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).

What are you going do this weekend? Remain enslaved to the concrete-and-steel worlds of malls,multiplexes and the monotomous? Well, if you live by the coast,how about escaping to the sea instead?

To sail away into the surreal sunset,with the wind in your hair,feeling the crispiness of the salty sea and feel the tension in your body and the noises in your head melt away into the sea waters!

And if you are seeking an adventure, you could join a race,feel the adrenaline rush as your yacht picks up speed and meets the swell of the waves,feel the thrill of the waters cuttings through to deliver a perfect maneuver. Take your pick from pleasure sailing on one end to racing on the other or anything between !

Fortunately,sailing is a pretty accessible and affordable sport with almost no prerequisites of age or physical fitness. “Its’ a complete sport-cerebal and physical,” says ace Yachtsman Madhavan Thirumalai,who competed in the Asian Games and trained for the US Olympics. He further explains,” Like chess it requires tactical moves, like golf it needs strategy and there are elements of teamwork and it requires stamina as in football”. Meet the sailing fraternity, the veterans or the novices and they will tell you in a chorus,”It’s exhilarating,come try it!”because they know you can’t help falling in love with it.

Then why, you’ll ask,is sailing so low profile? “Well,India has never been a seafaring nation. Parents often forbid children from taking part in water sports,”explains Ashish,a dynamic youngman, who was recently lured into sailing on a business trip to the city of Sails-Auckland,New Zealand.

India, with its long beautiful stretch of coastline ,warm weather conditions,steady wind patterns is highly enviable compared to other well known sailing destinations like New Zealand,UK and the US. “Wearing bermudas and t-shirt out there is unthinkable. You would have to don a heavy uncomfortable gear-a wetsuit,gloves and a headgear. Add to that the fact you would need to be an ace sailor to deal with nasty,changing wind directions,wind speeds and freezing temperatures,”says Shakeel,a 33 year-old lawyer and the first Indian to win a gold medal at the Asian Championship for sailing.

We are lucky then,cruising here on a sunny,breezy day - almost a year roud possibility. A bit sad though,we haven’t recognised our complete potential till date-something the Portuguese and the British did years ago! The Britis set up the the sailing infrastructure and harnessed the potential of the Bombay Harbor for trade well.

While India has advanced since then,it has not quite kept pace with New Zealand,UK,Australia and other sailing hubs. However,the legacy and charm of old time sailing is retained even today.

If Neil,our caving guide,had not drawn our attention to the little depression in the thickly forested hillock we might have missed it altogether. We looked at the little cavern,a menacing looking black hole that punctured the rugged landscape,with misgiving . May be we should have settled for something safer and opted to visit the touristy stalactite and stalagmite caves of Mawnmai in Meghalaya in the North Eastern reaches of India. But no, in a moment of bravado,we declared that we wanted to go caving!

Are we going to crawl into that hole?’,we asked Neil who had already started to pull equipment out of hip backpack:bright orange Jumpsuits,helmets,head lamps…’Yes!’ He had apparently missed the concern in our voice. With business-like professionalism he handed us our caving kits. We realised that the time for fretting and worrying had lapsed and we steeled ourselves for the adventure ahead. Once we were all fitted out-we felt a little silly standing in the silent forest dressed up like coal miners-Neil gave us pre-caving instructions.

First he informed us that our gear,stupid as we might feel in it , was essential once we entered the bowels of the earth. He then reassured us that we would have no problem breathing as limestone rock is porous and the caves are well-ventilated. He warned us about wandering off and advised us to stay together at all times. “There will be a little wall climbing,a bit of slithering around and make sure you test each step before transfering your entire weight onto it,”hea said. With that he switched on the miners’ lights attached to our helmets and invited us to follow him.

From the dark:
We dropped down on all fours and crawled into the narrow little cavern,the spot light on our helmets lighting the path in front of us. We ducked under a row of jagged rocks that clawed at us; thankfully our helmets blunted the bite of the few that did manage to strike. Soon we arrived at what looked like a dead end but Neil pointed to a narrow cavity above our heads.We eased ourselves into the opening and literally slithered through it; our bodies forming S-curves as we pulled and pushed up with our hands,nee and feet.

Our efforts were rewarded when we emerged into a passage where we were able to stand upright. Our reliet,however,was short-lived when we realised that we would have to scale up the face of a small cliff(in the glow of our headlamps it looked menacing and about twice its actual size) to reach the next level of the cave. After a very surreal subterranean rock climbing adventure,gripping the rugged surface of the cave with the tips of our fingers and hoisting ourselves up till our feet found a toehold, we found ourselves crawling on all fours once again.

The decision to tour Kinnaur on motorcycles in winter,mid-January, was spontaneous. It couldn’t have been made any other way. Logic proscribes purposely pitting body against harsh conditions. But the wantonness of passion foments it. The only logic being that snow weas late this winter and we could change it. So,we found ourselves on the Grand Trunk Road heading for the distant hills. The chill of a foggy pre-dawn ride in the plains was a precursor of what was to follow in the freezing mountains in days to come. The fog burned off with the rising sun. We stopped for an early breakfast a little beyond the industrial town of Karnal. Squatting cross-legged on Jute cots in the bright warm sunshine,we feasted on hot tandoori parathas with dollops of butter.Satiated appetites,a bright clear day and a smooth road heading for the horizon spurred us towards the hills at a fair clip.

By noon, we reached the mountains.The road beganits curvaceous journey uphill,hugging th contours of the mountains it winds across. The Kalka to Simla road,being smooth and wide,allowed us to make good time. Near Kandaghat,the narrow-gauge train chugged alongside us for a fleeting moment before being devoured by a tunnel where the track goes through it. We parted ways,wheels and motion in common, but different routes. Simla(altitude 7000 ft),the bustling and crowded capital of Himachal Pradesh,was bypassed as we were headed farther up. By early afternoon,we had made it to Dalli,a small hamlet that draws sustenance from the highway speeding through it. With the usual route to Rampur via Narkanda(altitude 9800 ft)iced over,we took the alternate through Basantpur and Sunni. This road follows the Sutlaj river and being at a low altitude,it never experiences snow or frost. The road between Sunni and Luhri is a motorcyclist’s dream come true. It stretches beside the Sutlej River,a winding ribbon of smooth black tarmac that demands the most in concentration and is indubitably exhilarating to ride on as well. We stopped to eat at a roadside shack and filled p on scrambled eggs and buns washed down by hot sweet tea. By the time we reached Rampur,the sky was an orange bedspread across the horizon,lacquered scarlet by the setting sun. We were on the famed Hindustan Tibet Road now-Kinnaur’s lifeline. With the departing sunshine went the warmth,and the chill of sub-zero temperatures crept in. After re-fuelling at Jeori,we rode up the narrow ascending road to Sarahan. Some 14 hours on the road and we had family arrived at the ‘Gateway of Kinnaur’. We checked into a hotel for the night,the fatigue of those long hours on the saddle acting as a sweet sedative,and slept warm with a couple of blankets draped over the heavy quilts.