tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19129871345804865122012-02-10T17:47:56.625+05:30satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.comBlogger1931100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-75744058726421206992012-02-01T13:23:00.000+05:302012-02-01T13:23:47.124+05:30

You can’t fail to see the connection... the title has been totally inspired and motivated by the famous TV shows: You Can Dance and Yan Can Cook. I wish we had a TV show ‘You Can Climb’ with me as the host and three celebrity judges including Julia Roberts and Meg Ryan. Perhaps some hotshot daredevil TV show producer would read this post and get equally inspired to boost his TRP right to the

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-77570152481494334782012-01-29T21:40:00.003+05:302012-01-29T22:40:18.744+05:30

A reliable source claims that around 30 – 34 million visitors annually litter the streets and edifices of Paris of which around 22 million do so only in and around the top 6 sights. This could be true or entirely false and I had no desire to prove either when I started to plan something totally alien (to me) and seemingly non-achievable: to see the major sights of Paris in a day using only the

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-43257243200688244122012-01-15T11:49:00.002+05:302012-01-29T22:32:29.200+05:30

It’s said that if you can’t say something briefly while retaining its purport and significance to your audience then either you have nothing to say or it isn’t worth saying; either way it would be better to maintain silence and lead your audience to believe in your wisdom; why open your mouth and confirm their suspicions – that you indeed are a fool. Among my friends, fans and followers the

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-28796250105473524202011-12-23T00:59:00.002+05:302012-01-29T22:33:05.917+05:30

WIND FROM A DISTANT SUMMIT. The story of New Zealand’s leading woman mountaineer. By Pat Deavoll. Pp 264, paperback, 29 colour and 2 b/w photos, 2011. (Craig Cotton Publishing, New Zealand, NZ$ 39.99) The subtitle of the book is a misnomer since Pat is one of the world’s top all round alpinist today redefining boundaries and breaking barriers of mind, body and soul in the vertical arena of

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-39759908088077647402011-11-25T15:27:00.004+05:302011-11-26T09:21:37.317+05:30

Nearly a week ago I returned from a climb, which under normal conditions should have been no more than a walk in the park; yet I returned with first degree frost bite in my digits, the last two fingers of my right palm numb and black in particular. How did that happen is the gist of this story. With daily dousing of digits in warm water, constant rubbing and sunning them, the worst is over and I

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-7614995849287747102011-11-12T00:48:00.000+05:302011-11-12T00:48:21.823+05:30

What is a story? Is it only a collection of memories, fact or fictional, emotive, evocative, startling or banal at times, or memorable or just plain recounting of events as they happened; an eyewitness account of incidents, places, people, atmosphere, smells, feelings, emotions… I have told you many stories both in my verbosity and in my silence through my blog, columns, features and this time

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-62135545059995529362011-11-09T14:28:00.003+05:302011-11-09T15:44:37.829+05:30

I have barely few hours left: not of this life (don’t panic!) but before my European saga comes to its predestined conclusion. I am in Rome right now, tapping these words out, and my flight to Delhi departs in few hours. Zipping all over through 8 different countries and perhaps 50 odd places, crossing language and culture zones and time zone once I met and befriended an incredible number of

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-72315713834537563662011-09-27T22:28:00.002+05:302012-01-15T10:33:24.191+05:30

How to tail tourists with a twist in the tale I take pride in my obscurity and penchant for going boldly into places most men or women have never gone before. I take this occupation of mine rather seriously and stick to it to the best of my inabilities. My friends constantly rebuff me as to the complete uselessness of my sordid life since I know nothing about the finest dine and wine or bars and

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-78339034098276950592011-09-27T16:10:00.001+05:302012-01-29T22:55:44.049+05:30

This would be my last and final post on people I befriended in Afghanistan. I know all the Afghan stories have not been told and they never will be since my Afghan Affair will continue as long as I breathe. Neither have I told of all the people I met; only a few, which is not to say that these were more important or indelible in my memory than all the others I befriended and walked with. I

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-71083241390153823862011-09-24T12:41:00.000+05:302011-09-24T12:41:32.867+05:30

Ameena Bibi found me slipping and sliding down a steep scree covered hill, the trail that led directly towards her house with a mud wall. She stood outside suckling an infant to her breast. She must have noticed me long ago, as I was literally skiing down the hill from far above with massive dust storm of black and brown following at my heels. I have just had close encounters of the Afghan kind

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-18318322864139160332011-09-18T12:54:00.001+05:302012-01-29T22:56:58.973+05:30

The day is gay; wind is kind; and the green fields are dancing in the halcyon breeze. The glacier fed streams are gurgling along as I dip my feet into the cold water and lay upon the grass to rest. I am not dead but I am in paradise, or very close to it. My horizon is decked with white crested peaks upon peak, woolly clouds etch their trail across the sparkling blue sky and birds sing their

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-47988012358374463812011-09-17T15:36:00.000+05:302011-09-17T15:36:19.709+05:30

In a land where it is nearly impossible to make someone smile for the camera, Shukur is an oddity. It is nearly impossible to make him stop smiling, on or off the camera. I first noticed Shukur when he came along with the Kheret guesthouse keeper to serve us evening tea. While the score of people gathered in the room ogled us with various expressions on their weather-beaten faces, this one

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-63876090254555941862011-09-15T16:13:00.000+05:302011-09-15T16:13:12.523+05:30

