Thuli Beri

(Continued from Part One)
Part Two:

Waking up to the sound of the river punctuated by the occasional clang of bells as donkey trains moved up and down the track came as a welcome change from the hustle and bustle that we'd grown accustomed to in Kathmandu. Here, surrounded by the beautiful mountains that rose up all around us, we were able to dictate the pace of life for the first time - gradually getting ready for our first real day on the water. 

From Dunai, the river is mostly grade II for a few km. Drifting along past fields and groups of local people transporting crops up and down the valley, the landscape opens up, allowing you a few moments to enjoy and savour the scenery. Before long, a monastery high on a cliff to the right marks an increase in gradient and the start of the harder rapids.

Andy enjoying one of the first steeper sections after passing the monastery.

We were soon into continuous grade IV rapids, quickly back into the routine of picking apart rapids and only occasionally being forced out of our boats to scout. A few km below the monastery the river becomes more enclosed as the mountains become steeper and cliffs begin to line the river, this is the Golden Canyon - 10km of continuous grade IV and IV+ rapids. From here, my memory has become a haze of fantastic rapids with great little moves, big holes and a few challenging lines to make. As we were nearing the end of the Canyon we all began to feel the effects of just how tiring our first real day of paddling had been - the elevation may only be around 2000m, but several hours of continuous grade IV/IV+ had left us spent. Each stroke now felt like we were moving a large ship rather than a kayak, and we were beginning to crave our luxury dried noodle dinner.

George, shortly before entering the Golden Canyon.

The Thuli Beri is the most consistently continuous river I've ever paddled, which became apparent as we left the Golden Canyon and continued to find fantastic bouldery grade IV/IV+ rapids. The steep, bouldery rapids continue for kilometre after kilometre as many shorter gorges come and go. By now we were unsure of how far we had come, and with a long portage ahead of us we hoped we wouldn't find it towards the end of a day when we might be forced to camp near a town. Fortunately for us, we hadn't covered as much ground as we thought, and found ourselves camping on an isolated grassy spot at the base of a cliff. We soon became uneasy in our tranquil spot as rocks periodically bounced down around us from the cliff above, hitting the ground with frightening force and shattering. Since it was too late to move we all sought shelter under protective ledges or large boulders, enduring a restless night and waking up uneasily with every thud throughout the night.

George lining up to punch a large hole in one of the harder rapids after the Golden Canyon.

Fortunately all the rocks missed during the night, and we woke up ready to press on and get past the big portage. A few hours of paddling later and we approached the town and suspension bridge that marks the portage - here the river enters a 3km long section of 5/5+(6), most of which has been run, but which would have undoubtedly taken us all day to paddle and portage at river level. The track starts off right by the river though, so walking the whole section seemed the sensible solution. Unfortunately Georges bartering skills are somewhat lacking, and after a few minutes of unsuccessful bargaining with a group of potential porters, George shouldered his boat and walked off, leaving us to follow. After the first kilometre we were cursing the mistake. After the second we had promised not to let George lead any negotiations again, and quickly accepted an offer of porters for the remaining kilometre back down to the river. 

By the time we had scrambled down to river level, quite a crowd had gathered on the bridge and along the trail, and our hopes of having a quiet snack to regain some energy vanished. Pressing on, with dangerously low energy levels we encountered some of the hardest paddling yet, and after 10 minutes of running drops blindly with a poke-and-hope attitude we realised that we had to stop for a snack, whether we were being watched by the entire village or not.

Andy tucking into a packet of biscuits.

Sugar reserves replenished, we pressed on. We were all exhausted after the exertion of the portage, but had to cover another few kilometres to avoid camping too close to the town. Fortunately the river eased slightly, allowing us to push on around a few corners until we found a suitable ledge high above the river which looked perfect, but then shattered as we were anything would have looked like the Hilton Hotel.

To be concluded...