How to find lilies in the Valley of flowers
- suzayn mars
- Aug 18, 2024
- 11 min read
Updated: Aug 25, 2024
The Valley of flowers trek for me, bonny readers was one immense garden of flavours, uniting to form a great culinary legend. Let me just tell you right off the bait that it is a monsoon trek, one of the best monsoon treks of Uttarakhand at that. Hence, understand that it demands slight additional challenges, so tread through with that in mind.
Valley of flowers from Delhi was a long, long, long 520 kms of empirical nuances in my near annual trips to the mountains. This time bonny readers, your girl became a trekker in every sense of the word, certified and anointed you'll be happy to know. It is during this enthralling walk through the woods, that I picked up continuity in my gait.
You see, I realised that I don’t like stepping on the same stone twice. Not when the stone glowed ruby under my feet.
I will most likely never return to this place again. The reason isn’t what you think.
Let’s get some informatics out of the way before a pulpier bite, shall we?
Where is the Valley of flowers located in India?
Yes, Uttarakhand. I think if you’re typing in the words ‘valley of flowers’ on a search engine, you’re most likely aware that it’s in Uttarakhand. But where in Uttarakhand?
A small district called Chamoli houses this dreamlike patch of land, as if it is the universe’s goofy intent to present us-moksha hungry peasants with this grass carpeted stairway to heaven, right here on earth.
And like fools, we go on and on searching for it within man-made webs of marbles, stones, bricks, control...division.
How difficult is the Valley of flowers trek?
Officially about easy to moderate.
Personally, I think it is doable by people across all ages (without any obvious medical exceptions), if and only if you want to lay atop steely grey stones floating on a sea of flowery viridescence and witness a ring of mountain heads looking down upon your cradle and saying, ‘Yo, kid. You see what many will never have the privilege to see.”
When does the Valley of flowers open?
Is the valley of flowers open now? Yes, bonny. You’re absolutely in luck.
The very reason I am rushing to write you this post in August is because valley of flowers opens from June to October during prevalent downpour. It is widely believed that the best flowers bloom during July to August. That is only partially true. While it is seen that most of the species’ bloom during these two months, there is no objective declaration that these will offer the ‘best’ view. The fact of the matter is, there are fresh blossoms every fifteen days across monsoon. So, what you see during your time, is the best for that time.
How to reach the Valley of flowers from Delhi?
Book yourself into a damn travel group!
I cannot stress this enough. You’ll be visiting during a risky time of the year, with heavy rainfalls, possible landslides, roadblocks, storms and the party. It is best to entrust your safety with experts. To a logistical extent, it’ll be much easier on yourself and your purse that way.
There are plenty of pages offering itineraries. I have provided a lose blueprint to give you a basic idea.
Five hours to Rishikesh from Delhi, preferably early in the morning to leave for Joshimath that is eight hours by road in travellers. There will be a much-needed halt at a hotel here for the night. From Joshimath, you begin your real ascend. A smaller taxi car (available locally if you are not going with travel groups) will carry you till Poolna, a small village in Govindghat that is half hour away. This is the last motorable spot. From here, you will begin trekking a whole of ten kilometres, on a wide ‘yatra’ route since the Hemkund Sahib pilgrimage follows this same trail up to Ghangaria. There will be a night halt here, with basic stays and campsites easily available. The next morning you ascend through unpaved, rockier and steeper tracks stretching about 4kms to reach the Valley and about 7 kms to touch the last point- the Pushpawati riverbed.
Mind you, that 4-7kms trek is time bound since the UNESCO sight closes by five in the evening due to the risk of wildlife coming out after dark, especially bears. I would also like to mention that Valley of flowers and Hemkund Sahib treks are usually done together and rightly so. Although I wouldn’t be delving into the details of Hemkund in this very post, I highly recommend that you do trek up to the highest gurdwara in the world if you happened to have come this far. The only way I could ever tell you about that soulful experience and do it justice is if I cut open my mind and allow you to see it through me like a movie. It was along this path that I came across the rare queen of Himalayan flowers- blue poppy and the divine, glowing- bramhkamal.
What to pack for valley of flowers?
Descending order of importance with added personal tips that you should know before going for this trek:
Essentials barring the obvious
1) Six pairs of socks, better if waterproof.
2) Water resistant hiking boots, preferably with ankle support.
3) Day bag: backpack style (20lts or less)- no sling bags, no crossbodies, no fanny packs.
4) Rucksack- no trolleys, no duffels since you’ll be either trekking with it or offloading it to people who will carry it on their head baskets for you.
