In the same week, I went from the state of Arunachal
Pradesh, 85 percent covered by lush rainforest, a total population of 1 million
people, and a rich tribal culture to the city of Mumbai, known as the financial
capital of India, boasting 18 million residents and the second largest slum in the
world. While Mumbai certainly has a charm of its own, my heart lies back in
Arunachal Pradesh.
Traveling to Arunachal Pradesh undoubtedly pushed the limits
of my patience. I understand IST, officially known as Indian Standard Time but
should really stand for Indian Stretchable Time. Before I left for Arunachal,
I’d endured the common frustrations experienced by foreign travelers in India –
lack of punctuality, frequent power outages, random business closures – but
Arunachal takes it to a whole different level.
On the other hand, Arunachal Pradesh is a land witnessed by
few outsiders. During the duration of my roughly two-week stay, I saw one
European lady in Pasighat the day I arrived and about 10 British photographers
on the way to the Subansiri River – that was it. In Arunachal, stunning natural beauty
surrounds life still lived as it was centuries before.
**********************
Stuffing a few finals items into my bag, I hopped in Menoj’s
classy, white Ambassador taxi around 11pm and headed for Haridwar train station
en route to New Delhi. Arvind warned me that every year, people die traveling
the roads around Rishikesh at night. Wild elephants roam the surrounding
jungles and after the sun goes down, play with people and cars as if they were
bored and looking for a new toy. Setting out, there were lots of other cars and
trucks on the road and I figured tonight wouldn’t be our night.
Menoj helped me board the train while a kind Indian lady
helped me find my berth. I was traveling 2AC, an air-conditioned sleeper class
that isn’t quite first class but is certainly an upgrade from the packed cheaper
seats. The three other people in my four-bed berth were already sound asleep -
it was 12:45am. The train provides clean sheets so I laid them out, took my
belt off to secure my bag to my bunk, put my headphones in, and dozed off.
Getting off the train at 4:40am, Delhi station was alive and
bustling. I made my way to the pre-paid taxi stand, dodging porters and taxi
drivers, where I hopped in a no-haggle taxi to Indira Ghandi airport. I checked
in for my flight and after few short hours wait, I was in the air en route to
Northeast India.
Arriving in Dibrugarh, Assam around 2:30pm, I checked in to
the Hotel Rajawas, the first hotel I’d stayed at in India. I quickly left to
check out the main market while there was still plenty of daylight. After a bit
of poking around, I realized downtown Dibrugarh has little to offer the
wandering traveler other than a laid back and safe atmosphere in a state known
for its ethnic clashes and violence. Exhausted at this point, I headed back to
the hotel, ordered dinner, and began planning for my trip the next morning into
Arunachal.
My Arunachal contacts were essentially useless in helping me
book transportation from Dibrugarh to Pasighat, Arunachal Pradesh (AP), the
town where I would base my stay in the Northeast. Fortunately, the woman who
owned Hotel Rajawas met me in the lobby after I had dinner to discuss
transportation options. What makes the journey from northeastern Assam into
southeastern AP most interesting is the required crossing of the Brahmaputra
River, the fifth largest river by volume in the world. With a bridge still
years away from connecting the two sides of the river, the only option is to
take a ferry. Mrs. Saharia, the hotel owner, first called the daily Sumo
service (a Sumo is a big Indian-made jeep) that takes you from Dibrugarh to
Bogibeel ghat (ghat in this part of India means ferry point), then picks you up
in another Sumo on the other side of the river and drops you right in Pasighat.
Of course, the guy’s Sumo was broken and needed repairs that would take about a
week. Thankfully, the Sumo driver gave me good advice on how to make the
journey without a direct service. I was to wake up at 4:30am and get driven by
Mrs. Saharia’s driver to the Dibrugarh Sumo stand. Around 5am, the first shared
Sumo would leave Dibrugarh for Bogibeel ghat, about an hour away. I would take
the first ferry of the day at 7am across the Brahmaputra to Silapatar ghat.
Once reaching Silapatar ghat on the other side, I would take a shared taxi into
the town of Silapatar, then get in a final shared taxi to Pasighat. If all went
somewhat to plan, I would reach Pasighat sometime in the afternoon.