I walked rapidly upon the muddy trail by the river Wakhan looking for our return vehicle to Eishkashim. A month ago, when we had bid goodbye to our interpreter Dawood, we had asked him to send us a vehicle on the predicated date of our return from the climb to the Kheret Village, our road head. We had descended two days before, at least I had, and we had absolutely no idea if any vehicle was

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-35397400625838476962011-09-15T16:11:00.001+05:302011-09-15T16:17:42.224+05:30

First day inside Afghanistan (Eishkashim) and Pat draws out a long list of stuff that we need to purchase from the local bazaar before setting off to the mountains. We walked down to the bazaar and soon face the common problem of any international traveler who is not a linguist, that of lingua franca. Every shopkeeper in that bizarre bazaar smiles at us and offers his display for our benefit

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-38336767476553151492011-09-12T23:19:00.003+05:302011-09-12T23:19:26.520+05:30

We first came across Hafiyat Khan in person at the village of Quazideh, the first proper outpost after leaving Eishkashim, en route to our mountain. He was haunched by the roadside along with our interpreter chewing a sturdy stick of sugarcane. He wore a black leather jacket with loose trousers and a turban around his handsome head. He was fair, smooth skinned and quite unlike a seasoned climber,

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-36778461123774729082011-09-07T09:09:00.001+05:302011-09-07T14:58:27.972+05:30

Our battered Toyota Landcruiser’s rear wheel went into a ditch and the front left one got stuck atop a massive boulder—how our driver managed this seemingly impossible manoeuvre is still a mystery to me—but right at that moment we all knew that this perhaps is the first major mishap to befall our expedition; and in every possibility there seemed no way out of the fix. Our vehicle contained our

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-16916045382624109542011-09-06T01:15:00.000+05:302011-09-06T01:15:02.430+05:30

As I trapeze the rickety wooden bridge, swinging into the wild winds across Wakhan River, I find an old man smiling to himself by the river, looking deep and lost into the turbulent waters. I need a shelter for the day and through the grassy fields I could see the top of one at a distance and no one else around save the old man. I have my backpack on my back and I must look haggard and

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-18088846334239684732011-09-04T12:52:00.000+05:302011-09-04T12:52:33.936+05:30

How often does it happen that you reach a place for the first time in your life and instantly feel you have arrived that you have been here before, and this is where you belong. As my feet lands upon Afghan soil, this is exactly how I feel. A country that I have dreamt of ever since I have known the great Himalaya and the trans-Himalayan Ranges. My childhood was replete with Afghan encounters

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-91494003377799285802011-09-03T21:37:00.000+05:302011-09-03T21:37:22.407+05:30

If memory serves right—and my memory always serves left when I want it right especially taking a nosedive whenever I return from the rarified environs of our planet—I had put in my last post from Dushanbe towards the centre of July. And then I had plunged into an adventure that took me to a place that I have dreamt of since childhood. Surfacing only the past week back in the Delhi heat that is

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-40813182209685811672011-07-17T23:40:00.000+05:302011-07-17T23:40:01.116+05:30

My fourth dawn in Dushanbe derived no further pleasures of flesh or mind than what I already had and with an afternoon and evening full of picnics, jolly people, sumptuous food, swimming in mountain pool I decided to take the morning really easy. I was to meet up with Shagarf, the Director of Pamir Silk Travels, at 10 am in Rudaki Street. As I stepped out into the street, I had pre-decided that

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-59202906631491406742011-07-16T22:37:00.000+05:302011-07-16T22:37:29.440+05:30

Three is a number that is used almost all over the world to depict some special connotations; like: three musketeers, three idiots (I love this one), etc so I knew right at the moment my eyes opened to the third day in Dushanbe that this day would be different. Soon enough I got embroiled in a seductive encounter with a sizzling woman from a far off land, of which I cannot elaborate here any

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-63335229837971900402011-07-15T19:27:00.000+05:302011-07-15T19:27:30.516+05:30

14th July, day 2 in Dushanbe: when the day dawned it hadn’t looked any more or less exciting than day 1 and I was eager to discover if I could discover some more fine corners of this city without corners and even more dazzling girls than before and if familiarity would indeed rob my senses the much coveted hint of adventure. I didn’t have much as an agenda. But then the morning rolled and things

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-82316932582151653862011-07-14T22:50:00.003+05:302011-07-14T22:54:15.482+05:30

I have few days in Dushanbe before I head off into the Pamirs and Afghanistan Hindu Kush, and generally during the evenings, I have nothing more to do than twiddle my sore thumb so thought of writing a series of posts, on my everyday adventure in this ancient city that has been labeled by LP as the most scenic capital city of Central Asia, which comprises of Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Uzbekistan,

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-45841626566750707832011-07-10T23:36:00.000+05:302011-07-10T23:36:20.410+05:30

I never climb a mountain to reach the summit. That’s not the reason why I climb. If I ever do so then it would be curtailing my voyage, my journey since the summit does define a boundary, a limitation beyond which I do not see. And that would indeed be the end of my climbs. Therefore I never understand why climbers all over the world are so hungry for the summit. Why are they in such a rush to

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-37469513324329692942011-07-04T00:56:00.000+05:302011-07-04T00:56:43.762+05:30

We step on the slabs and climb nimbly with utmost care as not to dislodge any of the stones. I wonder what an ingenious way to overcome a typical rock problem that otherwise would need proper gear and rock climbing equipment. As we exit out of the dihedral I heave a sigh of relief. It wasn’t a steady climb at all. As we ascend so does the pale dawn, turning pink and then crimson and then

