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Editor's Note: In the fall of 1999, a self-sufficient team of five Americans trekked into the the Inner Dolpo region of Northwest Nepal to descend the Langu Khola in whitewater kayaks. The Langu Khola drainage parallels the Nepal/Tibet border running east to west and is surrounded by 22,000-foot mountains. Andy Zimet, Paul Zirkelbach, Kurt Casey, Dave Friedman, and Ethan Greene trekked for 10 days and over a 16,400-foot pass to reach the river. They began kayaking at over 14,000 feet, travelling for 13 days through several vertically-walled gorges and numerous sections of class V and VI rapids. This is their story.

It was January and I was thinking more about skiing than boating. At least until the phone rang. "What do you think about the Mugu?" my friend Andy asked. The spring before Andy, four other friends and I had done a two-week kayaking trip down the Humla Karnali in western Nepal. About a week into the trip we came to the confluence of the Karnali's two main tributaries, the Humla and the Mugu. I had stumbled up onto the cobblestone delta, taken a quick look around, added one more stone to the pile that marked the significance of the spot, and gotten back into my boat. The only vision of the future for me then was the next 250km of kayaking that would bring us to a highway in southwest Nepal.

Nevertheless, at the end of September I found myself wandering around Denver International Airport. I saw Kurt through the crowd waiting to board Thai Airways Flight 3343. Andy and Dave were already in Kathmandu, and with our arrival the group was complete. We clamored into the Hotel Ganesh Himal and piled boats and duffel bags onto the third story balcony. All we needed were the necessary permits and we'd be on our way.

"Due to the location and cultural significance of the Inner Dolpo, tourist travel to this region is heavily restricted. ..."

Our goal was to descend the Langu Khola which starts in the Inner Dolpo region of Nepal and is the major tributary of the Mugu Karnali. The Langu runs from east to west through a valley, the northern side of which makes the border between Nepal and Tibet. Due to the location and cultural significance of the Inner Dolpo, tourist travel to this region is heavily restricted.

Several months prior to our arrival Andy had contracted a local rafting and trekking company to obtain the necessary permits. Although we had been assured everything was in order and all we needed to do was show up, it quickly became obvious that nothing had been done. The next week was an intense emotional roller coaster. We were told to pick up our permits, only to arrive and be told, "We are concerned for your safety and need to conduct an internal investigation before we can issue the permit."

Each morning we would frantically pack everything and be ready to go, and each afternoon we would unpack and sort through the gear one more time.

This repetitive sorting, combined with the tension of waiting, led to the obsessive consideration of minutia, "Just how many alcohol swabs do I need?" and "I'm sure I can get by on two squares of toilet paper a day." After seven days, it looked like the expedition might never leave Kathmandu.

"This repetitive sorting, combined with the tension of waiting, led to the obsessive consideration of minutia. 'Just how many alcohol swabs do I need?'

The Langu drainage is in northwest Nepal. The closest road runs along the southern portion of the country. We had allotted 10 days for the trek into the Langu. To avoid a multi-week trek, we needed to fly partway in. Although we had a plane chartered, the permit problems kept our departure date in flux. It was now October when there are several important Hindu festivals and many people traveling. As a result, the plane we had hoped to charter on the west side of Nepal needed to be on the east side where most of the people live. The charter company told us that Saturday was the last day it could provide the plane. Because we were flying into the mountains, the charter did not want to depart from Nepalganj, the largest city in western Nepal, past 11am. The only problem was we were still in Kathmandu, a 14-hour bus ride from Nepalganj.

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So Friday we loaded all of our gear onto a chartered bus, and at 8pm we were ready to go still with no permits. If we missed the plane, the expedition was over. At 8:30pm the trekking agent showed up with the permits, which at first glance, looked fine — except for one problem. Dave's picture was on both my permit and his. Not a big deal in Kathmandu, but farther down the line it could mean disaster. As I cursed and foamed at the mouth my comrades loaded me into a rickshaw and sent me to get another set of passport pictures.

We left Kathmandu with 30 minutes to spare — by Nepalese standards, not much of a margin for error. After one flat tire, we arrived at the Nepalganj airport just before 11am. The group was tired yet ecstatic. After the police confiscated all of our kerosene and all the matches we could not hide, they allowed the plane to leave. The flight to Juphal was truly spectacular. We flew over the plains and up the lowland valleys. I was overcome with euphoria... we were back in the Himalaya.

Our route went to the west of Dhaulagiri I and provided spectacular views of Nepal's westernmost 8000-meter peak. I looked over to see Kurt's eyes widen as he stared out the window at the rock wall 20 meters off the wing. He turned to me and said, "I hope we're landing." Then the stall buzzer went off and I hoped we were landing, too. Fortunately the grass landing strip appeared.

That night our guide, D.B. Rai, told us our porters had not yet arrived. We had met D.B. in Kathmandu. He was a strong man from the Khumbu region of Nepal. At our first meeting Andy asked him if the pass we needed to cross would be covered with snow. D.B. asked the elevation of the pass and upon hearing it was over 5000 meters replied, "why not?"

I knew right then we'd get along just fine. This simple answer would become the mantra of our expedition, used to explain all the unforeseen logistical glitches. Kayak the Langu Khola? Why not?

"The main path through Dunai is narrow and made of stone and is lined with dry stacked stone buildings, filled with smoke, which give the town a medieval feel..."

