Snow Mountain: Part 1
Snow Mountain
Terribly sorry for the wait. I’m sure that you’ve all been anxiously awaiting this next post, thinking throughout dinner, cleaning the house, and driving to work with the radio on low “when is Michelle going to write her next post! I must know how this Sichuan trip turned out and I cannot bear to be in the dark even for another second!” I hate to break it to you, but that’s a little melodramatic…don’t you think? Ah well, regardless of the angst (or more probable lack there of) here it is: the continuation of my tale. I have split this epic into two halves for your reading convenience.
(Part 1)
So, day 2 of the horse trek: SNOW MOUNTAIN. (Also known as Ice Mountain.) Amy and I had been very excited for this part of our adventure. We made sure that we had enough time in the Songpan area to include the trip to Snow Mountain and we made sure to make that clear to the horse trekking company (…or just the smiling, capped man who sat around in the Songpan office). Little did we know that it would include a near death experience. Ok, I know that’s a serious exaggeration, but still, it was a new type of pain. Don’t get me wrong; Snow Mountain is pretty…BEFORE you get on it. Look at it from the base, admire it in a distant mountain range panorama, but don’t go on Snow Mountain if it’s snowing. Instead, gallop in the other direction!
Day 2 started off with some breakfast at our hospitable (but frigid because of the lack of heating and fireplaces) home-stay. We hit the road early, heading off into the mountains again, only this time to encounter snow. Coming from the Northeast and having spent the past two years in Middlebury, VT, I’m hardly afraid of the cold. I welcome it, in fact, after every even remotely hot summer. I was bundled up and although not Caribbean warm, I was comfortable. Every turn was more beautiful than the next—frost and snow covered branches, a distant fog that complemented the white flakes all around me, and snow capped mountains sitting atop the clouds in the background. What added to the scene was the occasional yak that stuck its head around a frozen bush to stare us down as we passed.
A little while on, when I was feeling a little uncomfortable in the rear and sorry for my poor, burdened horse lugging bundled-up me and all of our bags up some darn steep hills, I decided to get down from the horse. Having ridden a horse before and feeling confident I swung my right leg over the horse’s rump and made to take my left foot out of the stirrup when I realized it was a bit, um, stuck. No need to panic; it would just take a few wiggles to gain freedom. The problem, I think, was when the horse realized its rider was off and either didn’t know or didn’t care that she wasn’t totally extracted. That’s when the horse decided to keep going on the trail, which led to an embarrassing moment of me trailing on the ground behind him, half in the mud and half hopping to keep up. Breathe, folks, this is not the “near death” experience I was talking about. Embarrassing, yes, but certainly not lethal. I would, however, recommend to all of you interested in doing a horse trek to either wait for your tour guide (who quickly stepped in and freed me by the way) to help you down, or at least make sure your foot is in no way stuck before you dismount.
Anyway, my guide helped me back on the horse, half laughing at me, and half spooked by my less than brilliant decision. We rode on only for about 10 minutes or so before we were actually supposed to get off. You know all those sayings about “every action has a reaction” and all of that stuff about the now affecting the later? Well, this was a moment like that for me. Amy and I were trailing along the guide as two pathetic stragglers when we encountered some mud. Unable to totally go around it, I stepped in it. Wrong, again. My shoe got stuck. So stuck that when I lifted my foot it came clean out of my shoe, which was now embedded in the mud. One more step left me stuck in two places, completely unable to move, with one bare foot straight in the cold mud. I laughed. What else are you supposed to do at that point, really? Our guide really got a kick out of this one, mocking us for our “love of mud” and for our idiocy. Amy didn’t get the full “stuck in the mud” experience, but she did get covered in the stuff, too.
Well, after I escaped the mud, my guide decides to wash my shoe off in a stream. It’s cold enough for snow to fall and then stick, by the way, so I’m not thinking water is the best idea at this point, but the damage is done. I put on one clean sock and stick my shoe back on before we continue on our way, our guide (and actually Amy and myself, too) laughing the whole time.
