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Monk Chants

Recorded on August 20, 1995, at the Rinchenpung Monastery. Symbolically Vajrayogini’s naval, the gompa houses a statue of Rang Rig Gyapo - the king of self-awareness and the wrathful emanation of Padmasambhava. The monk chants are an invocation to this meditation deity to protect all sentient beings from the consequences of their own misguided behavior.

Don’t Look Down!

16 1997 TG Yarlung Cable Crossing

    28 1997 Troy Crossing Waterfall gillenwater 074 r4

19b 1995 Porters Cable Crossing Chimdro

29 1997 TG Cable Crossing Yarlung

    31 1997 Porter on Cable Crossing 2 100a 1995 Porters Cable Crossing PoTsangPo

25a 1995 Gil Cable Crossing Chimdro River

Good Moring from Whidbey Island!

I have been up here now for 3 months and I have 1 month to go. I’m about three-quarters finished with the book so the timing is good.

Today I’d like to talk about how we crossed rivers and streams in Tibet’s mystical “Hidden Lands”.

Tibet is the source of 6 of Asia’s major rivers; the Indus, Ganges, Brahmaputra, Irrawaddy, Salween and Mekong. An incredible 46% of the world’s population depends upon rivers originating in Tibet

In addition, the Himalayas are the third largest producer of glaciers in the world.

There is water everywhere.

On our mid-1990’s explorations into the “Hidden Lands” there were only 2 ways to cross rivers and streams: logs or cables. I have copied excerpts below that deal with both:

Tuesday - August 8, 1995 - dawned rainy and glum. Inclement weather always makes rivers seem more sinister. We experienced that the year before surviving our first-descent attempt on the highest river in the world - the Yarlung Tsangpo.

And this rickety cable crossing made the prior year’s pulley crossing of the PoTsangpo river look like a light rail system. This was going to be daunting. There were actually two cables stretched across the river: one with its high point on the north bank and the other with its high point on the south. With no pulleys, this design employed gravity’s help - on each side - in pulling the wooden yoke over the cable.

The crossing looked to be around 200 feet. Ian pulled out a climbing rope as a means to retrieve the yoke after each run. But it was too short and we had to tie additional lengths of hemp and leather straps to make it reach. Noticing the sagging rope catching the swift current, the Sherpas made hoops of bamboo around the cable and threaded the rope through to keep it out of the water.

The cables themselves were old and sagging. I questioned their ability to keep us out of the fierce current. It was decided the porters and Sherpas would go first. The size of our group and mounds of gear made this an all-day effort. Our Sherpa cook - Pemba - was the guinea pig. It was awkward but he made it.

Sitting next to Christiaan, we watched the porters - monkey like - haul themselves and our baggage over the thousands of gallons of turbulent water. Raising his voice above the river roar Christiaan said, “Just look at all this water. It’s an avalanche of rapids with no placid stretches. All this liquid will end up in the Yarlung Tsangpo, drop off the plateau and flow as the Brahmaputra into the Bay of Bengal.”

The river’s volume compared with the flow Troy and I battled the year before on the Yarlung Tsangpo. As river runners we had done the math. I told Christiaan, “I estimate this river is flowing around 20,000 cubic feet per second. That means 150,000 gallons of water are passing us every second. That’s close to a million a minute. And this is a tiny tributary. I guess that’s why Tibet is known as the ‘Water Tower of Asia’.”

Suddenly one of the porter loads broke and the bag fell - slow motion - into the surge below. Unweighted the cable snapped up and the porter held on for all he was worth. Wrapping his legs around the line he froze in fear. It took several minutes for Pemba to coax him across.

Next it was my turn. Climbing the rotten stairs I watched closely as the porters wrapped the leather thong around me and the yoke-like piece of rhododendron. Remembering Jerry’s close call the year before, I inspected every wrap and knot. It all appeared solid. I jumped. Again, in the “Hidden Lands” of Pemako if it’s your time - it’s your time. There’s really no sense in thinking about it. I was concerned about the sag in the line. I could see the waves lapping up at me just a few feet below. Soon - too soon - my momentum petered out and I swung myself around upside down and grabbed the cable and began to pull. It was harder than I expected. Soon enough I was safely across. My arms felt like lead. I was able to get some great photographs of Troy and Todd’s crossings. Even the Crazy Nun made it across.

And:

Thursday - August 10, 1995 - It was a long wet day. The rain never relented. As we climbed higher and higher the canyon got steeper. The large stream we were following became a furious torrent. At one point we had to cross. Long ago two trees - on opposite banks - had been felled to span the rushing waters. Their top trunks crossed mid-stream requiring gingerly stepping from one to the other. Pilgrims had gone before. We could see where notches had been carved. But the logs were covered with the same slimy moss that coated everything green. Broken handrails offered little.

This was our most dangerous obstacle yet. To fall in the rushing current… I couldn’t think about it. Nor could I watch as Todd inched his way across. Same with Troy. I just couldn’t watch.

Next it was my turn. I unfastened my pack belt as had the others. The last thing you’d want on your back falling into this current was a waterlogged pack. Never had my concentration been so intense. We all knew better than to shout encouragement or make a sudden move - anything that might distract the crosser. Reminding myself to breath - I had to fight the urge to straddle and hug the log. That would never work. I shut out the roar of the rapids and calculated each foot placement. Once my boot was set, I’d slowly shift my weight to test its purchase. In this manner I traversed the log and stepped safely onto the far bank. What seemed like an hour probably took only seven or eight minutes.

It was a lot of risk and a lot of effort to penetrate the “Hidden Lands”. But when you read what - by miracle – awaited us, it will all make sense.

Thank you for sharing this remarkable journey with me. Next month we’ll talk about eating a dead bear.

Tashi delek,

Gil

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