Tears flow down the speaker’s face as 226 pair of hands clap in unison to fill up the auditorium with a resounding applaud. Standing right at the back leaning against the wall I beam through my ears. The speaker is a young man of 76 just back from a high and difficult Himalayan trek two months ago. Three years before he was completely wheel-chair bound having lost the entire use of his lower limbs due arthritis and lung cancer and all hopes along with. No one expected him to live for long or have a life if at all. What he hadn’t lost though was a simple wish. He is, was my friend Charlie (as I called him) and he would die two years hence. He never went back to the Himalaya, instead in those two years he inspired and motivated thousands of people, filling them up with hope, with impossible dreams and helping them redefine their limits. It is my privilege to have known him in my life. This is his story. Charlie; here’s to you…

My friend calls me one day, ‘Satya, my grandpa wants to meet you.’ I visit his house the next evening. ‘He is crazy and cranky, don’t mind if he says something,’ my friend and his mother caution while leading me to the old man’s room. ‘He has been wheelchair bound for nearly ten years; makes him grumpy.’ My friend’s mother adds conspiratorially. ‘I like crazy people,’ I mutter and enter the room.

He is a gaunt old fellow stuck grotesquely to a wheelchair. I go up to him and say, ‘Hi, I am Satya.’ ‘I know, why didn’t you come to see me before?’ he states. ‘I didn’t know you exist.’ I reply with a shrug. ‘Fair enough,’ he nods, ‘tell me a story; tell me about the mountains you climb.’ I need no further bidding and over the next hour or so I take him atop and across several mountain ranges through several continents. Even as his eyes sparkle in wonder I discern some deep latent anguish in them as well. While I take leave, I ask him what I ask everyone on my first meeting, ‘What’s your wish?’ He holds my hand for a while and whispers, ‘I wish I could walk again.’ ‘That’s a given, you will walk,’ I affirm, ‘what’s next?’ I ask. ‘Really, you think so?’ ‘I don’t ‘think’ so, I ‘know’ so. Wish something more.’ ‘Wish I could climb in the Himalaya like you.’ He says. ‘Brilliant, you will.’ I pat him on the back.

‘I believe you,’ the old man says.
‘I believe in you.’ I say and leave.

Over the next three years I visit him as often as my own gypsy life would allow, telling him more stories and reinforcing his dreams and his self-belief in his abilities. After eight months of our first meeting he leaves his chair for the first time in 11 years. He transforms into a kid, rolls in the grass outside refusing to return home. Much worried for his health, my friend’s mother gives me a frantic call. By now it is well established that for the old man, I am his best friend. I reach the house and am directed to the neighborhood park. I join the old man in his frolic. Together we roll on the grass, chase butterflies, climb trees (I do, he cheers), watch the squirrels, smell the flowers, follow the birds’ chattering and finally at sundown I get him home. He is tired and exhausted, his knee throbs and buckles but he is immensely happy. That evening when I leave him he says, ‘Call me Charlie.’ ‘Charlie it is.’ I nod and leave. Two days later I depart for an expedition.

Three months later when I return and call up Charlie he screams into the phone, ‘I have stopped all medicines and driven all the stupid doctors out. Bahu (daughter-in-law) is using the wheelchair for shifting heavy stuff around the house.’ On his 76th birthday Charlie declares, ‘I am ready to climb, when do we go?’ His family is horrified, petrified and incredulous in various degrees. They plead me to say ‘no’. ‘Sure thing,’ I tell Charlie, ‘we need to dress you up nice and warm.’

In the following summer I drop out of my expedition and take Charlie up on a Himalayan glacier across crevasses and moraines up to 18,500 ft. Huffing and puffing under his backpack Charlie walks steadily, never giving up as I struggle to walk slow enough to stay by his side. His body breaks into sweat under physical agony. His face and his mind is nothing but a bundle of joy. Charlie knows and so do I that each step could be his last but he is not going to give up. He is living and I am sharing his dream. I feel sorry as I feel euphoric at the miracle unfolding right next to me. Charlie fumbles and tumbles, limps and labors and keeps going on. He closes his eyes and wallops on ground as we step on fresh soft snow. He has never seen snow before. We throw snow balls at each other, at other people on the trail. Even I feel a bit embarrassed at his behavior.

The day we reach our high point from where we would return, the sky clears at night. The black moonless sky is sparkling with million stars as comets and meteors scamper every now and then. Charlie pulls the sleeping bag out and refuses to get in the tent. He has never seen anything so spellbinding in his life. Even he quietens down. Our staff has gone off to sleep. I sit with him and trace out the constellations and stars and the mythological figures across the black canvass. We ascend to the heavens and walk through the galaxies. We fantasize and we live our dreams. Eventually the sun rises and we return home.

