Into the Rhododendron Kingdom: Climbing Mount Saramati, Part II

This is the second in a three-part series about the author’s trek to the summit of Mount Saramati. Read part one here.

I am not usually pessimistic but I must admit in this case, I had harboured doubts about my capabilities. 

Decades of spondylitic pain, a bad back, arthritic joints and troublesome knees were my bane. I had yet again recently consulted an orthopaedician who prescribed vitamins and exercises. I was certain he would not have allowed me to go for this trek had I sought his opinion.

I also had concerns about episodes of sudden heart palpitations. I was carrying my medicines. My sisters and brothers had taken note of where I kept the strip of pills should I need it. 

I wondered if I would be able to endure the climb and traverse the rough terrain over the long distance that was now before us. I mention these aspects because I’m sure there would be others like me.

My spirit was definitely willing though my body told a different story. I shook off my doubts, doled out some unsolicited advice on breathing techniques more to myself. Deep breaths through the nose, out through the mouth and synchronise the breaths with your steps. 

This will conserve our energy and not dry our mouths dry, I told them. I personally followed this and benefited from it. 
Our team was perfect. Brothers solidly having our backs and sisters doing what they do best. The boys, God bless them, had to slow themselves down to keep pace with us girls. Our guides were not only experienced and professional. They were genuinely caring too. 

The young porters Hangstela Tsonger and her husband Tsokhimong Jinger, Hanz a young boy who had just completed his 12th exams and quiet Hanso who never seemed to say anything except smile, carried our stuff and almost sprinted up the mountain trail. They cooked delicious meals for us in base camp. 

It was a perfectly lovely day. The sun was bright and hot at times but the strong breeze quickly dried our sweat and kept us refreshed. Wild flowers bloomed everywhere. Purple violets and yellow dandelions.

I planned to pluck them on my way back for teas. Wild white roses competed with the tall white grass flowers. Majestic trees, surely hundreds of years old, stood high and mighty. “Please, please do not cut these majestic trees”, I pleaded with our guide. “Our children and grandchildren also need to enjoy the sight, shade, flowers and fruits of these”. They agreed wholeheartedly. 

One of our brothers had wisely, encouraged us all the night before, to hydrate as much as we could before sleeping. Carrying bottles of water would be heavy. I agreed with him and appreciated the suggestion, but I joked that for a person of my age, any water would most certainly leave my body as soon as I drank it. Each of us carried a bottle or two of water for the entire trek to base camp. 

After trekking for almost 2 hours, we reached a hilltop. Ahead of us, in the distance, we could see several more peaks in front of us. On top of one such peak in the distance, a tiny glint was visible. It was a small structure with tin roofs. 

“That’s our first resting point,” our guide told us. Beyond that peak were a few more peaks and we would reach base camp after crossing those peaks. Whew! From those peaks, Saramati peak, tantalisingly inviting, was clearly seen in the sunshine, though in the far distance. It seemed impossible to think we were actually attempting to even reach its vicinity, let alone summit it! 

The time we spent in the resting camps were only a few minutes, not more. Just long enough to take a breather, a few bites of our energy bars and sips of water. Resting longer would only stiffen our muscles and we would lose the pace of walking and daylight. 

The paths and trails were challenging and the landscape breathtakingly beautiful. The high ranges of mountains around us were stacked with gigantic jagged rocks, which were mountains in themselves.

The treacherous narrow trails in many sections were just a foot or two wide, with steep cliffs slithering down on both sides. I carefully planned and placed each foot one after the other. 

A fall in such spots would not be a roll and a tumble. It would be quiet and swift like an Olympian’s neat splash-less dive. It was imperative we not get distracted by the beauty and miss our footing. Every so often however, I reminded myself to pause and stop, look up and about and soak in the beauty around us. 

When we were not negotiating up or down the treacherous and perilously narrow rocky paths, we were walking through lovely forests mostly consisting of rhododendron trees in full bloom. We first spotted claret red coloured rhododendrons. I encouraged my fellow trekkers to sample the fallen red petals saying wines, pickles and teas were made out of these flowers.

