On top of the leaning mountain of Naneghat

On top of the leaning mountain of Naneghat

On his very first trek, Siva Sankar takes on Naneghat in the Western Ghats, where one mountain has a disconcerting slant

Two-and-a-half hours after leaving Mumbai, as we drive along the freshly re-laid, tree-lined Kalyan-Nirmal national highway 222, we catch a glimpse of Naneghat, still some distance away. There is no mistaking the seemingly standalone mountain in the Western Ghats — shrouded in mist, the clouds in a greyish-purple embrace with the hilltop. And then I notice it: the bizarre slant of the mountain. One push, or a gust, it appears, can send the whole mountain tumbling down. “It only looks like that from down here. When we get there, it won’t look as challenging,” a seasoned trekker reassures me, a debutant with a new pair of Weinbrenner shoes. Ten of us had left the city at 4.30am for Naneghat, 163 kilometres away. The lush, monsoon-kissed rural environs, coming to life on a July morning, makes the drive invigorating. Naneghat immediately casts a multi-sensory spell with its clean, fragrant air, birdsong, sounds of nearby streams, and cool, green surroundings. The foliage is bright, almost a luminescent green that radiates freshness immediately elevating my mood. We pick up a couple of stout sticks from the wayside and set off on a good 45-minute ‘walk’, before parking ourselves on a flat strip beside a stream. The rushing water makes therapeutic sounds. It’s perfect for a picnic breakfast and everyone chips in to prepare super-fresh, vegetarian sandwiches. We are now ready for the trek itself. Initially, the inclined path is muddy but easy enough to negotiate, with trees forming a nice canopy over us. But soon, we are zig-zagging our way up a boulder- and pebble-strewn path. It’s no longer a cakewalk, and I have to negotiate every step with care. The stick that I pick up is a huge help — how thoughtful of trekkers to leave behind something useful. When we pause for breath, we look back and see the vista developing behind us, realising that we’ve climbed quite a bit. Encouraged, we resume the trek that is getting tougher by the minute. Along the way, wildflowers, herbs and mushrooms, butterflies, golden-yellow crabs, assorted caterpillars, spiders and snails, hopping baby frogs and crickets, and howls of unseen creatures (“big monkeys”, someone says)… these help keep our minds off the strain of climbing. The trek splinters our team into smaller groups as some charge ahead while others lag behind. Again and again, we play catch up, using toy whistles to call out to each another. A patch of level ground comes as welcome relief. We turn around, and take in the stunning panorama of a dense, green valley and plains far beyond. By now, the mountains loom over us, appearing gigantic. The slant that had intimidated me earlier has disappeared, or so it appears. Instead, Naneghat seems to rise vertically to 2,750 feet above sea level, its visible side flaunting the steely granite it is made of, coated with strokes of the natural green of wild grass, plants and moss. The peak still looks beyond our reach. We continue climbing and after what seems like an eternity, we reach the famed caves of Naneghat, with inscriptions on their walls. I realise now that the inclined path we took cuts diagonally through two mountains to the other side. Naneghat is essentially a mountain pass. Connecting the Konkan coast and the Deccan Plateau, it was used as a toll-booth where coins (nane in Marathi) were collected from traders and travellers. We walk right up to the clifftop. It doesn’t feel like you are on top of a mountain until you walk to the edge and look down. The sight is breathtaking, and the height nauseating. Did we really just climb all this way up? The descent is trickier and takes an hour longer than the climb. We may have passed through only hours earlier, but strangely, these pathways feel different on the way down. The trek up and down takes us seven hours. But the pain of tired muscles and joint aches that last for days are a small price to pay for the pleasure of climbing that mountain.