Now, Tumlingtar itself, at 405 metres, is a tongue-shaped flat land mass that has the Arun River on its west and the Sabha Khola on the east. Not only does it represent the gateway to Makalu Barun, but it is also a veritable ethnic melting pot, home to a diversity of cultures. A two-hour walk to the north from Tumlingtar lies Khadbari, the district headquarters of Sankhuwasabha, while six hours further east is Chainpur, the former district headquarters of the same.

In the time around May, Tumlingtar can get unbearably hot and dry—even in the mornings. And it was here that my friends and I found ourselves seeking a day’s respite in our travels, although the heat made it hard to get any actual rest. So, while Udayan flew back to Kathmandu, Deepak and I decided we needed to get a move on, venture deeper into Makalu Barun. For this we had to walk over the serpentine trail that ran parallel to the Arun River, under a blistering, scorching sun, until we were both baked and dehydrated. We passed through several small fishing villages along the way like Beteni and Chewabasi. In fact, Beteni, lying at an altitude of 321 metres, was the lowest in elevation I recorded throughout our entire journey across the Great Himalayan Trail.

Our steady companion, the Arun River, also marked the boundaries of the Sankhuwasabha and Bhojpur districts, which were connected via a long suspension bridge at Kattikeghat. A kilometre from this point, and the trail began to slope up, towards Majuwa Danda. It wasn’t a steep climb, by any means, but in the heat, everything proved more challenging than expected.

As we climbed up and away from the river, we noticed cardamom farms begin to emerge. And the utis trees that covered these farms offered us some heavenly shade, as did the tall rudraksha trees that dotted the landscape. According to locals, these cardamom farms were one of the region’s primary sources of income—along with the remittance that came from those working as labourers overseas. As proof of the popularity of the latter, we found out that radio stations in the area only aired advertisements for foreign employment, or alternatively, obituaries. We were also told that travellers on this particular trail were often looted, and I was hopeful we’d reach our next stop, Gothe Bazaar, before it got dark. Thankfully, we made it just in time.

After a night at Gothe Bazaar, Deepak and I started off early the next day to follow the Irkhuwa Khola, ascending through Dobhane, Sematak to Upper Phedi. From here, we began to climb the ridge of a mountain from its very bottom to get to Jaubari, then continuing upwards on the same ridge to Gurashe, at 2,944 metres. While we were moving along in this direction, however, the skies suddenly darkened with thunder and it began to rain. We trudged on, but when the rain showed no sign of letting up even after half an hour, we decided to take refuge in a deserted barn, not the most pleasant of choices given that it was infested with fleas and ticks. When the clouds finally dispersed, we pushed our insect-bitten selves up the ridge once more towards Gurashe.

We were now making our way through a mixed forest, and I began to get a bit concerned about the mist and fog that was creeping up around us as evening approached. We had not seen another living soul in the last two-and-a-half hours, but just then, to my immense relief, we met two young yak herders who were taking their animals to higher grounds. The boys assured us that we were on the right path, and feeling encouraged, we headed on. Around seven, we finally came to Gurashe, or at least the first house in the vicinity. The main village was further up, now hidden in the mist, and we were told it would take another half hour to get there. While we debated whether to stay where we were or go on, Mother Nature made our decision for us: it started to rain again, and so we had little choice but to camp at the house itself.

In the next two days, we passed through the villages of Gudel and Bung, before entering the Makalu Barun National Park, and further into tiny settlements like Bakra Khor, Najing and Sibuje. We were rather surprised by the lack of other trekkers on the trail because even though this was hardly peak season, it was still considered a good time to visit. Back in 1996, before the Maoist insurgency, this area would be packed with tourists and camping spots were hard to secure. But its image had been dented when rising cases of extortion and lootings were reported during the years of the conflict, and even after all this time, the tourism industry here hasn’t revived; Makalu Barun only sees one-third of the tourists it used to. A recent case of a tourist from New Zealand who got robbed and assaulted in Gudel certainly hasn’t helped, and most locals I spoke to seem eager to regain the region’s credibility as well as ensure more safety for visitors.

But, as usual, all these concerns and even the exhaustion of the climb, melted away when I looked around me at all the glorious, rugged topography, a sight that always offers me a sense of calm, of being nowhere and everywhere all at once. And with that distinct mountain breeze fanning at your face—a comforting, soothing whisper—you fall in love with the mountains all over again. People will have their issues, wars will come and go, as will travellers like me, but these mountains, you realise, will always stand here—resplendent, proud and watchful.