A week later I call up one of the schools where I conduct outdoor workshops for kids and ask the Principal to call Charlie over for a talk. It is difficult to convince her but she finally agrees. I convey the invitation to Charlie to address the school (kids, teachers, parents) on the next Foundation Day. It is even harder to persuade Charlie.

At the end of a very crude but sincere and passionate talk, where often I had to take over the mike, Charlie got a standing ovation from the audience. Words spread, media picks it up, he gets featured in magazines. Invites follow and Charlie becomes a motivational speaker telling his stories to anyone willing to listen. Soon I make myself redundant. Charlie has the entire stage and the audience to himself. I ask him to drop my mention from his talks. I begin to miss his talks often as I leave civilization frequently. Charlie stands totally on his own feet. He becomes an idol, a life counselor. Hundreds of terminally ill people of all ages learn to dream and live through Charlie. Children emulate his eccentricities and cite his examples when they wish to do something outrageously imbecile. In short, Charlie becomes a hero.

Despite his will to live Charlie dies peacefully in his dreams one night when I am far away climbing a mountain of my dream. When I return home a month and half later, my friend’s mother gives me a sealed envelope that Charlie had left for me. I am extremely happy. I reach home and open the letter.

‘Dear son,’ it says, ‘did you ever wonder why I named myself Charlie!’ ‘I sure did,’ I think aloud. ‘Because you are and will always be my Snoopy and I discovered Peanuts through you. Though Charlie would never say to Snoopy but I will, “Thank you”. May your journey never end.’ Charlie.

That was 12 years ago. My journey keeps going on. I wish Charlie was still by my side.

About the author:
Commander Satyabrata Dam is widely considered as one of the world’s top mountaineer and polar explorers today. He has climbed Mt Everest and skied to North and South Poles and has climbed some of the highest summits of all the continents. He is also a TED Fellow and Fellow of Royal Geographic Society . Satya is a full time adventure and outdoor consultant, author and motivational speaker. Visit his blog at http://satyabratadam.blogspot.com

This post is about my favorite top ten treks in the Indian Himalaya that can be done by a person like Nishith with his family. Now that demands that I must briefly tell you about Nishith so that you can compare yourself to him and know for sure that the following treks are for you as well. Nishith, no offence to you but I got to be factual here. Ok, Nishith is a happy go lucky perpetually smiling bespectacled fellow, who in his present avatar along with a prominent middle is one of the most unfit persons that I know of. He is merrily married to a wonderful woman equally normal in her physical prowess while his kid is as naughty as kids can be. Nishith and family have absolutely no special training, technical or physical, for going into the mountains. They live a perfectly normal big city life (Mumbai) with all its failings and they love to eat and enjoy the good life. Despite this what makes them different and among my dearest friends is their spirit. There’s nothing on earth that can keep Nishith away from the mountains. He continued this journey even after he got married, along with his wife and now with his kid. This guy is unstoppable and so can you be.

Mountains don’t demand much from you. All they want and wish is that you would visit them once in a while and talk to them like friends. They are benign, they are majestic, they are enchanting and they are mythical. They will touch within you at places you did not know existed. They will transform you forever. They will teach you how to live and how to die without the fear of death. They will tell you stories far more spellbinding than any mortal ever can. They are a part of our heritage, our country and you. If you haven’t yet gone into the mountains or never rolled in soft snow then it is time you did. There’s absolutely no age, sex, religion, culture, color, creed, physical limitations barriers to the mountains. Go at your own pace in your time but please go in this life time. No matter what ails you, be it cancer, blindness or physical handicaps mountains will heal you even if they don’t have the panacea for eternal life and well being. And if the thought that worries you most is that you have never done it before, please remember that even for me and Nishith there was a ‘first’ time and once you have overcome that hurdle you will realize there will never be a ‘last’ time. So here’s to you the top 10 treks.

While selecting the top ten treks I have maintained the following assumptions: involves at least 4 nights of tented camping, crosses at least 10,000 ft in altitude, can be done with a child of 5, fairly well known and well marked trails, among the trails I have personally done, and all within the boundaries of Indian Himalaya. Further these treks are not mentioned in any order. Each one of them is equally exciting. Being fairly well known and in today’s google world since nothing is really unknown I haven’t included any details about the routes save their names. So go ahead get your trekking shoes out, dust your backpack, tell your paunch to watch out and step off into another adventure of body and mind. I will see you all on top.

