A Hiker's Deeee-light. Or, How I Conquered Tiger Leaping Gorge

I can do this. I can do this. I can do….ahhh no I can’t.

I quickly stepped back away from the slippery rock and repositioned my heavy backpack higher on my shoulders. The winding, narrow path of boulders, dust, and rocks had taken us along the edge of the 10,000-foot deep gorge, pressed us against jagged edges of exposed granite and limestone, and had now brought us to the precipice of a steep cascading waterfall. Nope. Nowhere to go but across the slippery rocks and rushing water, mere feet from the waterfall’s edge.

One wrong move, and over you go. Becoming one with the waterfall. Plummeting to an aquatic death.

I tried again, slowly and deliberately placing my foot upon a relatively dry and secure boulder, and shifted my weight onto its surface, wincing with the knowledge that it could easily loosen, and I could easily slip. And I could easily go tumbling over the edge, Humpty-Dumpty style, into the rushing currents of the Yangtze River below.

Slow and steady wins the race.

After a few more tense moments of staring death in the face, I somehow managed to make it across the waterfall. Turning back to take in my feat, I thought, Yep, lived to survive another night in the Gorge.

If you know me at all, you know I appreciate dramatic effects in a story. But, I’m not really exaggerating the risk involved in tackling the wild, crazy Tiger Leaping Gorge. And, now that I’m safely back in Dali, sipping Yunnan coffee and nursing a pair sore legs and a twisted ankle, I feel like I’m in a good position to document my 3-day, 2-night, 14-mile hike up, across, and down Yunnan’s famed Tiger Leaping Gorge.

We started out as fresh-faced, excited TLG novices, marveling at the first sights of the impressive Snow Mountain in the distance and the web-like alluvial fans reaching across the low-lying lands along the Yangtze’s edge. The hike started out easily enough with a gently inclining dirt path up one of the gorge’s shorter mountains. As we excitedly made our way up the first trail, a woman from the Naxi minority community in Yunnan began not-so-subtly following us with her horse. Every time we stopped to take pictures of the vista, she stopped, pretending to let her horse graze. And every time we resumed the climb, she gestured for her horse to continue its climb, as well.
This continued even when we stopped at the first guesthouse along the path for a short break and a snack. Finally, after an hour of awkward silent stalking, she approached us with a map, emphasizing the exhausting and hazardous nature of the approaching “28 bends” portion of the hike (a steeply inclining and admittedly exhausting collection of 28 switchbacks leading up to the crest of the mountain—the highest point in the hike.)



“I can carry you to the top on my horse, no problem. You will be so tired if you try to climb it yourself, especially with your heavy backpacks.”

At this point in the day, I was feeling a little fatigued. The ascent up heavily bouldered, narrow paths was already doing a number on me, and the increasingly heavy backpack on my shoulders was not helping matters.

But I wanted to have the bragging rights of being able to say that I had done this on my own.

“No, thanks. We don’t need a horse.”

The wowan looked at me as though she knew that I couldn’t make it.

“Okay. But I’ll be here when you need it. 80 yuan, I’ll take you up.”

Talk about ye of little faith. Do I really look that incapable?

So we continued, up the dreaded 28 bends. And oooooh it was dreaded. And to make matters worse, there, always 20 feet behind us, was that woman with the horse, tempting us with an end to the pain.

Noooo. I’ve got to do this myself.

And so we forged on, up, and up, and up. I finally had to resort to my iPod to take my mind of the pain. And I breathlessly panted the lyrics to “Eye of the Tiger” and “Livin’ on a Prayer,” we continued to climb.

“It’s the….eye of the tiggerr…” Nope. Not going to make it. I will die of exhaustion. “Tina works the diner…all day…..” I’m going to take that lady up on her offer. Survival on a horse is better than death on foot.

But all of the sudden, the incline slackened. The path flattened, and we could see the clear blue sky hugging the summit of the mountain. I’d made itttttttttt.



And what a view. The bright snow-capped peaks of the Jade Snow Dragon Mountain towered before us, and the broad expanses of rock and forest disappeared into the rushing water of the Yangtze below. It was, in a word, incredible. Words can’t do it justice.

That night, we stayed at the Teahorse Guesthouse, in a room overlooking the mountains. We lounged outside and, over beers, marveled at the twinkling canvas of stars that unfolded over our heads—probably more than I had ever seen in my entire life. I even saw three shooting stars! It was absolutely beautiful. I didn’t even mind that I had to walk 100 feet to shower in a dark community washroom. The view was worth it.

And, thus, for two more days, we hiked the length of the trail—from start to finish. We lost fellow trekkers along the way—those who either lacked the time or the desire to finish the hike in its entirety. But we had made a promise to ourselves that we would finish.

A few highlights from along the way:



•Discovering my Doctor Dolittle-like ability to talk to the mountain goats that grazed along the mountain trails. I’m not kidding. All I needed to do was utter a little “Baaaaaaaa” and they’d look up from their grassy feast, give a complementing “Baaaaaa” in return, and then trot over to me as if we were old goat friends. Legit. (BTW, I credit my mastery of the Wicked soundtrack, and the song “Something Bad” for my mad goat language skills. Just saying.).
•Sharing my Oreos with two young girls we met in a village along the way. I’m always a fan of spreading my bounty of processed junk food.
•Falling face first along the flattest, straightest, safest part of the trail. Just call me Grace.
•Meeting a real, live Man of the Mountains—a gregarious and eccentric Italian expat named Marco who lived with “his woman” in the neighboring town of Zhongdian and who hiked the trail regularly, spreading his chorus of Italian words of wisdom and jovial chuckles wherever he
roamed.
•Realizing that the final quarter of the trail consisted of an unmarked hike into a rural Chinese mountain community…complete with a bevy of ambiguous forks in the road, paths that ended in one location and picked back up at random spots hundreds of yards away, treks through active Chinese construction sites, and a lively climb up, over, and down a collection of human-sized boulders.

After a barge trip across the Yangtze, we crossed to the other side of the gorge, and took a bus back to civilization in Lijiang, where we’d left the majority of our luggage a few days earlier.



So. I officially conquered Tiger Leaping Gorge. I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t feel a sense of accomplishment for completing this physically and emotionally challenging hike. If you didn’t think I had it in me to go a few days without showering, travel without my straightener, and live without my Bare Escentuals (Mother, I’m talking to you), I have just proved you wrong ☺. But beyond this physical feat, I am even happier that I got to see one of the most beautiful environments I have ever witnessed. The gorge is absolutely breathtaking, and the incongruous assortment of landscapes, vistas, and geological features along the way is truly amazing.



Again, words can’t really express.