Note: This article was published in The Kathmandu Post, 4 May 2013. You can also read it on their website.

Kanchenjunga (8586 m) is the world’s third highest mountain and probably one of the wildest stretches in the Great Himalaya Trail. This region gets more rainfall than any other part of Nepal and the landscape around Kanchenjunga is marked with distinct slope failures and landslides, indicating its physical vulnerability and fragile topography. This region is also host to the Kanchenjunga Conservation Area Project (KCAP).

As a trekker, I found Kanchenjunga the most challenging of sections on the Great Himalaya Trail. The topography, combined with the fact that I was leading a three-person team of amateurs, made the trek especially difficult. My friend, Udayan Mishra, and our porter, Deepak Sherpa, both of whom had never been above 4200 metres, were accompanying me, putting all their faith on me to pull us through, a faith that didn’t waver even when I took them to high passes above 4500 metres with the trail hidden somewhere in knee-deep snow.

On May 12, we decided it was time to leave the comfort of Rinzen’s hospitality and Tseram to march our way to Ghunsa, despite doubts about the weather and uncertainties to do with the trail.  We all knew it was going to be a tough day but we were prepared. We packed our lunch of Tibetan bread, boiled potatoes and six packets of instant noodles, and left promptly at 7:30 am. It was a steep climb of three-and-a-half hours to Sinelapcha pass (4701 m). The clear blue sky and the sight of Kanchenjunga and other surrounding peaks in the morning gave us some confidence. However, as we reached the pass, clouds began to emerge from the south, moving silently to fill up the valleys and rising up to cover the peaks. On the pass, upon consulting my GPS device, the reading showed that we were 100 metres higher than we were meant to be on the map. It is common to have the readings fluctuate by 10 to 20 metres, but a 100 was rare. I was nervous; I didn’t want to lead my team astray, not at this altitude. But there was nothing I could do and so we continued on, hoping it was the right pass. With each step forward, the trail marks began to dissolve under the snow and vanish into oblivion. All we could see around us were snow-covered cliffs and steep slopes.

As we proceeded, the snow cover was becoming thicker, and walking becoming more daunting than ever. Every step we took either sank deep in snow or slipped on ice. We fell innumerable times. Even a distance of 10 metres began to feel a hundred times longer. Our boots were waterproof but we hadn’t brought our gaiters. Those shoes could only stand so much snow and rain, and soon our feet were drenched and cold, making the walk even more of a torment. Every hundred metres or so, we had to stop to find an exposed boulder to take off our shoes, get the snow out and dry our socks. We dwelled on how we might have made a mistake in leaving in such haste without being certain about the weather, but even Rinzen had confidently said that there wouldn’t be much snow in these passes at this time of year. Clearly that was not the case. Getting to Ghunsa had now become not just a difficult journey, but a matter of life and death.

Everywhere we looked, there were expanses of white. But instead of calming us down, it brought out the fear in us. It was only the glimpses of the blue sky peering out through the cracks in the clouds that gave us some glimmer of hope and encouragement to continue, and so we did, taking turns to clear the snow and open the trail, finally making it to the second pass by 12:30 pm. Once there, we saw fresh paw-prints on the snow that resembled those of a big cat. The marks circled around the pass and went further down north-west. The people I talked to in Tseram and Yamphudin had mentioned that you could find snow leopards in these parts, and while it was an exciting prospect, there was also a sense of the potential danger, even though the beast itself—an endangered species—was nowhere in sight. I couldn’t tell if I was relieved or disappointed.

From the pass, the snow got trickier than ever to navigate through. The trail had all but disappeared and what we could see could have been leading in any direction. We had walked non-stop for five hours in this weather, and were exhausted, and the suspected leopard prints were our only lead. So, as it began to snow some more, we followed the beast’s path, for almost an hour, and then the footprints began to move uphill towards a vertical cliff. At that point, we diverted. Thankfully, we soon came across two Sherpas and an American coming towards us at around 1:30 pm. They were the first people we had met all day, and we were relieved—it meant that we were on the right trail, after all, and that the path ahead of us was open. And I am sure they were just as grateful to see us as we had opened the way to Tseram.

