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The mountains are calling and I must go, and I will work on while I can, studying incessantly.

- John Muir

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Apr 23, 2015

Mohit Oberoi: My History with Dhauj, Delhi’s Real Trad Area

Mohit "Mo" Oberoi, author of the Delhi rock climbing guidebook talks about his days in Dhauj, NCR Delhi's epic trad rock climbing area.

How does one even begin to write about a giant? Mohit Oberoi’s “Mo” pioneering efforts, along with a tiny clutch of other climbers, to document the climbing routes in Delhi and Dhauj in Haryana, is legendary, the culmination of which is the Guide to Rock Climbing in and around Delhi published in 2001, the first such book for Delhi and its environs.

Early days in Dhauj

As a 13-year-old, Mo started climbing under the tutelage of Rohan “Kan” Datta, Tejvir and JC Khurana, Mandip Singh Soin and other members of the then newly formed Peg & Piton Club. Not to forget Robert Chambers, the renowned development practitioner. The latter, who was then working for the Ford Foundation in India, had fallen for rock climbing during a previous posting to Kenya. The Peg & Piton members, and Chambers were hard core about their love for climbing: they were at Dhauj in Haryana every weekend, rain or shine. While Dhauj was already being climbed back in the 1970s, under the redoubtable MS Bawa of the Climbers and Explorers Club, climbing at Dhauj really took off under Chambers.
“He had a van, you know?” Mo explained. “Who had a vehicle in those days? So we would all troop along. He was there, even if it was 46 degrees Celsius.”
Being lowered down the overhang in the Prow area. At 40 feet (12 meters), the route, aptly called "Beasterly" is rated three-starred 5.9R. Members of "Delhi Rock" started climbing about five years ago, and have started again in earnest since last fall.
Being lowered down the overhang in the Prow area. At 40 feet (12 meters), the route, aptly called “Beasterly” is rated three-starred 5.9R. Members of “Delhi Rock” started climbing about five years ago, and have started again in earnest since last fall.
All his climbing mates, but especially Chambers, made an impact on the young Mo.
“One day, Chambers and the Peg & Piton members decided to take on the big wigs in the Haryana government. They witnessed the mining that was going on which was destroying the hills at Dhauj. All that blasting. So they talked to the Chief Secretary in Haryana who sent a telegram to the Faridabad District Collector, instructing that all mining activities should immediately be stopped. So it became a protected area.” Mo smiled at the memory. (Despite the court order, there are still instances of illegal quarrying in the area)

First Ascents in Dhauj

Many first ascents were made, Dhauj being virgin territory.

Once Robert left India in 1985, Tejvir Khurana affectionately known as “Teji”, and Mo became the “go to” people to get to Dhauj. Khurana owned a “Crusader” motorcycle which played a big part in getting to Dhauj quickly. Else, it took changing three buses and three kilometers walking one way to get to Dhauj. Mo also fondly recalled that Sanjay Basu’s “Yezdi” was a great help in getting to the climbing site.“We were there every weekend. Word quickly got around. The first ascents were getting done. But we had a strong ethic to only lead the routes, no top roping,” Mo reminisced. Mo also made trips to Bangalore, Badami, Chhatru, Mount Abu in Rajasthan, Nainital and Pachmarhi in Madhya Pradesh to train. But for Mo, Dhauj was also good training ground.

 Mohit "Mo" Oberoi climbing "Beckon" in the Mughals area, a 5.9 route, standing at 75 feet. Mo first did the ascent in 1987. Image © Raghav Sundar
Mohit “Mo” Oberoi climbing “Beckon” in the Mughals area, a 5.9 route, standing at 75 feet. Mo first did the ascent in 1987. Image © Raghav Sundar

“In those days, people would be surprised by us, climbing the way we did. It was because we climbed at Dhauj.” Mo hastened to add, “But there were of course ‘stories untold’. There were days when we literally could not complete a route at Dhauj. Not a single one. It was just difficult.”

Mo’s climbing mates

Mo’s contemporaries were the late Rohan “Kan” Datta, Sanjay Basu, Tejvir and Jasvir Khurana. The ‘next generation’ of climbers, as Mo called them, emerged in 1986 and were at the fore for a full decade: Annie Jacob, Deepak Jhalani, Depinder Singh, Paramjit Singh, Punit Mehta, Raghav Sundar and Shubhendu Kaushik. Mo eye’s lit up as he recalled the gear that he and his mates used: “We wore jungle or what you also call hunter boots, you know? But then we moved on to canvas shoes, at least you could feel the rock then!” Rock climbing shoes came in much later, being imports or gifts from relatives and friends visiting Europe.

