Arunachal Pradesh – TRAVELTRUNK.NET

Loud woops suddenly rend the air as we climb towards Mayodia pass. As I jump from the vehicle with the camera the driver, as excited as me, says ‘van manush’, literally tree man or ape. A Hoolock gibbon! Through the thick greenery I spy a black shape swing adeptly on the vines draped across the trees. The call is returned from above the road. In the end though, all I get is a blurry shot of a black face and the unmistakable white brows! (soon enough there was an opportunity to be within touching distance of one…another story for another time) We are off to a good start into the folds of Arunachal again.

Read-Along the Lohit on the Long Road to Walong

Gateway to Heaven

Anini, deep inside the Dibang Valley, home to the Idu Mishmis, has been on the itinerary for months but the year and the season are coming to a close when we cross the Dhola Sadiya bridge over bleached sandbanks of a drying Lohit. Past mustard fields a mellow yellow green and silver tinged bullrushes.

In Roing, the Christmas stars are off the shop shelves and on the neat houses lining the road. We climb an invisible road to Mayodia pass, the go-to-place in winter for snow for the Assamese around. It is well camouflaged by the thick foliage as it snakes up the mountain. On one hand of the pass the Lohit, Dibang and Siang merge in the hazy horizon to form the mighty Brahmaputra and on the other extend snow capped ranges and deep valleys like crumpled paper till Andra La on the northern border with Tibet and somewhere in Upper Dibang lies the lost Pemako, the ‘promised land’ of the Tibetans. Into this remote fecund land we descend after a perfunctory stop to take in the clouds flowing down like water over densely forested ranges.

The village of Hunli is visible at the bottom on a shoulder seemingly in a face-off with drawing book mountain rising from the depths with its arms outstretched, every inch covered in thick forest. At Hunli we nearly take off towards Hayuliang on a shiny new road since there is almost no signage pointing towards Anini. It is a long drive into the crumpled ranges along the Dibang. By the time we reach Anini, Orion the Hunter is rising and has one boot on a peak and his belt looks like a three star tower. So close to the clear heavens!

Tall Mountains and Towering Falls

Anini sits on a plateau at the confluence of two rivers draining two valleys. Dri, the picturesque Angrim valley and Mathun, a narrower namesake. It is a small town and a district headquarter. After a night in near freezing temperature, it is an early start into the Angrim Valley under a slightly dour sky. A sparkling Dri keeps company, mostly skipping and rushing over boulders, at places resting calmly in crystal-clear emerald pools cradling sunken logs and fish.

Another river tale is- Barot And the Serendipitous Catch in the Uhl River

The valley rises gently and after Acheso village it widens into a rolling meadow of copper ferns. One can only imagine the greenscape it would be post monsoon. Soon we are deep inside the Dibang Wildlife sanctuary. Waterfalls dot the mountains as the valley narrows and we reach the Insta famous Chigu resort on a massive sandbar. A healthy respect for rivers in the mountains and the need to keep them at a distance is so ingrained that being on a river bed is a little disconcerting. After the customary photographs (it is quite a picture with the wooden and red roofed alpine huts on wooden platforms with the towering Chigu Falls and snow peaks as backdrop) we head for the Mawu Aando Falls.

The short walk to it is a teaser of what hiking in these parts would be like. Walking on fallen mossy logs, climbing root steps takes us to a waterfall where the mountain looks like it has been chiselled precisely and at perfect angles by a machine. A thoughtfully made wooden platform and a low bench faces the water flying of the rockface. A place to meditate! Back on the road the drive ends abruptly a little beyond Brueni. There is only a wild forest of towering pines and boulders but soon it will give way to man and his machines.

Dream Ride along the Dre

Our plan is to cycle back from Brueni to the Dree-Afra campsite. I test out the brakes (the only things that matter!) before we roll down. Off we go in the bracing cold which makes my eyes water. It is an exhilarating dream run on an excellent yet nearly deserted road. Down a narrow valley enclosed by snow-capped, thickly forested steep ranges.

Ride through- Cycling in Dehradun – The Best Routes for Leisure Rides

The thirty five odd kilometers end much too soon. I try to take in the fleeting scenery but one needs to keep an eye (watering and wandering!) on the road. A Mithun moves ruminatingly on a golden slope as we turn for the resort with it’s white beach for a late lunch. Still waters mirror the mountains and clouds. Redstarts quiver around on the boulders. With the light fading the cold returns with vengeance.