What did concern us, however, was the fact that they had started their trek from Sellele (4229) and had only gotten to this point so far. We intended to reach Ghunsa, which was three hours further down from Sellele, and had only six hours of daylight to get there or else we would be stranded in the forests. We made a quick stop for lunch when the snow receded a little, gobbling it down in 15 minutes, the quickest we’d eaten so far, and headed towards Mirgin La pass (4643 m). It began to snow ferociously now, mixed with hailstones,

and there was hardly any visibility. Udayan was walking behind me, and at some point shouted out that we should take a break as his socks were soaked thoroughly and his feet were frozen. His voice was so muffled by the hailstones, I could not make out what he was saying and didn’t stop. When you are trekking in conditions where your sight and hearing are both compromised, you sometimes have to function like an island.

We reached Mirgin La pass at 2:40 pm amidst a series of hailstones and snowfall. From here, it was a slippery downhill walk to Sellele, which had two houses, both unoccupied. Udayan slipped on a boulder and took a nasty fall. Fortunately, he only sustained some minor bruises on his arms. We crossed Sele La pass (4204 m) at 4:35 pm and by then, I had suffered my own share of falls and bruises.

It was almost 6 pm when we crossed the fifth and the last pass—Tamo La (3983 m)—following which the trail went through a very dense forest of rhododendron and juniper trees. Ghunsa was still not in sight, although we could see another village, Phale (3268 m), on the other side of Ghunsa River. The sky was almost on the verge of getting dark when we finally crossed over, passed Phale, and reached Ghunsa, to unimaginable relief.

This had been the 80th day of my trek, part of a 98-day journey that I’d taken across the east-west of Nepal in 2012. In these 80 days, I’d had the opportunity to meet many people, and cross many mountains and hills—all experiences that were enriching. The trek from Tseram to Gunsa was only one among the many stories I collected along the way. What the journey spelled out for me, most starkly, was the difficulty of life in the mountains, something that cannot be imagined by those living in cities. I was fortunate in that I was seeing these places and passing through them as part of an adventure, but for the locals here, whose lives were bound in these cliffs and rocks, it was very different. I am deeply grateful at times like these for being a Nepali, born into a country where you are surrounded by pure majesty, and yet there is also sadness, for the same majesty is often unmanageable, and those living here suffer such extreme hardship and poverty.

Note: This article was published in the Kathmandu Post, 6 April 2013. You can also read it on their website.

There is one more bit of trivia about the place. Back in the insurgency period, the Maoist combatants had used this place to camp before they attacked Beni. Locals told us stories of how the Maoists had marched through this route in thousands to launch their offence. We thought this was a part of our history – an important event. We decided to it call it the Guerrilla Trail. This is of course unofficial, just for namesake.

Right after crossing Jalja La pass, the topography and landscape or the trail changed completely. After rhododendron forests, we were now walking amidst arid and pasture landscapes. There was no sign of human settlement except for a deserted house. The locals in Lamsung village had informed us that we would not find any villages in between. We carried with us lunch packs consisting of a packet of biscuits, Tibetan bread and two boiled eggs each.

After walking for almost 2 hours from the pass, the trail led us to a pine forest in the Dhorpatan Hunting Reserve. The journey was getting exciting primarily because of the variation in the landscape we were seeing within such short time spans. None of the members in our team had trekked here before and this place had various elements of surprise with wonderful scenic beauty. However, much to our dismay, all this changed when the greenery of the forest started to turn grey and trees started to resemble huge, ugly matchsticks standing desolately. As we walked further down, it started to become clear that this was due to a forest fire.

The fact that there was no sign of any re-growth in the forest indicated that this was more or less a recent event. What was sad though, was that this trail of ashes and burnt pinewoods continued for almost an hour.

Roughly speaking, this forest fire had destroyed about 3-4 km of forests on both sides of the trail. This is because on an average, we walk 4-5 km per hour on a plain trail. When we reached the next village called Gurja Ghar and later Chhentung, I inquired about the forest fire. None of the locals could give me a convincing answer as to what sparked the fire. Some said it was the Maoists, others said it was the police during the insurgency, and many said they weren’t aware of the forest fire, something that had occurred merely 2-4 km away from their villages. At this point, I felt that something wasn’t right. Perhaps, it was the locals themselves that had started the fire to claim the land.