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-25727959457923460322011-07-04T00:21:00.000+05:302011-07-04T00:21:07.793+05:30

Further on the ground keeps getting steeper and with the fresh rain pattering on our head, slippery as well. Through the dense mist comes the bark of typical shepherd dogs though we don’t see anything. Then I start smelling goats and lambs and then suddenly a large rocky slab rears out of the mist like a serpent’s hood. Few odd goats stand atop the slab with a pair of black dogs besides who bark

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-24885326246838848912011-07-03T23:58:00.000+05:302011-07-03T23:58:44.374+05:30

My foot slips on the thin patch of ice on a ground steeper and smoother than the flanks of Eiffel Tower and as I lose my balance and tumble head down into the abyss below I chide myself lightheartedly: ‘Not again Satya, not again. You are seriously getting senile and imbecile if you already aren’t.’ Humor is the only way to counter the deep constriction, the tightening knot at the pit of your

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-31624054690919764272011-06-29T17:02:00.002+05:302011-06-30T10:04:29.836+05:30

They (I would really like to know who this ‘they’ are!) say, there’s method in madness while I say there can never be a method without madness, at least not the kind of methods I follow or apply. I am shortly heading for another madcap enterprise of mine that is not my creation or concoction. Since the chances of getting back from it is remote and slim (just like my physical entity) I thought a

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-88031883097174485812011-06-11T00:23:00.002+05:302011-06-11T00:23:59.809+05:30

As another scoop of powder avalanche fell on top of my chest, compressing the tiny tent roof into my ribs further, I knew it was time again to hop out and shovel away the continuous debris of ice and snow that was falling from the top, burying us slowly but surely within our tent. Anyone who has ever used a Helsport Ringstind Superlight would know that this tent doesn’t come with elbow room. It’s

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-35347030230446699472011-05-31T11:57:00.001+05:302011-05-31T11:59:19.498+05:30

These lines came to me this morning, just as I woke up and I dedicate them to the free spirit that every human being has or should have; and in particular this is for my dear friend Simon Thomsett:- As the sun gets up so bright I look up to follow the eagle’s flight Where does it go and how far will it alight How I wish I could follow its flight When it nests into the darkness night I

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-71510375457252290112011-05-29T16:27:00.001+05:302011-06-01T13:57:00.945+05:30

... continued from the previous post.... 6. Húsavík, Iceland: A nation with the word ‘ice’ embedded in its name has to be among my top favourites just for that reason alone, and Iceland has countless other reasons as well. The proverbial land of ‘fire and ice’, blue lagoon, hot water springs, active volcanoes, some of the world’s largest ice caps, rare flora and fauna, clean crisp air, ice

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-44626755874581618902011-05-29T16:24:00.000+05:302011-05-29T16:24:16.017+05:30

During my Naval career, I was fortunate enough to have had several foreign postings, many deputations and occasional circumnavigation and ocean sailing expeditions thrown in for good measure, besides of course climbing all over the world, for which my bosses always allowed me to go; even at the cost of operational commitments. And now when I sit back and gaze at that wonderful period of my life

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-87401590883281788942011-05-27T13:47:00.001+05:302011-05-27T14:43:08.792+05:30

I joined the Navy to fulfil my childhood dream of becoming a submariner hence I opted for the submarines as soon as I could once I got my commission. As a submariner I had dreamt of a life full of adventure, exotic locations, untold mysteries and uncharted vistas, all of which did come true but I hadn’t bargained for the amount of studies we had to do regularly and continuously, even appearing

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-6897382842969536072011-05-25T20:33:00.000+05:302011-05-25T20:33:53.359+05:30

If one object can be named as an extension of my limbs then that would be a Swiss Knife (SK). To me it is not a lowly knife but a life saving device, exactly what the manufacturers Victorinox claim it to be. Over the years I have used many models and varieties of SK and currently I have 6 different models at home including the ubiquitous Swiss Champ with which you can literally dismantle a space

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-17127007633694700912011-05-21T13:54:00.000+05:302011-05-21T13:54:45.910+05:30

Every time I shoulder my rucksack, laden with climbing gear and my survival pack, my body automatically transforms into ‘climbing’ mode. From countless occasions before, it knows what it’s going to be in for, once that heavy rucksack gets on my shoulders. Each time I cling to a rock face from my fingers, once again my mind and body and my limbs know instinctively what could happen. Every time I

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-68598047192062445912011-05-21T00:35:00.000+05:302011-05-21T00:35:37.462+05:30

. At first sight, seeing from the upper escarpment, shrouded within the afternoon hot haze, Lake Baringo does not appear exciting or in any way unique; except that the water body is dotted with several tiny islands and has good amount of forest cover all around. It is the end of our Turkana trip and after the long, dry, dusty spell from Maralal I am only too glad to spread my legs just

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-79234477336611056262011-05-15T13:25:00.001+05:302011-05-15T13:29:59.772+05:30

Mara Porini Camp – Ol Kinyei Conservancy My next destination with Gamewatchers was their Mara Porini Camp in Ol Kinyei Conservancy. This happened during the latter half of January and by this time I had gained adequate experience for wildlife and all things wild to consider myself a little above ignorant in such matters. So I start off with some sense of efficacy as I ride with Mr. Pappu,

