1997 Tibet Expedition
Partial - Rough Draft - Notes

(This is a very rough draft of certain events which occurred during our August, 1997, expedition into the "Hidden Lands" of southeastern Tibet. The stories and reports were taken directly from field notes and recordings. This account picks up after our crossing of the snow-covered, 12,000-foot Su La Pass, and ensuing 9,000-foot descent to the jungled banks of the Yarlung Tsangpo River and the military village of Gande. Correspondingly, this narrative ends as we complete the photographing and documentation of the second waterfall below, "Rainbow Fall". It does not include our journey out or our subsequent arrest and detainment in Nyingtri by the Communist Chinese PSB (Public Security Bureau) police.) 
 

Falling from the Heavens - Matuk - Second Encounter
The Honorary Pilgrimage to Tsebum (Million Lives)
The Rainbow Traverse of the Great Bend of the Yarlung Tsangpo
The Buddhist Shaman's Dream - Climbing the Sacred Mountain (Dorje Bragsen)
The Lost Falls of the Brahmaputra?

Tuesday - August 19, 1997 - After much deliberation and soul searching, my brother, Troy, and I decide to split from the main expedition, led by Ian Baker, and, instead, to head north into the hidden and uncharted "Inner Gorge" region of the Great Bend of the Yarlung Tsangpo River. For the first time in our lives, we weren't logically "pushing" to conquer - rather, strangely - we were somehow being intuitively "pulled" - pulled to experience. Traveling in force on a single "group" visa with the requisite token Chinese escort, this decision to extricate ourselves from the main expedition and travel solo placed us at substantial risk. First of all, there is no un-permitted travel allowed in Communist Chinese occupied Tibet, and secondly, we were in a politically sensitive, highly-disputed border area - very near the McMahon Line which demarcates Tibet from India. (We would later pay a heavy price as we were arrested while attempting to secret our way back into civilization.) In addition, we were allotted only two Sherpas. With no clear direction, it would be up to us to hire our own porters and find our own way in - and out.

A fellow expedition member - Ken Storm - was torn between his allegiance to Ian and Hamid Sardar and the original plan, and his desire to explore this mystical gorge (the deepest in the world) with us. The prospects of trekking south along the Yarlung Tsangpo River toward the uninviting Chinese military post of Medok and possibly attempting an "un-permitted" forced march west into the unknown Puporang Valley in search of the abandoned Mandelting Monastery - followed by a dash up to and over the 18,000-foot, glacier-covered Nam La Pass and out to the villages of KyiKar or Pe - didn't sound that appealing or feasible to him either.

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Along the way we were offered food on several different occasions - which we politely refused. This tribal area is inhabited by the direct descendants of the feared and hostile Mishmi and Abor warriors and is known for its superstitious "pre-Buddhist" Bön practices, including the dreaded and treacherous Dugmas - or poison witches. The Dalai Lama himself has issued warnings for people on pilgrimage in this area to not accept food from the local villagers. Evidently, the Dugmas believe that if they poison you - all your physical and mental attributes will flow from your body directly to them.

Once in Gande my lingering cold began getting the best of me so we decided to spend an extra day to allow the antibiotics to kick in. This also provided additional time for our two Sherpas -- Dawa and Bhim -- to locate suitable local porters for the next leg of our expedition. While I slept, Troy & Ken spent the day exploring and photographing the small village perched on the side of the steep, jungle-covered gorge. It was during this time that one of the local Monpa tribal warriors - a man named Matuk - approached Troy and handed him a large cucumber-like vegetable. He was excitedly waving his arms and saying something in the local dialect. Troy took this to mean that he wanted to be paid. As he reached for his wallet - Matuk shook his head vigorously and continued with his excited diatribe. At this point Troy called our Sherpa - Dawa - over to translate what the man was saying. Dawa listened to him and then related the following story: "He says that two years ago he was traveling with his small son up the remote, steep and dangerous ZigChen La Pass (some 30 miles deeper in the jungle) in the mist and clouds of a blinding rain storm when from out of nowhere three very strange looking people appeared. They were tall and had on odd clothing. He says he was frightened at first as he had never seen people like this. They stared at each other for quite a while and then one of the three pulled out a picture from his pack and gave it to him. It was a picture of his "God-King" the 14th Dalai Lama! He could not believe his good fortune and was convinced that these three had dropped from the sky specifically to deliver this photograph to let him and his people know that the Dalai Lama was alive and well (contrary to what the Communist Chinese in the outlying military compounds were telling the local villagers). He was in awe of these evidently divine beings and offered to carry their packs or help them in any way. However, they seemed to be in a hurry and declined his offers to help. With a 'Tashi delek' (Tibetan for "hello" and "goodbye") and a simple bowing of their heads they disappeared down the trail and into the mist. Following this most auspicious encounter he ran back to his village to relate the fantastic story of the "mystical beings from the sky" and displayed the cherished photograph as proof. From that point on his status in the village was raised considerably as he was the "chosen one" to receive this great blessing. And then to come across Troy two years later in Gande was confirmation of this blessing. This is why he is offering you this gift in addition to volunteering to guide and porter for you for free."

