The Tottery Giant Rock
The Tottery Giant Rock, Climbing to the Roof of Indochina
By Mark O'Connor
"Hello. Fansipan?" the ranger asked. We all looked at each other with apprehension.
"Ah, just looking" replied Dave Kingan, one of my companions. We had just read a sign at the park entrance which clearly stated a guide must be used to hike to the top of Mt. Fansipan. We were trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. Not an easy feat when all three of us were in hiking boots and carrying hefty packs. We had nothing against being guided, but from the time we had entered this little trip onto the itinerary of our 3-month Asian excursion, we had been determined to go it alone. Now, with a park ranger sitting between us and the start of the track, things were beginning to go pear shaped, fast. A jeep had brought us the 10km up from Sapa - the well-known hill tribe town of Vietnam's highlands - and we had walked another few kilometres up the road. We were not turning back. Luckily our ranger friend was contentedly lazing in the driver's seat of his Landrover and Dave's ambiguous answer seemed to placate him long enough for us to casually wonder past.
"Right. Let's just gun it". I said to Dave and Justine when we reached the start of the track. And we did. Like race horses bolting from the starting blocks, we flew up the beginning steps of the track, putting as much distance as possible between us and the park ranger. Twenty minutes later and we felt confident we were in the clear. I doubt he even moved from the car seat. I guess we have communism to thank for that. I don't think he got paid enough to warrant chasing rouge hikers up tracks. Mt. Fansipan lies in the Hoang Lien Mountains of North Western Vietnam. At 3143 metres it dominates the sky of not just Vietnam, but the entire Indochinese peninsula. Hence the nickname: The Roof of Indochina. Fansipan, also spelt Fanxipan, is a halfhearted translation of the Vietnamese Hua Xi Pan - "the tottery giant rock". Essentially the summit of Fansipan is no great spectacle. It lacks the piercing dominance of alpine peaks which share a similar altitude in New Zealand. Instead, it is a small hump - slightly higher than other small humps - in a lush green line of ranges more comparable to the Ruahines than the Southern Alps. Steady rain and constant low cloud had marred our preparation days in Sapa and constantly blocked our view of the hills. We still had no idea what the Fansipan summit looked like or what the terrain might entail. The topo maps we had printed off the internet and acquired from travel agencies in Sapa were pretty vague. They all told a different story about the layout of the track. Dragonflies hummed around us from every direction as we sat down for lunch in front of a small triangular peak. As it was the highest point we could see we assumed this was the summit.
"Sweet, we'll be there in a few hours" we thought, as we posed for photos in front it. How wrong we were. As soon as we started walking again the track dropped straight down a spur and then winded its way along the side of a hill. Two hours later we found a 'Fansipan' sign pointing in the opposite direction of our false summit. We still had a long way to go. At about 4pm we stumbled across a little camp with a few huts, a westerner, and a couple of Vietnamese guys.
"No Guide?" they asked, obviously surprised to see three whiteys on the mountain without local assistance. They actually seemed quite impressed and were happy to offer us some advice.
"There is no way you'll make the summit today" the westerner informed us.
"But there is another camp about two and a half hours further up the track".
We looked at each other and all sort of shrugged at the same time. Up until now we had just being cruising along. It would be dark by 7pm so we banked on having enough time.
What followed was possibly the most gut wrenching section of track I have ever been on. Two and a half hours up a very steep ridgeline. Suddenly my pack felt 10kg heavier; the temperature10 degrees warmer; the air 10 times thinner. The track ascended up above the tree line and into bamboo. A thick mass of short green shoots grew on either side of the track turning it into a narrow corridor. We probably climbed 800 vertical metres of solid Vietnamese mountain in those two and a half hours. As darkness began to descend on Hoang Lien National Park we had still seen no sign of our camp and we were exhausted. For the last twenty minutes I had been using the bamboo shaped concrete fence that some poor hand had built along the side of the track to haul myself along. Finally we reached our campsite - a muddy clearing in the bamboo, littered with rubbish and looking entirely unappealing - even to our depleted souls. The small A-frame hut in the middle of the clearing was looking pretty good and we all cursed ourselves for turning down the key offered to us by the guides at the last camp. There were no decent spots to pitch a tent so we tried to find a way into the hut. Both doors were securely bolted and there appeared to be no way in. Just as Dave and I were about to start undoing pop rivets with a Leatherman we heard Justine's voice call from inside the hut.
"Guys, I'm in".
She had crawled under the iron on the side of the hut. Gratefully Dave and I followed her under. The hut was no palace but it was shelter and had raised bamboo beds - it was perfect for us. After a simple dinner I crawled into my sleeping bag absolutely spent. Death could not have been as deep as the sleep I fell into. Emerging from the bamboo corridor into the clearing of the summit was quite a surprise. The first hour of hiking from the hut had being along a flat track which wound around a huge rock bulge. It then disappeared into a series of thick bamboo clumps, occasionally giving a glimpse of what lay ahead. Anti-climactically I emerged from yet another bamboo clump to find I could go no higher. I parked up and waited for the others to arrive. Cloud blew past, opening swiftly to reveal a glimpse of Sapa or some distant peaks, before swallowing them up again just as quick. This was not the ideal time of year to be on Fansipan so we had not expected great views from the top. Three days without rain was lucky enough. Roughly 1km below the summit the track split. One way lead back the way we had come, the other went straight down into a deep valley. Consulting our meager maps was more of a formality than anything before we decided to take the road less traveled - the one we hadn't yet been on. We dropped quickly into the valley, assisted by a number of suspended ropes over the steeper sections which you had to 'abseil' down. This section of track was a little tricky to follow at times. However, if you felt like you had taken a wrong turn somewhere you simply had to look for the inevitable piece of rubbish lying on the ground. A constant stream of litter marks all sections of the Mt. Fansipan track. Darkness was an hour away when we reached the gushing river of the valley floor. Trees towered over us, ferns and tall broad leafed plants blanketed the valley floor. Everything smelt damp. This was real jungle. We walked along the river for a few minutes, scouting around for a clear spot to camp at the same time. A narrow side track led to the remnants of a shelter beside the river. We threw some tarps over the top, pitched a tent underneath and settled in for the evening. We started to feel pretty relaxed. The rushing waters and plum wine helped with that. Tomorrow would be an easy hike back to Sapa.
Again, we were wrong. Early in the day the track took some confusing turns back towards where we had started. We knew which direction we were supposed to be heading in but the track refused to cooperate. We passed a number of signs which pointed to Fansipan with arrows going in both directions, which only added to our confusion. Luckily we came across another camp and a guided group which were about to head back to Sapa. The guide was insistent we join them for the 2 hour hike out. Tired and low on food, this looked like a good option. Walking back through terraced rice paddies and hill tribe villages we tried to decipher exactly the route we had taken. Five months later and we still haven't figured it out. I certainly don't regret doing this trek unguided. Too often these days tourists take the soft option. Either way this trip is a splendid adventure and offers the perfect Vietnamese hiking experience.
