returned from a hike with students to see a blue unicycle on the ground near his tent – small single wheel about knee high in diameter with a straight fork attached to it. Now a fork isn’t born nasty looking. In this case, a slim seat was all that stood between the fork-end and that critical piece of the human anatomy resting on top. Not for me, I resolved, then and there. Historically, the unicycle was our bicycle’s cousin, many times removed. Long ago, when England was ruled by Queen Victoria, Dayal’s steed had a great-great-grandfather abroad called Penny-Farthing. It was one huge wheel in front with a small one behind; the cycle’s name derived from the way these sharply contrasting wheels resembled the penny and farthing of prevailing British currency. Since wheel size directly affected speed and distance covered, some truly large wheels were built. The rider, seated atop the front wheel, could be five feet above the ground.

Personally, I cannot fathom its design just as I cannot fathom the madness in balancing on one wheel. But that didn’t stop the blooming of penny-farthing fans. Sample these two – in 2007, long after the model had faded out, a gentleman was reported riding a penny-farthing around the world; another in California attracted attention from the local police because his five foot-high perch prevented him from stopping at traffic intersections.  Lights turn red, vehicles stop and there goes man on penny farthing right through it all! While the obvious question that should bother anyone staring at the penny-farthing would be how the hell you touch the ground, cycling history does admit to riders expressing discomfort over the rear wheel lifting off when braking sharply. That’s the only thing that bothered the devout. In retrospect it all appears to have been less about personal discomfort and more about a quest. For the outcome of rear wheel lifting off was the outrageously simple hypothesis – why not use just one wheel? See, I told you, cycling is all about simplicity. The unicycle was living proof of that – a seat atop a wicked looking-fork on a single wheel.

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

Ravi’s initial attempts were hardly cycling. Clutching the post of the volleyball net for support he would mount the unicycle and half a pedal later, be thrown off his seat at the tip of that straight fork.  Ten days of persistent practice must have gone by before he could cycle some distance. Then he shifted to the road. I was a bit jealous for the unicycle took away some of the villagers’ attention from bicycle and me. We realized that our fans were fickle. The children couldn’t take their eyes off the unicycle. Soon, Ravi’s brief one wheeled-forays into the world beyond camp grew into extended trips nudging the kilometer mark. Finally, he was ready to cycle all the way to Mori. I followed at a distance on the bicycle watching people stop and stare at unicycle passing by. In the following days, Ravi cycled much farther (he has since become accomplished at the unicycle; in Ranikhet where he lives, he is known as ` circus uncle’) but one incident stayed etched in memory. Ravi had just left Mori for camp and I was trailing behind when suddenly a youth hopped onto his bicycle, pedaled fast one way, whipped around, came back and attempted to whip around again – he went sprawling right there in the market place. His friends sitting at a nearby shop, laughed. “ What are you? You fall trying stunts on two wheels and that guy went by calmly on a single wheel!’’ somebody quipped.

I wonder what our bicycle thought of the unicycle. Animals can be jealous; they can put on a show. Never heard of cycles behaving so but with all that chain-slip, lose handle bar and funny brakes, I just can’t be sure any more. I was posted at Mori for close to two months. My days on the bicycle passed by with small enjoyable adventures. Before I left Mori, the universe however served up some sad news. As the camp was winding up, we heard that one of the members of the road gang died in a case of electrocution. An overhead electric line had snapped and fallen on the road.

(The author, Shyam G Menon, is a freelance journalist based in Mumbai.)

MHADEI GETS AN ALL WOMAN CREW AND A PLAN FOR 2017

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

“ What a man can do, a woman can do better.’’ – Vice Admiral Manohar Awati (Retd)

Early December 2015, the INSV Mhadei – the Indian Navy’s sailboat with two circumnavigations and several long voyages to her credit – was tasked with a short trip.

She was to proceed from her home base in Goa to Karwar, pick up materials needed for the upcoming February 2016 International Fleet Review (IFR) in Visakhapatnam (Vizag) and return to Goa.

The iconic vessel had as its crew four woman officers – Lieutenant Commander Vartika Joshi, Lieutenant P. Swathi, Lieutenant Pratibha Jamwal and Sub Lieutenant Payal Gupta. While Payal joined later, Vartika, Swathi and Pratibha had been the Mhadei’s crew since April 2015. They had started off their tenure by training in the basics of sailing at the navy’s facility in Mumbai followed by theoretical training in seamanship, communication, navigation and meteorology at Kochi. After these stints, they had been at Goa, sailing the Mhadei, improving their sailing skills and getting to know the boat better. Besides supervised sailings and monitored ones, they took the boat out by themselves for short trips in the vicinity. Their mentor – as well as mentor for earlier crews on this history-making boat – is Commander Dilip Donde, the first Indian to do a solo circumnavigation. It was his job to train an all woman crew for the Mhadei. He had seen the trainees at work; he was confident of their ability. When the trip to Karwar drew close, Donde asked, “ should I come along?’’ It seemed a fine juncture in the training process, for him to step back and have the crew take charge of the boat.