How clearly I remember that day on our 1995, Kundu DorsemPodrang expedition/pilgrimage. It was suspected that Troy, Todd (my other brother) and I had been poisoned by a local Dugma and we were struggling to make it out alive. The ZigChen La Pass was our last and most formidable obstacle before Medok and we were caught on the top in a tremendous lightning and rainstorm. As we plunged off the other side the steep trail had deteriorated into a flowing torrent of water and mud and visibility had dwindled to just a few feet. Suddenly we came across a Monpa tribesman (with his traditional dagger in plain view) and a small boy on their way up the trail. They were as shocked to see us as we were to see them. The locals were known to be dangerous at times and with this in mind - while never taking my eyes off him - I reached into my pack and pulled out a picture of the Dalai Lama that had been taken in Tucson, Arizona in front of a large saguaro cactus. At substantial jeopardy (immediate arrest) I had smuggled 100 such laminated photographs into Tibet (I had them laminated in plastic so they would not deteriorate in the ever-humid jungle). With great caution I handed them out to the locals. Though I knew they would be coveted, I was not prepared for the overwhelming display of faith and gratefulness that accompanied their distribution. I could not have received more respect or appreciativeness had I been handing out solid gold bullion or $1,000 bills. It was a truly fantastic story and as Matuk related it to the spellbound Gande villagers our own status as "semi-divine beings" was firmly established. This new-found respect was to serve us well in the weeks to come as sacred sites, trails, etc., were more freely revealed and shared with us.

Friday - August 22, 1997 - dawned clear and I felt much better. We began our long descent down to the river as our chosen route would now take us west across the Yarlung Tsangpo (elevation 4,000 feet), then northwest up 8,000 feet in elevation to the Tsebum La Pass, then due west up to over 13,000 feet in elevation and across unexplored and uninhabited territory to the Sension La Pass and hopefully down into the elusive hidden "Inner Gorge". Since the route between Tsebum La and Sension La had never been traveled we had no idea if it was even possible. We knew better than to tell the porters at this juncture as they would undoubtedly refuse to venture into this uncharted land. It was during this steep descent that Matuk stopped us and pointed across the incredibly vast canyon and way up on the other side. Following his direction we could make out a small but striking protuberance sticking up out of a ridgeline many miles away. It was so far and above our present position that we had no idea what it was or why he was pointing to it. Little did we imagine that what Matuk was directing our attention to would soon alter the course of our expedition - and our lives.

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Dropping 5,000 vertical feet to the river we were met with a full-blown standoff at the cable crossing. The Lugu villagers on the west side of the river claimed they owned the single cable bridge and were not going to allow us passage because we had hired only Gande porters. This dispute and accompanying haggling continued for the remainder of the day and gave Troy, Ken and me a great opportunity to rest in the cool shade of the water-carved granite boulders on the steep banks of the raging river. (It was here that we purchased several magnificent Pemako crystals from one of the passing villagers.) After several hours of shouting and animated gesticulations - along about dusk the dispute was finally settled. The ensuing treacherous river crossing will long stand out in my mind as one of the most exciting and dangerous things I have ever done. (Two porters had plunged to their deaths in the violent river the year before when a similar bridge collapsed.) Once on the other side another dispute arose over whether we should spend the night there or hike the 2,300 vertical feet in the dark up to the small village of Gogden. Since we had an additional 6,000 vertical foot climb from Gogden through Lugu and then on up to the TsebumLa Pass the next day, it was decided that the climb should be broken up - hence a 2,300 vertical foot "night climb" up to the little village.

This was a fantastic adventure as the sky was pitch black and one false step on this exposed climb would have resulted in a distant free-fall to the churning river below. It was amazing to watch the porters scramble up the tiny trail without benefit of flashlights or any other source of illumination. They were so surefooted that it was like they were taking a Sunday stroll. On the other hand, Troy, Ken and I were struggling with our flashlights in an effort to see every step on the brush-choked and narrow, cliff-side path. Every so often the porters would start gibbering excitedly and everything would come to an immediate halt. This section of trail was known for its vipers and upon the several close encounters the porters always gave them a very wide berth. This snake situation kept us uptight since - according to the porters - one seldom survived an attack.

There was one time during this night hike that stands out poignantly in my mind. It was following a particularly steep and perilous stretch of trail. There was a small clearing and the porters stopped for a much-needed rest. Here we sat for almost a half an hour. The stars and fireflies were out in force and the porters talked and laughed amongst themselves in their native tongue. The conversation was almost "sing-song" and the whole experience was one of exotic fulfillment for me as I rested in this far-off and strange land with its native people. So remote and isolated in so many different ways - yet it was comfortable. There was an underlying knowledge of our shared human existence - our vulnerability and our wonder. We slept well that night in the Buddhist shrine room of a small house in Gogden. Drolma (White Tara) watched over our dreams from a worn Thanka hanging on the wall above our heads. Little did we know the prominent role Drolma would take in our expedition in the arduous days to come.

