Joshimath -> Chopta Valley (5.5.25)

Birds eye view: 

We were shifted from the Karnaprayag-Joshimath-Badrinath road system to the Rudraprayag-Sonprayag-Kedarnath road system, though we would not be going to Kedarnath. Confusing? Well, in the 120 km drive today, we retraced our steps from Joshimath to Chamoli (remember the Nandaprayag-Chamoli bad drive?), then turned right (westward) towards Gopeshwar, Mondol, Tunganath, Chopta, then finally our homestay in Sari - all places in the picturesque Chopta Valley. To continue the lecture in Geography, the same road continues to Ukhimat, a junction, from which Sonprayag runs roughly north, and Rudraprayag runs south. When we leave Chopta valley, we will be going to Rudraprayag. Here’s a rough map. 

We left Joshimath at 8.15 am and reached Sari at 2.30 pm, a bit longer than we anticipated, due to touristy stops, landslides and bad weather. Overall a strenuous and adventurous drive through total mountain terrain. 

 

Leaving Joshimath (8.15 am):

We anticipated a 4-5 hour drive, so we thought we might as well have our traditional alu paratha and then leave. While waiting for the golden discs to become ready, I topped up the pressure in the right hand front tyre, which looked a bit low, using my portable compressor kit that works on the car battery. That’s one investment put to good use. 

The morning was clear, and as we sat sipping our tea in the balcony before breakfast, we decided that we were going to miss Joshimath too, though the town by itself had not much on offer, except a lot of temples for religious-minded people. As we rolled down the hills, we could see the Badrinath traffic moving into town, some to stay, some to proceed straight to Badrinath for a darshan. 

Stopping at a trout farm at Mandal (10.00 am): 

As I said, we first descended to Chamoli, where we crossed the Alaknanda to the west and started climbing the hill, passing the biggish town of Gopeshwar, which has a population of around 45,000, not bad for a hilly town. Till Chamoli, the roads were mostly wide and two-lane. After all, it was part of the Badrinath grand prix. After Chamoli, the road became single lane, though very well maintained. I really had to hone my skill of how to allow oncoming traffic to pass, keeping in mind who had right of way, anticipating that bit of space which might be appropriate for squeezing by. I was stuck between two UK registration cars (meaning, local drivers), so I had to keep up my pace, since I could not manage to let the following car pass me conveniently. This was almost a masterclass in hill driving. 

The lesson continued beyond the town, as the forest grew dense and the trees leaned over to form a canopy, the road darkening, like mother drawing the curtains in our bedroom on a summer afternoon and forcing us to sleep. We stopped the car from time to time, just to switch off the engine and sit quietly, listening to the cicadas and the barbets, occasionally disturbed by the swish of passing cars. There were still many cars going past, since those who had seen Yamunotri/Gangotri and Kedarnath, were now moving across to visit Badrinath, that being the usual order of the char dham yatra. 

After we passed the small town of Mandal, we stopped for some roadside tea. A father, his son Sarthak (eighth standard) and daughter Akshita (sixth standard) were jostling in a small space. Apparently Uttaranchal govt had predicted heavy rain and landslides in the region and closed all schools, at least for today. Fun for the kids, I’m sure, but not good news for us. 

After we finished our tea and paid up, Lalit, the stall owner indicated a steep narrow paved road going down behind his shop, and said: “Why don’t you visit the govt fish farm? You could see trout and salmon. Yes, your car will go.” This was in response to my doubtful face. 

We went. Forget the farm, the road went right down to a small bouncy river, where the locals had made a small check dam with stones, over which the river was flowing, leaving a shallow pool behind. Three local kids were romping around there, notwithstanding the low temperature of the water. A swinging footbridge crossed the river and, here Panna’s face lit up, a stony ford (and here we go again, definitionwallahs) with an ornamental small rustic log bridge crossed the river at water level. Panna was down there in a flash, for here was a photo opp location like no other. 

We peeped into a high class cafe, Trout Trails, that was there on the banks, and pleaded with them to advertise their presence on the main road, so that people may know about this great location. He said, the posters had just been printed, and ready to go. About time too. How much could one rely on Lalit’s whim? 