1. Lachen to Green Lake in North Sikkim. This is a spectacular trek with stupendous views of some of the highest peaks in the Himalaya including the breathtaking NE ridge of Kangchenjunga. An interesting add on to this trek would be the crossing of Thieu La into Lhonak Valley (Minus the Missus and Kid of course).

2. Yuksum to Guicha La in West Sikkim. A beautiful hike full of trekkers in all seasons, crossing an emerald lake and again Kangchenjunga in all its glory. A really fit and motivated group could attempt an approach to the Zemu gap as well (MMK).

3. Munsyari to Ralam Village in Uttarakhand. An add on could be a quick trip to Kalabaland Glacier and base of Ralam Dhurra or a detour through Brijganga Dhurra and return via Martoli (MMK).

4. Kagbhushand Taal. Despite being easy and near the famous and over rated Valley of Flowers, KT gets very few visitors. Enchanting valley during post monsoon.

5. Chitkool to Baspa Valley in Kinnaur, Himachal Pradesh. One can also opt to continue with Charang Ghati from Chitkool (MMK). Baspa Valley is as near to heaven as one can get in this life.

6. Bataal to Bara Lacha La via Chandratal in Lahaul, Himachal. A mid-grade trek, very enjoyable and offers amazing landscapes. Try to plan this to have full moon around Chandratal or Bara Lacha La. You won’t forget the view ever.

7. Dharlang Valley in Kishtwar Himalaya. One of those hidden and undiscovered jewels of our Himalaya. Any approach other than from Atholi would need crossing of very high and dangerous passes to enter this valley.

8. Four lake trek in Kashmir. This round trail takes you along the shores of Kishensar, Vishensar, Gangabal and Nudkhol with out of the world views of the mountains and glaciers across the LOC. This is a mid-grade trek and can only be done by a fit family. It is hard but absolutely worth the effort. It had gone down in popularity chart due to the Kashmir problems but is reemerging now and it is safe to do it.

9. Chadar or frozen river trek in Ladakh. Contrary to what you might have heard about this trek, the only real danger posed is the cold since it can only be done during winters. With a safe and sound guide and support team this trek is very much doable by a family.

10. Several short trails in and around Lake Tso Moriri Ladakh. Even few rounds along the lake shore is worth the visit. One full moon night is highly recommended.

Distinct Disclaimers. Well, as you know by now, anything coming from me comes with a catch. As much as I have recommended the above as my top ten family treks in Indian Himalaya, I do not by any way claim this to be exhaustive. There are more than 5000 treks in the Himalaya and almost 60% of those are family kind. The above 10 are my personal favorites and would recommend to a friend. Though I must caution that none of these treks are easy walking. They need some amount of preparation in terms of physical fitness and determination, but then isn’t that the reason why you wish to go into the mountains; to overcome your weakness and to win the battle of bulges. And please don’t worry about the toddler, in all probability he would outpace and outrun me any day on those slopes. Yet caution must always be your priority and please do a thorough research work before leaving home. Talk to those who have done it. Finally all risk that you run and take is yours and so are the enjoyment and the rewards. I can only show you the path and offer you my best wishes but it is your own feet and heart that will take you to the lofty heights where Swami Satya will meet you. Go with guruji’s blessings and may you come down a new and healthier person. Sab ka kalyan ho jai bholeshankar (may all benefit from Lord Shiva’s divine power).

We were on our way to the North Pole, but the weather was bad and we were holed up in the northernmost habitation in the world – Longyearbyen, the main city of the Svalbard Archipelago of Norway. This was one of the few places on Earth, where a Polar Bear had the right of the way on a road. The gun laws were ludicrous at the best. With Polar Bears often straying close to civilization, it is mandatory to carry a gun when venturing out anywhere, even slightly out of the town lights.

To hire a gun from a shop, all one needs is a photo id and demonstrate that one knows the general direction the gun barrel must be pointing when one is pulling the trigger. But that doesn’t mean that one can rampantly kill a Polar Bear. Surprisingly, but obviously, if a shooting accident happens and a Polar bear does get seriously damaged or dead, then the benefit of the doubt is awarded to the bear. So after you kill a bear, you have to conclusively prove in the court that the bear had every intent to kill you and you acted in pure self defense. Which normally means that you must wait till the bear has bitten into you or better still if he has bitten off a sizeable part of your earthly body, and then go for the trigger. In one of my trips there, I once found a man serving three years of confinement because he did not wait that long to use his gun.