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-47686924144868252392011-05-15T12:58:00.001+05:302011-06-28T11:52:50.708+05:30

Porini Camps – Model of Wildlife Conservation & Sustainable Tourism One of the primary areas I wished to experience and understand in Kenya was the various models of wildlife conservation efforts that were being done privately across the country. Since, according to various reliable sources, the government wasn’t doing anything significant in this field at all. This is ironic as to the

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-33617140272263164332011-05-11T14:15:00.001+05:302011-05-11T14:23:22.463+05:30

This post is about an incident that happened during my trip to Kwenia with Simon (which you can read in the post ‘Flight to Kwenia’). The incident lasted for less than 20 minutes but was of such significance that it needed a separate post. So here it is. While atop the Kwenia cliff, while Simon and I are exploring the vegetation looking for birds and other animals, suddenly Simon gives a low

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-41817414345507085612011-05-11T14:12:00.004+05:302011-05-11T14:20:24.423+05:30

Even to the most seasoned true-born Kenyans and Kenyan safari experts, when I admit I am Kwenia bound shortly, each one of them express complete incomprehension about the place or its significance. This confirms that I am indeed up to something unique, remote, and therefore fascinating; something exactly up my alley. But then as my friend and host Sandy confirms, to do anything with the

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-16333068826821840272011-05-05T14:02:00.000+05:302011-05-05T14:02:25.261+05:30

I am writing a poetry post after a long time. All of us love the sea and pine to walk on golden sands, holding hands with the one we love. This poem is dedicated to each one of you but especially to the one for whom it is written. She isn't here so don't ask who she is but she is everywhere, the universal symbol of care and companionship. Enjoy and do look for your girl / boy on the beach. She or

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-69927110862174298402011-05-05T13:50:00.000+05:302011-05-05T13:50:22.073+05:30

This being the concluding part of my passage to Turkana and in all likelihood you won’t ever again read another post on Turkana from me, so let’s begin by demystifying a little about the place and the lake in that order. During British colonization, it was called Lake Rudolf that was changed to its current name post independence after the most populace tribe in the area. Measuring around 290 km

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-39907072982307721232011-05-04T18:00:00.000+05:302011-05-04T18:00:47.451+05:30

While I was jotting out my travel thoughts on Kenya, one place kept cropping up though at that time I had no idea how I could manage to go to a place that most travel portals named as simply ‘unreachable’ by an individual. The place was and still is Lake Turkana. Till the very last moment prior to my departure, my friend Sandy in Kenya, who was self-appointed as my Kenya trip manager cum whatever

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-89896052167479819752011-05-01T15:37:00.000+05:302011-05-01T15:37:11.495+05:30

Today is May 1 and it is also known all over the world as the May Day. In Europe May 1 used to be celebrated as the day Spring returned to make the earth green and hence it was always a public holiday. By sheer coincidence, this year, May 1 is a holiday all over the world, being Sunday, the day when Lord rested according to Christian belief. In medieval Europe, in Greek and Roman rituals in

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-42748788030952048272011-04-29T14:46:00.000+05:302011-04-29T14:46:29.804+05:30

Today my blogging avatar completes two years of virtual existence. Thanks to my friends, readers, followers and fans who continue to encourage me and visit me from all over the world and drop their comments too, the journey to my second anniversary, even though I wrote far less number of posts, seemed much quicker than the first. Today is the time to sum up and to once again go down the memory

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-32507292774843015022011-04-20T13:53:00.000+05:302011-04-20T13:53:09.794+05:30

The true bottom of the world is a difficult place to reach but nothing stops you from reaching out to the 200 odd people who reside there during the summers. Right where all the meridians collide and unite at the southern tip of earth's spin axis it is a mini-township of people comprising mostly of scientists, doctors, researchers, household staff, technical people, engineers, adventurers and

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-23201491535513631342011-04-20T13:13:00.000+05:302011-04-20T13:13:25.871+05:30

This is a request post. I had no intentions of putting this up, since what follows was written to a friend in a mail about which I had literally forgotten. But today the friend requested that I should put this up as a post. And as you know, I cannot refuse a friend. So here it is, for this friend, and for my all other friends and to everyone who would pass by. Love it, live it, there's no other

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-74856420237548320802011-04-16T23:35:00.000+05:302011-04-16T23:35:16.644+05:30

After a series of Kenya posts, I decided to give Kenya a break, though there’s lot more to be written about that wonderful country with all its contrary incomprehensible comprehensiveness. So let’s go back to our favorite arena of the big mountains and look at the question posed above. Actually this is a trick question since it doesn’t really have a definite answer, even I don’t have one that

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-56760756890028777122011-03-24T13:13:00.002+05:302011-03-24T13:28:59.528+05:30

Don’t get me wrong, I did mean ‘trippers’ and not the other word that many of my friends may like to assume. Let’s begin with a blank statement: the Turkana trip that I undertook while in Kenya is one of the most bizarre undertakings of my entire life, and perhaps by some stretch of imagination the most bizarre of all. Now those of you who know what I factually do (actually this is a misnomer

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-13244585579231508492011-03-01T00:33:00.003+05:302011-03-18T17:12:14.072+05:30

I have always believed that what we gain after severe hardships of mind and matter, brushing death kind, etc appears that much sweeter and worthy. Sarara Camp defies that logic; even if I had been dropped by Donald Trump’s private helicopter (not that he ever would despite being such a sweet man) while nursing glass after glass of Dom Perignon, I would still be struck with the same awe and

