On top of the leaning mountain

Two-and-a-half hours after zooming off from Mumbai in an SUV around 4:30 am, as you drive on the re-laid, freshly painted, spotlessly black-and-shiny, undulating and tree-lined national highway 222 (made even more attractive by the lush, monsoon-kissed rural environs coming to life early morning), you catch a glimpse of Naneghat, still a few km away.

Even from a distance, there is no mistaking the seemingly standalone, majestic mountain, part of the Western Ghats - shrouded in mist hence glistening, clouds and hilltops in a greyish-purple embrace. (The popular trekker destination is 163 km from Mumbai.)

And then you notice it: the bizarre slant of one mountain. One push, or a gust, it appears, can send the whole mountain tumbling down. "It looks like that from here. But when we get there, it'll be different," a seasoned trekker, one of us (ten colleagues), assures me (a debutant complete with a new pair of Weinbrenner shoes).

He is our guide today, so has the privilege of occupying the front seat beside the driver. "That is where we are headed. That's the peak we'll climb shortly."

"You mean that slant?"

"Yes."

"You must be nuts. How could we possibly climb such a tilted mountain? Looks dangerous, and I am not asking for trouble," I say, with all the caution and fear that a debutant trekker could  muster. (Well, Bukit Timah in Singapore and the Peak District in Yorkshire, England, cannot be considered proper "treks" due to their relatively low heights.)

Breakfast for 'wildlife'
The lettering on the metal arch, flanked by painted figures of a tiger and a deer, announces the starting point of the trek. (But this would turn out to be a wildlife-free zone, except that... more about that in a bit.)

The place immediately casts a multi-sensory spell with its clean, fragrant air, bird song, sounds of nearby mountain streams, and cool, green surroundings. The hue of grass and other foliage is bright, a luminescent green that oozes freshness and life, elevating the mood straightaway. Oh! What bliss, to be away from dirty, soulless Mumbai!

We pick up a couple of stout sticks from the wayside - useful gifts left behind by some thoughtful trekkers. Our walk to the breakfast point acquires dimensions of wildlife on the prowl - for joy, that is. We sing, blow whistles and bubbles, conduct impromptu quiz, share anecdotes and shamelessly indulge in antics as the inner child in each one of us breaks free. Did someone say this place casts a spell?

After a good 45-minute 'walk', we park ourselves on a flat strip beside a semi-loaded stream that is making utterly therapeutic sounds. The site is perfect for an outdoor breakfast - picturesque, with the mountain range we are about to climb forming a perfect backdrop.

We redefine team spirit: everyone chips in to prepare the breakfast. We unpack bread, fresh vegetables (tomatoes, green peppers, boiled potatoes, onions, cucumbers), spiced-up salt and other seasonings, butter, sauces, jam, so on.

It seems incredible that all this while we have been carrying this load and then some (bottled water in shoulder bags, cameras, etc). The team effort in the wilderness proves a memorable experience. And the first meal of the day, coming as it did after a long walk, tastes divine indeed.  We pack up the litter and garbage and secure the bag under a tree, to be picked up on the return leg of the trek.

From 'walk' to 'trek'
Feeling a bit heavy but energetic and refreshed at the same time, we switch gears from walking to trekking. At first, the path remains muddy; only, it's a bit inclined.

The gigantic trees rise into a canopy and the shrubbery all around appears pulsating with some subtle energy. And the cloud-screened sun is not posing heat problems.

The mountain range beckons us and we march on. Soon, we are negotiating the boulder- and pebble-strewn path, zigzagging our way up to God knows where. Suddenly, the steep, snaky and rough path stops being a cakewalk. Every step needs to be negotiated with care. (Nowhere does it tend to be excessively risky or slippery though.) The stout stick that I picked up on the way is a big help.

Pretty soon, we pause for breath. That's when we look back, oversee the developing vista behind us and realise that we have climbed quite a bit already. That's inspiring and encouraging. We bravely resume the trek which gets tougher by the minute.

Sights and scents of wildflowers, herbs and mushrooms; flitting butterflies; crawling golden-yellow crabs, assorted caterpillars, spiders and snails; hopping baby frogs and crickets; howls of some unseen creatures ("big monkeys", someone says)… all these help keep the mind off the strain in climbing what appears to be an escape route of rainwater.

Up, up, up — we ascend for the next couple of hours. The trek seems to splinter our team into smaller groups as some charge ahead while others lag. Again and again, we play catch up, using toy whistles - we call them 'Pyaar Ki Pungi' — as communication tools. The blue denims are all wet; the thigh regions are dripping salts.

We notice a few urban youth - fellow trekkers — panting and complaining that this is turning out to be tougher than expected, and that they forgot to pack insect repellent cream and peanut candy. This when a couple of neighbourhood village teenagers jog - yes, jog! — past us up the mountain, holding a handle each of a long, presumably heavy vessel containing cooked rice. That is supplies on order for another trek party, we learn. A few local kids also seem to find this trek unchallenging - barefooted, they run past us effortlessly and disappear in no time.