As the Brahmaputra recedes after the monsoon, Bogibeel
ghat’s location on the bank of the river responds. Alas, there is no proper
ferry building as we’re used to back in the states. Leaving the main road at a
seemingly random location, our Sumo entered the flood plains of the Brahmaputra
where jeep tracks crisscrossed each other and surely led to nowhere. After
about 10 minutes, we approached the Bogibeel ferry point somewhere on the
enormous flood plains. Shanties offered food to travelers while many old,
brightly colored wooden ferries awaited their turn to take people across the
massive river. So far, so good - I reached Bogibeel ghat with little hassle and
was actually ahead of my loose schedule.
Three cars with mirrors tucked in fit on each ferry,
although if the cars are small, four somehow seem to work. As for people,
there’s a maximum limit written on each boat but until the boat starts taking
on water, everyone is more than welcome. The biggest challenge is getting the
cars onto the boat. Of course, the two boards that bridge the bank and the
ferry aren’t made nice and wide, they’re barely tire width. I learned that the
trick is to stare at the ferry man directing you while ignoring your instincts
as you drive onto the boards. Still, on the other side of the river, I saw a
car off the boards…I’m sure that wasn’t the first time that’d happened.
Pushing off the bank with the help of long bamboo poles, the
engine fired up and we started across the river. The women and a few men sat in
the seated section below while a bunch of local guys and me hung out on the
roofs. Chai was served with a pastry and I basked in the immensity of the
river.
These ferries are steered by an intriguing system. Chains
connected to the steering column run down the sides of the boat where they’re
then connected to steel wires that run the length of the boat. The steel wires
are then tied to the rudder.
For the traveler, the
new bridge across the Brahmaputra will add convenience, but retire the unique
character of the ferry experience.
I was informed by friendly and helpful locals I was chatting
with that there was a direct Traveller service (a Traveller is an 18-seat
mini-bus) from Silapatar ghat to Pasighat. Getting on this mini-bus would make
my day much easier, but I was warned that I would have to run to get a seat as
it usually filled up quickly. With my massive, heavy bag tucked in the seated
compartment below, I knew I would probably be one of the last people off the
ferry. Another helpful local said that he too was going to Pasighat and would
run ahead and try to get us seats. As expected, I was the very last person off
the ferry. Quickly making my way up the steep, rocky hill where the taxis were
waiting (I’m always blown away by the skill of Indian women who can walk over
any terrain in sarees and short heels),
the conductor of the Traveller service took my bag and loaded it into
the back of the bus – so far, so good. Then he asked for my ticket…uhhhh.
Fortunately, the locals once again helped me out and made sure I got on the bus.
I ended up sharing the front seat with another guy for the two hour journey
into Pasighat. While my right butt-cheek was asleep most of the time, I had a
prime window seat!
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| The white vehicle is the Pasighat Traveller |
Across the Brahmaputra, it feels as if you’ve left India.
Bamboo huts line the sparsely populated landscape while thick, tropical rainforest
covers the surrounding Himalayan foothills.
Before I left for Arunachal, Arvind put me in touch with his
good friend and local big shot in Pasighat, Uchi. As I entered Pasighat, I
called Uchi who said he would send some of “his guys” to pick me up and take me
to the hotel where he earlier booked a room for me. Somehow I managed to find the
guys in the busy taxi square of Pasighat, hopped on the back of one of their
motorcycles and headed off. Pasighat is a wild town. It’s dirty, bustling, and
not the least set-up for tourists. Men carry around old Soviet shotguns and big
knives, both for work, hunting, and “security.” After checking in to the Hotel
Oman, a borderline one or two star hotel but known as the second best in town,
Uchi’s guys took me to try to get online at the “best” internet café in town.
Of course, their internet connection wasn’t working and laughably never had a
connection during my multi-week stay. We found a connection in a small printing
store and Uchi’s guys said goodbye. I quickly checked my email and left, the smell
of printing chemicals overbearing.
