The hunters departed Ludhiana after dinner in the dark aboard our 1965 Plymouth station wagon. Our party included my father-in-law with stage 3 emphysema as driver, a Sikh doctor from the hospital as interpreter and myself riding shotgun. When we reached our hunting area, we found a villager to travel with us out into the fields. When we arrived in the fields, the doctor, villager and I climbed onto the top of our Plymouth with spotlight and rifle. We held onto the roof rack, slowly spanning the fields with our search light, while driving up and down the rough cart/tractor tracks which divided the fields and lined each side of the water canals. In the darkness, lit only by the stars, we peered into the blackness searching for the sudden appearance of two eyes gleaming in our light.
We spotted reflecting eyes, but not our intended prey. It was about 11pm when we decided to try the other side of the shallow 20 foot wide canal. A decision needed to be made: do we get a running start and power across the water canal, or slowly creep through with the hope of not getting stuck nor drowning the engine with high splashing water? The canal didn't seem very deep, so the power approach was selected while the hunter's held tight onto the roof rack. We made it a little more than 2/3 across the canal before the engine died. The good news was that we had a villager with us who spoke the local dialect; the bad news was that we were in "moonshine" territory where government officials had been shot at night while investigating illegal activity. Also, we were only 2/3 across the canal in about 24 inches of water.
My father-in-law was not in physical condition for walking to the next village. The Sikh doctor could easily be mistaken for an investigating government official. "Sahib," says our villager, "get on my shoulders and I will carry you to the bank." Sahib climbed on his shoulders and, rifle in hand, wobbled toward the canal bank. We set out at 1130pm walking to the nearest village for help, myself speaking no Hindi or local dialect and our villager speaking no English. About 45 minutes later, we arrived at a village and asked for the head man who, often, owned a tractor. Though well into the "moonshine," he agreed to come and pull us out of the canal. I rode on a side fender and our villager held a lantern high in the air on back, as we drove along the bumpy cart/tractor path and stopped on the bank across from our vehicle. Rather than pull out a chain or rope and back up for towing, the head man stopped his tractor, walked in back and returned with a jug and four dirty glasses. He would pull us out, but first we must drink with him. Our glass were filled and, in lantern light, we sipped our "moonshine" (In the lantern's shadow, I pitched mine over my shoulder into the water).
It was now after midnight, our wagon was out of the canal, our hunt hadn't been successful, but it was time to return home. We drove off the bumpy car/tractor paths onto a dirt road, settled back in our seats and ran out of gas 2o minutes later. A villager staggering down the dirt road informed us that there were no gas stations nearby, but the next village had a cycle that one could ride to the nearest village with a telephone. My comrade villager companion and I walk down the starlit dirt road, rifle in hand, seeking the village with the motorcycle so I could ride to the nearest telephone and call home for someone to bring gas. The next village had the cycle, but it was a one-speed Indian bicycle. It was now around 2am. Villager on the back fender carrying the rifle, I started to peddle down the dirt road with no idea when we would arrive at a village with a telephone. In the dawn's light, we arrived at the village, called for help and waited to be driven back to the Plymouth with a gas can.
That was my last hunting adventure in India. Our daughter would be turning 2 years old soon and required half airfare rather than free, so I planned to return home with her before her birthday.
I will be brief regarding the following events. We drove to the Delhi airport for our return flight, but I could not board without a cholera and yellow fever vaccination. We drove into town for my two vaccinations and drove back the next morning to depart for intended stops in Athens, Paris and London. Upon arrival in Athens with my 2 year old and several pieces of luggage, I had a high fever and could barely walk. We took the bus into town where I found a simple hotel room near the Plaka and laid in bed for two days while she played at my bedside. I was able to get some food at a nearby restaurant. The fever and weakness continued, so my daughter and I walked to the nearby TWA office for a ticket change and direct morning flight to New York. We were met upon arrival by my aunt and uncle, taken to their home and I remained in bed for the next four days. After 10 days in New York, we returned home to Portland where we were met by my parents and driven to their home. A couple days later, my mom commented that she hoped that it was over and I would be staying home from now on. Neither of us knew at that time, it was the marriage that would soon be over and the real adventures were yet to begin.