Holy Night

Back in Anini, from the heights above it, in the descending dusk, we watch a falcon hunt it’s supper before a silver full moon rising above the pink snow peaks leaves us starstruck. Being Christmas eve, we are treated to carol singing by a group of locals who with their innate musical talent and joyful fervour have us singing along soon enough albeit with a limited repertoire. Silent Night is the only suggestion I can give when asked! But what we lack in substance we make up in enthusiasm.

For more carol stories read- 3 Churches in Mhow: Discovering Obscure History and Outstanding Carols

Women of the Valley

Next day while heading to Matu Fall we cross a small village of barely a dozen houses. Orange trees laden with the tiny, deliciously sweet and juicy fruit and drying vines of Kiwi plantations dot the area. The houses are a colourful lot on low stilts. We walk past a kitchen garden which looks like a miniature edible jungle, wild and organic. The path ends at a house with an open gate.

A woman is chopping a banana trunk. Breakfast for the pigs we are told by the grandson of the owners. The lady of the house is supervising and given the language barrier the grandson who studies in Anini and speaks fluent hindi translates. Her weathered smiling face begs to be photographed but she isn’t dressed up, translates the grandson. (haha..I understand!)Mithun horns line the ledge of a small traditional structure outside another house. Ahead in a steep field an old lady painstakingly clears the shrubbery. A smile is a language that needs no interpretation.

Also read- At the Darwaza of a Road Less Travelled

At Matu Falls a mini dam and a resort is being constructed and beyond, a new road is being cleaved from the mountain. It is a graveyard of massive massacred trees, hacked and strewn. Somewhere up in the higher reaches is the famous Seven Lake trek of Arunachal. Glacial beauties right now only accessible to the few tough and brave enough to venture into this last frontier. Somewhere I hope it stays a ‘Pemako’, famed but lost to man.

Fact File-

Getting There-Dibrugarh(376 km) is the nearest airhead. Tinsukia(326km) the nearest railhead. Then a taxi.

Staying– Dree Afra Campsite offers tents. There are a few simple homestays and hotels in Anini. The Chigu Camp is not operational.

Best Season- October to April.

‘It was golden brown? You should see it in the summer when it is green or in winter when it is white.’ We are told upon our return from Mechukha, making it sound like a seasonal chameleon. It took us almost two days of being on the road.. Correction.. one day on a road and thereafter a dirt track that went from bad to backbreaking to enter the traditional Tibetan style gate at the beginning of Mechukha. Chameleon or not, what Men-chu-kha or ‘medicinal snow of water’ (As the name means in the Memba language) at 6000 feet was, was tonic. The cold wind blew all the tiredness away and the sight of bare moulded hills, golden in the afternoon light with a gentle grey Yargyup Chhu was a vision of timeless tranquillity. What else was it?

Technicoloured Mechukha

We enter the town‘s wide main street lined with shops, their windows displaying colourful wares but everything makes its way up, like us, and adds to the cost. The gaily painted stilted wooden houses sit surrounded by barren kitchen gardens and trees in bloom. Most have colourful Tibetan prayer flags. The river is a smoky grey thread skirting the low range with sagging bridges connecting the far bank.

After a quick late lunch, we make a run for Dorjeeling village tucked behind the range which has Hollywood inspired Mechukha written on top. A great day hike, I think. The village spreads out in the shallow moorland. Scattered houses in technicolour, accompanied by prayer flags and flowering trees are a recurring sight.

We make our way to a low walking bridge hanging over a stream but some planks are missing as are bits of the side steel mesh. Having explored the land of swinging bridges a bit, I have yet to cross one but this is still not The one. Dinner is a warming bowl of thukpa and ubiquitous chowmein at one of small eateries in the Mechukha market.

Snow Show

I am woken up early and dragged out of a super cozy bed. One look at all the snow and the cold ironically ceases to matter. The clouds, like stage curtains, have risen to reveal the day’s show and though a wide V in the immediate range the towering forested range is visible. Its crest and trees covered with fresh powdery snow. All around, the dark blue mountains have a white mantle.

The tiny yellow red monastery on the hillock guarding one end, makes a dramatic picture against the descending clouds and deodar covered mountains. Across the river the prayer flags have yet not been woken by the breeze but the ponies chomp around a Chorten.