I settled into my room back at the Hotel Oman and rested
before Uchi’s guys picked me up again to take me to his house. Some people in
Arunachal are doing quite well. Over the past five or ten years, India has
pumped loads of money into the state to build infrastructure as China contests
the land of Arunachal Pradesh. Even for Indian standards, Arunachal is quite
corrupt and thus many locals are rather wealthy while infrastructure remains frustratingly
poor. Anyways, Uchi is an incredibly warm and nice guy. He welcomed me into his
home and I thanked him for helping me out upon arrival in Pasighat.
After talking for a bit, he invited me into his traditional Adi hut. The Adi tribe was originally a group of raiders in the Yunnan province
of China. After getting kicked out by the Chinese, they migrated to their
present location in eastern Arunachal. Adi homes are made solely from the land,
mostly bamboo with a few hardwood supports. Uchi told me that if a big group
gets together, these homes can be built in two days – one to collect the
materials and one to put them together. They usually need rebuilding every five
years or so. The main room of an Adi home is the kitchen, built around an open
fireplace and hung smoking racks in the middle of the room. Bedrooms are located
off the kitchen. Upon entering Uchi’s Adi hut, I felt as if I had gone back a
few hundred years. Adi’s are known for their smoked meat – sometimes meat is
smoked for a day, sometimes for a year. They’re also known for their rice beer
which every family makes themselves by burning rice in its husk and then
fermenting it. I was offered fish which Uchi told me was smoked for a few
months and a glass of rice beer. Dipping the fish in salt and chili flakes, it
was….hard, tough, and pretty flavorless. Exclaiming my delight, I washed it
down with some rice beer. Welcome to Arunachal! Uchi told me that he was going
fishing on the Siang early in the morning and invited me along. Even though I
craved a full nights rest, I couldn’t pass up his offer. With a 5am pick-up
arranged, Uchi drove me back to the Hotel Oman.
While I was excited to fish with Uchi, the main goal of my
second day in AP, November 19th, was meeting face-to-face with Nino
Dai, the Adi local who co-owns RiverIndia. Nino is probably the hardest person
I’ve ever tried to get in touch with. One second he’s easily reachable and then
poof, for three weeks he’s nowhere to be found. I was physically closer to Nino
than I’d been in the past four months when I first got in touch with him, but
he was still nearly impossible to get ahold of. I’d tried to get in touch with
him all day long after I first arrived in Pasighat to no avail. Despite this
challenge, I feel asleep easily after a long, but memorable day.
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| My first glimpse of the mighty Siang River |
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| Locals... |
While Uchi fished, from the banks of the Siang I finally got
a hold of Nino – what a relief. We arranged a meeting at my hotel room in the
afternoon. Fishing with Uchi was a nice, relaxing experience. I hung out with
Uchi’s gang and some local fishermen, eat more traditional Adi food (boiled
chicken and boiled leafy greens with some smoked chicken and rice), and basked
in the beauty of the Siang and its surroundings.
It was a great feeling to finally shake hands with Nino in the afternoon after fishing and
we quickly settled into logistics. He told me that instead of the 21st,
we would head out on the 20th for Daporijo, the put-in location for
our Subansiri trip. Not expecting to leave so soon, I told Nino I had some
small-picture details to take care of. I asked him to pick me up in the morning
of the following day when I’d meet the rest of the RiverIndia team and we'd pack the
truck and head out.
Nino told me that we’d try to leave his home by 11 or 12pm,
reaching our resting place for day one of our two day drive to put-in by dark.
Setting the tone for the rest of the trip, we ended up leaving around 6pm and
reaching our destination around 12am. Nonetheless, Nino’s family home and
RiverIndia base is a pleasant property in a quiet part of town with lovely
gardens and good hospitality. I met Nino’s parents and Ito Bai and Bodkhe,
Nino’s right and left hand guys. Arun Dai, Nino’s uncle and the seniormost
guide would meet up with us later. He had to make a chicken coop for his family
out of bamboo and cane before he left.
We loaded up the jeep for our trip, slowly but surely.
Amazingly, we fit all the rafts and gear for a 7-day expedition with 18 people
in the back and on top of one small jeep. To round it out, six of us, Nino,
Ito, Bodkhe, Arun, Nino’s girlfriend, and myself, would sit inside for the
two-day drive.