The North Pole odyssey can take up an entire book by itself and several blogs even to start scratching the surface, hence I would only relate here a miniscule part of the journey. Ice caving in Longyearbyen Glacier. I had friends at the UNIS, the northernmost university in the world and gathered a small team of two men (including me) and two girls. It was a two nation team (India and Germany). Ulli is a renowned glaciologist and a name to reckon in the polar adventure world and his friends Elke, the pretty lass with glasses was doing her masters in Permafrost fauna from UNIS while Megan pursued skiing in between ripping her yacht across the globe, winning ocean races every now and then. All three of them were veteran polar skiers and knew the area inside out. We were headed for the Longyearbyen Glacier where the ice cave was located. We took Skidoos till the end of the town, where the snow became too soft and steep. We dropped the skidoos and strapped our skis. Svalbard has some of the most fickle and dreaded weather patterns in the world. People have died within sight of the little town.

Ulli carried his map, but soon, as a massive weather front hit us, it became useless. We simply skied uphill through a blank, white thick curtain of hurricane blizzard. I had complete trust on my companions. Though new to me, this was their backyard. Purely by instinct we climbed. Eventually the gradient and the sinking snow forced us out of the skis. The moment I took the skis off, I sank till my upper thigh. So we silently flopped towards the glacier basin like clumsy seals, hoping against hope that no Polar Bear would stray out in such atrocious weather. The gun barrel jutting out of Elke’s sack was a reassuring sight though. We had to stop intermittently to clear our ski goggles and take bearing. Though they didn’t tell me, but I sensed that my companions were totally lost and they had no idea where exactly the entrance to the ice cave lay. So I gently prodded Megan to let me in the search party. She gave me a fairly accurate description of the marker flag and the wooden board plank that covered the gaping hole on the ground that lead into the cavernous interior. She also told me a bulge of the high ridge that often one could see from far and the entrance lay almost in line with that bulge. But it was a hopeless situation since we could barely see each other even when our bodies touched. The blinding blizzard stung our exposed eyeballs like specks of fire whenever we took off our goggles, to clear them of frost.

And then, I saw it, as clearly as day, though I simply don’t know how, or was it purely my instinct, since no one else could see anything except impenetrable whiteness in the direction that my finger pointed. I lead them, through sinking snow, with a horrid feeling that I could be walking atop hungry crevasses. Shortly we arrived at the fluttering flag, and we all gave a whoop of joy. With combined effort, we managed to clear the snow hill atop the wooden plank and a crack barely wide enough for all of us to wriggle through. Though Ulli, at 188 cm, was the giant in the team, he squeezed in even before I could take off my sack. I have no idea how he managed it, but then a driving blizzard and intense cold is a good motivator for doing impossible things.

The moment we dropped in, everything became calm and quiet. I stood on a tiny ledge of rock solid ice with a deep dark tunnel leading into the bowels of the glacier. A rope anchored to a screw snaked away into the dark hole. My companions had already disappeared from sight, and I could only hear their laughter and expressions of amazement, that came up to me like a whirlpool churning up cold air. Switching on my headlamp, I discarded the rope and simply glissaded on my back, keeping the ice carefully away with my shoulders. As I sank deeper into the bowels of the glacier, the world outside seized to exit. After a drop of around 50 ft, I found space enough to stand up.  Illuminated by four headlamps the ice chamber sparkled like million diamonds. The ice floor was so slippery that we could barely stand straight and had to keep our knees flexed for balance. Absence of wind made the place comfortably cool and we explored further. Ulli had once done a project inside this cave and now he showed me the probes and measuring benchmarks left by some of his students. At places we had to squeeze with our faces tilted to a side, else we could get stuck and also at places we had to expel all our breath. We kept on dropping from one level to another and then climb at places where the ice was thick enough and there was room to swing our axes. Ice climbing inside an ice cave, located several hundred ft underground inside a glacier must rank among the oddest and least practiced of adventure sports. Being such a dynamic medium, ice caves change their shape and size even within the span of months and ice-pools and melt water streams were not a welcoming sight. On our return, Megan slipped and fell into one, sinking to her waist by the time we extracted her. We had no spare shoes or socks or trouser. Once we exited the cave, and hit the blizzard, she started losing heat fast and was not in a condition to ski. She could soon go into a shock. It was becoming a dreadful situation fast and I was once again in my elements. With god knows how many years of climbing, skiing, survival in such places experience between Ulli and I, we knew that the situation was well under control.

