Mondaugen's Law

The 80 Mile Round

It’s not really 80 miles long. We hiked perhaps 30 miles. Much of the rest is closed to the public in an effort to save it. In the 1980's, Kodai students could really hike the full 80. The original trail stretches from the school to the Kerala border in deep wilderness all the way back to school.

We drove to Poondi camp on Friday night, the school's "wilderness camp." Kitchen staff made us chicken tandoori, roast potatoes, beans and hot chocolate for dinner under the covered court. They set out coals to cook doughboys. We slept in tents, though. I'm sorry, we tried to sleep.

All through the night two packs of wild dogs fought a turf war around our tents. I entered the fray around midnight, but scored no direct hits. I had little sleep. I was hoarse the next morning.

In the morning we hoisted 50 lb. packs, and hiked up a staircase of rocks to the first ridge. The sun was behind clouds, so nobody died.

We used roads the British built in case of Japanese invasion. They're very overgrown now, but still signs of the Raj can be found. This milestone became a kilometer stone sometime after 1947. What the British chipped into it, the Tamils painted over.

When we reached Ibex Cliffs, we looked down. Well, first we sat down, then looked down.

What we saw impressed us.

We tried pitching our tents near the edge. It didn't work too well due to the constant 35 mph wind.

So we found another place to camp, in a slightly sheltered place. We made a fire (a minor miracle), had hot soup for dinner. We went back to the cliffs to watch the lights on the plains. Then we bedded down in a light drizzle. At 4am, the heavens opened, and most tents were filled to the brim. In the morning, we awoke inside a cloud.

A morning of hard hiking brought us to the Kerala border and the Pampadum Shola National Park. It's a nice park.

We climbed the fire tower and looked about. We sawthe rolling hills in every direction, and I got a touch of vertigo.

On the way back we walked through Leech Meadows. It's a series of glades known for an impressive leech population. We were bitten many times. We saw many piles of fresh elephant dung. We were not charged, but we were impressed by the leeches. You could see them on the ground, some 4 and 5 inches long. I did not dally to take photos. But when we stopped to pick them off, I did snap a shot or two.

The hike was long and hard. We were delayed by many fallen tress, a fresh gaur skeleton, a natural spring with delicious cold water, and a stream crossing that required the removal of shoes. But we were welcomed back to civilization, after dark, with a manly movie poster in the town of Poondi. We were all impressed with the manliness portrayed.

After I got home, I washed two days of dirt off. It took a lot of effort. Then when I unpacked my bag, I found a leech hiding in my undershirt. I evicted it promptly.

Palar Falls in Pictures

More pics, fewer words. From recent hikes.

ViIpatti at 6:45 am, from a bus.

The view from Vilpatti

Dr. Seuss Eucalyptus trees

Grasslands

A very odd tree

Why I hike

Palar Falls

Looking down the Palar Valley towards Palani

A very odd tree, Banyan, I think

A forest bridge

A teak plantation

A tree that spoke to me

And one that bled (sap)

Yes, we do swing on vines here

The view from the top of Rat Tail Falls

A leech bite

  A mature tree that fell ove, but kept on growing. Note root ball on left

This is a panther track. Not the sandal, dimwit, but the vague impressions to the right.

Rat Tail Falls. We stood at the top and looked down.

And last but not least a spectacular view towards the Kerala border.

Elephants and Beer

When a small boy, I really wanted to be a polar bear. They were huge, strong, furry and cool. I would practice in our living room: roaring and snarling, standing on my hind legs, pawing a seal (cushion) to death and eating it. But with age and maturity I lost that ambition. Now I want to be an elephant.

I’ve always known them to be elegant, soulful and highly intelligent creatures. In India, I’ve met temple elephants that endear within minutes. They stand and sway for most of the day, blessing anyone who offers them a snack or a rupee for their mahout. An elephant blessing is special—they bonk you gently on your head with the tips of their trunks. Considering their bulk, the bonking is gossamer gentle. Others prefer to give their trunks a full body hug, or a caress to between the eyes. But the greatest joy is just to stand near an elephant in unspoken communion. They seem to like company.

Still, none of this inspired a lust for transmogrification. It was when I found out that Elephants reduce entire villages to smithereens searching for beer that I was smitten.

I love good beer and will do many things to get it. But I have never been able to reduce a village to smithereens. This combination is just too much fun. I have to become an elephant.

Elephants, you see, love beer. They can smell rice beer brewing in an Indian village from miles away. Their trunks go ‘snuff’ with confirmation, they discuss strategy:

“How do we get the beer this time?”

“Good question. What if we reduce the village to smithereens?”

“Good idea. Let’s go.”

Then the entire herd move in—ladies, gentlemen, adolescents and children—to get at the beer. All resistance from villagers and the structures built around the vats of beer are dealt with harshly.

After they drink their fill, which, of course, is every last drop, the elephants tend to act, well, drunk. Really drunk, in fact. They don’t hold their liquor well at all. Drunken elephants trumpet loudly. They accidentally knock things over such as trees, cars and houses. They get into fights. They make love to the wrong partners. They vomit. And they otherwise behave poorly.

But they’re elephants, so they get away with it.

This is why I must become an elephant.

But there is a downside. Sadly, most of their drunken adventures end badly, either for people, or themselves (see here, here, here and here). I’d never be such an elephant. I’d make sure nobody got hurt.

I’d rather model myself on Moti Guj, a magnificent beast who enjoyed his liquor.

The other major downside is the quality of beer in India. I’m afraid my transmogrification would have to occur either in the US, with all the microbreweries around, or Germany. Sadly, neither country is very hospitable to elephants. Rock and a hard place, man.

Indian beer is sadly a sore subject. I won't bore you to tears with tales of sour taste, added glycerine, high expense (60 rs. a bottle in Tamil Nadu, about US$1.50), and overall warmth unless quaffed at home where controlled chilling is possible (but maybe I will in the next blog).