With the truck packed, we headed out for the 6-hour drive to
Ito Bai’s family house in the town of Basar. Now really, really tired after
waking up yet again before sunrise, enjoying a full-day of fishing, and packing
a rafting trip, I put in my headphones and dozed off as we drove into the
night.
Reaching Ito Bai’s around midnight, we quickly settled in to
conversation and rice beer around the fire in his traditional Adi kitchen. Soon,
we were all off to sleep, planning to wake-up early for the second leg of our
drive.
I woke up in the morning to find out that Ito Bai’s brother
had a truck that we could use to lighten the load on the jeep. We transferred
the gear over to the truck that was much more suitable to the amount of stuff
we had.
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| Breakfast at Ito's |
After a filling breakfast of what else, boiled chicken and leafy greens with rice, we hit the road. I was excited that we were driving during the day as I knew the scenery masked in the darkess the night before was surely beautiful. I wasn’t let down as we made our way through the rolling foothills of Arunachal Pradesh, passing lovely villages and gorgeous vistas.
After many hours of driving, we reached a restaurant and bar with a few sleeping huts in
Daporjio right on the Subansiri that Nino uses as a put-in. After unloading all
the gear and relaxing for a bit, we headed out to Nino’s girlfriend’s sister’s
home. In Arunachal, people commonly refer to a massive network of extended
family, blood related or not, as their brothers and sisters. This home belonged
to a man with three wives and in this situation, all the wives were Nino’s
girlfriend’s “sisters,” the real connection I’m still not sure of. We were
warmly greeted and shown into the kitchen. This traditional Adi kitchen had
three fireplaces, one for each wife. We were offered rice beer and smoked meat,
this time buffalo. I assumed that all the food in India would be really spicy.
For the most part, the food had been fairly benign, certainly no spicier than
hot Mexican dishes. Arunachal Pradesh and Assam happen to be the producers of
the sabor chili, affectionately known as the ghost chili back in the States,
the hottest chili in the world. The buffalo meat kicked my butt! Even the local
contingent was sweating. After a few more glasses of rice beer, our hosts were
making phone calls on their cell phones telling their friends how happy they
were to have a foreigner in their home. I’m not sure who felt more new to the
experience, but we were both glad to be sharing each other’s company. After another
traditional Adi meal of boiled chicken, leafy greens, and rice, we headed back
to our camp for the night.
In the morning we prepared the gear for the trip and met the
guests. The Subansiri River is one of the five major tributaries of the Brahmaputra
and is most known for its world-class fishing, among other epic qualities. The
guys on the trip showed up in their fishing vests ready to roll. Most of the
group was from Assam and well into their fifties. Nino asked
me if I would give the safety talk so I ushered the group into the bar and gave
them my best effort. Fortunately, for the most part they all spoke good English
as I was worried they wouldn’t laugh at my dumb, standard jokes that accompany
all of my safety talks.
Earlier, Nino told me that he wanted me to guide the paddle
boat on the trip. The paddle boat turned out to be a 14ft. Indian-made raft
with the largest thwarts (cross-tubes) I’d ever seen in my life. After my
safety briefing and a quick paddle talk, I loaded up my crew and we headed off
for our seven-day expedition.
The Subansiri was the first river I’d been on in India where
the road wasn’t somewhere in the distance. Off in the middle of nowhere, the
scenery quickly got outstanding while the casting commenced.
A typical day on the Subansiri consisted of a few hours on
the river after serving breakfast and breaking down camp. Lunch was cooked in
the morning and served once we reached the next night’s camp. Because there is
only one time zone for all of India, Arunachal lives up to its slogan, “the
land of dawn lit mountains.” Arunachal gets the first sun of India early in the
morning but consequently gets dark equally early. With the sun going down around
4:30pm, the days were short but fortunately we only had to cover a small amount
of river kilometers each day.
Few fish were caught in the first few days of the trip,
largely due to the incredibly destructive method of dynamite fishing used by
the locals. Paying off guards at the road building companies’ dynamite
stockrooms, the local fisherman buy cheap dynamite, then blow out sections of
the river and paddle around by wooden boat to collect the fish. This
shortsighted method of ecosystem annihilation will ruin the future of local
fish markets as well as a local rafting market. Until the fish run out, I doubt
the locals will stop using dynamite – it’s quite a sad scene.
