<A> The Gorge Guardian

Jinsha Jiang

I woke up startled. The deafening sound coming from outside seemed to make the whole bus tremble. We were crossing an old wooden bridge, below was a roaring chocolate brown river.
“Jinsha Jiang”
An old man sitting next to me was pointing at the river. I looked at him tiredly still trying to wake up.
“Jinsha Jiang” He repeated again.

Jinsha Jiang, as the locals call it, translates to Golden Sands River. This river is actually a part of the great Yangtze River or Chang Jiang. It is the longest river in Asia, and the third longest in the world. It stretches from Qinghai, (a province near Tibet) to Shanghai.
The river has many names, but I will always remember it as the river that almost took my life.

Deep creases marked the Naxi mans russet face. He smelt of Yak butter and wore a thick, white, sheepskin poncho. When the bus stopped he made a signal for me to follow him. Hours earlier in Lijiang, fellow travelers told me I would have no problem finding the path that leads along the Tiger Leaping Gorger. Still dazed I looked around for some sort of sign. The only thing I could see was the old man looking at me impatiently. I decided that he must be a guide of some sort and was quite hesitant to follow. I barely had enough time to grab my bag before the bus rumbled off leaving a cloud of black smoke. I was left alone. The man had already started up a path. I chased behind him. It was hard to believe that a man who looked so old could move so fast. By the time I caught up to him I was breathless.
“What’s your name?” I chocked.
“Lee” He answered, “We must go quickly”

Mr. Lee

I trailed Mr. Lee for what seemed like an eternity. The scorching sun burned my eyes. I was soaked with sweat and beginning to feel dehydrated. Mr. Lee seemed to be having no problem. Every so often he would look back with a pinch of pity in his eyes. Just as the sun began to set I saw Mr. Lee disappear into a shack ahead of me. It was built of mud and bricks. Its tanned walls stood two meters high and the roof was made of straw. As I drew nearer I saw a small garden and a pen with chickens. The front of the house was shaded. I collapsed in front of the door. Looking down, the roar of the river now dwindled to a shallow gurgle. How monstrous and frightening it was at its base. Now, the loom of the smoky gray mountains was most daunting. They possessed a craggy and serrated face that would make the Hunch Back of Notre Damn look handsome. Mr. Lee came out with tea. He sat next to me on the ground.
“Drink this tea and rest here for tonight. Tomorrow you will have a long day.”
He took my bag inside and left me alone to stare at the scenery. As the sun began to set I was slowly mesmerized by the magnificence of the mountains.
After some time Mr. Lee came outside.
“Dinner” He announced.

The Tiger

Over dinner Mr. Lee and I exchanged stories and laughter. He told me about his two sons that were working in Lijiang and of his late wife whom he loved so much. He explained that for generations his family had resided in the hills of the gorge. At some point in our conversation I noticed a necklace dangling around Mr. Lee’s neck. When I inquired about it he took it off and handed it to me. It was a carved head of a tiger.
“A tiger….” I said, hoping for a little more explanation.
“ As a boy my father gave this to me.” He explained.
“It’s a reminder that the tiger is always watching.”

He then sat back in his chair, lit his pipe, and started to tell me this story.