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-63408258770725678702011-02-19T09:33:00.004+05:302011-02-19T09:55:18.241+05:30

Sandy sashays in one evening, planting a light tap on my head as I try to focus my Nikon on a green tipped sunbird; ‘Game for a game count!’ She states, ‘This Sunday at the Nairobi National Park.’ I nod my consent without taking my eye from the view-finder though I don’t have the foggiest idea what she is babbling about. When Sandy suggests something, she usually means that that’s what I got to

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-71418475946056645672011-01-08T23:11:00.003+05:302011-01-08T23:21:46.417+05:30

I am not a primatologist (I guess that’s what they call themselves!), not by far, even then I must write about primates in this post, and about a particular sub species of monkey. I don’t know anything about them but I am closely related to them as you all probably are. Those of you who aren’t, my apologies – this post may not be suitable for your consumption. But to the rest, who continue

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-61708627955289180692010-12-19T16:56:00.002+05:302010-12-19T17:25:52.235+05:30

It is said (I have no idea by whom) that if you are lucky you die (which means everyone is at least lucky), if you are luckier then you almost die before finally dying, and if you are luckiest (like I always am) then you not only almost die but actually shake hands with death, smell her heady fragrance, embrace her if you may and then return before one day you finally die. This is actually a

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-60814734123341462942010-12-19T01:12:00.003+05:302010-12-19T01:22:35.108+05:30

Matatu is synonymous to Kenya as the lions. The country is unthinkable without either. If I had the power, I would put a lion inside a matatu as Kenya’s national emblem. Every guidebook worth its misguided notions recommend a visitor to stay as far as possible from one while all my well meaning friends, both original born Kenyans (surprisingly) and expatriates and those working in the country for

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-54324930064929748902010-12-19T00:58:00.003+05:302010-12-19T16:52:55.166+05:30

Just today I returned from Camp Sarara in the Mathew Ranges, the only eco-lodge within the vast 850,000 acres Namunyak Conservancy Trust. It is managed by Piers and Hillary Bastard along with the son Jeremy. I am not going to write my post on Sarara as of now since that will be akin to riding a time machine and fast forwarding my entire Kenyan safari as I have so many more experiences to share

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-4922016203706882812010-11-30T01:11:00.004+05:302010-11-30T01:21:28.649+05:30

I fully agree the above title is rather on the face, as I am already in a wild place, looking for wild things and going even wilder than I was intended to become, but even then this is the best I could come up with. I am deliberately skipping the first day at Kenya since it was spent at Swara Plains Ranch, where I shall return soon and would get to experience it in a more leisurely manner. For

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-69643689964910108552010-11-24T02:49:00.003+05:302010-11-24T03:03:55.669+05:30

For once the rapidity of the incidents unfolding around me has by far out maneuvered and outwitted my mental agility (many of you my staunch supporters would perhaps say, that is always the case) and consequently I am bit incoherent, confused and short on verbosity in this fine evening as I sit under a dark canopy of twinkling stars in the remote town of Wamba in Samboro Region. Very soon the

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-5291136821983979962010-11-17T07:33:00.004+05:302010-11-18T01:47:14.590+05:30

I am Kenya bound in less than a week. The obvious conclusion most of you would draw is that I am going there to climb Mt Kenya, Kilimanjaro and jump into Lake Victoria and Turkana and perhaps try to put my head inside the jaws of a hungry lion, if only to see what happens! I have already done all of these before, well may be not the last one, yet. While not intentionally, but providentially some

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-49887632495447664102010-11-15T22:22:00.001+05:302010-11-15T22:35:30.505+05:30

How far will you go before you know you have gone far enough!Well this is a question that cannot be answered hypothetically or theoretically. You need to get out there and into a situation where you would be stretched out both physically and mentally to know the answer. Even then you may never learn the real answer to the above quest. I haven’t, though I often go far, sometimes really far; and

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-46122093245329457372010-11-12T16:41:00.000+05:302010-11-12T16:44:05.543+05:30

This is not a tale of courage, or intrepidity. This is a story about a promise made by a fool, influenced by foolish chemicals rushing through his non-existent brain; a promise he fulfilled and in the process almost did not make it back to the one he had made the promise; much to the predicament of the latter. But overall it’s a story of how minds react and body overreacts at high altitudes where

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-51270250536593470582010-10-29T20:06:00.000+05:302010-10-29T20:07:28.372+05:30

I am often asked what exactly my mind churns when I am doing a dangerous and reckless climb, where the outcome is unknown and I had already crossed the point of no return. Never have I been able to give a satisfactory answer, mostly I would nod and say I don’t remember, since once out of the perilous situation (self orchestrated) my numb and dumb brain would quickly forget all that my mind must

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-51522621466607277522010-10-28T18:23:00.000+05:302010-10-28T18:24:57.206+05:30

Satya’s own website! The idea seemed far-fetched and preposterous and Satya said so to his friend who insists that Satya must immediately grab the domain name www.satyabratadam.com Satya’s logic is simple, why a personal website and who would be interested? A (Satya’s ever faithful computer geek friend) further insists that many around the globe would be keen to follow him and his stupid insane

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-44024800504311062782010-10-27T15:46:00.001+05:302010-10-27T15:48:46.779+05:30