The towering mountain
A patch of level ground comes as welcome relief. We catch our breath, turn around and are at once arrested by a stunning panorama of a dense, green valley and plains far beyond. And behind, the mountains appear so gigantic, and so close, that they dwarf us instantly. Their colours, too, have changed — or so it appears.

The slant, too, has 'disappeared'. Instead, Naneghat rises, vertically, imposingly, to 2,750 feet above sea level, its visible side flaunting the steely granite it is made of, its surface coated with strokes of natural green of wild grass, plants and moss. The peak looks beyond reach. It's a sight to behold -- awe-inspiring.

We take swigs of bottled H2O and trod the path that snakes through in between two mountains, past waterfalls and edgy terrain. Up there on the mountain, we notice metal railing and the famed caves with inscriptions on walls, suggesting the end of the trek is nigh.

We hurry through and reach the platform carved into the side of the mountain. A thoughtful, opportunistic tea-seller carrying a large flask energises us with tiny plastic cups of hot, syrupy drink spiked with drops of milk. Stimulating.

We check out the caves and notice the secret of Naneghat: the inclined path actually cuts through two mountains diagonally to the other side which spreads out into a plateau. You need to walk back up the slope to the summit, the cliff- top.

Vision from the cliff-top
The plateau-like strip is ringed by other mountains. We notice a wedge of gap that separates an edge of a mountain: the long, narrow piece of rock with a pointed edge appears to stab the passing clouds, and resembles a fighter aircraft suspended vertically, poking its sharp nose into the sky.

It doesn't feel like you are on a mountaintop until you walk to the edge and look down the cliff-top. Oh my god! What a nauseating height! Did we really climb all this? And to think workers erected huge metal towers for power grids here!

The panorama is now wider and breathtaking. As the bells tied around their necks ring gently, rhythmically, cows graze the meadow, lending that distinct rustic aura to the postcard scenery.

We notice tourist vehicles driving toward us from the opposite side, making us look like idiots for having climbed all the way. We lie down on the ubiquitous natural cushion of thick grass. The clouds have disappeared and the sun is blazing down, so hot and intense it appears as though the rays are filtering through some giant convex lens.

Now the wind has picked up speed, gushing, howling, so powerful as to stop us in our step. The very steep incline further poses a fresh challenge. One wrong step could potentially send you rolling down the hill. Is Nature testing our resolve and strength? Or, is it a ploy to make the final ascent just a bit tougher so as to make the climb that much sweeter and satisfying when you do make it to the top?

A few metres away from the summit, I stand rooted to the spot for a few minutes. The wind is just too powerful, threatening to blow me away like a piece of paper. So near yet so far, I tell myself. I breathe. I look up at all those who have already made it to the top. I pray. The wind relents. I take charge and charge ahead and up.

The peak which looked impossible to climb a short while back is reachable, after all. I cull a lesson from this experience: Find a way around a seemingly insurmountable challenge to get on top of it.

Up there, we find ourselves overlooking a precipice. Terrifying! I turn my back to the beautiful valley down below and squat on the summit facing the plateau.

'Weather' or not to pause?

Naneghat is essentially a mountain pass. In the olden days, traders used this route to travel between the Konkan coastal areas and the Deccan plateau. They would pay a toll in the form of coins (nane in Marathi) at this point. Hence the name Naneghat. You can still see the stone-carved giant pot into which travellers and traders used to deposit their nane.

After gorging on the traditional Maharashtrian lunch at Nisarg Sadan, a ramshackle restaurant in the neighbourhood, we get ready for the return leg. That's when all hell breaks loose. Weather turns adverse suddenly, fog descends, visibility turns to near zero and it starts to rain. The breeze is chilly too. What extreme weather fluctuations!

We bravely march on and notice a few local women sauntering down the same mountain path in rubber slippers! But they don't slip. How's that possible? The descent is tricky because it calls for some balancing skill in each step. The task is made trickier by the sharp rain lashing our faces, wet floor and dim light.     

But after half-an-hour or so, weather improves; our spirits and courage return. En route, we stop by a small waterfall and drink palmful of gushing fresh aqua, ignoring the health advice dished out earlier. The descent takes at least an hour longer. It all seems new again — haven't we passed by this route just a short while back?

After reaching the base, I turn back and gaze up at Naneghat in the background. A smug satisfaction fills me. It still seems impossibly slanted in its perch, but now I knew better.

Going forward...
Although a hundred or so visitors were spotted on the day (July 8, 2012), it is safe to say that Naneghat has the potential to attract many more. It's a legitimate tourist spot for both domestic and international trekkers. So it would be good to put in place private trekking-gear providers in the vicinity and may be some medical assistance units along the route, just in case. Plus, of course, food and beverage stalls, toilets, bins, so on. Good for the economy, good for job seekers.

Sure, Matheran has its new toy train, but this seven-hour up-and-down trek is no pushover. Given the pleasure of Naneghat, the pain of tired muscles and joint aches that can last for days, is no price at all.