“My great grandfather was a goat farmer in these same hills. At the time the hills were filled with dangerous wild animals. One day, while he was walking along the paths, he was surrounded by a group of wolves. The wolves were notorious for killing sheep and even attacking farmers. Food was sparse at the time and the wolves looked hungry. They drooled like rabies-infected dogs. Their evil eyes showed no mercy. The biggest wolf took the first leap. My grandfather covered his eyes in horror. The next sound he heard was a horrifying yelp. It was not the sound of his sheep; it was the sound of the wolf. He opened his eyes to see a gigantic tiger ripping at the neck of the wolf. At once all the other wolves ran away with tails between their legs. The tiger turned around to look at my stunned grandfather. For a second their eyes connected. He had eyes darker than night with a white stripe through the middle. Its colossal body was beautifully striped orange and black. My grandfather only blinked once before the tiger was gone. He looked up to see it on top of the mountain, looking down on the river, the mountains, and him.
My grandfather was excited to tell other farmers of his experience. He explained with enthusiasm about the tiger’s helped him. The others didn’t believe him however, and decided that the it must die. They tracked the tiger to a small cave by the roaring river. Determined to kill the evil animal they ventured into the cave, weapons ready.
They backed the tiger into a corner and began to beat the beast with no restraint. Suddenly an earsplitting roar echoed off the cave walls. The farmers dropped their weapons to cover their ears. The tiger took a run and a gigantic leap, a leap to save his life, a leap to survive. The tiger leaped across the entire gorge. My grandfather witnessed the whole ordeal. He watched the tiger limp up to the top of the mountain. He reached the top and roared. The roar could be heard down the whole gorge. The tiger stood boldly at the top of the mountain, as to say, “I am here, I will always be here.”

It was amazing hearing this story from a local. Could it really be true though? I fell asleep thinking of the story. That night I dreamt of the tiger. He was a top a mountain looking over the valley. I could feel him watching me and everything else in the gorge.
Mr. Lee woke me up early in the morning. We shared some noodles and then started walking again. We walked down until we came to a guesthouse. Travelers of other nations were there and all the signs were in English.
“Here is where I leave you my friend” Mr.. Lee said somewhat sadly.
I thanked him for everything and just as he was leaving he handed me the necklace.
“Take this and remember me, remember the gorge, remember the tiger.”
I promised him I would cherish the necklace forever. We said our goodbye and I set off to climb with some other foreigners.

A billion bends

The guidebook explains the climbing of the gorge as something that almost anyone can do. I do not agree. The uphill assent turned out to be a grueling affair. There was a point where a sign marked the beginning of the “28 bends” from there I climbed for what seemed like a thousand painful hours. The asthmatic pant of the trekkers was rhythmic. The view from the top of the mountain took my breath away. The mountains shone conceitedly in the bright sun. They seemed to stretch to space. White clouds lingered lazily around the mountains apexes. With the sun begging to set I would knew I would have to run to make it to the next guesthouse by before dark.

A taste of death

I clumsily sped down the mountain. I would slip on rocks and trip on stumps. I was making good time though, and could see the guesthouse in the distance. Suddenly my necklace came undone and tumbled down the hill in front of me. I ran after it and suddenly became horrified as I realized it was headed towards the river. I screamed as it flew over the edge. Arriving at the river I crawled so I could see over the side. Only 5 feet below me the river raced by. Its angry bellows would splash water into my face. Amazingly the necklace was in sight. It was wrapped around a twig, skipping on the water, just arms reach away. I stretched as far as I could, falling just inches short of the necklace. I needed the necklace, I promised to cherish it, and it was so near. The river growled as I repositioned and tried again. This time I got the necklace. I instantly shot back, away for the river, but I did it too fast. I lost my balance and fell backwards. Upon hitting the water I felt helpless. The strong current forced my body deep into the ice-cold river. I fought for life. Flapping my arms I reached the top and gasped for air. I felt like a doll in the mouth of an angry dog. The river twisted and mangled my body as it wished. Head over heels, heels overhead, every time I reached the top just in time. I screamed as I felt the last of my energy drain from my body. I thought of my friends, my family, and my home. As I began to lose conciseness I felt very warm and light. I felt happy and could hear the song of the river. It was such a sweet sound. I closed my eyes.

I coughed and water came ejaculating out of my mouth. I smelt yak butter and tasted death. I opened my eyes to find Mr. Lee hovering above me. His face looked scared and he was speaking but I couldn’t understand. I looked down and saw my hand was still tightly gripped around the necklace. I brought the tiger to my lips and kissed it.

I later found out that while in his house, Mr.. Lee heard a strange sound. He described it as a roar. Maybe it was his imagination, but something made him go down to the river. Mr.. Lee saved my life because someone or something was watching me, watching the mountains, watching the river.

Kyle Acierno