In the beginning of the great Himalayan climbs there was the ‘siege ‘ style that was more like a jamboree headed by a sahib of British or European origin, followed by a staggering number of porters, orderlies, factotums, carrying even more staggering number and volume of scientific and exploratory equipment. They were mostly unsure of what they intended or what the specific objective of it all

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-86445857137066705812010-10-27T10:09:00.003+05:302010-10-27T10:18:20.888+05:30

I had never heard of Malcolm Bass till one day I got his mail that made me realize I would soon be heading for an exciting adventure into the Indian Himalaya with Malcolm as the leader. His CV looked impressive and he had exactly equal number of years as I in the mountains. After a bit of Googling and calling up some of my other British climbing friends, I realized much to my delight that Malcolm

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-40882663148046252842010-09-12T20:20:00.000+05:302010-09-12T20:23:34.354+05:30

Finally at the ripe age of 46, still alive and of sound limbs and unsound mind I eventually became what I was destined to become – a man of leisure, and I decided to dedicate the rest of my life in doing what I have been doing all my life so far – to have fun; complete and unadulterated. In the intelligentsia parlance, MOL translates as a lazy, good for nothing, doing nothing bum who has enough

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-5154900912981159752010-08-09T00:39:00.001+05:302010-08-09T11:15:06.169+05:30

This tale is about the over sized pelican (I hope it is a Pelican) that stays in my house. It is also about an off the edge adventure but above all a sweet little story from life. The pelican is funny and it sits in my drawing room, making every visitor laugh and scaring a few. This is the story of how this bird found her way from the Bernese Alpine meadows of Switzerland into my house. We would

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-56503177705333860722010-08-05T18:33:00.001+05:302010-08-09T11:05:11.844+05:30

All this mindless rush had brought back the pang of hunger in my growling stomach but Cynthia is not in the mood to listen to such banter. Art and culture is food for the soul, she says, stomach can wait. Perhaps I should postpone my departure by a day or two I muse. My alpine skills and Himalayan endurance being no match to Cynthia’s artistic inclinations, I follow her like a lamb resigned to

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-83396612609909662912010-08-05T18:27:00.002+05:302010-08-05T18:31:53.117+05:30

The following is part 1 of my sojourn through Vienna in search of art, culture and all things dulcet. Read on: I totter at the precipice of a 352 m void with wind buffeting hard on my face and the prettiest girl in sight plastered to my body like second skin. The fact that I can’t see anyone else beside the girl does not vouchsafe much about the girl’s altruistic beauty, which in its mildest form

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-34182794111598056262010-07-29T22:29:00.000+05:302010-07-29T22:31:22.870+05:30

I have now retired from the Defence Forces and that allows me the liberty to take potshots at my previous service, though I always viewed life through the utmost magnifying glass called ‘humor’. Recently I came across the following lines, summing up the motto of the Indian Armed Forces (with all pun and fun intended) and I realized that we could apply it to almost any profession that pays. For

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-8509905684244696842010-07-29T11:33:00.003+05:302010-07-29T11:40:02.177+05:30

In climbing, especially the extreme kind where we dangle from non-existent holds and bullet-proof vertical ice slabs, words and languages are mostly superfluous. We often don't say anything, in order to save our breaths and energy for that one impossible move, and when and if we do, it is often an expletive to which we don’t expect an answer. For our last prayers, when the need arise for such

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-84872872942864764292010-07-27T14:44:00.000+05:302010-07-27T14:45:24.480+05:30

A wise man had once told me 'in today's world it's not always important what you do, but what you can prove for others to see.' While mountaineering is an ethical sport where much is believed from the climbers and summiteers without the need of any proof whatsoever and I personally don't necessarily subscribe in the wisdom of the aforementioned wise man, it has now become more necessary than ever

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-31007548559477143492010-07-17T01:17:00.002+05:302010-07-17T01:19:34.931+05:30

When we think of Switzerland we normally think of the snowcapped mountains with endless ski slopes, sparkling blue lakes and some of you, perhaps, of the Swiss Banks. Rarely would we associate plain land with Swiss topography though there are vast tracts of Switzerland devoid of anything vertical. With my enchantment with anything natural that rises up into the azure, my obvious destinations in

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-7706077460401799192010-07-16T21:40:00.002+05:302010-07-16T21:55:43.164+05:30

Recently a friend of mine sent me the picture of a mystic mountain trail, showing a solitary human figure walking towards the viewer with a thin trail behind him, disappearing into the distant snow covered mountains. Now I know of such trails in abundance, and I am often found at such places, often alone, like the figure in the picture. Along with it, my friend asked me for some lyrical

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-76649286996222345922010-07-03T09:32:00.000+05:302010-07-03T09:34:34.159+05:30

I had already told my companion that I had absolutely no interest in seeing the interiors of any of the world’s best museums and palaces, of which Venice seemed to contain at least fifty if not more; but she wouldn’t hear of the same about the churches; and promised to take me to the nicest and quietest ones only and then follow it up with a surprise of the visual kind. Gastronomic surprises were

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-64571286440320694082010-07-03T09:26:00.002+05:302010-07-03T09:32:23.858+05:30

The following, in two parts, is the tale of my sole trip to Venice.Italy to me means much more than to most. Besides the hot ladies, pizza and pasta and Rome and Naples, and St Peter's cathedral, to me Italy is special since my own blood brother is an Italian in mind, body, spirit and soul but that's certainly not the reason that I visit Italy whenever I do. There are two distinct regions of

