Rushh

As people gaze wonder-eyed out of hotel windows at snowflakes floating down on the buzzing Himachal Pradesh Town of Manali,up in the higher slopes the crew and clients of Himachal Helicopter Skiing(HHS) reach with equal delight,but for different reasons. For them a snowstorm signifies two things. The upside is a recharge dose of fresh ,soft,dry snow,also known as a powder,the cherished stuff that surfaces a skier’s ideal playing field,emphatically sworn to be addictive. The downside is bad weather and loss of skiing time.

Immaterial to most except the skiing huddle, the mountains around this little Himachal Pradesh town are reputed to bear one of the deepest snowpacks in the entire Himalayas. Come winter,Manali is showered by lots of powder. So when the weather clears and the people step joyfully out onto the pure white blanket,the throb wafting to their ears from the firmament is to the echo of their singing hearts. More likely,it is a powerful Lama helicopters,whisking a bunch of high-profile clients here from half way across the world,to test their skills on one of the most stupendous skiing locales on the planet.

A world-class venue
Heliskiing is among the most exciting snowports in the world. As far as organized adventures goes,it is definitely on of India’s genuine world-class options. And within the county,it is also one of the least-known.

Not so to the rest of the world. Ever since Roddy McKenzie, Indophile Australian mountaineer,discovered the excellent potential for the sport around this little Himachal Pradesh town 20 years ago,hundreds of European,American,Australian and East Asian buffs have been coming to check it out. Invariably,they are ecstatic about what they find. “The skiing and scenery are amongst the very best anywhere.”nods Gaetan,a Belgian real estate developer on his first tour.

Rebecca, a British writer with a passion for snowboarding,declares her maiden outing on the virgin snows as a matchless day of activity. Agrees her boyfriend Jason, “This is probably the best place in the world to come snowboarding.”(The latter is a variation of skiing where one big board substitutes for a pair of skis).

Enroute to Khimser,we drive towards Khichan,on the Jodhpur road. Over lunch at jaisalmer,I was told of the large number of demoiselle crane that inhabit Khichan…a one horse town-off the main track.”What? Make a detour and lose time?I murmured. You will  not be sorry,reiterated a local. My driver,sullen-faced,stopped many times for directions. On reaching a small sleepy town,we saw a broken placard that said Khuraj and pointed left towards a dirt track,driwing along which we came across two large ponds.

On reaching , all we could see was a peacock that sat on edge preening its feathers… there was no much else. Disappointedly we turned to leave,when a strangel loud whirring sound accompanied by a continuous calling “krok-krok”filled the air. All of a sudden, thousand of demoiselle cranes flew in,from the direction of village,led by a single crane,forming a V cross the sky; they settled down to intermingle with the other birds already there. It was an unbelievable sight. I learnt that earlier only a few dozen would migrate here from their original habitat,the plains and steppes of Eurasia and Mongolia. But now because of the loving care and food provided by the human population here,about six thousand descend every year by post monsoon. I also learnt that the flight,a female leads the flock of birds,followed closely by two adults and then it is brought up by the rest of the clan.

Kuraj(their local name) are revered by the population and all donate to provide 500 quintals of grain per day to the splendid seasonal guests. I ventured close to photograph them, but they took off in a noisy flurry of their dark wings fluttering in unison. I was totally mesmerised by their awesome beauty. They have captured the attention of bird lovers far and wide and Khichan,I realise,will become one of the landmarks of this region, in times to come.

Driving from Khichan to Khimser,on the scenic Jodhpur highway wee got to see Rajasthan. Perched on the edge of the great Thar Desert,lies a unique 16th century fort,buit by Rao Karamsi-the eighth prince of Jodha-the founder Maharaja of Jodhpur,who began the royal dynasty of Khimser. It has housed royalty since the 18th century,who recently opened its doors to visitors,to share their regal hospitality with them. One section still carries scars from previous battles and makes for a charming dining experience,with candlelight flickering on the ancient walls. This fort is in close proximity to the villages of the Bishnois,the custodian of the black buck, an endangered species and an awesome and captivating animal.

A match grated noisily and exploded into flame, and soon a kerosene hurricane lantern cast a reassuring pool of light on the pitch darkness of the wintry November night. A toothy grin identified itself as belonging to Azad, one of the affable orderlies from the Snow Leopard Tented Camp at  Shivpuri,16 km from Rishikesh. He effortlessly hoisted our luggage onto seasoned shoulders and let us down a steep path. We follow him gingerly in a single file through the moonless night, muttering to ourselves that our adventure seemed to have started prematurely.

We landed on a vast expancse of shimmering silverly sand,soft as silk cotton,and lit by innumerable oil lamps whose light reflected off the rippling waters of the mighty Ganges. The entire scene seemed surreal,as if part of some psychedelic seance,till Azad whispered,”Happy Diwali,sir”.

What better way to celebrate the festival of light,we mused. A lanky figure clad in military fatigues detached itself from the darkness,and thrust out a strong hand to welcome us. Suresh Rana looked the quintessential sergerant,and to him we must have seemed like slothful civilians venturing into the battlefield. In crip tones,he briefed us about the camp,its facilities and our itinerary. He urged us to take a dip in the river during the next days’ rafting trip,and the suggestions sent shivers down our spines.As if on cue,steaming bowls of soup emerged from the efficient kitchen to bring succour to our tremulous souls. Only when the tremours had subsided could we sink into our cane chairs and Rana’s anecdotes about the rafting camp.

The campsite is set in a forest of seal(shorea robusta)trees,and we learnt that barking deer and macaques are local residents,and that an occasional leopard may put in an appearance to add a zing to the proceedings. As Biru,a Nepales rafting guide escorted us to our tents after a superlative dinner,we peered into the shadows to check if any predators were lurking around for a midnight snack-nothing stirred,presumably dismissing us as urban junk food!