From Besisahar to Syange, Lamjung

All psyched up, Raju and I left Besisahar the following day in the morning—our mountain bikes were well-dialed in Kathmandu. The challenge had ultimately begun for our bid to accomplish the Annapurna Circuit. 

For my partner, Raju, at age 35, it appeared it would not be much of a sweat. But the thought I was daring the Annapurna Circuit at age 70 kept wriggling like a worm in my head—a daunting prospect.  

Following a hearty breakfast and a once-over of our bicycles, we left Besisahar. Raju appeared excitedly bursting at the seams. So was I—a little apprehensive, though. Both of us were first-timers in the Lamjung district. Our itinerary for the day was Syange, some 30-plus km away. 

Given Beshisahar's low elevation (760m), the weather was warm and the sun bright. Surprisingly, after barely pedaling an hour, the hubbub of the city receded into thin habitation. Soon, we were feasting our eyes on a laid back rustic countryside. The Marsyangdi River, we never lost sight of, did one better to steal our hearts.

River Marshyangdi (translating to a raging river) drains high up in the glaciers of the northwest face of the Annapurna massif and Manaslu Himalayan range. It is further fed by glacial runoff from the Larkya Himalayan sub-range; seasonal and perennial springs further feed the flow, turning the river bigger and fiercer, churning and crashing over huge rocks and boulders.

The river works eastward across the Manang Valley and then steers southward into the Lamjung district. It travels further across the Lamjung district to end its long journey to tumble into the Trishuli River at Mugling, where a horde of tributaries joins in on the way. 

With class 4 to 5 rapids, Marsyangdi River is one of the world's top-notch rivers for white-water rafting, offering a mind-blowing, white-knuckled two-day ride from the put-in point at Nagadi to Beshisahar. 

Contrary to our expectations, the dirt road until Khudi proved a breeze, with mild ascents and not so gravelly. The first thing that struck us at Khudi was a portal opening on the face of a hill—a tunnel built by the Upper Marsyangdi hydro-power project in 2019, measuring 296 m lengthwise. 

The motor passage was wide enough for two vehicles to drive past. Amusingly, we had to switch on our bicycle light as it was pitch dark within—an interruption in the power supply, we figured. Fascinated, we pedaled across the dark, oddly wet passage, dodging small puddles. On closer look, we noticed oozing from the ceiling and the concrete wall of the tunnel. 

The weather remained clear, and the sky was indigo; Marshyangdi appeared almost neck to neck with the road. “Hell, look at the road, uncle,” Raju called out. After Khudi, the road in one section was a complete mess with mud and slush as far as our eyes traveled. Pedaling across that stretch seemed impossible, and we resorted to walking our bikes, trying not to muck our shoes in the ankle-deep mud.

The weather remained warm for the fall season as the elevation gain was piddling when we arrived at Bhulbhule (840 meters). Given the low elevation, the tropical riverine vegetation and moist and dry deciduous scrub forest with Sal (Shorea robusta), Banjh (oak), and Sano pangro (elm), to name a few, looked lush and flourishing on the way. 

Although on the go, we could not help but stop at Bhulbhule as we caught sight of a massive waterfall. It dropped from a towering forested hill, crashing at the base with a loud boom. When we approached closer to take snaps, we could feel almost 25 feet away, our faces sprayed by a fine cloud of mist. “Wow,” said Raju, relentlessly clicking at his cell phone camera.

We kept pedaling along the quiet, unsullied countryside, the road almost deserted save for a few passing motorbikes and a couple of jeeps. The greenery appeared ubiquitous, punctuated by small pockets of settlements, farmlands, and verdant forests dotting the hills.

The recent post-Dashain rains, floods, and landslips in Lamjung and Manang had left tell-tale scars on the landscape—mounds of debris and rocks lay piled up by the roadside. 

With the bounding Marshyangdi to our left, we stopped at Nagadi (930 meters), a decent-looking town with teahouses and lodges flanking the road. We hit the road after a brief rest, a cup of tea, and light refreshment. 

After Nagadi, the elevation gradually rose, and we had to huff it up several steep climbs. At Dobhantar, we were in for a stunning view. We crossed a bridge over a turquoise reservoir while densely forested hills stood on both sides—nothing short of picture-perfect.  

At Ghermu, Shildhunga, we stopped to stretch our tired limbs and sip water from our bottles. At that moment, our ears caught the sound of crashing water nearby. Within minutes, we were gawking at another waterfall that barreled down from the crest of a hill. 

Bahundanda village could be sighted across the Marshyangdi, snugly hugging the hill of a brow with terraces of rice fields cascading down to the river bank. We learned the trekking trails from Besisahar to Manang cut across many villages of Lamjung but intermittently blended with the road after it opened a few years back. 

We ran past miniature waterfalls by the dozen on the way but soon lost count of them. The going so far seemed moderately challenging for me, but there was nothing to fret about much. I often needed to catch up with Raju on uphills, who waited on me coolly. Great guy! 

It almost felt like an eternity before we finally arrived at Syange (1,100 meters), our destination for the day, relieved, spent, and starving. We had to kick our heels for our cherished dal-bhat as we had arrived past lunchtime, about three in the afternoon. And all that time, my stomach groaned in protest. 

But to our surprise, the only occupant, a lady, rustled up our food within barely half an hour. We ate like pigs, no kidding. The lady owner, Ghale Gurung, suggested we visit a nearby waterfall, Syange's Pride.  

After heaving up a spiraling flight of narrow, crude stone steps for 15 minutes, we arrived at the spot. The dizzying height was scary as some sections did not have railings with steep drops hundreds of feet below. 

Whoa! It was another massive sight. The force of the drop from the soaring height was so ferocious that a fine spray of water virtually drenched us. Mesmerized, we stayed quite some time at the top, marveling about nature's unbounded bounty before retreating to the lodge. 

After a satisfying supper of egg veg noodles, we retired for the night early as we had to make it to Dharapani the next day. 

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