Inside the govt fishery was a series of tanks where fish were being bred for eating. Their focus area seemed to be rainbow trout. We had eaten trout in this trip at our friend’s house in Mukteswar, which is a sweet-water boneless fish with no scales, quite tasty, knife-and-fork friendly, hence popular with the Brits. 

Landslide and jam at Tunganath chopta (1:30 pm): 

We were around an hour and 20 km away from our destination when the dark sky finally could not hold itself in any longer and started letting go in drops and dribbles, very sparse, not a cause for concern really. What was of concern was that we ground to a halt behind a line of 5-6 cars. We could see earth-moving equipment bobbing around beyond, and another queue of cars, a longer one, waiting on the other side. It was a small landslide and the clearing crew were already at work. The machine operator’s skill was to be seen to be believed. He picked up soil from the mountainside and patted them into place with the claw, picked up rocks and placed them in holes in the road, beating them into the ground, moving slightly back and forth to act as a road roller. He operated the machine’s levers like Beethoven. In around 15 minutes, he had created a muddy flattish area that a single file of cars could pass through, and he then politely reversed out of the way, like Jeeves saying: “Will that be all sir?”. 

Of course it took the two lines of opposing cars some time to decide right of way and to squeeze enough to the side to allow others to scramble up the muddy slope, but a bit of patience and discipline did the trick, and we were through after half an hour of total stoppage. By then, unfortunately, the rain god had lost all continence, and it really started pouring buckets. The hills around us all but vanished. Luckily, the road in front was quite visible. I decided to drive on, and not wait for the deluge to subside. Who knows, we might be presented with one more landslide, like a buy-one-get-one-free scheme. Windows up, wipers full on, AC on to deal with the windscreen misting, we drove for around half an hour, before we emerged into an area of slight drizzle. And then we hit Tunganath trek traffic. 

Let me tell you a bit about Tunganath. The Tunganath temple, where Lord Shiva resides, is one of the five Panch Kedar temples (look up the others, will you?), and, at 12,000 ft, is the world’s highest Shiva temple. From Tunganath chopta (starting point), it is a 3.5 km trek uphill, and takes 2-3 hours. We were passing, or trying to pass, the chopta, where more than 100 cars were parked by the side of the narrow mountain road, a couple of wheels mostly on the road, reducing the single lane even further. On three instances, cars came head on in this two km constriction, and one or the other had to back up a considerable distance. It was another test in patience, and cost us another half an hour, and a scraped left fender!

Reaching our homestay in Sari (2.30 pm): 

Although we emerged from the rains around 2.00 pm, we decided not to stop for lunch, since getting under cover and safe parking seemed to be a priority just now. A shared protein bar helped out. 

When we reached the Google pin location, our “Bajwal Homestay” was nowhere to be seen, except a board at ground level. Peering over the edge of the road, we found stone steps going down to a small building built on the slope, gazing into the valley. The location was great, Mahavirji, the owner, was wonderful, and the room cosy. It was clear that he spends a lot of effort at keeping the house of four rooms in order. The only downside was that the bathrooms were not en suite, but by the side of the bedrooms. 

Since we were famished, like Moses wandering in the desert for forty days, we requested for some Maggi, to keep body and soul together. Believe me, there is nothing better than masala Maggi, prepared with vegetables, consumed while sitting in the valley side deck, shivering a little in the 12 degC pleasantness. 

The medicinal snooze later, we woke up to some pakoras, with spicy coating and served with a local chutney. Like most homestays, except those declared as such for a tax break, the lady of the house does the cooking, and this lady seems to be a good cook. 

And we were not mistaken. A Garhwali dinner of mandua ki roti, mixed daal and alu-bean sabji, went down the hatch fast. Sitting in a small room next to the kitchen, chatting with Mahavir, listening to the phut-phut of phulkas being prepared inside, it seemed like a home away from home.

Tomorrow we continue to be in Chopta Valley. We are not interested in the Tunganath trek, but there is a lake nearby that might work out, provided it does not rain. Let us see. 

Photo credits: Panna Rashmi Ray