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We spotted reflecting eyes, but not our intended prey. It was about 11pm when we decided to try the other side of the shallow 20 foot wide canal. A decision needed to be made: do we get a running start and power across the water canal, or slowly creep through with the hope of not getting stuck nor drowning the engine with high splashing water? The canal didn't seem very deep, so the power approach was selected while the hunter's held tight onto the roof rack. We made it a little more than 2/3 across the canal before the engine died. The good news was that we had a villager with us who spoke the local dialect; the bad news was that we were in "moonshine" territory where government officials had been shot at night while investigating illegal activity. Also, we were only 2/3 across the canal in about 24 inches of water.
My father-in-law was not in physical condition for walking to the next village. The Sikh doctor could easily be mistaken for an investigating government official. "Sahib," says our villager, "get on my shoulders and I will carry you to the bank." Sahib climbed on his shoulders and, rifle in hand, wobbled toward the canal bank. We set out at 1130pm walking to the nearest village for help, myself speaking no Hindi or local dialect and our villager speaking no English. About 45 minutes later, we arrived at a village and asked for the head man who, often, owned a tractor. Though well into the "moonshine," he agreed to come and pull us out of the canal. I rode on a side fender and our villager held a lantern high in the air on back, as we drove along the bumpy cart/tractor path and stopped on the bank across from our vehicle. Rather than pull out a chain or rope and back up for towing, the head man stopped his tractor, walked in back and returned with a jug and four dirty glasses. He would pull us out, but first we must drink with him. Our glass were filled and, in lantern light, we sipped our "moonshine" (In the lantern's shadow, I pitched mine over my shoulder into the water).
It was now after midnight, our wagon was out of the canal, our hunt hadn't been successful, but it was time to return home. We drove off the bumpy car/tractor paths onto a dirt road, settled back in our seats and ran out of gas 2o minutes later. A villager staggering down the dirt road informed us that there were no gas stations nearby, but the next village had a cycle that one could ride to the nearest village with a telephone. My comrade villager companion and I walk down the starlit dirt road, rifle in hand, seeking the village with the motorcycle so I could ride to the nearest telephone and call home for someone to bring gas. The next village had the cycle, but it was a one-speed Indian bicycle. It was now around 2am. Villager on the back fender carrying the rifle, I started to peddle down the dirt road with no idea when we would arrive at a village with a telephone. In the dawn's light, we arrived at the village, called for help and waited to be driven back to the Plymouth with a gas can.
That was my last hunting adventure in India. Our daughter would be turning 2 years old soon and required half airfare rather than free, so I planned to return home with her before her birthday.
I will be brief regarding the following events. We drove to the Delhi airport for our return flight, but I could not board without a cholera and yellow fever vaccination. We drove into town for my two vaccinations and drove back the next morning to depart for intended stops in Athens, Paris and London. Upon arrival in Athens with my 2 year old and several pieces of luggage, I had a high fever and could barely walk. We took the bus into town where I found a simple hotel room near the Plaka and laid in bed for two days while she played at my bedside. I was able to get some food at a nearby restaurant. The fever and weakness continued, so my daughter and I walked to the nearby TWA office for a ticket change and direct morning flight to New York. We were met upon arrival by my aunt and uncle, taken to their home and I remained in bed for the next four days. After 10 days in New York, we returned home to Portland where we were met by my parents and driven to their home. A couple days later, my mom commented that she hoped that it was over and I would be staying home from now on. Neither of us knew at that time, it was the marriage that would soon be over and the real adventures were yet to begin.
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| Searching for Rhino in Kaziranga National Park - Assam, India |
"The explorers who had come before and discovered facts had at the same time laid down distinctions between what was significant and what was not. ...Such distinctions were not necessarily false, but their effect was pernicious. Where guidebooks praised a site, they pressure a visitor to match their authoritative enthusiasm, and where they were silent, pleasure or interest seemed unwarranted."
The Art of Travel