With over a mile vertical climb ahead of us, we hit the small village of Lugu early - paid our respects to the village chieftain (noticing his well developed marijuana crop - we laughed at the idea of enlightenment being sought in so many different ways!) - and began our long, grueling climb up and out of the west bank of the gigantic gorge. It was a very hot day and we sweated profusely as we inched our way up. At long last we broke over one ridge and hiked to a pilgrimage cave deep in the forest-like jungle where we spent the night. The next day was even steeper as we often lost the trail due to the constant landslides and torrential rains. There was an eerie feeling as we continued ever up and deeper into this sparsely traveled and little known area. This was Sunday, August 24, 1997. Finally, after a very steep and slippery climb, at 4:30 PM we reached the Tsebum La Pass. We were exhausted as we were once again up in altitude and the ill-defined and eroded trail we traveled up the face of the gorge had required much more "bushwhacking" than we had anticipated.

It was at this time that Matuk came to us and - through our interpreter - asked us to follow him to, as he said, "A very special place." We were worn out at this late hour of the day and the idea of further trudging through the overgrown, jungle-like, mountainous landscape held little appeal. "He wants to pay you back, to honor you for what you have done for him," our interpreter stated. I looked hard at Matuk for I really didn't want to continue at this late hour of the day. The thought of a warm meal and a cozy sleeping bag sounded pretty good to me at that particular time. In addition, it looked and felt like it was about to rain. Still, something in his gaze held me. I looked at Troy and we looked at Ken - "O.K." we said in unison. After all, when the hell would we ever be back here again?

Matuk grinned ear to ear and bounded off into the underbrush. It was all we could do to keep up with him as we climbed down along a thickly forested ridge-line. It was distressing losing the precious altitude that we had just worked so hard to gain. Nonetheless we continued to follow him up and over slippery fallen logs, across bogs and through dense wet forest. By this time the skies had completely darkened with clouds and the wind was howling through the trees. Blazing lightning and ear-splitting thunder was exploding all around us - yet Matuk continued at full pace. "I don't think this is a good sign!" I shouted to Troy above the wind, "Maybe the Guardian Protectors are mad because Matuk is taking us into this sacred place!" I was only half joking as the violence and intensity of the storm appeared to be directed squarely at us. Still we continued until we came to an extremely exposed area that literally dropped off into a void of swirling clouds. I was certain that this was the way Matuk had traveled so I continued hanging onto the grass and small shrubs with all my might. Slowly I inched my way around the lip of the precipice. Had the turf given way under my grip I would not be here to relate this story. It's hard to convey the fear I felt being so fatigued and exposed with lightning bursting dangerously brilliant all around me and the shrieking wind and driving rain trying desperately to wrench us off the face of the earth. I hit an overwhelming level of panic and sensory overload so I consciously switched to auto-pilot and mechanically performed the required moves to get beyond the cliff. It's a crisis point where you let go of the anxiety and control and accept the outcome of whatever happens. You somehow relinquish that gripping survival fear, perform the task at hand and accept whatever comes next - even your own death. Somehow there is great freedom in this relinquishment and it actually allows you to become more grounded. This would be one of several lessons in "letting go of the results" that we were to face. Once on the other side I watched Troy and Ken safely negotiate this last naked stretch. When Troy came up to me we just looked at each other and continued our pursuit of Matuk.

After a full hour and a half of this forced march we began passing obvious signs of prior travelers - Buddhist pilgrims. As the ridge narrowed we found several small meditation caves perched precariously in the rocky crags. It was difficult imagining the hardships and dangers these ancient pilgrims must have endured as a show of their unwavering faith. Suddenly our trail burst out of the jungle-like forest at the end of the ridge and there was Matuk performing full prostrations at the base of a huge 60 or 70 foot high frozen flame of granite. This monument of stone was so far out of character with the rest of the landscape that one had to believe it was created by some kind of a god or deity.  Then it hit me - this was the tiny protuberance Matuk had pointed out to us three days earlier from the opposite side of the gorge as we hiked from the little village of Gande. This was Tsebum - a highly revered and little known Buddhist pilgrimage site. The words themselves - Tsebum - loosely translate to "million lives". This was a "long life" energy site and those who survived the arduous travel here could be assured of a ripe old age. It's difficult to explain the vision I had of this devout Buddhist - Matuk - enraptured in the ceremony of his faith with the savagery of the storm performing all around us. Watching this scene play out - I was held in a trance of awe at this mystical, wildest place on earth. Completing his three prostrations and the necessary mantras and prayers, Matuk motioned for us to follow him on the requisite three clockwise Koras. (Circumambulations of the huge stone).