After Juphal, we were on to Dunai, the district headquarters of the Outer Dolpo. We hired enough local men to carry the gear, shouldered our boats, and started the half-day walk. Dunai seemed like the best place to wait for our porters.

The main path through Dunai is narrow, made of stone and lined with dry, stacked, stone buildings, and is filled with smoke, all of which give the town a medieval feel. We set up camp on the lawn of the Blue Sheep Inn and quickly made friends with the proprietor, Angad Hamal.

In order to travel into the Inner Dolpo we needed to be in the company of a government liaison officer, who was supposed to have been appointed to us in Kathmandu, but with all the last minute paper shuffling a police officer from Dunai was chosen instead. We met Davi that afternoon to discuss our route. As we sat down with the maps, he told which route we were allowed to take. A fine trek, it unfortunately did not go anywhere near the Langu Khola. Andy went to see the District Officer and after about an hour he returned and said we could go to the Langu, though once we were out of Inner Dolpo the local government would be absolved of any responsibility.

Despite the information we received in Kathmandu, the local officials also informed us that upon reaching Gumagri we would be without the proper permits and arrested. A key factor was the confusion that arose over the written itinerary on our permits. No one had heard of any of the towns and they were not on any map. Somehow Andy was able to convince Davi that the names were small towns along the Langu and thus our route was set.

Our porters finally arrived and the next morning we began the hike to Tinje. The group had grown and now included 15 porters, D. B., Davi, and five, pasty-faced kayakers. We planned to trek up the Thuli Beri to a tributary named the Tarap Khola. By following the Tarap we would reach the town of Dho Tarap. From Dho Tarap we would cross over Cho La and drop down to Tinje. Tinje lay on the Panjang Khola, the main tributary of the Langu. From there we would bid farewell to our companions, stuff 12 days of food in our boats and head downstream.

We hiked along the Thuli Beri all day and saw firsthand why Peter Knowles calls this run one of the best in Nepal. By evening we reached Tarakot and camped near the police station. For the first time since our arrival nothing had gone wrong and there were smiles on every face.

The next morning, however, it was business as usual. Davi was displeased with the food and equipment the trekking agency supplied for him. He also claimed D.B., as the local representative of the trekking agency, was responsible and promptly arrested him. With D.B in the local jail, we had no choice but to continue on. Guides from other trekking groups told us we would be arrested for traveling without a guide. If we could just get to the river, it would all be downhill from there, but D.B. was not to be deterred easily. After being taken to a cell in Tarakot and shackled at the ankles, he told Davi: "We have five Americans traveling into the wilderness whom you are responsible for. If they get lost or injured you will have to call the American Embassy and explain why they did not have a guide." That statement and $60 US bought D.B. his freedom. He was even able to catch up with us that night, and we were whole again.

"The night was long and cold at our highest camp. Water that was left out froze overnight and the camp was covered with a heavy frost by morning..."

The walk up the Tarap Khola would have been an incredible trip in itself. The river cascades down through a long series of waterfalls. We hiked through beautiful spruce and pine forests with stands of birch high on the hillside. Eagles soared overhead as we followed the steep trail of stacked rocks. In many places the trail was carved into the side of the mountain and for days we followed it upward as it wound around cliffs and through gorges traveling deeper into the mountains.

We eventually rose above the forest and into the high desert of Dolpo. Blue sheep grazed on the hillsides and rows of stone lining the trail were carved with the mantra "Om Manipadme Hum" (which means hail the jewel in the lotus [of the heart]). Late one afternoon, we came upon several long rows of mani stones leading to an ancient chorten. As we reached the chorten, the stone houses of Dho Tarap appeared in the valley before us.

Dho Tarap is the gateway to Inner Dolpo. The houses are three stories of dry, stacked stone. The roofs were lined with drying shrubs and grass which give the buildings a fortress-like appearance. We acquired a rooftop camp and spent the day visiting the Buddhist and Bon Po Gompas in the valley and recuperating. Ahead of us lay the crux of our approach route.

Early the next morning, we packed and headed up the valley toward Cho La Pass, which marked our entrance to Inner Dolpo. The water on the northern side of the pass runs into the Langu. The hike up was slow and lasted most of the day. Late in the afternoon we reached the summit, which lies over 5000 meters above sea level. Much to the delight of our liberated porters, a passing yak caravan had hauled loads of our gear. We headed down to the river with feelings of both excitement and trepidation.

The night was long and cold at our high camp. Water that was left out froze and the camp was covered with a heavy frost by morning. We moved down the trail slowly longing for the sun to rise over the mountains. I caught up to Kurt who said, "I'm putting in."

There wasn't much water and it looked cold. Kurt stopped to wait for us at the next tributary and Andy joined him in the water. We agreed to meet in Tinje. Tenzing Lama, our host from Dho Tarap, had a sister in Tinje, and we set camp on her roof and drank the last bottle of Jack Daniels to celebrate our arrival. The next day we sorted and divvied the gear and bid D.B. and the porters goodbye. Although we all longed for the solitude of the river, we were sad to see them go. We had many good times during our 10 days of traveling together and without their help we never would have made it that far.

Although we awoke to three inches of snow covering our camp, our longing for the river overcame the chill in our bones. We crammed gear in our boats until we could barely sit in them and pointed them downstream.