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-19786718093363334142010-06-30T02:20:00.003+05:302010-06-30T02:25:09.127+05:30

Any climber, however intrepid, insane and outrageous he or she may be who says has never felt fear of death is bullshitting. On return while laying our aching limbs next to a lumbering fire with a pint in our hand we may be pouring out boisterous songs and ‘devil-may-care’ attitude, but mark my words friends, up there when the elements were trying their best to nip our lives, we had forgotten all

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-48378193978714357172010-06-16T12:46:00.002+05:302010-06-16T12:50:43.550+05:30

In order to begin our journey onwards along the TOCAP, I felt it would be nice to recap a bit and then go forward. So let’s just return back to the Atlantic Coast when we hit the desolate beach in the Namib-Nauklaft National Park in Namibia. We already know about the skeleton coast and how really rugged, arid and spectacular the landscape is. For the very reasons that normally drive away people,

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-77219950242034801762010-06-15T16:32:00.002+05:302010-06-15T17:14:53.143+05:30

As soon as we leave Paraguay, we enter an area generally called the Brazilian Highland. Funnily enough, despite its vast size and neighboring Bolivia and Argentina and every country in Latin America except Chile and Ecuador, Brazil doesn’t have any high mountains and the highland ranges rarely exceed that of 1000 m. So in terms of climbing I never did find Brazil exciting though in terms of

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-46399736507261252572010-06-14T22:40:00.000+05:302010-06-14T22:42:08.329+05:30

Well my navigational tables and sun fix tells me that we are somewhere close to N 23 deg 30 min & E 112 deg (wherever that is – LOL) and after having braved the maddening seas of the Pacific we are nearing our Easter Isles, the island of legends and mysteries. So it is time for us to set course to true 125, now let’s get our boat in that course using the steering wheel. We now put the wheel to

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-70013781822438266162010-06-13T13:20:00.001+05:302010-06-13T13:24:26.073+05:30

To imagine that Tonga is actually an independent nation by its own right is nearly unbelievable since it is so tiny and is actually a collection of miniscule islands, with Tongatapu Group, of which Eua is the southernmost, being the largest of all. I wonder why it isn’t under any other countries occupation or sovereignty! Landfall means the first sighting of land and as the lookout with a

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-64961021849802543462010-06-12T21:43:00.000+05:302010-06-12T21:45:10.006+05:30

This is the first of an odd series of posts woven around, within and about the Tropic of Capricorn. Odd since I have not personally done all that I am going to chronicle in these posts though a vast tract of it have I traversed and also odd as to the genesis of these posts. They arise out of a chain of correspondence I did a while ago with a very dear friend who is born under the sign of

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-33321606926621860352010-05-30T20:32:00.002+05:302010-05-30T20:52:53.924+05:30

This is a simple tale of a human being who is totally unknown to me but who had touched my life briefly very recently. He is not a climber, nothing extraordinary and we cross people like him by the hundreds each day. Here's the story: - Recently I was in Mumbai and had to go to a friend's place, which is rather close to the Bandra local train station. I got out of the station in the impossibly

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-62407768216354884302010-05-29T08:45:00.003+05:302010-05-29T09:14:59.380+05:30

Things happen to each one of us all the time. As long as you are alive on this planet (and may be thereafter too!) not a day could possibly pass without something happening to you, around you, with people whom you know, at places you have been or wish to be. Incidents and happenings, like our thoughts are an integral part of our lives. Some of these things happen due to our own actions or

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-90933027481366499922010-05-25T21:59:00.001+05:302010-05-25T22:05:13.073+05:30

Your face on canvas I drewAre you real, are you trueHave we met before!Why do I want you more?In the rising sun I see youLike rainbow in morning dewUpon the grass as I strideYou smile and walk by my sideI watch the birds, with them I singRuffling my hair, in my arms you swingThrough the day I think of youYou stay within me like a heady brewWhen I return to my empty houseYou hold my hand you hold

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-37075307073384400022010-05-23T22:34:00.002+05:302010-05-23T22:44:02.055+05:30

In the mountains we have a thumb rule that we apply when we are hopelessly lost and come to a cross road from where one trail is going down and one that is going up. Obviously the one that is going down is more tempting to take as it is an easier one, but in the mountains we always take the trail going up for three simple reasons: if this is indeed the right trail then you are ok, if this is the

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-62982953486488991362010-05-23T14:55:00.000+05:302010-05-23T14:56:27.821+05:30

This is perhaps my first post that is essentially aimed at seasoned and experienced climbers. If you are not then you may like to skip this post. I will be using techniques and terminologies that a non-initiate may find hard to grasp or visualize. But read on nevertheless, since in this post I am going to give a brief beta on almost everything that you need to know to experience the toughest form

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-10661972105179983502010-05-14T14:06:00.001+05:302010-05-14T14:07:47.078+05:30

It’s summer time now, the spring is all but gone, many of my friends are right now struggling to stay alive in the higher echelons of Everest and some of the other highest peaks in the world as many of you are now gearing up for the summer treks, and planning your holiday in the hills. Any trip to the mountains, high or low, alpine or Himalayan proportions certainly calls for some experience and

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-41710453753956154192010-05-07T14:48:00.002+05:302010-05-07T14:55:29.474+05:30