We arrived in Chhentung at dusk. It was probably around 6 pm and we had already walked for more than eight hours. Our two Sardars (the leader who handles the logistic arrangement for the team) got busy looking for accommodation and a site to camp. After dinner at eight, we had retired for the day by nine.

After having spent the night in Chhentung village in Baglung, we planned to reach a village called Thakur in Rukum. On inquiring, the locals told us that we could take a shorter route thus bypassing Dhorpatan village. As always, we started at 8 am in the morning and requested the locals to show us the way which one man finally agreed to. He was in his sixties and had a hard time catching up with us. He abandoned us in less than 2 hours when we reached Chhentung pass at 3712 m. We were on our own now.

The terrain was unique. No sign of life here – just some dwarf rhododendron forests with patches of snow. At some places, these patches were more than knee-deep. It seemed like a pasture, a habitat for Blue Sheep but there were no traces to indicate any such activity. At one point, all of us got lost in one of the dwarf rhododendron forests. The strange thing was that we could all see where we had to go but we couldn’t find a trail to get there. The snow and the web of rhododendron trees distracted our course and some of us including Saurav (Dhakal, British Council’s Climate Champion) and I had to skid on the snow to reach a regular trail below. Dawa (Steven Sherpa, co-leader of the trek who has climbed Everest 2 times) and Samir (Jung Thapa, professional photographer) took the high route.

After walking for more than four hours from Chhentung, we finally sat down at a random spot to have our lunch. Like the day before, today was also a pack-lunch day. The food was more or less the same except for some slices of Yak cheese, a luxury at that point.

Until then we had not seen anyone on this trail except for the old man who had deserted us. The trail started to go up to another pass after lunch and by half past two we were up at Phagune pass at an altitude of 4161m. This was the highest point we had been at since we started in Barabise on February 24. Even the team members who would usually run ahead were feeling the altitude and were now falling behind on the trail. Soon after the pass, the trail started to descend down into a gorge, which to me felt like a no-man’s land. After trudging down for about an hour, we came to a fork in the road. It was already past four at that time and we had no clue where Thakur village was. The group ahead had already taken the trail that went down, so the remaining crew followed them. Much to our distress in the darkening hour, the trail turned out to be dead end. The group that went ahead started to return upward on the slopes. It was at this point that I realized rhododendron forests and snow cover are only good to look at and not to walk on. We reached the top of that mountain at quarter past six when we finally found a bigger trail. As the sun started to sink into the distant mountains, our trail also began to go downhill. There were eight members including Apa, Dawa, Samir and Saurav who were 40 minutes ahead of us and by the time we were fixing our headlamps for the downhill, they had already reached the base and radioed us saying that they found two houses (which turned out to be lodges) there but Thakur must be only 15 minutes away according to the map and our GPS location.

They then decided to go ahead to find the destined village. The remaining 13-member team reached the base at half pasts seven. At that point, we lost all radio connection with the leading eight members. At last contact, they had said that they were still walking and that there was no sign of any village in sight. Hence, the thirteen of us decided to camp there. Luckily for us, one of the doors of the house was open. It didn’t take us long to find out that this was actually a lodge but there was no one here. We took refuge there, all thirteen of use tired and hungry and since we didn’t have any proper food, we slept on a Mars chocolate bar, two digestive biscuits each and two gulps of water.

The next morning, we started to walk after having a bar of Kit Kat. After walking for an hour, we found the place where our eight members had camped. They had already left the place. After walking for another hour, we stopped at a very small village to have tea where some locals informed us that the two houses we had slept over at was the Thakur village we had been looking for. The irony of the Great Himalaya Trail!

Note: This article was published in the ECS Nepal, June Issue 2012. You can also read it on their website.

In the last one month, I trekked from Kanchenjunga to Barabise in 29 days. Kanchenjunga was the most unforgiving trail on them all and thus the most memorable one.  I along with Udayan Mishra got lost in snow covered Mirginla and Sinelaptcha passes while on our way to Ghunsa. We followed the fresh footprints of a snow leopard and made our own way through the snow at 4700 m under the blanket of thick clouds. We were told that there won’t be any snow during this time of the year but there was 2 feet snow.