While still enjoying the amazing scenery around us, everyone
was excited to reach the confluence where the Kamla River joins the Subansiri. The
Kamla is nearly the size of the Subansiri and it was expected that the fishing
would get much better after the two rivers met. For me, it meant that the
rapids would get much bigger. The Kamla is introduced by one of the bigger
rapids of the trip, a nearly kilometer long wave train. I was curious to see
how the Indian-made raft would handle in some bigger whitewater as we’d
previously only run some smaller class II/III rapids. Our raft did great
through some pretty big waves and after the Kamla, I was delighted to be on the
biggest river by volume I’d ever rafted. The Subansiri now must have been
50,000cfs, much bigger than the Grand Canyon when I saw it, which was at a
30-year high of 30,000cfs.
After the Kamla confluence, we decided to pull-over and let the
guys fish. The beach we pulled over at also happened to be full of the special
beetles that people from Arunachal absolutely love.
The guys quickly made a small fire and roasted some of the
beetles. Actually, Arunachal people prefer them raw but I figured if I was
going to try them, cooked would be best. Snapping off the heads and removing
the legs and wings, you then have to squeeze out a red filling from the center.
After preparing the beetle, it’s ready to eat (although some prefer the beetles
whole with no preparation). It tasted sort of almond-y and made my mouth numb…
that was a first.
As we arrived in camp for the night, Nino informed me that due to the poor fishing conditions, the guys were talking about taking-out a day early instead of doing a lay-over
day as we had planned. It was the first time I’d ever been on a multi-day expedition with a liquid take-out
date. Regardless, we set-up camp for the night and were greeted by some locals
who lived in a village a few kilometers off the river up in the canyon. One
personable villager invited us to come visit the next day and we invited him
to dinner with us. Around dusk, rain began to fall and we decided to lay-over
for a day and stay put. In past trips, the fishing had been good around the camp
and those who didn’t want to fish during the day could hike up to the village.
The villager told us that it would take about a half-an-hour
to hike up to the village. Accordingly, I figured it would take at least an hour. Nino
thought that we should leave around 1pm, but I knew that if we planned for 1pm,
we would leave much later. With the sun going down at 4:30pm, I suggested we leave
around 11am to give us enough time to explore the village and get back to camp before dark. With the plan to leave around 12pm agreed on, we wished the villagers good
night and went to sleep with the rain pattering our tents.
The next morning, the rain receded and the villager and a buddy came down. His buddy went off into the jungle for a while and came back
with some of the Northeast’s finest bananas and…field rat.
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| Our local guide and friend was the guy on the right |
Like the Flintstones, this guy caught the rats with rock and trigger traps. Our Arunachal team was delighted with the catch!
 |
| The Assamese boatmen, brought along by our guests to help them, smoking Arunachal's finest rat |
With the rats set-up for an all-day smoke, most of the group
headed upstream to fish for the day while Nino, Ito Bai, Bodkhe, me, and three
guests waited for the villager to come back down to lead us through the jungle.
Showing up around 1pm, we set off along the cliffy, rocky bank right along a
big bend in the river. Then, after negotiating a long boulder field and
crossing a small creek, we finally reached the trail up to the village. I told
Nino that we had to be careful with time as we certainly didn’t want to have to
do that walk in the dark, or even worse, in the dark and in the rain. I then
realized that I brought my waterproof bag with a rain-jacket, water, and my
camera but my headlamp was sitting back in my tent. Furthermore, I was wearing
my flip-flops as I didn’t want to wear my soaking wet shoes. While not necessarily
set-up for success, my excitement overcame the small warning lights that were
set-off by our circumstances. We crossed the first bamboo gate and hiked
through some rice paddies. Nino told me to keep checking myself for leeches as
he pulled one off his pant leg.
Quickly, the hike up to the village got really steep and it
was quite slick from the rain the night before. Nearly 45 minutes into the
hike, the villager told us we were about two-thirds of the way up. With one eye
on my watch, one of the guests we brought up decided that the hike was too
strenuous for him as his diabetic condition was making him nervous. The
villager took him back to our camp as the rest of the group continued up the
path.
