Rafa Ortiz sends in the update from the Hotel Charley, Chapter 2, India section!

Rafa Ortiz sends in the update from the Hotel Charley, Chapter 2,
India section!

Photos

A kayaking Expedition into the Far East Planes, trains, and Automobiles to the most Remote corner of India

Written by Rafael Ortiz Edited by Ben Stookesberry

Photos are by Rafa Ortiz

The Kameng River was an amazing 100 mile chunk of whitewater and we were in need of rest, yet eager to continue on immediately to the next river, the one we had been waiting for. The plan was to skip the next major drainage east en route to the principal tributary of the Brahmaputra: the distal end of the Tsang Po called the Siang River. However, Roland quickly tempered our excitement commenting that the veritable Tijuana circus of our previous shuttle was nothing compared to the 3.5 days jeeping ahead.

With some of Arunachal’s finest guides from Donya Hango Tourism, renown photographer Lucas Gilman, and his girlfriend / assistant Sarah Randazzo in tow; we started driving in the afternoon following a mid-morning takeout of the Kameng at the Arunachal/ Assam border town of Balukpong. Two flat tires and 7 bone jarring hours later we sidetracked slightly in order to arrive in Arunachal’s capital city of Itanagar. Although we could have saved some time by staying on the main road East through Assam, Itanagar would be our last opportunity to check email; and, otherwise make contact with the outside world for at least two weeks. Besides that a civilized morning in the “big city” brought buckets of hot water for our first proper showers in a week, and local barbers offered a one of a kind south Asian shave.
Leaving Itanagar, the road made a quick and pleasantly smooth descent out of mountains, re-entering the flat yet rugged roads of Assam. We all prepared for another fine evening of “Jeep till you puke.”

The problem with the roads in Assam is that they are absolutely ruined. Monsoon flooding and separatist bombings both contribute to the ruts, potholes, and craters that few road crews are brave enough to fix. On top of that, the road is rot with drunken pedestrians, shaky bicyclists, massive (yet extremely slow moving) trucks, and hour long single lane detours. The journey was tiring and painful. After one more flat tire and 7 hours, we stumbled free of our jeep into brilliant moon light at the Donya Hango camp in Pasighat, now at the Base of the Siang River.

Just when I started craving a nice chicken mole or some tacos back in Mexico, we were blessed with another amazing Indian feast. This time we are treated to fresh fish from the Brahmaputra, which are smoked in bannana leaves, accompanied by the usual rice, lentil dal, and cabbage/ potato subji. Aside from the fresh fish, this meal was taken to the next level by the world’s hottest chile, a native of the Brahmaputra valley. After several nice glasses of homemade rice beer and a little of that special rum, a hilarious episode of Ben, Vipin, and myself dueling with the atomic chiles (ending with all of us doubled over in the lawn), I had forgotten all about the days of jeeping still ahead.

From Pasighat we acquired a Northern direction, now heading upstream on the Siang towards the border with China. The road became smaller and swirlier, the terrain steeper and junglier, and the landscapes more beautiful and imposing. Our first glimps of the river is from high on the road etched into the near vertical jungle covered canyon wall. The Kameng was a small creek in comparison with this monster. It is impossible to say for sure, but the consensus was 40,000 to 50,000 cfs of milky, glacial blue water.

It took 2 more 8-hour days to arrive in Tuting, still 30 kms short of our planned put-in. We owed our extremely slow progress not only to the convoluted road, but also to the now typical Indian driving adventures. On top of the usual flat tire or two a day and other full on 4×4 difficulties, the shipments of Diesel fuel up the Siang had been delayed for weeks, which meant we were going to run out of fuel. Luckily, the Donya Hango boys found out that there was fuel, but it was on the other side of the river. We spent the next three hours slupping jerry cans of fuel back and forth across a 2 km long bamboo suspension bridge.

Saying that those four days of abusive shuttling were worth it, may give you an idea of the uniqueness and magnitude of this river. With inmense and magnificently clean turquoise water in the dry season, the Siang is a river like no other. Known as the world’s most infamous river in China as the Tsang Po, the practically unknown Siang in India might be the world’s next big water classic.

Time to paddle

From Tuting upstream to the boarder with China, the river is all but unknown to the western world, however some locals reported that they had seen the first group of Indian kayakers on the stretch only a month earlier. Our drive upstream through a chilly, foggy morning with light rain was short lived. After only an hour, the road came to an abrupt end at the town of Bona, and this is where our hike began. The most uncomfortable sensation of kayaking is wet paddle gear; ours had been soaked from the unexpected over night rain.

The best part about the ensuing 2-hour hike was that we warmed up quickly. After that, sweat drips off the rim of the helmet, the legs hurt more and more, the aching shoulder begs for unloading the kayak as soon as possible, but the anxiety of paddling the raging rapids below kept the mind occupied. The trail through this border region between Arunachal and China is lined with military bunkers. Throughout the hike we cede the trail to AK toting soldiers marching in both directions. They presented us with only smiles and greetings, not giving us any troubles or queries about the extent of our permit (we were actually only permitted to go as high as Tuting). It was pretty clear that the area we were in was a potential conflict zone between two nations. For now, it was our way to the river.