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In theory this sounded great - however as we approached the left shoulder of the stone I couldn't help but wonder how in the world we were going to travel around the sheer sides of the pillar. My fears were in no way allayed when I saw Matuk inching his way along a tiny ledge etched into the stone. Still, no amount of money could have kept me from following him. The power of this place was alive and tangible. All along this precipitous route were signs of prior pilgrims - coins pressed into small cracks, pieces of ancient prayer flags fluttering in the wind, yak skulls, mantras meticulously carved into the stone and other obvious signs of former travelers. At one point Matuk stopped and pointed to a most unusual handprint that looked as though it had somehow been burned into the stone. There was actually a half-inch deep depression in the solid granite. Above the turbulent wind he yelled, "Padmasambhava!" I shook my head in acknowledgment of the 8th Century tantric Buddhist sage and we continued on our Kora. At several points the trail climbed up and over various small outcroppings as we proceeded winding our way around the sacred stone. Each Kora took approximately 20 minutes. The exposure was daunting but the powerful experience made it more than worth every carefully chosen step. The fury of the tempest showed no signs of abating and three quarters of the way around the third and final Kora, Matuk motioned us over to a small, sequestered crack in the stone. "How did we miss this?" I thought as we must have walked right by it on the first two circles. The crack led into a small clearing where literally hundreds of sticks with notches neatly carved into each one were stacked against the rock wall. Through gestures and body language, Matuk explained that each notch on a stick represented a year in the life of the person who carved it. He then produced four recently cut sticks and handed three of them to us. He then pulled out his knife and began carving a notch in his stick for each of the 32 years he had been on the earth. He motioned for us to do the same.

What started out as a rather mundane chore, turned into one of the most introspective times of my life. The ritual forced me to relive each year while I carved the notches into my "long life" stick. 43 years! Could it even be possible I questioned. Vivid memories of first days of school - friends long forgotten - parents almost 20 years younger than I was that day - brothers being born - first job - first girlfriend - first kiss - drivers license - leaving home - football games - graduations - hopes - dreams - trips - business deals - lovers - all of it. Crystal clear in my mind. Not like watching a movie - rather actually being there - somehow physically being in the memory. The power of this place transported me back in time and placed me squarely in the moment of the past. My eyes clouded as I saw myself racing through life. This simple exercise brought sharply into focus the Buddhist principles of impermanence, transience and the fact that the present moment is the only true "real time”.

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I had to take some time to compose myself before I was able to hand the completed stick back to Matuk. With great interest he took our sticks and counted out our ages in his native tongue. A sudden flash of white followed by an immediate concussion-like boom of thunder made our ears ring and broke the reflective trance. "The Guardian Protectors must still be pissed off,", we mused as Matuk hurriedly gestured for us to follow him to the opposite side of the hidden clearing. Here there was a small but distinct opening. Matuk motioned me into the narrow cave. As I peered in I saw that the subterranean passage wasn't much wider than my body and it was somewhat muddy. Matuk picked up on my consternation and took some of the mud from the cave and rubbed it on himself as though that was what was supposed to happen. I trustingly followed his instruction and wiggled my way into the constricted opening. I squirmed further and further into the dark tunnel when suddenly it was revealed to me that I was in the womb of Mother Earth. Of course! I was supposed to intermix with the Earth Mother and get her mud - or essence - all over me. Having just recounted my life to date - I was now symbolically leaving those years behind and traveling through the Earth's birth canal to be reborn as a new - more enlightened - being. As the tunnel continued it began arching upward and I was able to catch a glimpse of light some 15 feet above me. I continued with this parturition process until my head suddenly broke through the darkness and snugness of the tunnel and I was surrounded by a glaring light. By the time my eyes had adjusted to the brightness of the late afternoon sun I realized that the clouds had somehow disappeared and I was being provided with the most amazing panoramic and unobstructed views - all the way into India! What magic! Waves of emotion engulfed me and again my eyes clouded with the strength of the moment.

Soon Troy - and then Ken - wiggled their ways into the new-born sunlight. They were equally as moved and none of us spoke for a very long time. The views we were benevolently granted were surreal. From this elevated vantage point we were being provided phenomenal insight into the lay of the land. To the south we could see all the way to the Dashing La Pass - our gateway into Pemako on the 1995 expedition. To the northwest we could see the deep canyon of the Po Tsangpo River as it flowed into the mighty Yarlung Tsangpo River. Far below us and in the distance we could even see the small village of Bayu as it clung precariously to the cliffs above the Yarlung TsangPo. To the west we could see the Dorje Phagmo mountain. (Named after Vajrayogini's sow-faced Pemako emanation.) This mystical mountain was known by locals to contain 1,000 portals - each of which could lead the serious pilgrim into the mythical inner-sanctum of Pemako's hidden land. According to Buddhist theology - "Hidden Lands" (Beyuls) contain outer, inner and secret dimensions. This mysterious mountain was just on the other side of the "Inner Gorge" and its suddenly-revealed clear view enabled us to take our long-sought bearings and plan our previously unknown route with some certainty. In an unexplored land of constant rain and clouds - this slice of clear weather and its accompanying visibility - was truly a divine gift and instrumental to the success of our journey into the heart of the unexplored "Inner Gorge". As the sun began to set and the light waned, we reluctantly commenced our long journey back to camp. Still none of us spoke as we didn't want mere words to distort the power of the experience and break the magical spell.  As written by trip leader Ian Baker in an article entitled, "Land of Pemako - Tibet's Celestial Realm on Earth" which appeared in the Fall, 1997 edition of "The Explorers Journal";