They had a tangy taste and even felt nutritious. Soon, we came across big petalled white rhododendron blooms on tall bushes. We looked down the sheer cliff drops and distant mountain sides and saw hundreds of these heartstring-tugging beauties. Higher up the trail, we came across forests of bigger rhododendron trees with pale yellow blooms on the tree tops. It was difficult to get a good view except for the fallen blooms. 

In the folk tales of my Rongmei Naga tribe, the rhododendron flower is called “kasuakh pwang”. Many romantic stories are told of the male protagonist called Gairiammang risking his life to climb treacherous cliffs to pluck the most beautiful rhododendron blooms for his beloved Guiliannei.

I wondered about the age of these rhododendron trees. They were surely not hundreds of years old. I concluded that perhaps every 30 or 40 years, the old trees died and were replaced by new ones. I also noted that most of the trees in the higher altitudes were rhododendrons. 

The forest floor and most of the entire trail was clean and fresh. It felt wholesome. There were also incredibly pretty moss and lichen growing everywhere. Bright deep emerald green, yellow, brown, pink and red. The thick moss on the forest floor was luxuriously soft like thick carpets. “Mosstastic” as cousin Sangailung put it. 

I found myself smiling and sighing with delight as I traversed these sections. It was a delight to spot a wild purple primrose plant or patches of wild violets, pretty begonia in a damp spot, interesting looking mushrooms, unidentified pretty miniature flowers, fields of bushes with pale pink flowers all in bloom or bud.

It was only when Kiumsu Yimlen Tsonger the guide told me that the dark sweet fruits of these pink flowers were edible that I realised we were walking through fields of vitamin rich wild blue berry bushes! May is the month they ripen he informed. Go friends! Appreciating and enjoying all these along the way made us forget our tiredness. Stops for photography and videography every so often took up a lot of my time too. 

About four hours into the climb, after crossing yet another rhododendron forest, we suddenly came upon a wide expanse of rock face almost at an angle of 90°. This was it, I said to myself! We had seen pictures of this and had been apprehensive.

I was excited. It would be fun! In many sections of the trail, the villagers had thoughtfully installed lengths of thick sturdy black cables along steep cliff sides and in difficult sections. Similar cables and lengths of thick aluminium wire had been installed in this rock face. The black cables were knotted at regular intervals of about 2 feet each. Cousin Tanlouthai was given first privilege.

He would video-graph the rest of us climbing up and we of him going up. We took turns. I could not wait for mine. I enjoyed the climb thoroughly, ascending the rock face tugging at the black cable. I wished there had been more rock face to climb. Seriously. I looked forward to rappel down on the way back. 

I narrated to my cousins an incident that happened decades back. It was a trip organised by the National Academy of Direct Taxes in Nagpur to take a group of us probationary IRS officers to the Himalayan Mountaineering Institute in Darjeeling, West Bengal.

One morning we were all herded down to the lower part of the city for a mountain climbing and rappelling experience. While waiting for the guide to reach, a couple of us batchmates climbed a huge rock and waited atop it for the instructor, only to be told by him when he reached that, that was the rock he was to be teaching us how to climb. We had done the climbing without his help, but we enjoyed his guidance to rappel down the rock. Since then I always looked forward to opportunities to rappel. 

I came across hundreds of friends along the trail. A curved tree root right there within my reach to help me pull myself up in a tough spot. A rock edge or sturdy root offered themselves like perfect rungs in a ladder. A strongly grounded tuft of grass, a dwarf rhododendron or wild blueberry bushes helped me up. 

These friends were lined up all along the trail like a welcome party or strategically positioned providing the much needed support when negotiating up or down tricky portions. At times I had to locate the friend but they were always there. Much like in life. My sisters wore gardening gloves on the trail. 

I preferred to be touchy feely and gratefully hugged many beautiful big tree trunks in the trail. I was indeed very much a part of the whole cosmos. 

