The Trisuli River, Nepal

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We left Pokhara on a comfortable “tourist bus” and headed to the Trisuli River, which is about 3 hours away on the road back to Kathmandu. We met up with our river guide, to go on a whitewater rafting trip. It was a really hot day, and Dennis had been vomiting the night before so we were both looking forward to getting into the cool river after sweating it out for hours.
The river is graded as a class 3+, and class 6 during monsoon season. it started off gently enough. I had never been rafting before, but was a little disappointed when the guide assigned Dennis and another young guy with tattoos as the bow oarsman. Soon enough I was thankful that I was not in the front seat when we hit our first class 3 rapids named “welcome” rapids. We got soaked throughout the trip, each set of rapids feeling bigger than the last.
The last set of rapids the guide asked us if we wanted to go the “chicken” way or the “tiger” way. Of course we all opted for the “tiger.” The guide went through some last minute reminders on what do in case we capsized, but looking at the rapids they did not seem that big at all. We assumed that it was just a psychological ploy to make us feel braver, and garner a better tip. Halfway through the rapids we hit a large hole, with a wave about 6-8 foot high on the other side. Last thing I saw way the left side of the boat coming over my head and flipping upside down on top of me with bodies flying everywhere. I quickly got out from underneath the raft, after swallowing a lot of water while I was screaming. As soon as I was able to breath and open my eyes I saw a huge wave wash over me and push me down into the water, swallowing more water again. As I surfaced once again, I positioned myself with my feet pointed downstream as Dennis had taught me, floating on my back. I saw Dennis, as he swam over to me, extending an oar handle for me to hold on to. I must have had a sheer look of terror, because he told me to relax and breathe, and swim at a 45 degree angle upstream so I could make it over to him, and where the raft was. The guide quickly righted the raft, and we eventually got all of our ten passengers back on board, all sputtering and hyperventilating, but laughing, having enjoyed every minute of it.
As we ate lunch we were told that the guide had intentionally flipped our raft. I found this hard to believe, as it was really a foolhardy thing to do for a boat full of amateurs. We spent the night in a tent along the beach on the river, being catered to by a fleet of Nepalese giving us endless cups of tea and plates of food. Over beers the guide admitted that he had in fact capsized us on purpose, and informed us we asked for it, and looked tough enough to handle it. In a land with no liability waivers, I guess we become their entertainment.
The next morning we needed to catch a ride upstream to meet our other guide for some rappelling. We flagged down a bus going in that same direction, but were informed there was no room inside, but plenty of room on the roof. I figured what the hell, and we climbed up the ladder on the rear of the bus, and onto the roof on the huge bus.
Riding on top of buses and trains is common practice in Asia, but it is extremely dangerous and all guide books advise against it. As I hung on for dear life to the rusty roof rack, I could see why. Through every hair pin turn on this road, the bus leaned, feeling as though it was going to flip over. Eventually I settled in for the trip and began to take in the views of the river and the high mountains, with the wind blowing through my hair; this was actually really fun and thrilling. As I looked along the side of the road, I saw athe old wreckage of a bus, with all the windows broken out and half the roof caved in, dear god is this what happens? I think I’ll count my blessings and have this be my first and last roof ride.
We hiked up the mountain for about an hour to the top of a 65 foot high beautiful waterfall in the middle of the jungle. Our guide gave us a quick refresher in rappelling and down we went, rapelling right down the middle of the waterfall. It was mossy and slippery, so I lost my footing and slammed into the wall a few times, but feeling much safer than on any Nepali bus. The waterfall cascaded into a cool refreshing deep swimming hole at the bottom. We did this again on another waterfall downstream.
Our guide brought us back to the Royal Beach Camp, which is an amazing location for camping, and headquarters of his great company specializing in rafting and kayaking clinics. I wish we had a week to stay and learn some more. Our guide informed us he is the Nepali Kayak champion, and his classes are only $65 a day, what a opportunity.
He helped us hitch a ride to Chitwan National Park, about a 3 hour drive south along the Indian border. We politely declined the first offer of another roof ride, even though Dennis was totally up for it. 3 hours would have turned me grey.
Instead we got on the beloved local bus, crammed in like a clown car. Dennis had the misfortune of being pressed up against a vomiting baby, whose mother continued to nurse feed in between vomits and dry ramen.

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Photos

Our camp friends

Comments

[scott mceuen]

wow! wow!
Jessica, Finally, was able to open and read your personal travel blog, updated right to today. - The stories, scenery, people, customs, pictures are breath taking. -Thank you so much for sharing. At times I envy, other times maybe not.- Have to say you do not look any worse for the miles, trials and wear and tear. But, that's you. Scott p.s. stay safe