Day 14: Kagbeni to Marpha 9km or 15km (177km)

The trail from Muktinath all the way to Tatopani continues along the dusty, bus-filled road. At one time, this was only a foot trail, like Manang, but the road finally stretched up, far into Upper-Mustang. I did everything I could to avoid walking on the road. Looking at the map, I saw a bridge just beyond Kagbeni, leading to a a route taht skirts the other side of the river. It was sure to be quiet.

Crossing the bridge, I found myself head on with a motorcycle, also about to cross the bridge. Thankfully, the cyclist let me cross the narrow suspension bridge first. After that, the trail was quiet as I suspected. I took a left, as the map said, then found myself at a gate. It was a small gate and I just climbed over it, assuming it was for either keeping livestock in or cars out. The road continued until it stopped at a garbage pit. Around the other side was a gate which I passed through.

The trail did not continue from there. I was at the rim of a steady sloped canyon that stretched into the hills for at least a few kilometers. I looked across the canyon and the other side was much steeper with a wall of vertical rock on the top. There was a small nook cut into the shortest part of cliff wall. It looked easily climbable. This seemed much quicker than going around.

I descended to the dry river bed below, then climbed clumsily up the steep, loose other side. Cut into the cliff was a small dwelling, possibly belonging to another baba. Finally, I was into the nook, which I easily climbed. It was obviously used often.

On the other side was a long flat surface of scrub bushes. I walked along, following the river until it ended at another canyon, 75ft high, with a wall going straight down. Dead end.

I was already exhausted from the previous climb and I was faced with the prospect of turning back and doing it again. This was a good place to stop for a rest. The view was fantastic. In the distance, at the bottom of the canyon, I saw my intended trail, stretching along a cliff up the river. If I could only find a way down to the river, I could catch the trail.

So, I stood up and looked right. The canyon continued into the hills, even farther than the last. To my left was a deadly embankment. The best plan, I decided, was to walk along the rim of the canyon and hope to find a safe way to the bottom, hopefully someplace where I wouldn't have to turn back. My plan worked; there was steady hill five minutes away.

After heading down, I was able to reach the pleasant, quiet trail. It streched along the cliffs with the raging Kali Gandaki below. The trail then opened onto the riverbed where it continued down the valley. It was all very pleasant until the trail ended and the river meandered back to the bank, cutting off all progress. Dead end again.

The cliffs were higher in the hills, with a slope of loose rocks and sand right on the bank. I was not ready to turn back yet, so I inched along the dirt, watching my footprints slide down into the river. It was fine but slow going, despite the lack of solid holds for either my feet or hands, up until I reached the cliff.

From my point a bit up the hill, I could see other hikers on the opposite side of the river, trying to find a way across. One was climbing on the cliff near me. Another was sussing out the depth of the river to see if he could walk across. I knew I wouldn't be able to move forward without wetting my feet. With the advantage of height, I saw a shallow route through the river I could cross, but I'd have to go back 10 meters along the landslide. I was almost to my wading point when the hill beneath me gave out, hurling me down, right to the river.

I stopped right at the bottom, the hill that collapsed under me provided a ledge that kept me from falling into the river. Removing my boots and putting on my flipflops, I stepped into the icy cold mountain river and forded my way across. There was an island in the middle that was easy to reach. The island stretched almost passed the cliff to the trail on the other side. I stepped forward and the water was ankle deep. Another step and it was up to calves, then my knees. Any further depth and I would be unsafe for me to cross. The river was too fast. I had to turn around.

Few things bother me more that turning back as the story shows, but there was little I could do about a flooded trail. As much as I wanted to try going further, I didn't want to risk wetting my backpack or worse, death. I hiked in my flipflops in hope I'd see another possible ford and from the cliff top trail, I saw it.

The river broke into about five smaller streams before rejoining further down. Each stream was shallow and slower than the main river. I waded through stream after stream, hitting dead ends and trying new routes until it was evident, there was no safe crossing. I found my way back to shore and conceded further progress. I'd have to turn back to the bridge. This was ll the more painful after the work it took to go so far. The afternoon winds picked up right at this point, mocking me.

The way back was not as exciting, but still frustrating and adventure-filled. The bridge was at the top of the canyon, so I had to do a bit of rock climbing to get back. Finally, three hours after I had left, I returned to where I had started. I would have never had such an experience with a guide! It was good to be alone again.

The road to Marpha was long, windy and dusty. I was almost hoping for the quiet, adrenaline kick of the other side again. It took another three hours to reach Marpha, the apple capital of Nepal.

Dinner that night made up for the hard day. I resumed my dal bhat diet with some of the best of the whole trail. The rice was perfect, the curry full of many different veggies and it came with a side of fresh apple chutney. I finished this off with a fantastic slice of apple pie and some local apple brandy. I was so replenished, I made sure to tell the grandma-like didi, cooking up a storm, that she did a fantastic job. Sleep came easy that night.