Annie Jacob climbing "Short Haired Civilian", a 5.10c R and 30 feet high route in the Pantheon Rocks area. Image © Raghav Sundar
Annie Jacob climbing “Short Haired Civilian”, a 5.10c R and 30 feet high route in the Pantheon Rocks area. Image © Raghav Sundar

And what about harnesses, I asked.

“We just used to tie the rope around our waists!” Mo beamed at me. The group later acquired seat harnesses. “We’d have maybe one friend – size two or two and a half, and a couple of nuts and wires. That was it. Hip belays were the norm!”

Memorable climbs

“I was 14; it was December 1983. I followed Chambers up ‘Bharat Natyam’. The moves were interesting.” 65 feet (20 meters) high, this is a 5.7+ and two-starred route in the Pantheon Rocks area of Dhauj.

‘Hotel Palace’, a 5.10R and three-starred route at the Pantheon Rocks, also holds a certain fascination for Mo. An ‘R’ rating means that for lead climbing, protection is difficult to place, or the crux is difficult to protect. As such, a fall could lead to injuries. At 80 feet (24 meters), Mo described it as a classic test piece and “very intimidating”.

Abseiling down the rock face in the Harminder area after having fixed the anchors at the top.
Abseiling down the rock face in the Harminder area after having fixed the anchors at the top.

“We were up there one day, Raghav Sundar and I. I was leading and used up the precious and only “friend” I had during the first 15 feet (4.6 meters) of the climb. But once I was close to 40 feet (12 meters), I realised that I needed that “friend”. So my belayer Sundar climbed up to the “friend” at 15 feet, deftly removed it, climbed back down to the ground and threw it up at me. I caught it on the first try! What a good throw!” Mo laughed. “Those were the days!”

And what was the hardest route at Dhauj?

“The ‘Hysteria with a Sten Gun’ in the Prow area was the hardest,” Mo replied without hesitation. This is a 5.10a and triple-starred route, standing at 50 feet (15 meters) high.

Mo remembers the climb, clear as day.” It was 1986 and we had our usual trad gear. It was to be my second ascent. We were wearing our PT (physical training) shoes and spent a good half day there. I remember being on a ledge above the crux overhang, and I spent a long time trying to figure out the problem. I could not see my belayer below anymore. But suddenly, I found myself at the top.  It took a lot of energy, you know, the energy from being young! There was no social media, nothing to shout out to the world. We were doing this purely for the love of climbing!”

Mo was coy about his probably most important outing at Dhauj. It was in Dhauj that he met his wife, Annie, in 1989.

Do you remember which route it was, I pressed.

“No!” Mo laughed. “She was climbing there as a member of the Climbers and Explorers Club.”

He was 21 years old then; they were married five years later.

Feature Image © Raghav Sundar  (Mohit “Mo” Oberoi on the “Direct Windlass” route, rated a 5.10 in the Hawa Mahal area. This photo dates back to 1986. )

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Oct 01, 2018

The Forbidden Zone: Mongols, to Your Horses

The rolling green hills, rocky passes, flower-laden meadows and clear streams of Gorkhi Terelj National Park in northern Mongolia is the birthplace of the Mongols. The Outdoor Journal spent a week on horseback with Stone Horse Expeditions in the heart of this country’s vast wilderness.

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WRITTEN BY

Apoorva Prasad

Tdrihe Khan Khentii mountains stretched before us, from one end of the azure sky to the other. Tegri, the Great Sky God, watched us with his infinite panorama. From here, I could see miles and miles into the distance. This was the “Forbidden Zone”, that unknown wilderness where Genghis Khan was born. As a child and then again much later on, he hunted here, his true home, on a horse, sheltered in a ger or under the blue sky. When he was a boy, exiled with his family into the cold and harsh wilderness of the northern Mongolian hills, his only friends were what these lands contained. After he built an empire and died, it became a sacred and taboo zone, left to the deer and wolves. For decades the area had been closed off. The Soviets enforced it as a Highly Restricted Area to allow them to do what they wished with it – from logging and military exercises, to also countering any potential rise of Mongolian nationalism around the great Khan. Despite those years, the Area remained wild.

No wonder the Mongols worshipped it.

A day before, we had crossed fresh bear tracks. There were no signs of human presence apart from our train of horses and riders. And now, this vista lay in front of us, green and yellow grassy hills, long valleys, meadows of flowers stretching to higher mountains all the way to Siberia, some still snow-dusted despite the summer sun. Burkhan Khaldun stood further behind higher peaks. And that incredible sky. No wonder the Mongols worshipped it. We all lived once under this blue infinity. As we’d ridden northwards away from Ulan Bator, the city’s pollution had faded away long ago, the gray curse had lifted and my eyes had once again accustomed themselves to what they had evolved to do – see long distances, look for hares, deer, bears, navigate passes and ford streams, climb rocks, and watch falcons circle on thermals above. And over the last few days, we had done all these things.

