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Blog post, September 13, 2010
I’m soaring high on mountains and life here in mad, endearing, tastebud-searing India.
Just back from the first all-women’s expedition to Pinnacle Peak (6955m), an adventure that two dear, intrepid pals and I dreamed up to follow in the hob-nailed footsteps of Fanny Bullock Workman, an early explorer in these parts.
Pinnacle Peak in the Indian Himalaya Photo by Kate Harris '05
More substantial update on that epic later, because now it’s back to the trail! This time in the Spiti valley, on a trek with Harish Kapadia, Bernadette McDonald, and other literary mountain pilgrims.
After the trek we’re all heading to the Mussoorie Writers’ Festival, October 5-8, which has a “Mountain Literature” theme this year.
At the festival, “Distinguished authors and climbers from India, Nepal, U.S.A., U.K., Canada, Australia and other countries will discuss and read from their books, exploring how they transpose high altitude adventures and experiences into words, using language to convey the extreme beauty and challenge of mountains. Over a period of four days, more than twenty-five authors will converge on Mussoorie for readings, panel discussions, workshops and social events. Invitees include noted poets, novelists, filmmakers, travel authors and memoirists, as well as editors and agents.”
So if you’re in India, come check it out, meet me there! I’ll be presenting some new writing about wilderness and mountains that I’m super excited to share. If you can’t make it to Mussoorie, I’ll also be giving a public lecture at the Himalayan Club in Mumbai on October 10th, part of an entire day of talks by mountain writers.
I leave you with some Whitman, and wish you all safe yet adventurous passage to India, to more than India, whether in fact or fancy.
Passage to more than India!
O secret of the earth and sky!
Of you, O waters of the sea! O winding creeks and rivers!
Of you, O woods and fields! Of you, strong mountains of my land!
Of you, O prairies! Of you, gray rocks!
O morning red! O clouds! O rain and snows!
O day and night, passage to you!
O sun and moon, and all you stars! Sirius and Jupiter!
Passage to you!
Passage—immediate passage! the blood burns in my veins!
Away, O soul! hoist instantly the anchor!
Cut the hawsers—haul out—shake out every sail!
Have we not stood here like trees in the ground long enough?
Have we not grovell’d here long enough, eating and drinking like mere brutes?
Have we not darken’d and dazed ourselves with books long enough?
Sail forth! steer for the deep waters only!
— Walt Whitman, Passage to India