It was a great feeling to reach the village and we could
feel the reciprocal excitement felt by the villagers. Nino and I explore around
a bit…what a different life these people live.
We were then invited into one of the homes where we were
given some local rice beer and boiled chicken. I was blown away by what I found
inside – a bunch of village women huddled around the fire, a small TV, and
pictures of Jesus. Evidently the mid-20th century Christian
missionaries did their job.
Our village guide returned from walking our client back to our camp in amazing time, entering the hut with another one of our
guests, a colonel from Uttarakhand stationed in Arunachal, who decided last minute to come up to see the village. Our guide introduced the
group to the locals inside in his charismatic manner. I was introduced to much laughter as the son of Barack Obama. After a
discussion and more laughter, since we decided I looked a little different, I
was finally introduced as the son-in-law of Barack Obama. While we were in a
traditional village 50 kilometers walk to the nearest road, the world felt
momentarily quite small.
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| Nino and Ito Bai loving it |
After our introductions, the village elder walked in and we
greeted him with great respect. He told us that rafters coming up to their
village from the river with a foreigner felt like a weird dream.
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| Eddie, one of our guests from Meghalaya, and I with the village elder |
Then, our village guide told us he wanted to show us some
local music videos he was in. Lo-and-behold, the generator fired up and on went
music videos of our friend dancing in the woods to traditional Arunanchali
music. It was starting to feel like I was in a weird dream too.
After thoroughly enjoying the videos, I checked my watch and it was around
3pm. I had previously discussed with Nino that we should leave around 3pm,
giving us enough time to reach our camp before night set-in. No such luck this
time. The village guide then preceded to give us an impromptu performance of
three or four of his favorite local songs and then told us about his dreams to
be a member of parliament. This guy was non-stop!
Around 3:40pm, I told Nino we really needed to get
going. We of course had an extended Indian goodbye and finally headed out. With Nino
and the rest of the group dragging their feet, Eddie and I decided we should
get going down the trail. Just as we started down the trail, it started to
rain. Nearly running down the trail in my sandals, we made it to the bottom of
the slippery, steep hill in about ten minutes. Once we got out of the jungle, the rain really
started in. Wet and getting dark, we headed onto the boulder field, crossed the
creek, and made it to the cliffy bend in the river sans flashlight. Injuries on a rafting
expedition in the middle of Aruanchal Pradesh with the nearest small road 50
kilometers walk away are a no-go. Eddie and I made it back to camp safely with
the last light but we looked back and we didn’t see the one or two flashlights
which Eddie and I knew the rest of the group had. I’m always
amazed at how well things work out, and of course, everyone made it back safe,
even over the loose, slippery rocks and steep cliffs in the dark.
Glad to be back in camp, we dined on Indian food and eat the
smoked rat which…tasted like rat. The guys who fished did quite well and
spirits were high. Tomorrow we would pack-up camp and head down river, rain or
shine. In awe of the day I just had, I fell asleep to the sound of rain on my
tent once more.
Fortunately, the morning brought bright sunshine which dried
our gear enough to pack it away mostly dry. The guys also rallied the biggest catch
of the trip, a 16kg Golden Mahseer.
The Golden Mahseer is an endangered species and fortunately they released this monster of a fish.
For lunch, we had some red rice the villagers gave us as a gift. Plain, it was the best tasting rice of my life
and even the guys from the Assam said they’d never had anything like it.
While everyone was
still talking about the big catch, I went to sleep giddy knowing that tomorrow was the biggest
whitewater day of the trip.
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| Beautiful Subansiri |
With three big rapids lined up in a row and one worth scouting, we started off
early in the morning. Once again, the little Indian boat dwarfed by the size of
the river did great, as did the rest of team in the fairly straightforward but big rapids.
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| The bottom half of the scout...it's always much bigger when you're in it |
We had reached our last night on the river and I was bummed
to leave such an amazing place. I learned a lot from the Adi guides on the
trip who knew how to use the natural resouce homeland like no people I'd ever met before. And it
was fun to teach them some of my river skills from California.
