Kapkot -> Binsar (20.4.25)

Bird’s eye view:

When my biographer writes the story of 20th April, circa 2025, he might lightly gloss over it, saying they drove around 80 km today, to a village called Binsar. Pretty place and all that. He might even sneeringly suggest that less than 100 km was a bit below par. What he would miss out is that hidden in that short journey were challenges where big cars had failed today.

First, we drove 25 kms to Bageshwar, where the Thal road joins, touching the scenic Chaukori - the road not taken by us, remember? Then we travelled 50 kms to Binsar town, just before which we turned left into the controlled forest area where our lodge was located, 6 kms inside.

Today’s weather had been quite sunny overall, and our car AC was running for most of the time, except hairpin climbs. Overall, we travelled upward from the 3,800 ft of Kapkot to 8,500 ft of Binsar, so it is expected to become jolly chilly at night.

Leaving Kapkot (8.30 am):

When the journey lengths are small, we are nowadays leaving after an early breakfast, and the breakfast agreed upon last night was methi paratha, with curd and pickle. Knowing our interest in green veggies, our manager Dayal Singh’s wife Kamal, also bunged in a dry okra curry. Superb! This bit of extra care is what we are blessed with in nice homestays.

We bade farewell to the Sarayu, who had been keeping vigil all night, with a roar and a gurgle, and asked her to bless the Singhs.

A halt at Bagheswar (10.00 am):

After topping up our tank, we passed quickly through Kapkot town and hit the familiar smooth black-top road, winding through the rolling hills, descending slowly to Bagheswar. The road was wide enough to be called a two-lane, though they were not marked so. In our trip till now, I have formed a favourable opinion of Uttarkhand’s road network and road quality.

Closer to Bageshwar, the Sarayu reappeared in another avatar, wider, a little slower, with the dignity that behooves a river running next to a prosperous town. Bageshwar has a population of 2.6 lakhs, and is quite a major trading and tourism centre, as well as district headquarter, located at an important cross-road as I mentioned.

We had hoped that the road would run at the level of the river and we (read Panna) would splash around, but there was no such way. Undaunted, we whipped out our flask of tea and sat in our car sipping, dreamily watching the bridge that crosses the Sarayu at that point.

The Binsar climb (1.00 pm):

The road from Bageshwar to Binsar town, 50 km long, had a different character. Either it was narrow and undulating, climbing and dropping as it felt like, or it was very wide but rubbly, as a result of the government’s effort at making this part of NH209A a two-lane highway. I am sure by the end of May it will be a work of art, but right now it was a dusty devil, half-obstructed by heavy earth-moving equipments, that left niggardly bits of spaces for us to squeeze through, like the class nerd passing between two fat school bullies.

As we reached the town of Binsar, one narrow road veered off to the left, almost immediately sporting a barrier, with a cabin of the forest department, who charged me 650/- for being allowed to take a car into the protected forest area. The road here climbs sharply through the forest and ends after 10 kms at Zero Point, which is a viewpoint. Our lodge was at the 6 km mark.

When I had called the lodge from Bageshwar, to check whether the approach to their place was okay, he had said: “Umm, there is only one point with a gadda on a slope. What you do is do not slow down. Whatever happens do not slow down, and you will be fine.” At the barrier, the forest cabin guy seemed very reluctant to give me a pass, probably thinking that granddaddy here is not going to make even one km up the track. “Very bad road condition sir,” he said. “Three very bad patches. Right now three cars are stuck there, mostly Scorpios. You will have to wait for the road to clear.” By then a few taxis making day trips to Zero Point had lined up behind my car, and they added their tales of woe. One professional confessed that yesterday he burnt his tires but could not cross that point. Another said that two days ago his car bottomed out and knocked the chamber badly. So why were they going again? Money, sir, they said, Money.

I won’t deny that we were worried. We had a two-day booking so we could not ditch the journey and go to Binsar town instead. What we had going for us was the Punch - a ground clearance of 187 mm, stiff suspensions, and the heart of a lion. Meanwhile, the stuck vehicles had probably been cleared, and the forest guy had raised the barrier and was gesturing for us to go, like an usher at the Philharmonic Orchestra.

We went. No other cars followed us. For around 4 kms the road was manageable - broken and rutted. At places the width was strictly one car, AND there was sporadic downward traffic. I set my car to first gear, ensured an rpm > 2000, and refused to take my foot off, with a mental apology to the Punch for putting it through the torture. Soon the super-bad patch was upon us, steep and around a bend, and the car bounced around like a lifeboat on a stormy sea, our utensils on the rear seat flying around in clangorous protest. I could hear Panna’s Krishna chant beyond the roar of the engine. Strike one! 

In a minute, the next bad patch was ahead - with a tempo traveller halfway down it. I stopped, losing my momentum. Three tempo travellers, back to back. Forsooth, they seemed to be like teenage girls in Saki Naka told by their mothers to travel together. I had no option but to do a curving descending reverse to give them space, and then rev up the broken slope again, hoping my wheels don’t spin. Strike two! 

With five hundred meters to go to our target, we were breathing joint sighs of congratulatory relief, when presto, the third slope that looked like Om Puri’s face was upon us, with a stupid car already halfway down the slope. This time I could not stop and reverse because I had no visibility of what was behind me, so I squeezed left, over the most broken and jagged part (luckily Panna was not looking out of her window - there was nothing to see, literally), and barreled through, hurling a small lecture to the other driver in passing about the protocol of letting upward traffic through. Strike three!

And then we were there. Simba Jungle Lodge and Cafe. I braked to a halt and reversed into a minuscule parking niche, and let out my breath. God knows when I had stopped breathing. I sat for a minute, waiting for my pulse to return to the lower hundreds, and my adrenalin to whatever the FDA considers human. We had made it. I gave the Punch a pat for having showed those Scorpio bullies how things are done.

The lodge was beautiful. Just three rooms on the ground floor with a cafe on the top floor, all very tastefully decorated. From our rooms we could see the hillside roll down and the mountains rising again in the distance. The sky was currently divided into two, half dark because it was raining in Almora, and half light because it was clear in Bageshwar. How massive nature is.

It was late, so we had a quick simple lunch of rice, daal and egg bhurji, and went to sleep. 

We woke up to one of the most beautiful sunsets we had seen recently.

Come 7 pm, strains of guitar floated down. The manager Kishore and his assistant Abhishek (a volunteer) were jamming. We repaired there forthwith and sat listening to Hindi love songs, I sipping hot chocolate and writing my blog. Bliss.

At a place like this, food is perforce in-house and the cafe had good reviews. We dined early at 8 pm on Pasta Alfredo and egg noodles, and went to sleep on a day well spent.

Tomorrow, we continue to be here at Binsar. Maybe we will give Zero Point a try. Or just chill...

Photo credits: Panna Rashmi Ray