"In great pilgrimage places, the elements of the external world merge with our own inner elements. Meditating in such places, the sense of separation between you and all that surrounds you gradually disappears. Losing the separation is enlightenment." 

Each of us had had our own transcendent encounter at Tsebum - the "Million Lives" stone. Though individual in nature - our perceptions and former ways of viewing the world were unalterably changed. Soon darkness engulfed us and the reality of the torturous hike back sunk in. Emotionally and physically drained - I again switched over to auto-pilot. My mind was a blur as the fatigue of the long day numbed out all but the most basic perceptions. We could have been hiking for hours or for minutes - time had little relevancy to me at that point. Suddenly - out of the darkness - a small beam of light bounced its way toward us. It was one of my favorite porters - Trashi Padi. He was greatly relieved to see us and ushered us the remaining short distance back to the rest of the group. It was 9:30 PM when we stumbled into camp completely wiped out. The porters had set up our tent and each greeted us with a resounding, "Tashi delek!" as we toppled into the small lean-to they had erected for a kitchen. The hot soup tasted terrific and we settled into the comfort and warmth of fire and friends. I can still remember vividly the porters' eyes lighting up and their glances of approval and respect as Matuk animatedly related the story of our Koras and the Guardian Protector benevolently ceasing his wrath upon our rebirth into this remarkable Tibetan world.

The next morning we awoke exhilarated, feeling more alive than ever. Energized from the previous day's magical gift of transcendent rebirth, we were immediately faced with a very important decision. Should we follow the visible trail as it continued across the pass and down to the tiny village of Bayu? From there we could attempt to gain the massive ridgeline to the west and possibly drop into the hidden gorge from that angle. Or did we dare climb up into unexplored territory, another vertical mile in elevation above our present position on the Tsebum La Pass, and scramble ridge to ridge, west by southwest toward where we believed we might find the Sension La (Pass) and a possible northeast descent route into the elusive "Inner Gorge"? (This huge "arc" of travel was symbolized to us by the many auspicious rainbows that regaled us on our journey. We took their presence as a sign and it weighed heavily in our ultimate decision. Hence, we titled this portion of our exploration, "The Rainbow Traverse of the Great Bend of the Yarlung Tsangpo").

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There was no question that staying on the present trail would be the safest. Leaving the footpath would expose us to two very real dangers. First, we had no idea what lay ahead in these constantly moving, living mountains. We were standing at the very thrust-pivot point of two major, colliding continents and the associated massive geologic movement rendered landslides and unstable hiking conditions everywhere. Secondly, at this elevation, we could be swallowed up in enormous, rain-soaked cloudbanks for weeks at a time.

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For eons upon eons, moisture-laden monsoon clouds from the tropical Bay of Bengal have lumbered north of the Brahmaputra River, across the Indian border, around the eastern ramparts of the Himalayan Range and into Tibet. It is here, not 10 miles as the crow flies from where we were standing, that two towering peaks, Namcha Barwa (25,436') and Gyala Peri (23,891'), check the clouds' migration. Unable to advance beyond the great peaks, the chronic monsoon clouds unleash constant rain and violent storms into the deepest gorge on the planet. Should this customary weather pattern occur while we were en route, there would be no possible way we could obtain our bearings. Having been caught in these destructive Himalayan storms at lower elevations on prior expeditions, we knew the real and ever-present danger of being helplessly trapped at elevation - with zero visibility - on a trail-less, unexplored and unstable ridgeline.

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Yet? What was it - that undefinable urging - that intuitive sixth-sensory cognizance - that same "pull" that had guided us to this point. Just as it could not be rationally understood -- so, too, it could not be refused.

Monday - August 25, 1997 - Upon disclosing our chosen plan to the porters, there was an immediate revolt. Through our Sherpa's translation we learned that the local porters had never traveled this route, had never heard of anyone else traveling this route, and flatly refused to go anywhere but where the trail might lead. After an hour or so of intense haranguing, the porters reluctantly agreed to continue based on two conditions. First, due to the danger involved we were to raise their daily wage from $7 to $12. Secondly, they could send back one of their own to get more food and try and find information on this heretofore unrevealed area. We agreed under the condition that we commence with our climb immediately and that the porter returning with the extra food catch up with us during our ascent. The agreement made, the chosen porter bounded down the impossibly steep trail that we had so laboriously inched our way up the day before.

