Travels with My Daughter – Return to the Ganga

A SCOUTING VIEW OF THE DREADED RAPID CALLED THE WALL

At the ATOAI annual convention in January this year, I was lucky enough to win a two-night stay at Bull’s Retreat, the home base camp on the Ganga of Mercury Himalayan Explorations, founded by my friend Akshay Kumar. I cut my teeth white-water rafting on India’s most well-known river several years ago and this was a great opportunity to revisit the scene of my exploits. So March 15, the day I turned 61, found me rubbing the sleep from my eyes and boarding the Shatabdi to Haridwar along with my daughter Mallika.

We are transferred from Haridwar junction to Bull’s Retreat, about an hour up on the left bank of the Ganga. The resort, named for Akshay’s father, Col. Narinder “Bull” Kumar, leader of the first Indian expedition to climb the visually stunning Nanda Devi, has clearly seen better days. However, we are made to feel very welcome by the friendly staff and ushered to the deluxe room also named Nanda Devi. The USP of the resort is the small museum, located above the dining room, chronicling the history of Indian mountaineering, with a special focus on the mountaineering career of Bull. Sadly, it wears a deserted and forlorn look, which is a pity as the contents and items on display are really quite good and interesting.

A VIEW OF THE BULL’S RETREAT PROPERTY

That evening, we decide to attend the Ganga aarti and are driven down the valley to Triveni Ghat, just below Rishikesh. By no stretch of the imagination am I a believer in organised religion and I consider myself to be a Hindu only by birth and not by practise. But even I have to admit that the spectacle of this special ceremony at sunset has an undeniable charm, so I buy two of the Rs 300 tickets. Mallika and I are guided through the ceremony on the riverbank by a couple of young acolytes who look like they are just out of high school. We are barely able to comprehend the complicated Sanskrit mantras as they tumble out smoothly one after the other from the mouths of the young priests but setting the diyas and flowers afloat on the river is a childishly innocent but surprisingly profound experience.

Now we sit on the steps of the ghat in the front row, amidst a sizeable crowd, and watch as the rest of the spectacle plays out against the backdrop of the setting sun. The priests stand on pedestals, resplendent in their purple tunics and white sashes so reminiscent of togas, rhythmically moving their oil lamps to and fro, as the chants grow louder and the smell of incense and smoke fills the air. I am strongly reminded of a tableau vivant heralding the apocalyptic end of the Roman Empire.

THE PRIESTS LEAD THE WAY WITH THE OIL LAMPS DURING THE AARTI

I stare at the frothing white line in the distance where the Ganga drops into the mouth of The Wall, the only Class IV+ rapid on the stretch from Kaudiyala, our put-in point. A roar like distant thunder comes to our ears, causing the adrenalin to peak. My mind casts back to my first run two decades ago with Aquaterra Adventures where the rapid claimed me as yet another victim, as I was thrown out of the raft and dragged ignominiously downstream.

EXCITEMENT ON OUR FACES, READY FOR WHAT COMES AHEAD

This time it is just Mallika and me and our experienced Garhwali guide, Promod, as we scout the monster and prepare to run its gauntlet. We notice that all the other rafts are pulling over to the shore and disgorging their crew as they prepare to portage across the fearsome Wall. But we think of ourselves as rock stars playing to a huge audience as we paddle strongly into the stream. Seconds later, the water is churning white below us and the raft is bucking like a bronco. But today is our lucky day and The Wall is kind and merciful. We escape its watery clutches, letting out a loud cheer of relief and celebration.

With The Wall safely behind us, we relax and enjoy the rest of the trip. It is a perfect day for rafting, with the sun shining down brightly and the emerald green swell of the Ganga carrying us ever forward. We float by deserted and pristine sand beaches and slip under precarious looking, flimsily built wooden footbridges. The rapids are like old friends from the past and I recognize each landmark along the way with much fondness—Daniel’s Dip, Three Blind Mice, Return to Sender, and finally Black Money ironically named for its location just below the grand residence of the Thapars. This return to the Ganga has been a sublime experience for us.

ENDING THE EXHILARATING RIDE WITH THIS VIEW

Since the time that I first started rafting on the Ganga, this area of Uttarakhand has been developed as a destination for adventure enthusiasts, with all kinds of attractions and facilities now on offer. In the afternoon, we are taken to experience the Flying Fox Ganga zip line, which runs right across the river. I have zip-lined before on Florida’s Space Coast and in Hermanus in South Africa, but this is the longest ever line (400m), and I enjoy the sensation of streaking high above the rafters bobbing in their tiny blue crafts far below. The wind picks up and swings me around, stalling me for a while before I reach the wooden platform, but I swivel around adeptly and pull myself quickly to safety. Then we reverse course and head back across the Ganga on another line, this one shorter and swifter, landing with a satisfying thunk!

Our last stop on the adventure itinerary for the day is the Thrill Factory, just a stone’s throw away from Bull’s Retreat. It is a hideously garish set-up, not in tune at all with the forest surroundings, but then what it offers is not meant to soothe the nerves. The speciality item on the menu is the reverse bungee. We are strapped into a circular metal cage and then shot upwards like a giant cannonball. After reaching the top, we are in free fall and gyrate wildly up and down while suspended by two thick elastic bands. I am screaming at the top of my lungs and my stomach drops out, and it is Disneyland’s craziest roller-coaster ride all over again!

The final challenge is to negotiate the Rope Course, and for me this is an absolute killer. Sweating and trembling, I struggle through all these infernal obstacles—suspended tyres, swinging logs, swaying bolsters—feeling too old and too heavy by a country mile. Mallika, meanwhile, has skipped blithely ahead like a sure-footed mountain goat and watches my progress with an unnecessary degree of amusement. Eventually, I end the ordeal by crawling through a suspended wooden barrel, while Billy Joel’s unforgettable lyric “Man, what are you doin’ here?” from “Piano Man” plays in my head.

A WELL-CONSTRUCTED ROPE COURSE TESTS ONE’S METTLE