From left: Sub Lieutenant Payal Gupta, Lieutenant P. Swathi, Lieutenant Pratibha Jamwal and Lieutenant Commander Vartika Joshi (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

From left: Sub Lieutenant Payal Gupta, Lieutenant P. Swathi, Lieutenant Pratibha Jamwal and Lieutenant Commander Vartika Joshi (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

The woman officers decided to sail by themselves.  They had 2-3 days to plan everything. Goa to Karwar is a distance of approximately 40 miles by sea. Around 15:00 hours on December 8, the all woman crew – with Vartika designated as skipper – sailed the Mhadei out from Goa. Next morning 9.30 hours they reached Karwar. After picking up whatever was needed for the IFR, the Mhadei commenced her return leg to Goa on December 9, at 14.30 hours. December 10, 11.00 hours, the crew had the boat safely back in Goa. This quietly executed project by the four naval officers – Vartika, Swathi, Pratibha and Payal – is perhaps the first instance of sailing between two ports by an Indian all woman crew. For the navy, this is a small step towards something bigger.

The Mhadei is an interesting story. Based on a Dutch design, she was built at Aquarius Fibreglass, a boat yard on the river Mandovi, upstream from the naval jetty at Verem, the vessel’s current home. She shot into fame in 2009-2010, when Donde did his solo circumnavigation as part of Sagar Parikrama, a project conceptualized by Vice Admiral Manohar Awati (Retd). In 2012-2013, Lieutenant Commander (now Commander) Abhilash Tomy followed this up with Sagar Parikrama’s second chapter – the first solo nonstop circumnavigation by an Indian. In an October 2013 interview to this blog, Vice Admiral Awati, when asked what was next for Sagar Parikrama, said, “ I look forward to the first Indian woman circumnavigator, in my lifetime.’’ (For more on Sagar Parikrama please try this link: https://shyamgopan.wordpress.com/2013/10/27/sagar-parikrama-sailing-around-the-world-alone/)

The all woman crew taking the Mhadei out from her anchorage at Verem in Goa towards the estuary of the Mandovi and the sea beyond, on January 4, 2016. At this point she is using her engine. (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

The all woman crew taking the Mhadei out from her anchorage at Verem in Goa towards the estuary of the Mandovi and the sea beyond, on January 4, 2016. At this point the sailboat is using her engine (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

After Tomy’s trip, the Mhadei was doing her share of sailings around the Indian coast and away from it. This included the quadrennial race from Cape Town to Rio de Janeiro, which she had been part of before. The navy issued a signal seeking volunteer woman officers to sail aboard the Mhadei on the upcoming Cape-Rio race. Thus in November 2013, when she left Goa for Cape Town to participate in the Cape-Rio race, the Mhadei had Lieutenant Commander Shweta Kapur aboard as part of her crew. On the return leg from Rio de Janeiro to Cape Town, Lieutenant Commander Vartika Joshi joined in. On the Cape Town-Goa segment, Lieutenant P. Swathi was part of the crew. Subsequently on a sail from Goa to Port Blair, Lieutenant Pratibha Jamwal came aboard. On the Port Blair-Visakhapatnam-Chennai-Kochi-Goa return leg of this voyage, besides Vartika Joshi, Asst Commandant Vasundhara Chouksey of the Indian Coast Guard and Commander Sowjanya Sri Gutta also featured as part of the crew over various durations. For what the navy was gravitating to, the key was who would return to the Mhadei. While the woman officers had volunteered for specific sailings, the idea of long term association with the Mhadei hadn’t been in the frame yet. And long term association was what the navy was nudging things toward.

Commander Donde is clear that such long term association with a sailboat has to be voluntary. It is not a decision that can be wholly reasoned or calculated in the head; there’s a lot of heart involved for it is a commitment to the sea. In a sailboat, the duration of ocean voyages can be long. That time and whatever happens in that time must be endured. Sailing in a small boat, powered by wind, is far more difficult than being aboard a big engine powered-ship, where you have many hands for the various tasks. On big ships you also have systems in place. On a sail boat, each member of its small crew must be prepared to do everything that is needed to keep their home on water shipshape and afloat. Both sense of responsibility and the responsibilities are more.