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| Bodkhe, Nino, and Ito Bai in the kitchen |
We took out at the site of the half-built lower Subansiri dam.
The Assamese people have halted major construction of the dam citing the
destructive downstream effects it will bring. They’ll blow up any truck
carrying major machinery or materials to the dam site. In the world’s largest
democracy, the government knows better than to test the will of the people,
especially in the wild Northeast.
After an Arunachal-paced load out, we hit the road for the
long haul through Assam back to Pasighat. I crashed at Nino's place that night and ended up spending the rest of my nights in an awesome tent cabin in the back of his yard.
While on the Subansiri trip, I told Nino that I’d really
like to do a guide school on the Siang to help train some new guides for Nino’s
team. RiverIndia is the only local rafting outfit based in Arunachal Pradesh.
Other Indian and global companies run some of the rivers of Arunachal but they
bring all of their own gear in, use their own guides, and do little to improve
lives and educate locals on the benefits of rafting tourism. A booming rafting
industry in a town like Pasighat, as seen all over the world, can bring great
benefit to the local community while leaving the natural resources intact
(often better cared for). This was the vision of my good friend from California,
Roland Stevenson, when he co-founded RiverIndia with Nino.
With only one day between Nino’s schedule and my departure
that would work to lead a potential guide school, I was troubled by the fact that
I wouldn’t be able to teach a meaningful guide school in one day. I decided
that Nino and his crew could really benefit from learning first-aid and CPR as
only Nino was trained in CPR, and his course was years ago. The day we got back
to Pasighat, with the help of my Wilderness First Responder field guide, I put
together a day long first-aid and CPR course for Nino, his crew, and a
potential guide.
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| A full Arunachali Moon |
I figured we’d do a morning session at Nino’s house, then
drive to Siang River and do some rafting. On the river, we’d pull over at a
nice beach, have lunch and do another session. Then we’d finish our day of
rafting, come back to Nino’s and have one last talk. I have no formal training
in instructing a first-aid and CPR class and in the U.S., it might be illegal
to do so without proper qualifications. Still, I knew that if I didn’t teach
these guys, they would probably never learn these essential skills for a
wilderness expedition river guide. Carefully laying out a course that only
taught them the basic necessities for an outdoor guide, I hoped that my good
intentions wouldn’t backfire later down the line.
Around 10am, we started with an introduction to when and
where wilderness medicine is appropriate. Then we dove into the critical
systems and how to fix time urgent problems.
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| Teaching the Heimlich |
I was curious to see how these guys would respond to the
course. Medical terms and techniques can’t be simplified and I knew only Nino
had much schooling. With Nino as my translator, the guys were really responsive
and I was really excited that they were so enthusiastic. Fortunately, over the
previous two months in India, I’d picked up a little Hindi so I listened
carefully to Nino’s translations and corrected him when he got too loose with
the precision of wilderness medicine protocols. After our first session, we
loaded up the jeep and headed up the Siang.
Getting to raft the Siang was a major reason for traveling
out to Arunachal. With no Siang rafting trips confirmed, I decided to head out
to AP when Nino had a confirmed Subansiri trip and hope for the best in seeing
the Siang. The Siang River, incorrectly known amongst the rafting community as
the Brahmaputra for commercial reasons, flows out of the Tibetan Himalayas as
the Yarlung Tsang-Po. It then crosses the border into Arunachal Pradesh and
becomes the Siang. The Siang is the largest tributary of the Brahmaputra,
accounting for 30 percent of its total volume. It is by far the most massive
river I’d ever paddled. Close to its confluence with the Brahmaptura just below
Pasighat, the river is at its largest and in a monster water year for the
Northeast, it must have been around 80-90,000cfs. I laughed to think we were
running the Tuolumne at 700cfs at the end of August.
Just paddling out of the put-in eddy on the Siang took
considerable time and shortly thereafter, we paddled into the first rapid. From
the top, it looked quite small – just a mellow set of waves coming off the left
wall. Unbelievably, once we were in it, big waves formed all around us and I
was shouting paddle commands to the guys as we paddled hard to crest the huge
features (yes, I was still guiding the small-tubed 14 foot Indian-made raft).We
quickly pulled into a big eddy that guarded a nice beach with good sunlight. On
the beach, we dropped right into traumatic injuries – sprains, dislocations,
fractures, splinting, and packaging.