We are on the road soon, climbing into a narrowing valley. Blooming white and pink rhododendrons dot the deodar forest. We reach the ITBP camp above the confluence of the Yargyup Chhu and Lemang Chhu on the only flat ground for miles. A permit is needed to go beyond but couple of scooters whiz past. We cross a churned-up dirt patch beyond the camp, swerving and tipping crazily. I close my eyes and curse my choices and pray. (Again!) We make our way up to rocky, snow bound Lemang, the last post on the Indian side where civilians are permitted, crossing a small bailey bridge and chorten looking gay and festive with prayer flags below a gigantic rocky massif.

Milky waterfalls, twinning with the rhododendrons, disappear into the depths of the gorge. I am gifted pink ones by the man. (Later I read about a genus discovered recently that is found only in that area) We enjoy the fresh snow against a backdrop of grey clouds shrouding the bowl of whitened rock and trees that is Lemang. While returning we hear a crackle, then a rumble and see a mini avalanche on the heights above. Nature is magnificently raw here.

Many coloured Monasteries

While returning, the rain gods hold on and don’t rain on our parade, too hard. We stop to see Hanuman’s face on the rock face. Nature has hewn a face alright with heavy brows and a wry look. But Hanuman?… At the confluence of the Yargyup Chhu and a pretty stream brightened by white rhododendrons and colourful flags, a Gurudwara made by the army is a pit stop for most visitors. I think the langar is the main magnet because the legendary rock is tucked away across the road. A narrow path marked by prayer flags brings us to a bright red temple abutting a boulder.

This place, claimed by two religions, has a rock with deep indentions made supposedly by Guru Nanak or Guru Padmasambhav meditating under it, depending on whose story appeals more. Another legend takes us down a slippery wooden staircase to a cracked boulder which only the ‘pure’ can pass through. I look through the crack and feel my claustrophobia hold my adventurous spirit’s hand and nudge it towards the stairway to the stream below. I tamely follow to the stone bank below. Small piled up stones are reminders of the faithful and we hunt for the fabled wishing pool. In a rock we find a milky bowl with a never-ending supply of water and pebbles. I hesitate and with que sera sera shrug gamely fish out the three pebbles that will portend our luck. With a mixed bag deposited into the adjoining pool we make our way to the next monastery- the five hundred year old Samten Yangchag.

Gods thankfully have insight. (Pic Credits-ASR)

It sits on a hill with a commanding view of the valley, which the gods inside cannot see anymore thanks to the massive new chorten with a base of white bathroom tiles. The double storied simple wooden structure on low stilts has brightly coloured eaves and multicoloured windows. It is being repainted inside and the deities look scattered but still dwarf everything inside. The caretaker’s wife and impish little son, Dorje show us around. He scampers around laughing happily but baulks at being photographed. Outside the wind has whiplashed a peachy tree nearby into a permanent stoop.

Low-hanging Fruit

After a late lunch we walk along the river to a hanging bridge. It is low over the shallow and silent river. To do or not to do? Lets just do it! I realise if it doesn’t sway I’ll be fine but that means traversing it alone.

Also, there is no other way to walk to those picture postcard houses across the river. I do it! Haha..I hope I can repeat the feat, else it’ll be a looong walk in the dark. In the fading light a lady chasing her duck out from under her green house while a little boy peers out of the brightly lit kitchen window. We exchange greetings and she poses for a photo, asking how does she look. She looks like a warm sight on a cold evening.

Early next morning after a night of heavy rain, the deodars and the crests of the higher horse-shoe ranges cradling this golden valley are liberally dusted with white. On the road I turn back to see the peaks being swallowed up by the clouds. The show is over for the day. I’ll be back. I’m ready for an encore, in any colour.

Fact File-

Getting there-

Rail– Take a train to Dibrugarh, Guwahati or Naharlagun and then a taxi to Mechukha.

Road– Mechukha is a two day journey with a night halt at Aalo.

Air-Pawan Hans helicopters connect Naharlagun (Itanagar) via, Pasighat and Aalo to Mechukha on Mondays and Saturday. But they are weather dependent.

Staying– Aalo has simple budget hotels and homestays.

Mechukha has mostly homestays and one or two small hotels.

Best time to visit– September to May. But carry your raincoat and the water bottle!

Avoid plastics or carry them back .

Category: Arunachal Pradesh

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