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

Illustration: Shyam G Menon

Currently in the Indian Navy, woman officers don’t serve at sea. They work ashore. In branches of the navy like its aviation wing, some of them fly as observers aboard shore based maritime reconnaissance aircraft. When the call for long term association with the Mhadei came, Vartika, Swathi and Pratibha responded again. They had previous experience aboard the sailboat; they were also the voluntary returnees, returning because they wished to. Vartika who studied naval architecture, was previously working ashore with the navy on the ship design and construction side. Both Swathi and Pratibha were shore based air traffic controllers (ATC) with the navy’s aviation arm. All of them sought the sea. Payal, who joined later, is an education officer with the navy. Donde said it didn’t bother him that his woman trainees had no background in sailing or work at sea (except for the earlier stints aboard the Mhadei). On the other hand, he appreciated their chance to learn with no preconceived notions in the head, no previous baggage, nothing to unlearn. “ Unlearning is more difficult than learning. Here you have a clean slate,’’ he said. According to him, the sea is always throwing some challenge or the other at you that even an experienced sailor would be well advised to keep his ego in check and be open to learning. “ No two sailings are the same,’’ Donde said. As for gender, which is often made out to be a big issue on land, the sea gives no damn whether a person out sailing is a man or a woman. “ I am happy to work with this team,’’ Donde said.

Commander Dilip Donde and the crew at work aboard the Mhadei (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

Commander Dilip Donde and some of the crew at work aboard the Mhadei (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

When they first came aboard the woman officers had no idea of the terms used for each item and equipment on the sailboat. They have since learnt the terms, learnt to sail the boat and sail by themselves on short trips with nobody else supervising or available at hand for advice. There is a link between every boat and the people who sail it or imagine its expeditions. Vice Admiral Awati and Commander Donde have known the Mhadei from her design and build days. Her initial voyages and first circumnavigation were with Donde. Ahead of his solo nonstop circumnavigation, Abhilash Tomy in a bid to make himself comfortable with the sea and the vessel that would be his home for a few months, had taken to living aboard the Mhadei.  Now, there is a bond growing between the Mhadei and her new crew. Pratibha, Swathi and Payal said that in addition to being their workplace and the focus of their current official duties, the boat has become a hangout for them. During their after work hours too they (Vartika included) find themselves with Mhadei. Needless to say, they ushered in the New Year in her company.

Vice Admiral Awati responded by email. “ What a man can do, a woman can do better. I have long detested our tongue in cheek adulation of woman. We put her on a pedestal, then, show no qualms despoiling her or trying to murder her at birth. It is a devastating society for a woman. So what should I, who has no daughter, do? I have to do whatever I can to put the Indian woman in her rightful place vis-a-vis her man who has long patronised a patriarchal society and ensured its continued moral downfall. I hope you understand why I have worked my way to getting the first Indian woman solo circumnavigator on the records. Women have a crucial place in society. Women must outdo men in all spheres of activity except in the dispensation of violence. Naturally therefore, there has to be a woman or better still, women in Sagar Parikrama. Without her my concept of circumnavigation by an Indian is incomplete. The sea is the ultimate challenge to be faced and overcome in all its myriad moods. When an Indian woman sails solo around the world she will have achieved, attained a national hope,’’ he wrote.

The Mhadei near the Mandovi's estuary on January 4, 2016 (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

The Mhadei near the Mandovi’s estuary on January 4, 2016 (Photo: Shyam G Menon)

At least two more woman officers are expected to join the pool of sailing talent assembled at Goa, which has Vartika, Swathi and Pratibha as its core. Payal who is yet to do a long voyage will be looking out for that opportunity. One such chance will emerge in early February 2016, when after the upcoming IFR in Visakhapatnam, the all woman crew will take charge of the Mhadei and sail her back to Goa via Chennai and Kochi. In the meantime, the navy which had sought bids for a sister vessel for the Mhadei, is set to complete the process and place the order on Aquarius. The new boat, slated for delivery in January 2017, will be a replica of the Mhadei. In other words, training on the Mhadei will equip you to sail the new boat as well. If all goes as planned, then in August 2017 the Indian Navy’s all woman sailing crew will attempt its first circumnavigation – the first by an all woman Indian team – in the new sailboat, Captain Ashwin Arvind, Director (Sailing), Indian Navy said.

(The author, Shyam G Menon, is a freelance journalist based in Mumbai.)