After that, we transitioned into CPR. CPR
is easier than I think the guys expected it to be, but I could tell that they
understood that the simple technique made them potential life-savers and they
gave me a big thank you after our on the river session.
After lunch, we headed back out on to the monster river and
ran a few more straightforward, but really big volume rapids.
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| The biggest horizon line I'd ever seen |
At take-out, I made a commitment to make it to the upper
reaches of the Siang and run as much of the river as possible where the rapids
are much, much bigger and surely outstandingly impressive…next time, next time.
Back at Nino’s, we changed out of our river clothes and I
finished up the course with a section on hypothermia over chai. The next day, I
went into town in the morning and laminated a few copies of the packets I made
them for the course. They’ll carry those on the river with them and I’ll be proud
to hear if they successfully use the skills. Anyways, we were all tired from
the day but there was a shared sense of appreciation for simple skills that
make us much more capable and confident guides.
While on the Subansiri trip, the tea Nino brought was
delicious and I asked him what it was. He told me it was a local tea called “Siang
Tea” and that the tea estate was just outside of Pasighat. If I could swing it,
I really wanted to visit the plantation. Fortunately for me, one of Uchi’s guys
used to be a village leader in the village right next to the tea plantation. In
my last day in Arunachal Pradesh, I met up with Uchi (after laminating the
first-aid and CPR packets) and then headed out for about an hour ride on the
back of one of Uchi’s guy’s motorcycle for the tea plantation.
The drive was awesome and even though I’d seen lots of Adi
homes and culture, it was still just as exciting as the first time I
experienced it.
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| Men working the field |
When we reached the tea plantation known officially as Donyi
Polo Tea Estate, I found out that outsiders are required to pre-arrange entry ahead
of time. Luckily, Uchi’s guy knew everyone and we cruised right past the
multiple guarded gates.
The tea estate was beautiful, the oldest and biggest in
Arunachal. Uchi’s guy, Baiya (“older brother” in Adi), told me that it would
take at least a day to see the entire plantation.
We reached the processing plant where they process Siang Tea
and ship it out to the world. Again, ushered right in, we cruised around the
plant.
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| The best smelling place to stand of my life |
We then met with the General Manager and one of the
Assistant Managers of the estate, all Bhaiya’s friends. It was time for the
General Manager to do his daily quality tasting of the tea made the day before.
After inspecting the tea dried, infused with water, the
color of the steeped tea, and slurping it and spitting it out, he was
satisfied. Great quality for that time of year, he explained. Then we sat down
for a cup of their Orthodox Tea, USDA certified organic from another estate
about 200kms away up the Sianga valley but processed where we were. Since the
General Manager spoke great English, I got to ask him a bunch of questions. I
thanked them for their time as they ran off, obviously busy.
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| The Asst. Manager, General Manager, Yours Truly, and Baiya |
We hopped on the bike again and headed out. The sun left the
sky as we cruised back to Pasighat, catching an epic last sunset in
Arunachal.
The next day I was to wake-up in the morning and catch the
Traveller mini-bus (I booked a ticket in advance this time) to Silapatar ghat,
take a ferry across the Brahmaputra, and then a Sumo into Dibrugarh. I’d have
lunch at the Hotel Rajawas and get to the airport around 12:30pm to catch my
2pm flight. Leaving no room for error in the Northeast is not an ideal
situation, but I didn’t want to waste a day in Dibrugarh, leaving Arunachal a
day early. Fortunately, my travel to Dibrugarh from Pasighat went to plan.
Hilariously, we fit 19 people into one Sumo from Bogibeel ghat into Dibrugarh,
including one person on top with all the luggage. I would consider 14 people to
be pushing the limit, but somehow 19 of us fit in. Not to mention, a lady from
Nagaland and her little boy were getting car sick in the back of the Sumo with
me and a few other people!
On my flight out of Dibrugarh, I was treated to views of the
eastern Himalayas, the highest peaks in the world including Mt. Everest, and
the Brahmaputra River. I can’t wait to see that view on my next flight back!
