January 29-31
Vang Vieng: Search Party, Anyone?
About ten days into our Vang Vieng stay and after saying farewell to our departing Aussie friends, Leslie and I decided to head back into the mountains for a few night's adventure. We grabbed few light blankets for the cold nights, our packs and a few other essentials and made sure to tell Joe exactly (approximately) where we were going and that we would be back on the third day. I told him and his workers a deliberate, 'we will be back on Wednesday', and we set off through town, picking up food and a machete and a ride north back to where Quin and I had crossed the river. The plan was basically to follow the reverse route Quin and I had taken, except this time to have proper supplies and to finally summit that mountain, and to hopefully find a trail down the other side instead of a bushwhack.
The first night we spent in the mountain-surrounded valley across the river and through the pass. We had planned to camp, but now seeing the hidden valley in daylight we realized the problem of this endeavor. There were several cow droppings on every square meter of ground here. The Hmong tribe owns this land and are responsible for both the cattle grazing as well as the sharp-leafed grass crops growing up the foothills.
We met the caretaker of the land and, with use of sign language, he invited us to stay in their guest cabin for a few dollars. He even helped us start a fire and spent some quiet time around the fire with us sharing our food and laughing at failed attempts to communicate.
The morning came after a long night on the hard shack floor and we were greeted by the Hmong women coming to work in the fields. They all wore an easy smile and had an air of contentment about them, though they had on clothes that had more holes than stitch and seemed as if they might disintegrate off their bodies at any moment. They came and warmed their hands over our morning fire and enjoyed laughing at us. We never did figure out what was so comedic.
We headed up through the reeds on the path Quin and I had come down, only this time we had to add a steep climb and the heat of mid to late-morning sun. We pushed through the discomfort. It was noon by the time we reached the end of the abusive grasses at the top of the foothills and got into the jungle. I confidently chose our trail and we continued for some time. After a while nothing looked familiar. Of course it didn't look familiar! I had come down it exhausted in the pitch black of night! But, I was secure of my decision to take the right hand trail and not the left.
On we continued until reaching a point where lumber had been milled en situ and the jungle floor was covered with sawdust and wood scraps. Searching, I could not find where the trail continued. We looked for a while, had lunch, and looked some more. No luck. Dead ends, all our attempts. Nothing to do but to go back and take the left-hand trail.
Some trails are made for pack animals, some for just walking. I am convinced this trail was made as a joke, it was so steep. I expected to pass some trickster hilltribe men await with menacing grins. But, it was a trail and it was going towards my summit so we continued up. I would rest every ten minutes or so to let Leslie catch up and would literally be looking straight down at her as she climbed the trail.
After what seemed a long time of climbing we finally reached the high point where the trail wound around the far side of the peaks and came down the back side. This trail did not lead to the ridge saddle as I had hoped. I had mixed emotions at this awareness. First, I was baffled at what could have happened to the trail Quin and I had come down. Surely we should have crossed it. Second, I was glad that this trail was going the right direction and we wouldn't have to bushwhack our way down. Third and ultimately, given the late hour and need for water, I realized I would never actualize my dreams of sitting on top of that damn summit.
The trail descended steeply for hours and the sandy path crumbled under our feet so it was as much of a sliding descent as walking. About five in the evening we were beginning, just beginning mind you, to level out a bit from our steep descent when the trail crossed a dry tributary bed. I knew that stream would lead to the main riverbed Quin and I had come up, so I decided to turn off the path and onto the stream bed. The lighting became dark and eerie as the dense jungle surrounded us and the sun was preparing to set. Our stream bed emptied out onto a smaller branch of the main river that Quin and I had been up. I walked up a bit and found some water. I walked down a bit and came upon the frame of an old Hmong hilltribe's shelter and, the sun being nearly set, we decided to call it home for the night. I set myself to the duty of collecting the large banana leaves to cover the shelter frame and for our ground cover. Leslie set herself to collecting firewood for our overnight jungle experience.
