Oh ti oh ti to the treeline!
To the weeping shining grove!
Oh ti oh to the chestnuts!
To the fall and to the gold!
We are brimming and run climb with our staves only along the rim of the lake Gangapurna, northeast of Manang, to a small stone outpost, single building, morterless, stables, and hay. Prayer flags and small stone cairns, the people are all in the forest today, gathering wood! Butterflies and dung, stands of Sola and then, as we ascend (climb high! sleep low!) – the wild himalayan sea buckthorn, from which a refreshing tonic is made. I munch the tart berries, and a plateau becomes the staging of an ancient wizards duel! We romp and scuffle, staffwise, joke with Tenjing, marvel at the peaks: Tilicho Tal, world’s “highest” lake, Gangapurna glacier, first glimpse of the barren pass Thorung La, the way thru!
The glacier is smokey and ancient, dirt rock ice feeding a glassy highridged turquoise cauldron at the foot of the small stone city of Manang. We make for the treeline a mysterious streak of autumn. Its true! Heaven! Glints of sunlihgt in the marrow! Crackling fall scent catching leaves and throwing. We celebrate, instant buddhas, instant noodles, rest in the tree napes – enourmous grace. The way down convinces brothers three to swim, glee in the glacial tide. Clay bottom, breath stealer, we are born! Splash trough triumph and glint dry in the sun stones! Glory Glory Grateful!