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It's hard to explain the vibrational-aliveness that was felt by all as we began our alluring climb. The words, "Do not follow where the path may lead. Go, instead, where there is no path, and leave a trail", kept ringing in my head. There was an awareness that somehow we were embarking on an adventure much greater than anything any of us had experienced to date. A new sense of unity established itself between the porters and the Sahibs (the Western bosses). We moved as a single unit beyond the timberline and up into this mystical landscape of jagged rock and ground-fissure-ridden terrain. What lay ahead? The "newness", challenge and excitement of the looming adventure had the effect of waking us from our habitual thought patterns and propelling us beyond our preconceived notions into a heightened sense of interrelatedness and interdependence. An acute realization of our shared existence was nurtured as the gentle hand of Vajrayogini guided us higher and higher and deeper and deeper into the heart of her secret landscape. So began, "The Rainbow Traverse of the Great Bend of the Yarlung Tsangpo"

It soon became evident that travel on this unexplored route would be treacherous. The continual movement and crashing of the Indian and Asian tectonic plates created constant geologic movement. Gaping crevasses hid in the tangled foliage patiently waiting for one misguided step. In addition, rhododendron-choked hillsides forced the expedition out on the edge of the sheer-walled precipices where the strangling vegetation was less menacing. As we continued our "first ascent" attempt of the razor-like ridgeline, the porters and our two Sherpas negotiated these obstacles with amazing sure-footedness. They were aware of the extreme exposure and associated danger we were forced to contend with by leaving the trail. Still, there was an air of trust that now seemed to permeate our expedition. Divine guidance had taken us this far and we were somehow comfortable with where our unknown route would eventually deliver us.

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At one point during the climb - in the clouds far above timberline - the ridgeline flattened out as we crested the top of a huge mountain bench. At this juncture there were several different routes available. Our Lugu porters - having never been there before - were unsure as to which direction we should continue to trek. It was at this hour of uncertainty that the mist-like clouds began to thin. Bringing up the rear, in the distance I could slowly see our entourage emerging from the clouds and into view. It was a frightening scene as there were porters scattered everywhere, calling back and forth to each other. Nobody seemed to know which direction to travel. With all landmarks obscured by the ever-present clouds, the panic of confusion was beginning to take hold. I began looking around for some discernable feature when I noticed the statuesque silhouette of a hunter with a rifle standing off to my right on a mountain crest some 1/4 mile distant. This Buddhist takin hunter had no backpack or other visible means of supply. Rather he just appeared to manifest out of the clouds. Instinctively, I yelled at him to get his attention - at which point he looked over at me and began charging me as fast as he could with his antiquated flintlock rifle in the ready position. He moved seemingly effortlessly like a cross between a mountain goat and a gazelle as he glided in my direction over the impossibly rugged Himalayan terrain. He continued his charge until he was within 3 feet of me - at which time he came to an abrupt halt and stared at me as though I was from the planet Jupiter. While he scrutinized my entire appearance - head to toe - I noticed that he paid particular attention to my eyes. I felt strangely transfixed as his gaze penetrated through my eyes and continued deep down into my being. It was as though he could somehow see my entire life. Though I had no real feeling of fear - I didn't know what the hell to expect next so I smiled and said, "Tashi delek!" - at which time he continued to study me. Finally he smiled and said, "Tashi delek!" in return. Needless to say I was a bit relieved and called for our translator to communicate with this enigmatic apparition - this mystical warrior from the clouds.

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It was soon established that he was a Buddhist hunter of the buffalo/goat-like animal known as takin. However, this warrior had a somewhat elevated status as a local shaman or priestly adept. Soon a lively and animated Tibetan conversation was fully underway resulting in this charismatic hunter agreeing to guide us on the next leg of our journey into the hidden inner gorge.

Another strange and fortuitous coincidence? Impossible to explain logically? With our five senses we can only perceive, and therefore only logically explain, a three-dimensional world. However, here in Tibet, with a relaxed and trusting mind, the intuitive sixth sense will allow one to experience a strange and wonderful fourth-dimension - a much broader  dimension of abundance, intelligence and unlimited possibilities - a dimension known through experience, not through conventional, five sensory logic.

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Following an ancient and seldom-traveled pilgrimage route known only to our new-found guide, a day of strenuous hiking along the ridgeline path, coupled with a rain-soaked layover day, brought us to the base of a huge knife-edged mountain. Local myth had this formidable massif as the sacred abode of the Guardian Protector - Dorje Bragsen. Supposedly this dangerous and wrathful spirit lives in the rocky crags of the mountain. It was obvious from our vantage point that there was no way for us to reach our destination without going over the top of this imposing mountain - the secret gateway to the hidden "Inner Gorge" and spirited home of Dorje Bragsen.