5) Sunglasses and hat
6) Tiffin: There aren’t any food stalls in the 4-7km trek to the valley or inside it. Carry lunch for yourself in an airtight tiffin and enjoy it by the river or amidst the flowers.
7) Power bank
8) Water bottle
9) Light jacket, warm jacket and one set inner thermals
10) Extra plastic bags since you’ll be left with plenty of soaked clothes by the end.
11) Ponchos: The ones you find there are more efficient, so I personally think there’s no need. Purchase or rent at Joshimath itself though since you might get rain on your ascend to ghangaria.
12) Torch (God forbid you get stuck after dark and your phone dies)
Why I won’t visit the valley of flowers again.
Both times that I visited the hills of Uttarakhand, I found myself flirting with the Grim reaper. The first was due to an unfortunate mishap in planning my visit to Lansdowne when I accidently booked the trip during September. Our car was dramatically skidding on a stretch of raw road, freshly broken off by a landslide we saw in the flesh. The second- enroute valley of flowers, our driver fell asleep and dashed into the mountainside to our right. Imagine the oaf turned left instead. We would have visited a rather different valley then. Yet, never did I find myself saying, "I am never coming back to Uttarakhand?"
When you’re that pretty ma’am, you’re allowed to be ever so slightly lethal.
Has it ever happened to you bonny, that you ate something as a child and the paltry, whispering taste still lingers on your tongue like an attic ghost, and you cannot for the life of you figure out- what, where or how you will ever find it again?
It happens to me quite often.
Whenever we like something beyond words, we mostly long to revisit it- feelings, places, movies, people, food, moments. A natural attachment tends to develop. Being unable to relive that feeling can be rather unpleasant. Rarely, if not ever have I had a moment so well rounded that I didn’t feel the need to go back and relive it once more. There is no thought of ‘better’ living that again. No lingering attachment to want to go back to. An ultimate fulfilment.
A brief kiss with Nirvana, if you will.
I do not want to go back to the valley because of how unbelievably quenching it was. Like a book you love but wouldn’t reread because it made you realise how many more await your time. Said book will forever remain on your shelf to occasionally sniff through its pages of an experience that you are so uncharacteristically satisfied with, that it has moved you to forgo attachment and keep continuing forward. Never for once feeling the need to step back on that stone again. A whole new world for me, since I have never ever felt this level of liberation from a piece time before.
So, with much joy and eerie, shuddering peace I would like you tell you that I won’t visit the Valley of flowers ever again.
A spoonful of sweet poison
Before UNESCO flagged it a world heritage site, the locals are said to have grazed their cattle in the valley. The dung left behind lead to fertility in the soil, sprouting scores of florae that isn’t seen today: ever since the gate of this valley has been closed to the endemic microbiome. It is one of those situations when I understand why the pill is prescribed, it is just bitter to swallow. I wish with much of my heart that I could see this place in its initial glory, but I guess I would have complained about stepping on dung then.
Imagine we were decent beings who didn’t wreck nature and the necessary evil of ‘human intervention’ wasn’t needed. We’d see that things that aren’t broken do not need to be fixed. Leaving it to be as it is would have been enough to let it flourish.
What is special about the valley of flowers?
A tale of tracks through Phoolon ki ghati
I was sore as I ascended through trails cut into the Himalaya’s Ghangarian cousins crouching at her knees. The trail was stony, some pebbles managing to poke an impression on my foot that was tucked away into the safety of thick soled hiking boots. I shuddered in emphatical pain for all those feet passing by in light soled sneakers. The air as you probably must have guessed, was fresh, clean and …...filled with the acrid stench of dung till the first check post. It was due to the presence of mules carrying devotees up through the same route before it bifurcates to the left for valley of flowers and to the right for Hemkund Sahib.
I had picked up a constant pace at this point, interrupted rightfully by white gushes of waterfalls or curved trees in all its grotesque, fallen glory. I halted for previews of the anticipated flowers leading the trail and wired rocks of landslides being held by life’s willingness to go on. Above all, a peek at the distant glacier top catching gleams of sunrays like a prism in the sky- The Tipra glacier. It was the single most magnificent piece of creation I have seen so far. All along the walk, you catch glimpses of it like an omnipresent entity appearing now and then to let you know that even when you can’t see it, it’s there watching you. Trekkers mostly climb in mutual silence, a blessing for the ear that can instead catch frequencies of the Pushpawati river humming breathily along the trail.