Ghunsa to Sekathum was another memorable journey amidst huge active landslides, rain and leeches. The highlight of that day was when it got dark and started to rain almost at the same time. We still have no clue how we crossed that mossy tilted wooden bridge with no safety net on the sides in the dark over the Ghunsa river. What made it worst was the rain pouring down upon us like cats and dogs.

From Sekathum to Sinwa was another day of adventure when we had to brave the hail storm which many locals said was the worst that they have ever seen in their entire life. The storm uprooted many trees in the Cardamom (aka elaichi) farms and roofs in Sinwa village. The aftermath rain was so big that we witnessed a falling rocks and live landslide on the other side that missed a village by few meters. As stupid as it may sound now, we had no choice but to take shelter under a huge rock that was on the trail from the landslides that occurred in previous years.

On our way from Chainpur to Tumlingtar, we had to cross a small river but there was no bridge. While we successfully managed to cross the river, there was a young couple who were struggling to cross this river. Suddenly, the young lady started to feel dizzy and lost her grip on the riverbed. Udayan, myself and Deepak – our porter had to go to their rescue and bring them to the safety from the middle of the river. Tumlingtar at around 400 m above sea level was unbearably hot and I wanted to escape to the Himalayas even though it hadn’t been so kind to us in the last 2 weeks.

From Tumlingtar, Udayan flew back to Kathmandu and it was only me and Deepak. While crossing Lamjura pass from Nunthala at 3530 m, we were stormed my heavy rain again. Believe me, it is not fun to get soaked in rain at 3530 m. The water went inside my shoes and while trying to dry them on the improved cooking stove. I burnt my shoes. Luckily, it was only the sponges on the top and some parts of the sole. I finished the remaining part of the GHT wearing the same pair of shoes.

After Lamjura, on the next day, we camped at Deurali. Then from Deurali, we by-passed Jiri and took a jungle trail to Serakapti. The journey through the dense jungle at 2900 m before reaching Serakapti was an uncertain one. We had no clue where Serakapti was and the fog and mist which had penetrated this dense forest wasn’t helping us at all. We didn’t meet any human life form for hours and we had no clue whether we were following a real trail as such as this trail had many more soft trails going over all directions. We were lucky we our instincts that day. At around 6:30 in the evening, we met a family in the middle of nowhere living in a cowshed. They assured us that this was the trail and that after 1 hr, we will find a house below at about 2400 m by a small stream. Serakapti is 15-20 mins walking distance from that village. It so happened that we reached Serakapti at 7:45 pm that day. We had to use our headlights to get there.

Finally, yesterday was another memorable day near Thinsangla pass in Dolakha district. There were only 2 lodges there at about 3200 m in the middle of a jungle. Only 2 months back, there had been a robbery in a similar lodge about 500 m down. The robbers supposedly from adjoining Sindhupalchowk district came in the middle of the night and robbed 14 lacs rupees worth valuables from the owner and its 7 customers including cameras and mobiles. I was really worried for all the data I had collected in the last 25 days. I had a GPS, an audio recorder and Canon 7D including extra lenses. More than the gears, it was the data I was concerned about. Another phenomenon that was taking place in Dolakha district this year and at this very moment was that people had found Yarshagumba (Cordiopsis Sinensis) in the high plateaus above 4500 m. Many people were coming through this route to go up to collect this medicinal plants or fungi. It was lucrative business where traders could buy 1 piece for 70- 90 rupees on the spot. In Kathmandu, they could easily fetch anything between 300- 500 rupees per piece. I heard this story of agents going to the high passes to collect the Yarshagumba with boxes full of sealed bank notes, yesterday, I saw it through my own eyes and trust me you don’t get a feeling of security, not at this altitude with two drunk traders fiddling with bundles of 1000 rupees notes – showing off to strangers like myself. Later that night, there was a fight there. One of the traders went to the other lodge, smashed a window and started shouting that the owner of that lodge hit him with a khukuri and a burning wood. He came to our lodge cursing. He was bleeding and there was blood all over the floor. I gave the man my first aid to clean his wound with Betadin, some cotton and gauge to seal the wound. His wounds suggested that he was not hit by a khukuri but it was cut by glasses as there were multiple signs of cut wounds. The owner of our lodge – a young lady cleaned and dressed the trader’s wound and I had to arbitrate their dispute as I got some respect from the trader after giving him my first aid medicine. I sent the two guys off to the next village at 10:30 pm. It was tough to get back to sleep after that incident but few glasses of local alcohol helped to ease the distress.