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It was at this time that we began to notice the nervous talk and fleeting glances of the porters. Something was definitely going on that we weren't privileged to. After a goodly amount of prompting through our translators we discovered that the porters didn't want to take us to the top of this most sacred, wild and dangerous mountain. They were deathly afraid that our presence - as foreigners - would anger the protector spirit, most certainly resulting in snow, landslides, and other perilous natural disasters. Their belief was so strong that there was little we could do to convince them otherwise. Even the prospect of additional pay met with no interest. They simply didn't want to die or jeopardize the wellbeing of their families and villages as a result of angering the protector spirit - Dorje Bragsen!

(Dorje Bragsen (pron. Droksen - drok = rock), is a carryover from the ancient Bön religion who has been incorporated into Tibetan Buddhist theology. He is not an enlightened being; rather he is the Protector of Pemako - a Warrior Spirit. He is most often thought of as a local Guardian Spirit living in the crags and rocks of the mountains - protecting sacred Buddhist sites. When angered he can cause any number of natural disasters including fierce rain, hail and snow storms, landslides and avalanches. Flashing lightning and crashing thunder are often signs of his disapproval).

Conversely, when Dorje Bragsen has been placated he can cause brilliant weather and other fortuitous conditions such as revealing unknown trails and hidden sites. He can also influence the outcome of a takin hunt or other personal searches - both physical and spiritual.

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This unexpected turn of events presented quite a dilemma as the prospects of retracing the arduous, rhododendron-entangled and terribly exposed climbs of the last several days held little appeal. Plus it would end any chances we might have of reaching the elusive "Inner Gorge". However - that night the Buddhist hunter had a prophetic dream. He dreamt that we (Troy, Ken & I) were seated around a dining table in a very clean room. Suddenly the door opened and Drolma (White Tara - the goddess who releases others from suffering) entered with a tray of yak butter tea and teacups. As she was serving us this tea the door again opened and a man entered the room and proceeded to blow on a conch shell. In Buddhist theology the blowing of the Conch shell produces the melodious sound of the Dharma teachings which awakens those who hear it from their deep slumber of ignorance and urges them to seek their enlightenment for the benefit of themselves and others.

Upon awakening, our Buddhist Shaman interpreted this auspicious dream as a very significant sign that - not only could we be taken to the summit of the Dorje Bragsen, but, by virtue of his vision - we must be taken there! While on the one hand we were elated with this news - the thought of the danger involved in this extremely exposed climb tempered our excitement.

Once on top we were in absolute awe as the spirits revealed the most incredible 360-degree, unobstructed views that one could ever imagine. With the thundering Yarlung Tsangpo River wrapping 280-degees around us more than a mile below, we were blessed with a once in a lifetime glimpse into the inner sanctum of Pemako, the deepest and most impenetrable hidden gorge in the world.

As I was gazing out over the vastness of this massive and impossibly rugged Himalayan range, my clarity suddenly went beyond normal sight. The sheer size forced me into a different perception. Instead of the usual solid mountain peaks, running rivers and static old growth forests, I intuitively felt the constant motion of cyclic formation, disintegration and regeneration taking place all around me. Everything was moving inexorably closer to its ultimate dissolution and reformation - nothing was solid. The earth's lava-molded crust was being powerfully uplifted by the continually colliding forces of Indian and Asian tectonic plates. This incredible crashing energy was forming the imposing 25,000-foot ice-clad peaks that surrounded me. In turn these massive mountains were being worn down by the Tibetan plateau's raging rivers, relentless winds, grinding glaciers, thundering cloudbursts, torrential rain, and perpetual landslides. This continual process of erosion was forming sediments. These sediments would become sedimentary rocks. These newly formed rocks would eventually be transformed by heat and pressure into molten material. This molten lava would erupt and form igneous rocks and the entire process would miraculously begin again.

Constant change. I suddenly had an expanded and more unified view of the planet. Its crust, interior, oceans, atmosphere and life were all interconnected and interdependent in a dynamic and unceasing living process of formation and disintegration. The indescribable grandeur, mystery and sheer size of this Himalayan-hidden and very sacred place, brought the extreme transience of my own life sharply into focus. In an instant of geologic time I, too, would be absorbed back into the earth to fuel the formation of future forests, animals and mountains. I could literally feel my body decaying and mixing with the rich, dark, living soil. There was a strange, timeless - yet somehow familiar - comfort with this realization. Everything comes from the same mix of conscious energy and we are all going back into that same creative force. Over and over and over again. Looking around I could actually see myself in the trees, rivers, clouds and peaks. Over the incomprehensible span of billions of years I had undoubtedly been a part of these things before and I would most certainly be there again. I was given another glimpse into the fourth dimension - the magic of Pemako was speaking to me.

