One would think that in a place called “Tiger Leaping Gorge” he might be in for seeing a few tigers. But no such fortune – or misfortune. Perhaps they all ended up leaping across the gorge because by the time we arrived, the only things overrunning the place were goats, mules, and the touts trying to get hikers to ride the mules.

 

Let me back up a step in order to lay before the reader a few hards facts about 虎跳峡, gleaned from what my generation thinks of as the reliable source: Wikipedia. 

 

And I quote…

“Tiger Leaping Gorge (虎跳峡 / Hǔtiào Xiá) is a scenic canyon on the Jinsha River, a primary tributary of the upper Yangtze River. Around 15 kilometres (9.3 mi) in length, the gorge is located where the river passes between the 5,596 metres (18,360 ft) Jade Dragon Snow Mountain and the 5,396 metres (17,703 ft) Haba Snow Mountain in a series of rapids under steep 2,000 metres (6,600 ft) cliffs. Legend says that in order to escape from a hunter, a tiger jumped across the river at the narrowest point (still 25 metres (82 ft) wide), hence the name.”

 

Despite the astonishing lack of tigers, the gorge is a premier hike in China – and for good reason as it turns out. Hordes of tourists are bused in daily. Domestic tourists aren’t exactly known for seeking out strenuous activity while on vacation so most hit the viewing towers instead of the trails. Considering the rain, they may’ve been onto something. 

 

So while they kept warm and dry, our bus putted along the mountain road, filled with Italians, French, Americans, and a few accents that I couldn’t quite place. 

 

Unfortunately, none of us – save the two Chinese – spoke Chinese. One happened to be our Drama and the other, an athletic looking guy in shower shoes. So when our driver suddenly pulled to a stop to drop us off along the lower road instead of the trailhead, confusion ensued. But after a few minutes and a jumble chatter in several languages, the situation became more clear. The normal trail head on the high road had apparently been blocked by a rock slide. Honestly, I can’t recall how we found out and I don’t recall where the others went. Maybe Drama found out for us, maybe it was the Italian girls, or maybe the iphone told us. In any event, around 10:30am we pulled on our rain coats, strapped on our packs, and started our hike up a steep, narrow road that was supposed to connect us to the trail.

 

The first section was paved and wound around the smattering of traditional Naxi houses and terraced farms like a river. It was on this road up that we encountered the outhouse you’ll see pictured. I only include it because the outhouse had running water, literally, mountain water running right through it and smelled better than any squatty potty in all of Asia, which is to say that it didn’t smell at all. The fact that I think this deserves a small mention probably makes as much of a statement about how our sensibilities had changed after nearly two years abroad as it does about the outhouse. Anyway.

 

 

Said outhouse was connected to a small, family owned restaurant. It was lucky because the weather had shifted from a manageable mist to a gentle, soaking rain. The kind that looks innocent but will chill you to the bone before you’ve realized it. We ducked inside, covered our packs with grocery sacks as best we could, bought some water from the proprietor and continued on. 

 

It was also on this road that we managed to collect an addition to our party, specifically, a man who was very determined that we hire his mule. I had heard that the local folk’s main source of subsistence was grain and hikers, therefore, we were prey.

 

In the shot below, other hikers have a similar encounter.

 

 

James and I quickly declined and he dropped it, probably sensing that the tall male foreigner wasn’t the type to be easily persuaded. It wasn’t that we didn’t want to “support the local economy.” It’s just that our wallets were already being used up supporting it in other ways.

 

But the man wasn’t a pushover either and immediately turned to Drama. They talked business briefly, our friend declined, and we continued up the mountain. He followed. In fact, for the next few hours he trailed along behind us, tugging at his mule’s lead while periodically calling out iterations of his proposition. “200 quai!… 190 quai!”

 

His main tactic seemed to be to follow us until we got tired – either of hiking or of being pestered – and wanted his help. After a time Drama did get tired and so bargained with him for a while but in the end couldn’t get the price below 150 rmb. No matter, the game had begun and after getting a whiff of blood, our pursuer was hardly ready to give up. 

 

Now and again James and I would pause on the trail and glance down the mountain until our eyes spotted the familiar blue umbrella under which we would find our traveling companion. And a few yards behind her, a man, and behind him, a mule. Meanwhile, the rain rolled off the bamboo leaves and dropped onto our packs, soaking deeper and deeper while the fog rolled in thicker and thicker. 

 

It was in those spaces of time that we started to wish that Drama had spent the 150rmb. The sun was moving faster than we were. But it was her first real hike, I’d remind myself. Her first time traveling like this. Maybe she’s just taking in the scenery or taking pictures. I looked closer; most of the time her head was bowed.

  

I didn’t know how accustomed to the outdoors she was – I couldn’t think very much – but she was on the phone literally half the 9 hour hike. As I found out later, she was bouncing between both parents in an effort to get one of them to buy her a train ticket. Unfortunately, her phone battery refused to die.

 

Looking back, it was actually pretty comical – her slow, plodding steps, ever slogging forward, the umbrella bobbing along through the bushes as if we were being pursed by a giant blue turtle. 

 

 

As quaint as the scene was the truth was that we were cold and didn’t want to be looking for our guest house in the dark. We tried many methods to get her to speed up. 

 

First, we tried the direct method: “We should walk faster so that we get to the guesthouse before dark.” But she seemed unconcerned. 

 

Then we tried to walk with her, hoping to set the pace…but that method failed because James apparently, “can’t walk that slow.” No luck again.

 

Next we tried waiting for her, hoping that seeing us waiting would prod her to hurry up a little. But whenever we’d stop, she’d stop, even if we were 50 yards ahead. It seemed impossible. 

 

Finally, in a last ditch effort, we resorted to food incentives. This probably had the most success because about half way through she got really hungry, having already eaten all of her own snacks, and wanted to eat ours. So I told her that if she could catch James she could have some peanut bars. I could hardly use mine as incentive since she had already eaten them.

 

Mostly this arrangement induced wailing and shouts of “peanuts! peanuts! peanuts!” It was very embarrassing. Despite her having really decent English and my blushing attempts to coach her, Drama could not pronounce “peanuts” to save her life.

 

Instead, she walked along shouting about male anatomy while I trailed along with a hand over my face, desperately hoping that no English speakers were within earshot. She would not be quieted in her pursuit.

 

In the end, I think her pace did quicken slightly. James had even stopped to wait for us to catch up, though I’ll admit he was a little surprised at how happy she was to see him and his backpack full of peanut bars. But we still hadn’t reached our guest house and evening was rushing on. 

 

– Trip Log: August 17, 2014