Using her skis and poles and our only rope length, we improvised a sled. She was strapped and anchored to it like a turkey headed for Christmas supper. And then, off we went like the space shuttle. Ulli short-roping her from the front while Elke and I pushing from behind with all our might. By the time we reached the UNIS hostel, and Elke started frying some crackers and bacon we were rolling in mirth including Megan. It had been an exhilarating outing and breathtaking in every sense of the word.

Life offers us unlimited options and choices, most of which are man made. I don’t accept most and consciously and willingly reduce my options to the barest minimum. Grasping only what is essential and natural. There is an almost non-existent line separating our dreams from our realities, for we think therefore we are! And in our dreams we can cover galactic voids in a wink or create universes out of nothing. There is a constant yearning for what we are not and what we want to be, there is a perennial struggle to grasp what lies beyond our vision while discarding those that are within.

My life is essentially devoid of these struggles or turmoil, since I live only for my dreams and I foolishly believe that all my dreams are viable, achievable and definitely within the span of this lifetime. Choices are extremely limited, banal to the best, so I go for it, most often than not, I rush in where angels would fear to tread. Life on and off the edge is all about believing in my dreams, holding my life in my hand and swinging out my ice axe into the fuzzy unknown, with complete faith in myself and the elements, and finally emerging out alive at the top, only to stand on an insignificant piece of rock or a forlorn patch of ice. Risking my life and limbs incessantly, time and again, putting everything at risk on one single move, on one tiny ant sized piece of ledge or rock, one insane leap, one single frozen second, one gravity and definitely logic defying upward push… nothing to hold on to, or to hold me back. If I fall, I go and there are no worries at all, but if I don’t then I am euphoric and tired and afraid, shaking like a dry leave in tempest, cursing my stupidity and vowing that never again would I depart from the horizontal plain. Why do it! Why do I do it! Because I am not happy living one life, but dying a million times and living million lives in this one I fulfill my infinite dreams, flying on their wings.

Living every moment while dying in the next, I live a thousand fantasy. In this series of my ramblings I will constantly take you to the edge and throw you off into empty air and when you fall free, without gravity or sense of space, will you experience true freedom, true unwinding of your soul, with absolutely nothing to fear and nothing to hold you back. For as they say: if you are not living on the edge, you are taking too much space, so let’s give it to the world, let them enjoy their space while we will live OFF the edge. The FUN has only begun.

Climbing in the Cordillera Carabaya Range in the Peruvian Andes:

Pic : Satyabrata Dam

This unnamed peak (the black rocky pyramid) had fascinated me from the first time I saw it from the air, while returning from another climb in the Peruvian Andes. It took me nearly two years to gather a small team and enough fund to go looking for it from ground. To find this unknown peak, in one of the remotest and least explored mountain regions in the world was not an easy task. But we finally did find a local alpaca herder, who would carry our loads to the base glacier, who recognized it from my picture. Though unnamed by the mountaineering fraternity, he told us that the mountain was the abode of the ‘Huaca’ spirits and we should not climb it. As we approached the general area, huge clouds from Pacific rolled in and blotted out our horizon. We had to climb another peak to get this view, and as if in a dream it emerged out of the clouds. I felt its fatal charm, like sirens calling and trapping the mariners. Despite our guide’s warning, we managed to climb this peak in a duration of 11 insane days. When it was all over, we were totally spent, exhausted, without thoughts or action and one member less. One of my finest climbing buddies, Sarah, uprooted a piton while descending and plunged to her death, never to be found again. There she still lives, I would like to believe, giving company to the ‘Huacas’, regaling them with her charm and smile. For all I know, by now she could be the ruling queen of the holy spirits.

Pic : Satyabrata Dam

Shows our ascent route in blue and the pink circles are the campsites. We failed on our first attempt to the right when the danger of rock fall became too obvious even to a harebrain like me. Hanging from our teeth, we had some gritty climbs. We were bombarded by snow, avalanches, fierce winds and terrible temperatures. Due to the sheer technicalities, we did aid climbing in our normal hiking boots. Till date I have no idea how we escaped without any frost bites. Sarah fell when her abseil anchor uprooted at the notch of ‘Y’ on the route, where our first and second route joined. I was right beside her, and in less than a fraction of a second she was whisked away by the wind and gravity while I stood mute and frozen, with absolutely nothing in my capacity to do or prevent her death. But I know as much for her as much for me, that we climbers like to live right here right now, so every moment our last and also the first where one dream ends and another, equally or more outrageously fantastic, begin.

Pic : Satyabrata Dam

Here I am leading one of the crux pitches, with classical aid climbing stance, beyond the penultimate campsite, smack right on the middle of the sheer sweeping face.