My wonder and enthusiasm was matched and exceeded only by that of the porters and hunters. Their pointing and gesticulations bordered on the frantic as I asked Dawa to find out what the hell was going on. "They say they have lived and traveled in these mountains all their lives and they have never seen the skies this clear. They say that it is because they brought you here and they want a piece of the Garuda bone that they are convinced you must have to make the skies so clear." Evidently, according to local legend, if you have a bone from the Garuda (a mythical hawk who is born full grown and symbolically represents the enlightened mind) you can control the weather at will. We half heartedly told them we had no such Garuda bone. Of course they didn't believe us and that was fine since the more mystical powers the porters and other locals believe you possess, the less likely they are inclined to cause problems. (Back in the U.S.A. we learned that the infamous "El Niño" had disrupted long-standing weather patterns in this remote area. This was the logical answer to our good fortune).

The climb down the backside of the mountain didn't offer the challenge we had just experienced and evening found us dry camped on a steep slope, engulfed in clouds. What an amazing day - and an equally amazing set of circumstances to get us there. Perhaps we were divinely blessed - perhaps the Guardian Protectors were smiling on us.

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Wednesday - August 27, 1997 - We soon found out that our hunter-guide was now out of his territory and could offer us no further advice on which way we should continue. We also knew that the heavy clouds were going to be a problem since we needed to locate the correct ridgeline which would hopefully lead us across to the Senchen La Pass. Once at Senchen La, we could then try and search out a route down into the "Inner Gorge". Groping our way through the soup of swirling moisture, another lone hunter ethereally appeared from within the shrouded landscape. He was tall and standing proudly erect as two hungry dogs cowered at his feet. After some discussion it was learned that he knew of a secret passage into the gorge and agreed to guide us. He also told us of a massive waterfall. Ken, Troy and I stared at each other in disbelief - could this possibly be the, "Lost Falls of the Brahmaputra"?

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After photographing the area extensively, we dropped down the steep canyon wall in an effort to regain the porters and our guide. Somehow we lost their footprints and ended up having to "bushwhack" through the thick tangle of rhododendron. At one point we found ourselves actually "swimming" - feet never touching the ground - over the branches and stabbing limbs. After a major amount of effort and very little associated progress, we finally picked up the porters' trail. As we continued our steep descent into the newly discovered "Inner Gorge", the afternoon light began to fade. Suddenly, we crested a ridge and far below we saw what appeared to be a giant waterfall. The river was tightly knotted into a sharp "S" shape. From that distance, white water and spray were all we could see as the here narrowly-confined current jetted out over what must have been a formidable drop.

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Continuing our arduous descent, a closer view revealed a most remarkable serpentine waterfall. The three of us hiked out to the end of a long forest-choked ledge in hopes of obtaining a better line of sight to the waterfall below. Though we had no luck with seeing the waterfall, the late afternoon sun provided us with a spectacular light show on the walls of the mammoth inner gorge. On our hike to camp we were once again granted a sliver of a view of this mysterious falls through the gloaming light of the Himalayan dusk. That evening we camped on top of a large rock that provided a sheltered cave for the porters underneath. Sleep came difficult that night as we were anxious for the light of morning to further explore our new discovery.

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Friday - August 29, 1997 - Guided by our "Buddhist Hunter from the Mists", we snaked our way towards the waterfall, 2,000 vertical feet down a narrow drainage within the seemingly sheer cliffs. Felling trees for makeshift bridges and handrails, this was one of our most exposed and dangerous climbs yet. Following our indigenous guide we were able to get within what we estimated to be 1,000 feet of the raging river. Directly below us we could see "Rainbow Fall". Discovered in 1924, by Francis Kingdon Ward, this waterfall was quite identifiable by a large rock in the river-right current at the top of the falls. Ken recognized this identifying stone from actual pictures he had seen from Kingdon Ward's collection.

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Further below "Rainbow Fall", and never seen by Kingdon Ward, the river takes a sharp left and wraps into another larger falls. (Kingdon Ward's expedition approached "Rainbow Fall" from the west (upstream) at river level. He was stopped by the falls themselves and never gained the line of sight afforded us by our elevated, overland route from the east.) As we inched closer and closer, we kept asking ourselves whether these might be the "Lost Falls of the Brahmaputra"

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Soon the machete-hacked trail became even more difficult. While the hunter guide wanted to continue forging ahead, we felt we were as close as we could get from the angle of the lookout we occupied. The more altitude we dropped the more our view of the waterfall became obstructed by a forested ridge on river left. From our current vantage point we further photographed and documented the fall's existence, estimating its vertical drop to be approximately 100 feet.

Excited by our discovery, we immediately began making plans to return the following year to actually measure the drop of the falls and explore the remaining hidden 4 miles of the "Inner Gorge". We took careful bearings and scouted out a ridgeline that appeared to lead down to a point directly above the falls. We also scouted other ridgelines that would allow us access into the hidden gorge. Would we find additional falls in the final uncharted portion of the gorge?

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Barring the discovery of any greater falls that may be located within this last 4 mile "missing link" of unexplored river (between this point and the thirty-foot high Kingdon Ward "Second Fall", located down river above the confluence of the Yarlung Tsangpo River and the Po Tsangpo River), these falls would be, in fact, the elusive and long-sought, "Lost Falls of the Brahmaputra".

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