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The weary horseriders arrive in the ger to refresh themselves.

We had left our last camp around mid-morning, some hours ago. One half of the party broke away to ride into another valley out west, while Keith and I wanted to ride up and to the pass in the range of hills that separated the Gorkhi Terelj from the Khan Khentii. We skirted the granite mounds which punctuated the ends of this valley, forded a marshy grassland below the campsite, fought off the bloodsucking horseflies that made our horses’ lives miserable for a little while, eventually entering a tall forest of larch and birch. The ground began to rise as we entered a narrow rocky trail that started to wind uphill. Jerry, my sturdy, stubborn little Mongolian horse plodded on. This easy gait was infinitely more comfortable than the long trots of our previous days in the saddle. Keith Swenson, a taciturn, the 64 year-old owner of Stone Horse Expeditions along with his wife Sabine Schmidt, showed none of the wear I felt – my skin of my thighs were quite literally raw after 50 kilometers of riding and trotting in the wilderness. After a few days Keith opened up with wisecracks. “People ask what do you do, and I say I’m a rider”, says Keith, punning on his American accent. “They think I mean ‘writer’, “and they ask, what have you written?” “So I say, Blackie, Brownie, Ol Dirty Face…”, naming his horses.

These lands, however remote, are important.

Halfway up the trail was a shaman’s totem, poles placed on the ground to make a conical structure, wrapped with bits of fabric and ribbons. But at the base, and near a tree, we also found broken shards of glass, vodka bottles drunk and thrown by unknown travelers who no longer respected their old ways. We’d been riding for an hour or so and we stopped for a short break in the little opening in the forest. It was quite warm in the strong sun, perhaps 30C like every day of the summer, but cold at nights, often dipping below freezing.

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These Mongolian horses play a huge role in making a trip across the steppe easy and fun for riders. Each horse has a unique personality. Big Dirty Face pictured here loves coffee and will drink it straight from your cup if you let him.

The Mongols invented the modern world*

The old ways are important. These lands, however remote, are important. The Mongols invented the modern world*. When, at the age of 55, Genghis Khan rode out into Asia and Europe, he created the largest empire known to humanity, as well as its first international postal system, and the largest free-flowing network of ideas, trade and culture. But today, Mongolia feels relatively isolated and far away, landlocked in the Eurasian continent. And getting there turned out to be a greater adventure than we’d expected. Instead of flying, we took the famous Trans-Mongolian from Beijing to Ulan Bator. At 11pm, the train pulled into the last station on the China-Mongolia border to change the undercarriage (the railway gauge is different in Mongolia). Three hours later we got back on the train and waited patiently for the Chinese guards to hand us all our passports back. Our intern’s passport was returned ripped from its cover. Before anyone could make a move, the train entered Mongolia… where the Mongolian border guard insisted that the 18-year old girl get off the train because she wasn’t allowed to enter on an invalid passport. Twenty minutes of arguing later, at nearly three am, we got off and watched the train leave without us.

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Mongolian cuisine is typically meat and dairy products. Vegans beware.

Fifteen hours later, after many phone calls and emails to various embassies and important officials, she was finally allowed to enter the country. The Trans-Mongolian having long gone, we finagled an eight-hour taxi ride across the great steppes (on a second-hand car coming off a goods train) for $45. Welcome to Mongolia.

REAL MEN TROT

I did not have much riding experience, but I usually don’t let a little thing like that deter me from a trip. Keith, once also a climber, agreed that anyone up for adventure would be perfectly fine on a Mongolian horse. They were sturdy and forgiving. We all gathered at their staging camp an hour’s drive from Ulan Bator – a Singaporean couple on their second trip with Stone Horse, their friend from Hong Kong, a French diplomat from Swaziland, our team of three, Keith, Sabine and their crew – Nyamaa, Buyana and Jackson, the American intern. Soon, our team of 16 horses and Stinky the Mongolian Dog, a most genuine companion if there ever was one, were off towards the north. Day one went reasonably well, with a short four hour ride to our first campsite inside the Gorkhi Terelj National Park. The other experienced riders asked me various questions about how I felt and whether my horse had cantered or galloped, and I said I didn’t know, but the horse seemed to know what it was doing. Apparently, they have many gaits.