Then we started climbing uphill and through Thulo Gairi Pakha we crossed Kolang and reached Khoplang Village. Although today is Holi, this was the first village on the way where we saw the festival being celebrated in a festive way. The schools here were closed. We had lunch close to a school, and turns out its teachers were around. I had the chance to interview the Vice-Principal of Shree Annapurna Uccha Madhyamik Vidyalaya. The school has around 800 students and serves students up to high school. He noted that they have a library but not enough books – I told him that I will try to get him some books. I am making a list of schools on the way that have a library infrastructure but in need of books as there are many organizations that are working on providing books. Another interesting thing he said is that the school is being helped by the community forest project – certain percent of the proceeds from the community forest go to maintaining the school.

The soil in Gorkha area is very dry and reddish. Water shortage is a big problem here. Water is pumped from river flowing on the bottom to a reservoir on top of the Gorkha hill. According to the National Adaptation Program of Action to Climate Change (NAPA), Gorkha is one of the highly climate vulnerable districts.

After lunch at Khoplang, we walked through Bhaisepani to Chap Bhanjhyang. We reached Aap Pipali in the evening, which is our end destination. Aap Pipali is very poor in hygiene, even though economically, the community is not the poorest we have seen so far. It’s a mixed community of Newar, Chhetri, Bahun, and Dalit. An awareness campaign on health and hygiene would be very useful here.

The second day was a memorable one filled with social events.  In the morning, we had a welcome program by the Gurung National Society where they felicitated Apa Dai and the team. Lunch was organized by SNV Netherlands Development Organization. Then the State Minister of Tourism and Development welcomed Apa dai  who inaugurated the Gorkha Tourist Information Center. Close by at the Gorkha Museum, we had an afternoon event where the political leaders from Gorkha came to discuss ways of promoting Gorkha as a tourist destination. Given its history and natural beauty, Gorkha could become a very important tourist site if it were promoted in a sustainable manner.

From Tamang communities, now we started to see Muslim communities after Aankla, and even saw some mosques. The Muslim communities had come to Nepal during Prithvi Narayan Shah’s reign, in search of work.

Because of the haze, the view of the mountains from here was not so clear. Also, while the forest cover is quite dense, there were certain places where there has been heavy deforestation. Roads are being built on trails through these forests. We also saw man made forest fire to clear the forest. The forests are home to much wildlife, including leopards. While we didn’t see any leopards, we did see some Langurs.

The Ganesh Himal trekking is also known as Tamang culture tour, as one gets to see unspoiled Tamang culture and their way of life. Tamangs are one of the largest ethnic groups of Nepal and live in the high hills east, north, south and west of Kathmandu valley.

Today was also one of the longest trek days where we walked 30 KM. We stopped in Palang Phedi for lunch, on the banks of Ankhu River. A hydropower project is under construction here. Also, the forest coverage gets thinner after Palang Phedi, with the soil getting dryer but with more intensive farming. Also, the roads and school infrastructure are better in this area.

Walking along the banks of the river, we arrived in Aaru Ghat. The Budhi Gandaki River runs along Aaru Ghat, separating Dhading district from Gorkha district. We are spending the night in Aaru Ghat, the starting point of the Manslu expedition.

What is remarkable of this part of the trail is that after Bungtang, the forest gets denser and denser – the local communities have done a great job of protecting their forests, with most of them being community owned forests, especially compared to Sindupalchowk and Helambu. Also, we saw less signs of forest fire incidents here. The roads are also better and seem to be well-constructed. There are heavy rocks on the bottom of the roads with gravel on the top, and also the roads are lined with drainage outlets, which we didn’t see in the roads in Sindhupalchowk district. The roads here seem to have been built with proper planning.

In the evening, there was a welcome event hosted by the Gosaikunda Youth Club and the Rasuwa Society. One of the local teachers recited a poem he had written on how shameful it is that we are degrading our environment, especially in areas where we rely so much on nature. Then a group of students performed a beautiful dance – some of them were barely 5 years old. It felt wonderful to be greeted here – especially because the village didn’t even know we were coming. They found out last night that we had arrived, and organized such a warm welcome in just a day. Apa dai was given a certificate of recognition, and everyone was enthusiastic to learn about climate change.