The sun was grinning, holding back the rain we had been expecting. With unbelievable luck, we didn’t receive an inch of rainfall throughout the trek. The batches before and after us were stuck in roadblocks for days. Perhaps, our near-death experience at the very beginning was a bitter exchange for this incredible luck. At around two kilometres it became evidently clear that this trek was not going to be boring. It had infuriating uphill and soothing downhill way too frequently to get used to either. There were thin, ribbons of brooks we needed to ford; its soft unsteady waves rocking us forth. Some larger ones as well; cascading down assortments of rocky overhangs.
By the third, I began growing breathless and a tad bit impatient to reach the valley.
Even ‘sip by sip’ on a steep trail, isn’t enough to implement judicious use of water. From these little streams gushing over stones of pearl and moon, I then filled my bottle. The first instance, I attempted to drink straight from the cascade, but I decided I was way too uncool for that level of Merida. Yet somehow, I felt as free as this Disney princess- riding through the woods whilst shooting arrows into the sky. Except, I was shooting the arrows of glances all around me, in a desperate attempt to soak everything in like a video in my mind because trust me when I say this, camera doesn’t do it justice.
With little more to go and my power bars nearly over, I came across- for the first time in life, what one calls a 'valley'. Not the valley of flowers but simply another valley enclosed by enormous, staggering mountains all around, as if sentries standing guard to God’s childhood secret. I knew there was an unbelievably beautiful moment awaiting me few metres ahead, but I felt a strange longing to be at the centre of that very valley- so untouched and obscure. I could picture myself there, in cottage with red doors surrounded by olive trees heavy with fruit. I would keep my own cows and sheep, a little koi pond and a pretty, white fence to mesmerise the wild into leaving me alone.
By 10 am we had touched our destination- Phoolon Ki Ghati. At first glance, it might not be everything one hopes for when they go into real nature from the polished promises of the internet. It was more grassy than flowery, more crowded than peaceful, more rolling than flat. Then suddenly as the eyes adjusts to originality, the filter lifts and you can see it through the untainted raw frames of the insignificant organism that you are, in this gigantic biosphere of life. The mountains seem to grow taller and more somber. The grass separates into circlets of pink Himalayan roses, heads of sage colored cobra lilies, amber feathers of wild marsh orchids, red bushels of mountain fleeceflowers, specs of Cinqefoils and cheerful senecios like broken yellow stars on a bed of grass, odd clusters of spiraea and dusts of tiny blue flowers I cannot recall by name. Rocky thrones begin to jut out from this Garden of Eden as if having waiting to be conquered only and only by you. A clear distinction between the perfection of a photograph and the unfazed rawness of a painting.
No sooner than you know, you’re continuing your march through pebbled pathways across the valley, hoping to reach till the riverbed and see it all. On the way comes a dry riverbed crowded with bone-coloured stones. I sat there, slightly tired, slightly lazy and stared at a pillar of flat stones someone had stacked up, a gentle reminder of civilization. For, somewhere in the midst of this organic intoxication, one forgets the people around them. Besides, everyone else seemed to be engrossed as well, in walking towards just one thing- themselves. From there it took me about half an hour longer to reach the riverbed. I could soak my feet in that ice cold water running down straight from the glacier for barely three seconds at a time. It was cold enough to cut off circulation.
On my way back with enough time to spare, I found myself the perfect rock to bed on and I lay there for nearly an hour, floating weightless on a vacant mind. At first, I was giddy with the idea that I was actually there, so close to the sky, so much in a place that seems too far fetched to ever reach. The surrealistic aura surrounding me was edging into overwhelm, as the mountains, the trees, the ferns grew larger and larger as if covering my entire existence-joy, sorrow, boredom, desire. And I lay there absolutely singular, a speck of energy in this unending abyss. The peace I felt at that time was something I didn’t know I could allow myself to feel. While meditating in my room, I have often felt that at the first touch of peace, I was satisfied with my performance and let go, thinking ‘done, I know peace now. I’ve felt it, I have it. I don’t need to hold on forever, a moment is enough’. But right then, it wasn’t a fleeting moment I had to work to anchor myself in. It was as inevitable as a river flowing to sea. And I was certain that the longer I stayed, the further it’d would go on. In that, I felt myself heal even though I wasn’t at all broken, as if the sanjeevani gathering within the valley had somehow echoed their potent regards.
Poets often symbolize lilies with chastity, something unapologetically pure. A lot of people go to the mountains to find themselves, that central core they haven’t been able to reach through all the layers building up over age. Being here made me feel a little closer to my lily. I believe the exact moment was when someone said that some of these flowers are poisonous, exuding an unbothered power of divine dark femineity. It comforted me to know that the coexistence between sublimity and flaw existed naturally, in an amusing juxtaposition of symphony- an innate gospel.
コメント