Just before the hill-top village of Geling, we started hiking down to the water on a steep, muddy trail that was seemingly hacked through the jungle specifically for this purpose. After half an hour, our overheated systems were rewarded with perfectly cold, clean water that was called the Tsang Po in the left hand and the Siang in the right. After a bit of lounging and speculating what whitewater monster waited in both directions, we entered the Siang higher up than any westerners before us.

Entering the current I became fully cognizant of the size and power of this river. We exit the eddy into a seemingly class 2 wave train and are forced to ferry hard as the river slams into a vertical canyon wall just downstream. The power of the river is majestic and the shore is at least half a kilometer in either direction. “This is the biggest pinche river that I have ever paddled,” I yell, and Ben agrees with some sort of deer in the headlights look on his face.

The top of the first rapid is a horizon line and boat scouting here would be an act of pure faith; therefore, we scout from land. It would have been nice to minimize a veritable overland journey by simply boating to the brink of the drop for a quick look, but the main flow is extremely strong starting at least 100 meters above the initial wave train. Luckily, massive boulders on shore shelter slower moving water from the main current, and we are able to eddy out much closer to the start of the main drop than we anticipated.

I choose an adventurous line on the right and ping-pong between massive 3 – 5 meter laterals and holes. The whole thing then culminates in one of the biggest wave holes I have ever seen. It surges from a 4- meter deep nasty looking hole to a 6 meter rostering green face. On our second trip through, I would plug in there, reemerging 20 feet downstream. After seeing my antics through the ledge infested right side, Ben finds the big water super highway down the middle that pulls some of the teeth out of this monster.

From this rapid we gain some confidence, and try to make a conscious effort not to get mired down in scouting every single rapid. So there we were out in the middle above the very next rapid, and decided to avoid an apparently unneccesary scout. The rapid is a seemingly innocuous wave train. From the top of one of these amazing standing waves I see the whole river turn left towards a significant horizon line. It looks steep and beefy, but we are now in no man’s land having given up our right to scout about half a kilometer upstream. Ben is out front as we pass the first truly disgusting hole just to our right. I looked over my shoulder at this thing and thought about a couple of school buses holding a rodeo in there. I refocus downstream only to see Ben jamming right with the kind of forward stroke that you save for the most desperate of situations. I go for that same enthusiasm, but I get messed up by some big wave that decides to brake on my head. Next thing I knew, I was upside down falling. It was an amazing feeling for a moment or two until the heavy pounding began. I roll up into my worst nightmare: On my right I see an angry 20-foot-tall surging wall of green, and to my left a raging foam pile bigger than my house, all coming down on my head. I took a desperate gasp of air and held on to my paddle for dear life. The following minute was like one of those nasty amusement park rides gone dangerously wrong: tricky woo, air screw, woopty doo… And the grand finale was getting slammed on the bottom of the river. I had no other good option other than hold on and wait, because a swim in this river could be bad. Surfing the biggest hole in the Siang was probably the scariest moment of my paddling career and I took it as a lesson.

The rest of the run was outrageous with only one more truly scary rapid. Aside from that, this section of the Siang must have some of the biggest wave trains on earth. Ben commented that one in particular dubbed “Amazing 4,” made the Himalayas on Chile’s Futalefu look like the Appalachians.

The land crew followed our progress throughout the run shooting photos and videos from the road where possible, and also hiking down to river level in a few spots. We spent two consecutive days on this same section of river, but we could have easily spent a week there. For what we could appreciate from our creek boats, some waves must be incredible from the playboating perspective. Below Tuting, Roland will run his guide school and commercial trips on the 250 + mile stretch of the Siang down to Pasighat. By those who know, the whitewater is described in terms of the Grand Canyon of the Colorado with some bigger stuff, and one that all the rafts must portage.

After each day on the river, we consumed three dinners to satisfy our roaring bellies. One night Nino, the head of Donya Hango, treated us to a meal and homemade rice bear at his uncle’s house in Tuting. The fish was straight from the Siang, and the rice was direct from his fields high above the river. Sharing amazing food and stories around a traditional open living room fire was one of the highlights of the trip.

We had decided to skip the long bottom section of the Siang in order to have time for our next destination. We were going further East, either to the Dibang or to the Lohit valleys, where legendary class 5 laid in wait. This time we made the return trip to Pasighat in just one day with an absolutely commendable effort by our brilliant shuttle driver NB. NB was the kind of guy that you want along for every expedition: supper dependable with a heart of pure gold.

We thought we had seen the worst Arunachal could throw at us in terms of the shuttle, but we were wrong. A late monsoon tempest would nearly stop the final leg of the expedition dead in its tracks.

Hotel Charley Section