The jungle at night is not a quiet place. We kept the fire going for a while but soon drifted off to sleep in our banana leaf lean-to. Soon the noises of birds and insects and who-knows-what started a chaos of noise that raised the neck hairs. When in this situation you find yourself concentrating very hard. 'Okay, that was a bird... that was a monkey I think, that... I don't know what the hell that was...!' and one begins to panic a bit. The duration of panic, I believe, is complimentary to the amount of nights one has spent alone in the naked wild world. I, for instance, having recognized only a few of the sounds, realized I wouldn't know everything out there, and that was okay, and I went to sleep. For a short while anyhow. Leslie on the other hand only had a few nights experience with nature at its darkest hours. She dealt with it pretty well for a while until we heard this piercingly loud unnerving screech very near to us in the darkness. She was doubly scared as I returned the shriek back to whatever it was, without any warning to the already terrified Leslie. Her poor little heart. It must have been beating so fast. As soon as I let out my territorial yell, the something that screamed so loud, that large something, took off across the jungle floor away from us, breaking large branches as it went. Soon I was sleeping again. Until a branch broke in the dense night.
Nudge, nudge nudge.
Whispering: "Did you hear that?" Another nudge. The jungle was closing in on her.
"What?" I asked sleepily.
"That noise. Something's out there."
I listened. Another snap of a branch. "Hmmm" I said. "Sounds like they are coming for you. Goodnight." I rolled over. For some reason this didn't seem to help.
"You want me to screech again?" I tried to sound sympathetic.
"You think it would help?"
"Its worth a try" I let out a yell.
"JESUS! You could have warned me this time!"
"I thought I did."
We listened for a few minutes. I drifted off again.
Another snap.
Nudge, nudge.
"There's something out there..."
"Hey Leslie?" I started.
"Yeah?" she whimpered.
"Its a jungle. There are lots of things out there. Its where they live." For some reason this seemed to calm her, as if she had never thought of that. We soon settled back to a night of much needed sleep, silently ignoring the blunt river rocks stabbing at our backs.
We woke early the next morning and prepared the fire for morning coffee and breakfast. An hour later, full, packed and refreshed, we resumed our journey back to the guesthouse. It didn't seem so far away. Just a bit down this side stream bed to the main one, down that and through the cave and then we're almost home. Well, as it turns out, boy-boy teams go much faster than boy-girl teams. But I admit, it was tough going. After the previous day's exertions we were not completely fresh going into this day and the going was not really walking, more hopping, scrambling and climbing.
Every now and again I would stop and look around. This place was so magnificent. The river, now dry, had cut this gorge into the mountains and on either side, the mountains towered over us at immense hights, rising hundreds of meters above us. The river itself would only be about 10 meters across and the boulders that made up the riverbed were massive and the waterfalls running over them would be magnificent to see, had there been water. I was, however, consciously thankful that no water did flow now as there would be nowhere to go and we would be just more debris washed away, like the branches and trees that were jammed in the rock crevices from the force of the water.
Eventually, in late afternoon, we came to the cave. We slowly clambered down the 15 feet and got through the cave, another new experience for Leslie. Being on familiar ground now and easier going with the rock scrambles, our moods became lighter and our pace quickened a bit. The sun set on us as we came down the remainder of the stream bed and it was well dark by the time we reached the main road, two kilometers from Joe's famous banana pancakes.
A few minutes down the road we saw a light and heard the engine of a motorbike. It passed us, then turned around back towards us. We stood, curious. It was Joe, our guesthouse owner! Joe had been worried about us all day and had driven down to look for us. He had completely forgotten when we said we would be back and had even formed a search party for us, to start looking in the morning. Silly Joe! Nobody had ever been out for two nights before and with it getting so cold at night he just didn't think we would do it. I think he felt a little silly after we reminded him of our original plans but we were touched by his concern and we told him so. He, of course, told us he was just worried about his business. We were grateful for his concern nonetheless.
After 15 nights in Vang Vieng we begrudgingly realized that it was time to move on. We said our fond but sad farewells and left after breakfast for our next adventure.
