The harrowing journey was far from over. We were nearly there but had one last, and rather unexpected stretch to negotiate. A left here and a right there, and soon we found ourselves on a what resembled a bridge across the Lakkavalli Dam. Nearly 250 meters of brown slush, followed by a steep, muddy incline separated us from the resort. I stared at the mess in disbelief, convinced that our 14-year-old sedan wasn’t up to the challenge. To make matters worse, it started to rain once again, hampering visibility and rendering the task almost impossible.
“Isn’t there another way to get there,?” I asked my husband.
He shook his head and urged me to get moving before the weather changed from bad to worse. I took a deep breath, shifted the stick into first and attempted to drive through the muck. Every time I pressed the gas pedal, I could feel the car shimmy and slide a couple of inches. Finally, ten minutes, numerous attempts and a very dirty car later, we were on the asphalt, albeit pockmarked road once again, the signs welcoming us to the resort.
Why in heaven's name did we make travel plans in the monsoon, I don’t know. Although, we did manage to strike Jog Falls off our “must visit” list. I thought that the journey so far was rather adventurous; and how mistaken was I, for the adventure, and a rather unpleasant one was right around the corner.
It was a dull morning, the sky laden with angry, grey clouds when we hopped onto the motorboat for a boat safari. My fear of rivers ( read my blog, The River Rafting Misadventure), coupled with the crabby mood brought on by the depressing weather meant we were off to an inauspicious start.
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| Osprey |
There were eight other people on the boat, including the boatman and the naturalist, as we sailed down the monstrous Bhadravati river. The water seemed mildly turbulent when we set off and I tried to convince myself that I simply had to get over this fear, and this was a good time to start.
The boat swayed mildly as the wind picked up speed. I looked at the faces of the other occupants, and much to my chagrin, I seemed to be the only one on the brink of a nervous breakdown. The others were enjoying the rise and fall of the boat, and my husband, well, he was busy photographing the River Terns and Ospreys perched on the dead trees. I was too nervous to pick up my camera, sure that I’d drop it into the water. An uneventful 30 minutes followed and I finally began to relax, even managing to get some good shots of Cormorants and an occasional Oriental Darter.
A little drizzle, followed by strong breeze rendered any attempts to photograph the birds useless. I sat down, hoping the drizzle would slacken. This, of course, was not to be, as it was no longer drizzling. The rain came down in full force, the sheets of cold water painfully jabbing my arm.
The boatman, who figured the downpour would abate in a couple of minutes, started the motor, proceeding at full speed. The vast river assumed the color of lead, the angry, grey waves tossing the boat up and down like a ping pong ball. My nervousness developed into full-blown panic, as I watched the boatman struggling to steer against the howling wind. I observed the anxious expressions around me, including my husband’s. His grim appearance and quiet demeanor told me all I needed to know. If we didn’t turn around now, we were going to be in a lot of trouble.
“Splat!” went the boat, as the boatman tried his best to turn around and head back to camp. Battling against the furious winds and torrential rains requires a certain level of skill and composure, something I prayed the boatman possessed. One of the women onboard had her head bowed down either in prayer or in fear, I wasn’t sure. She gripped the steel rod on the sides so tightly her hands seemed to turn grey. Once again, I found myself at the mercy of a river. That’s when I vowed I’d not set foot inside a boat, no matter how calm or serene the water appeared...if we managed to get out of this pickle in one piece first.
“We’re heading back now due to the sudden change in weather,” announced the naturalist to a rather distressed audience.
“About time,” I heard my husband mumble under his breath.
The boat titled precariously as the motor propelled us forward, engaged in a fierce battle with mother nature. The helplessness of the situation dawned on all of us and I’m certain that we were praying for the same thing at that moment; to feel the ground beneath our feet. I could barely see ahead, so heavy was the downpour so I cannot imagine how the boatman finally managed to maneuver through the choppy waters. Steering deftly, he managed to get the boat, which was dangerously bobbing up and down, to the safety of the shore.
The adrenaline rush ebbed and I found myself shivering violently as my husband helped me get off, the relief apparent on his pasty white face. Some of the guests laughed nervously, while one lady simply threw up as the shock wore off. Needless to say, we were humbled by the fury of nature.
The nightmare sometimes returns to haunt me, and I find myself slowing down instinctively when I drive over bridges or looking away when the airplane flies over a waterbody.
That said, there’s something that hair-raising situations often do to you. Once they pass and you manage to get out unscathed, you feel absolutely alive! I suppose that’s what drives the adrenaline junkies to lust after danger; the reawakening of the senses and that compulsive desire for adventure.