Films and documentaries that I had watched like Everest, Cliffhanger, free climber Alex Honnold etc helped me. I remembered crucial lessons from these experts. In my own inexperienced way, I tried to let all parts of my body help me through the journey. While negotiating steep ups and downs in the trail, I took the pressure off my legs and used my arms wherever I could, to pull myself up or down the trail, holding on to the sturdy black cables or to the ‘friends’ on the trail.

When I ran out of water before reaching base camp (I carried only one bottle since I couldn’t manage more than that) I thought that even not spitting out but conserving my saliva would contribute to retaining moisture in my body. Needing to concentrate with every footstep and foothold, required one to look down constantly. I reminded myself and the others every once in a while, to look up and soak in the beauty around us. 
As we climbed higher and higher, the air got even cleaner and crisper. The horizon was clear and beautiful. All around us, majestic mountain ranges were umbrellaed by bright, clear blue skies. Unfortunately my high spirit amidst all this beauty was dampened every now and then by sightings of waste by trekkers and tourists.

Plastic water bottles, chips packets, chocolate and toffee wrappers, a shoe, tin cans etc. Every time I sighted one of these, just to draw their attention, I tapped it with my cane and pointed it out to our guides.

I implored them to discuss with the villagers and council of elders in Thanamir to put into place a mechanism to check all incoming bottles, packets, tins, wrappers, et cetera. The outgoing numbers should be the same. I suggested it would be good to set up dustbins along the trail made out of stone or bamboo.

But my sister Kariuganhliu wisely said that would only lead to either the tourists or the villagers burning up such waste in the forest itself. That was even more undesirable. Yes, it would be best to ensure that trekkers brought back their wastes to the village. The village council could then responsibly dispose them off. The villagers could also put into place a system for imposing penalties and fines for littering. 

After negotiating some intensely difficult portions on the trail, I was certain that we were nearing base camp. After having topped one of the mountains, I peered into the distance hoping to see if I could spot base camp. Our guide, grinning, pointed out two more mountain ranges which we had to cross before we reached base camp.

He however, encouragingly told us that it would be more of level ground walking and less of uphill treks. I noted that happily but discovered later that there were many more difficult stretches. He was just being tactfully encouraging. Oh well, more beauty to be seen, I told myself. As long as we reach before sundown. 

After nine hours of trekking from Thanamir village, the last of us reached base camp at around 5.30 pm.

Knowing that the porters would not arrive far ahead of us to prepare a meal, brothers Tikhe and Aching had thoughtfully gone ahead and cooked Maggi for everyone. I sat with my steaming bowl, watching the sun sink behind the mountains and cast a golden glow over the two-roomed structure that served as base camp.

It was basic in every sense of the word.

The wooden floorboards were uneven, the walls full of gaps that allowed light and wind to pass through freely, and the tin roof rattled with every strong gust. Yet after a full day on the trail, it felt like a palace.

As darkness settled over the mountains, the temperature dropped sharply. The wind found every gap in the walls and reminded us that we were now deep in Saramati country. We gathered around the fire, sharing stories, laughter and plans for the next day.

Our original intention had been ambitious. We had hoped to leave base camp at 2 am and reach the summit in time to witness the sunrise over the Indo-Myanmar border ranges. But after a sleepless, freezing night, reality intervened.

When the alarms rang shortly after midnight, I quietly confessed that I simply could not do it.

To my surprise, everyone seemed relieved.

The summit would have to wait a few more hours.

Outside, the mountains stood silent beneath the stars. Somewhere above us, hidden in the darkness, was the highest point in Nagaland.

Tomorrow, we would try to reach it.

In Part III: Beyond the Summit — Reflections from Saramati, the team makes its final push to the top of Mount Saramati, reaches the India-Myanmar border pillar, and reflects on the future of Thanamir, conservation, and the enduring call of adventure.

Also Read: How Assam’s UCC could threaten indigenous moral traditions