Only yesterday I was telling a friend about my adventures into the great Namibia Desert along the Skeleton Coast of Atlantic, emphasizing in particular how I am not too fond of the deserts during the day since cold places are essentially my home. I thought she was an ocean and mountain person like me, but she surprised me by confessing that she is equally enchanted with the deserts of the world

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-44660253353190650582010-05-01T23:01:00.002+05:302010-05-01T23:04:20.971+05:30

Horizon is a place where the earth and the sky appear to meet. In terrestrial sense it is also a place that is furthest from the eye of the beholder. We can’t see what lies beyond our horizon and we don’t know how the world really is beyond our horizon. Horizon is always mysterious, haunting, exciting and intensely bewitching – at least to me. Is it any wonder then that horizons have always

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-64077549291939630572010-05-01T00:08:00.000+05:302010-05-01T00:09:18.027+05:30

Today is the 30th day of April 2010 and you all know it but many of you wouldn't know that today I finally leave the Indian Navy after 22 yrs of service to the nation. What has that got to do with the title of this post – plenty. The title pretty much sums up my own life in one word.There are always at least two ways of looking at anything and everything. Entire nature and universe and we are

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-68989738134529251632010-04-29T13:05:00.002+05:302010-04-30T23:29:13.329+05:30

My Blog came into existence exactly on this day in 2009. Today is its birthday or as they say, 'Happy Birthday'. Seriously speaking, even till the day I actually sat down to create and put up my first post on 29 April 2009, I had never thought that someday I would be a blogger, and going by the reports, a popular one at that. But my blog is due to several of my friends and of course due to my

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-15830336379339402252010-04-25T01:29:00.001+05:302010-04-25T01:31:51.822+05:30

All at SeaWith 22 years of marine life, where I rose from being the lowest form of marine creature to an officer and (supposedly or allegedly) gentleman the title to this post may not raise many eyebrows at all. Big deal, most of you would say. If not at sea, on land certainly I have been always ‘all at sea’ forever lost and dreaming of my mountains and ice bound regions of our planet. But you

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-22499635433763222742010-04-04T13:14:00.002+05:302010-04-04T13:17:42.274+05:30

This is less a tale of adventure than a tale of disbelief. If it hadn’t happened to me, I would find it extremely difficult to accept it as true. If today I drop the name of ‘Rotuma’ I am sure all of you would dive straight into Google. But I talk of a day when Google did not exist and neither did the internet for common man. I for one had never even heard of the place before I reached there and

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-66096666250620954332010-03-20T16:42:00.000+05:302010-03-20T16:44:01.489+05:30

I could have also written: My Mother – Oh My God!!! Since besides being the living god for me, she actually infuses the deepest sense of wonder and admiration each time I consciously think about what all she has done and continues to do. I am what I am today and what I will ever be is solely due to my mother. She never told me what to do or how to shape my life or where my dreams must take me.

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-44783842307152265012010-03-18T09:09:00.002+05:302010-03-18T09:12:23.168+05:30

People say that I am courageous and I do things that need courage, but honestly I have never been consciously courageous, or felt courage coursing through my veins. In fact I am not really sure what courage means or how does it feel to be courageous. I do things that challenges me, excites me, makes me feel alive, keeps me on and off the edge. Whatever fuels my passion and love for the outdoors

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-80390915701405618532010-03-09T13:28:00.003+05:302010-03-09T13:37:32.437+05:30

I am not sure if I am turning into a poet in the last few months since I haven't been able to go to the mountains and it is often said that poetry flows out of a bereaved heart. My blog might now be looking less like an extreme adventure travel and climbing blog but let me assure all of you that more nail biting edge of the seat stories are coming up soon. Meanwhile another rendering of the heart

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-68352321896019612010-03-08T11:44:00.001+05:302010-03-08T11:47:45.259+05:30

Unless you are a dedicated and hard core outdoor photographer it is highly unlikely that you would carry a solar panel with you when you venture away from the civilization, to charge your batteries. One of the biggest concerns of any outdoor photographer is how to conserve the battery power to the maximum possible limit. Since most often you can’t recharge the batteries in the outdoors you have

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-25517342189622910642010-03-05T00:53:00.004+05:302010-03-23T23:15:23.964+05:30

This is dedicated to all the women who are and were ever in my life, in whatever way, in whichever form... irrespective of where they are today and with whomsoever since there's no one with me... and all I want is youDo I have to be aroundWhen I want to be with youDo I have to hold you closeWhen I am with youDo I have to say the wordsWhen I speak to youDo you have to go farWhen I wish to be with

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-91134907967939138172010-03-04T00:58:00.005+05:302010-03-23T23:15:48.271+05:30

The following is dedicated to all women who stir such thoughts in our hearts through the silence of the night. I wonder how you lookWhen you wear only your smileI wonder what you tookWhen you went away for a whileI wonder how you passed your day When you had so much on your mindI wonder if you thought of meWhen you drew the window blindI wonder what you thinkWhen you think of nothing at allI

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1912987134580486512.post-81787585575472762622010-02-27T16:28:00.002+05:302010-02-27T16:29:41.631+05:30

I have seen perhaps thousands of avalanches, big and small, of all sorts all over the world in the span of my life so far. I have rescued buried people, or dug out dead bodies, while being buried myself on dozens of occasions. I teach people wilderness survival and a substantial part of my mountain travel workshop is dedicated to avalanches. I have written scores of articles on the phenomenon and

satyabratadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06979443798593200570noreply@blogger.com3