(End: part 1)
Terribly sorry for the wait. I’m sure that you’ve all been anxiously awaiting this next post, thinking throughout dinner, cleaning the house, and driving to work with the radio on low “when is Michelle going to write her next post! I must know how this Sichuan trip turned out and I cannot bear to be in the dark even for another second!” I hate to break it to you, but that’s a little melodramatic…don’t you think? Ah well, regardless of the angst (or more probable lack there of) here it is: the continuation of my tale. I have split this epic into two halves for your reading convenience.
(Part 1)
So, day 2 of the horse trek: SNOW MOUNTAIN. (Also known as Ice Mountain.) Amy and I had been very excited for this part of our adventure. We made sure that we had enough time in the Songpan area to include the trip to Snow Mountain and we made sure to make that clear to the horse trekking company (…or just the smiling, capped man who sat around in the Songpan office). Little did we know that it would include a near death experience. Ok, I know that’s a serious exaggeration, but still, it was a new type of pain. Don’t get me wrong; Snow Mountain is pretty…BEFORE you get on it. Look at it from the base, admire it in a distant mountain range panorama, but don’t go on Snow Mountain if it’s snowing. Instead, gallop in the other direction!
Day 2 started off with some breakfast at our hospitable (but frigid because of the lack of heating and fireplaces) home-stay. We hit the road early, heading off into the mountains again, only this time to encounter snow. Coming from the Northeast and having spent the past two years in Middlebury, VT, I’m hardly afraid of the cold. I welcome it, in fact, after every even remotely hot summer. I was bundled up and although not Caribbean warm, I was comfortable. Every turn was more beautiful than the next—frost and snow covered branches, a distant fog that complemented the white flakes all around me, and snow capped mountains sitting atop the clouds in the background. What added to the scene was the occasional yak that stuck its head around a frozen bush to stare us down as we passed.
A little while on, when I was feeling a little uncomfortable in the rear and sorry for my poor, burdened horse lugging bundled-up me and all of our bags up some darn steep hills, I decided to get down from the horse. Having ridden a horse before and feeling confident I swung my right leg over the horse’s rump and made to take my left foot out of the stirrup when I realized it was a bit, um, stuck. No need to panic; it would just take a few wiggles to gain freedom. The problem, I think, was when the horse realized its rider was off and either didn’t know or didn’t care that she wasn’t totally extracted. That’s when the horse decided to keep going on the trail, which led to an embarrassing moment of me trailing on the ground behind him, half in the mud and half hopping to keep up. Breathe, folks, this is not the “near death” experience I was talking about. Embarrassing, yes, but certainly not lethal. I would, however, recommend to all of you interested in doing a horse trek to either wait for your tour guide (who quickly stepped in and freed me by the way) to help you down, or at least make sure your foot is in no way stuck before you dismount.
Anyway, my guide helped me back on the horse, half laughing at me, and half spooked by my less than brilliant decision. We rode on only for about 10 minutes or so before we were actually supposed to get off. You know all those sayings about “every action has a reaction” and all of that stuff about the now affecting the later? Well, this was a moment like that for me. Amy and I were trailing along the guide as two pathetic stragglers when we encountered some mud. Unable to totally go around it, I stepped in it. Wrong, again. My shoe got stuck. So stuck that when I lifted my foot it came clean out of my shoe, which was now embedded in the mud. One more step left me stuck in two places, completely unable to move, with one bare foot straight in the cold mud. I laughed. What else are you supposed to do at that point, really? Our guide really got a kick out of this one, mocking us for our “love of mud” and for our idiocy. Amy didn’t get the full “stuck in the mud” experience, but she did get covered in the stuff, too.
Well, after I escaped the mud, my guide decides to wash my shoe off in a stream. It’s cold enough for snow to fall and then stick, by the way, so I’m not thinking water is the best idea at this point, but the damage is done. I put on one clean sock and stick my shoe back on before we continue on our way, our guide (and actually Amy and myself, too) laughing the whole time.
(End: part 1)
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