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Nomads Yadmaa and Tavaasurn inside their summer ger, just outside Gorkhi Terelj.

I learned what that meant the next day.

The morning begins easily and we move along a gentle valley. At a stream, the horses bend to drink. They’re herd animals, comfortable only in their own numbers. Suddenly, there’s a commotion as one of the pack horses spooks and bolts. We’re unprepared, and good old Jerry decides to follow the bolting horse too, suddenly turning 180 degrees and galloping wildly. I have to pull firmly on the reins to stop him, while the teamsters have to get the other fella back. He’s bucking around wildly, his unshod feet stamping, his grass-eating brain telling him that that bee sting he felt on his hind was a wolf’s nip. Stinky ignores the commotion, running ahead happily back in his favorite hunting grounds, chasing ground squirrels to their holes. We continue, entering a forest and then riding uphill to a pass. On the other side, a wide open valley, and our first real gallop. Now I feel the sensation, riding with the animal as one, gently cycling my feet in the stirrups and gripping with my knees, all of it coming naturally to me and I urge Jerry on, on, on. Chhoo, Jerry, Chhoo! We stop at a babbling brook in the valley below where we wash our faces. Are we in paradise?

And then the long trot begins. For a horse, it’s the most comfortable way to move. But it’s bouncy. I try to “post” like all the real riders. Watching me grimace in agony, Keith smiled and said, “real men trot,” as he rode along comfortably with that rolling ankle movement to compensate for the horse’s bumpy ride. “Trotting is how the Mongols moved such vast distances. If you make him gallop, you won’t get very far, you’ll kill the horse”.

a melting pot of humanity and ethnicities

But Mongolia changed the course of human history since long before the great Khan and his riders, the ultimate, self-sufficient soldiers. Apart from the Mongols, it is also the original homeland of the Huns and the Turks. It is a melting pot of humanity and ethnicities, where thousands of years ago two language families met and separated – the Indo-Europeans and the Altaics – and possibly where the wild horse was first tamed, thereby changing the course of history. When men on horses first raced out of Central Asia, first ancient Mesopotamia, then Egypt fell. Europe’s original ‘mother culture’ and India’s Harappan civilization disappeared. Humans, moving incredible distances on horses, spread across Asia, from the western end of Europe to Korea, all the way down to Arabia and India, creating nearly all the cultures we know today. Some of the languages they spoke evolved today into English, and others evolved into Japanese, but some of their words have become so intermingled that it’s hard to distinguish which came from which. Hindi is an Indo-European language, but today the common Hindi word for “home” is “ghar” (from the Sanskrit “grhá”) which is nearly identical to the Altaic Mongolian’s word for home, ger.

When the Hunnu (“Huns”) fought the Chinese Hans, the clans that lost fled towards Europe, creating Hungary, as well as leading to the downfall of the Western Roman Empire. Centuries later, the Turkics originally from the Mongolian steppes came hurtling into Constantinople, wiping out the Eastern Roman Empire.

We ride through rocky hills and rock formations, up and down defiles, over passes and across shallow streams, through meadows of flowers and knee-high grass. We ride all day, and every evening set up our traveling camp like the Mongols of old. We sleep in modern-day lightweight tents, under trees or under the stars, breathing cold clear air, drinking from fresh rain-fed streams, eating atop rocks while falcons circle above and the horses graze.

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The Stone Horse team from left to right – Jackson, Keith, Buyana, Nyamaa and Sabine.

The world has continued to change, but horses and men will forever ride together.

One day we stretched out the ride to reach a farther campsite, a Hunnu gravesite. We set up our tents atop 2000-year old graves, low mounds of stones marking the places where men, women, children and horses were laid to rest. “I believe that these people would have loved us to be here, living like they did,” said Keith. When they hear our horses, they’ll feel alive”. The next morning, I pulled my horse off to a side and to a vantage point to shoot the group riding further down the valley. Jerry stomped and neighed angrily as the herd passed him by, but I held him back. When the group disappeared into the distance, I quickly packed my camera gear back into the saddlebags. Then jumping back on, I let the horse fly as he wished, back to his herd. Jerry, the funny but tough little horse, galloped madly a mile north over the gently rising slope. Our hooves rang out in the valley, as two large round mounds, Hun graves, emerged in front on the mountainside. Neither Jerry nor I needed to veer, and we galloped directly over the centre of the mounds, the sound of our hoofbeats gladdening passed Hunnu souls. Their ancestors, our ancestors, had once tamed wild horses, and together changed the world. The world has continued to change, but horses and men will forever ride together.

Images by Madhuri chowdhury.

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