Poon Hill to Gandruk trek: 3 Brits, 2 Aussies and a crazy man

The vast majority of the Shangri-La countryside in Nepal is still inaccessible by road, hidden behind ridges and up steep valleys. These tracks are used by pilgrims, trekkers, traders and locals, and this paradise land, without wheels or engines, was where we were heading to next.

We decided to 'warm up' our legs (in preparation for a bigger trek to come) on a five day trek in the Annapurna region - looping from Naya Pul to Gorepani and then east to Gandruk. We were dreaming of seeing a panoramic sweep of Himalayan peaks - but it would prove to be almost as illusive as the rhino in Chitwan.

Med, Tom and I started the trek alone, without a guide or a porter. Despite an early setback of a vast, still-tumbling landslide at the foot of the mountain range, the winding paths proved easy to follow and the locals were always friendly. Old men and women, with lined faces and gorgeous smiles, would waggle their fingers to show us the way and we soon felt a million miles away from the Nepal we had experienced so far.

The trek offers spectacular mountain scenery along

with charming villages inhabited by the Gurungs and Magars (two of the many ethnic groups of Nepal), dense rhododendron forests full of birds and deep, sub-tropical valleys, all set below the mighty Annapurna range.

On the way up, we passed small villages and settlements,

often getting a glimpse of people trying to eke out a living on small parcels of land. Men ploughed with oxen and, with shouts and guttural throat noises, encouraged the cumbersome beasts to turn on small stepped terraces the size of postage stamps; colourfully-clad women walked up and down with parcels to trade, often barefoot, pressing the soles of their feet against the rough track made from heavy slabs of rock that must have taken an unimaginable amount of time and energy to assemble up the steep faces of the landscape.

Yet, the most enduring image of the trek has to be that of porters, moving up the steep hillsides carrying enormous loads, heavier than their own body weight. With the thick strap of the conical wicker baskets tight against their foreheads, their backs bent under their burden, their feet clad often only in flip-flops, they moved slowly up the mountain, carrying bags for organised treks or supplies for isolated villages. Seeing this everyday, we didn't moan once about the comparatively small loads we carried.

We greeted everyone we met with "Namaste,” pressing our palms together at our heart for the customary, Nepali (and Indian) greeting. Twig-thin men with grizzled beards and red-rimmed watery eyes would look out from beneath their topis - the traditional headwear of Nepal that resembles a soft, crushed fez - and returned our greetings with broad, gap-toothed grins and

deep, lingering drawls of "Namaastaaeee."

We kept walking through the lush green, terraced valley, following the path of the river, climbing up steep steps until we had to rest to catch our breath and find a pump to replenish our bottles. Tea houses, perched precariously up the steep valley, provided a welcome break on the way - and of course a place to re-charge our trekking batteries with hearty helpings of Daal Bhaat (the Nepali staple meal of lentil soup, rice and curried vegetables - of which you are usually given two, or even three, enormous helpings in one sitting!) and hot chocolate.

Our first afternoon and evening was spent in the

quaint village of Ulleri, filled with friendly children who lined the streets waiting to 'high-five' us on arrival as if we'd just completed a marathon (well, almost). The tea lodges were almost flimsy, cobbled together with bits of plywood, but the showers were hot, the beds fairly comfortable and the food was tasty and laden with carbs.

After peeling off our boots and socks and washing away the day's layer of dirt and sweat, we sat outside with views of the surrounding mountains. A man carrying a large, chicken-filled coop on his back caught our eye. We wondered, "is there anything they can't carry up the mountain?"

Cards games, book reading and map studying are the staple, post-trek activities. And with the arrival of the black, night's sky, it's off to bed early by the light of one bare bulb (if you're lucky).

On the second day, after an early-morning start, we stumbled upon the crazy man of Ulleri, locked away in a wooden room on the main thoroughfare out of the village. Mountain whispers from the few trekkers we had encountered the day before told us he tried to shoot people in the village and has been imprisoned for five years, left without food. I looked into his dark, bewildered eyes and noticed his wild, dusty hair and half-believed the stories. It seemed impolite to ask the locals for the truth and we didn't wish to linger in his gaze any longer.

As we climbed further up the valley, we became more enclosed by thick jungle and steep, canyon walls. The second day was a fairly short climb up to reach the beautiful village of Gorepani, which stands at 2800 metres above sea level. Gorepani is the spring board from which to reach Poon Hill, an Himalaya view point that we were to summit early the next morning.

Gorepani brought us the pungent smell of drying mushrooms, a "bonza" pair of Aussies, Damo and Sarah, and our first western-style toilet of the trek - such luxury!

We awoke the next morning to drizzle and fog, but decided to carry out the ascent to Poon Hill regardless, which stands at 3210 metres. At the top, the sunrise promises views of two of the Himalayan giants, Dhaulagiri (8167 metres) and Annapurna I (8091 metres), along with a maze

of other white peaks.

But for us, there was no view, just a thick fog soup that dampened our faces and our spirits. So, I'll skirt around the pre-dawn climb, freezing temperatures and slippery steps we endured. I guess it would make us appreciate what was to follow all the more.

We bid farewell to our trusty companion, Tom, who had to

hotfoot it down the mountain to catch his flight home, and embarked upon a day's trek through the deepest river gorge in the world, wading through jungle with our Australian friends. The canopy of trees let through chinks of light but it was a unrelenting, damp day to our next stop:

Tadepani.

And here came our just deserts. After a murky day, the dense blanket of cloud started to dissolve, revealing celestial mountain crests that glowed in the light of the full moon. The peak of Machapuchare (6993 metres, known as the 'Fishtail' peak, which is forbidden to climb as it is regarded as holy - that night a local man pointed out the shape of the tiger god that resides within it) stuck out like a glowing white tooth in the sky, and later, Annapurna I (8091 metres, the tenth highest mountain in the world) revealed itself too - it seemed in touching distance from our lodge balcony. We had no idea they had been so close all this time, choosing this moment to rise out of the fog and gleam down on us.

The next day we made our way through dense, tangled jungle, filled with trees that had trunks covered with moss and plant matter. There were more leaches than before (Med and I someone survived, unbitten - the Aussies didn't fair quite so well), and we stumbled upon little maggots sprinkled on a huge section of the jungle floor. It was humid under the canopy, and we were relieved to arrive at beautiful Gandruk.

With a medieval vibe, Gandruk commands stunning, valley vistas over terraced rice paddies and tea plantations. We settled in for the afternoon, playing endless games of cards (which, truth be told, I usually lost). The next morning, the mountain range once again put on a stunning display for us. Huge snow-capped peaks - ethereal, supreme, heavenly - dominated the morning valley. Our smiles didn't do this view justice - it's a totally natural high that sends you soaring.

Spellbound, on our final day we descended back

down to Naya Pul, stopping for endless trails of mountain ponies, adorned in colourful costumes and heaving heavy loads up to the villages.

The trek was a physical challenge and we played witness to an ever-changing show of cloud and light, mist and mountain. The mountains were playing 'peak'-a-boo with us, but were even more spectacular for it.

Giddy with memories of the mountains, our hearts were now set on our next trek in the Langtang region, but our legs would need a few days of gentle recovery.