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| Prem and I emerged from a particularly thick patch
of trees and found ourselves teetering on the edge of a narrow ravine whose
steep sides descended 1,500 feet to the river below. Now acutely aware of
the slippery snow beneath our feet we quickly scrambled back a few yards.
The chituwaa tracks led to a "crazy little bridge" that spanned
the yawning chasm.
The word "crazy" turned out to be an understatement for the bridge that separated us from the Hidden Land I had been seeking. Tilted at a severe angle from side to side it had large lengthwise gaps between its primary timbers. The sides of the bridge, pieced together from brittle bits of shrubbery, came only to mid thigh and the snow that had fallen upon it was blown and frozen into a patchwork of thick ice. Far below ran a mighty river that from such a height seemed more like a tiny stream. The snow leopard tracks crossed the bridge and disappeared into the bushes. We never did see the rare and elusive cat but now faced with this seriously questionable bridge, we both praised it and cursed it at the same time. Prem turned to me and with his chest swelled with heroism and a look of courage etched upon his face, he gestured toward the bridge, "You go first." |
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