Kodachadri

Photographers: Rahul Shityalker, Prakash Reddy, 
Trek Leads: Sangamesh

Trek Group: Bangalore Trekking Club

Trek Grade: Moderate

Terrain:  Forest, Hilly, Rocky

It all began with the Karachi biscuits from Shivajinagar, the part of the city where anything from anywhere can be sold to anyone.  According to Mr. Prakash Rao, the official trek entertainer himself,  Michael Schumacher arrived there once to sell his Ferrari, after an accident involving a pole.  His tale, narrated at bonfire in the local Muslim dialect, sent the trekkers into peals of uncontrollable teary laughter.  Like the majestic Titanic that crumbled with an iceberg, this is a case of  “Brittle Steel”, the shopkeeper declares his verdict, and cheap paint, he adds, after scratching the surface with the sole fingernail on his pinky, giving Schumacher the final estimate of four grand. 

  But whether it was the sinful biscuits that vanished in seconds or the breakfast that was delayed by “just five minutes” in Nittur Standard time translating to two hours in stomach time, the consequences were without doubt dramatic, perhaps even supernatural, as some argued.  And the trekkers unanimously agreed to give thanks to goddess of the hills, Mookambika herself, after the trek.   

Sreejith, post-trek, sans backpain, alive, and no plans to divorce me ;-)

For every trekker that dreams of whisking away the love of your lives to see the beauty of your other love, the other being trekking….beware…for the path is perilous….and every stone shall burn through your soles, and every blister shall fester, for what is beauty for one is beast for another.   But the aftermath I must say is sweet victory…

Majige (Buttermilk) Hopping

But let us get on with the trek.  The Sauthekai (Cucumber) point, was one that BTC marked with great vigour with a tiny hill of cucumber peels, even as we admired the entrepreneurship of the cucumber king selling his cucumbers and buttermilk at this challenging spot. Mr Prakash Rao Reddy, our most uproariously hilarious trekker, has since received a formal invitation from the Olympic committee for a newly constituted cucumber peeling contest.  We parted from the cucumber mama after providing him with Prakash Rao’s resume, in case of a future job opening.  But all in all, majighe (buttermilk) hopping is definitely a recommended Kodachadri pastime, with quite a few vendors peddling their own unique recipes spiked with jeera, coriander leaves, and ginger among others. 

The pristine waterfalls of Kodachadri, so painfully shy a beauty, she lies nestled deep in the green forest, to be hunted ceaselessly by desperate trekkers craving a single glimpse.  The muse of many a poet and lovelorn storyteller, this dainty one reveals herself to the most gallant of all, with layers of milky white cascading down giant masses of black stone, tossing, tumbling and splashing like naughty elves at a fast game of chase, giggles, squeals et all.  And when the tired trekker stands at last beneath her full and bounteous majesty, the first splash of cold spray brings forth from him a loud shout of ecstasy, and he screams in pure joy, shivering and trembling with uncontrollable delight. 

   

Soon we finds her secret spots - a snug little cave to rest between the strong  torrent that now falls with increasing vigour. Still in her close proximity, enjoying her eager splashes that tempt you out again.  Drenched thus and visibly exhausted, the trekkers finally tear themselves away from the falls, and with final last glances, they trudge upwards into the deep, steep forest, the green canopy shrouding on either side of the forest trail.   

As always is the case with any trek, when things go wrong, they go ballistic, and when it can’t get worse, it somehow turns interesting, in the weirdest of ways.   The sumptuous feast at the top gave no indication as to what was to come, and even the most hardcore non vegetarian was intoxicated by what seemed like the most ethereal of sambar, bhindi, and a sinful holige dripping.

Can anything go wrong after that!

  And so we wondered, after a feast like that, how can a full blooded trekker take a jeep down the hill like all the commoners.  Four hours downhill at four would be a cake walk, we decided.  Of course, we don’t have torches, but we have our mobiles.  And we will take the jeep trail instead, just for security. And what happened next, is poetic history.  I mean seriously, I'm going for poetry.  

Auto-walla of the Year, A Poem

Twelve proud trekkers, they trudge up the hill,
A jeep, they laugh, is for the run-of the mill,
Buttermilks they dunk, and cucumbers they peel,
And Sauthekai point, they mark with great zeal.

Kodachadri, the falls, with eternal appeal,
A shy beauty that, to the gallant reveals,
Milky white waters, cold, surreal,
The trekkers regale, with shouts and squeals


The clock strikes five, and the sun sinks soon,
And the twelve proud trekkers, they race the moon,
Stories galore, jokes and a tune,
Down the jeep trail, ten miles since noon.

The clock strikes eight, and time slinks away,
The stones seem harsher, and longer the day,
For a thousand jeeps, we scatter, make way,
But not one stops, to save our sad day.

Miles to go before we sleep,
Smiles they beat, a slow retreat,
And just before we decide we’re dead meat,
The sole district auto, comes chugging through the street

Three hundred, says Sangu, our dear trek leader,
Shut up we cry, and bundle in the rear,
A gift from Kodachadri, a goddess of revere,
We cry, give thanks, to the auto walla of the year.

And thus with joy, ends this tiresome tale,
Of a trail gone wrong, but a trek regaled,
With memories precious, and laughter in gales,
BTC rocks, again we hail!