Trekking Nepal: Episode IV
July 25, 2010
Vampires in Paradise
I have seen a goddess. And now she is gone, vanished behind stacks of clouds. Other peaks come and go in the billowing mist, but I watch them without seeing. My pupils focus inward again and again, straining to see the twisting ridges of Machapuchre, her vaporous after-image burned on my retina. Looking back, it’s hard to believe the horror I would confront this very same morning, not on the horizon, but at my feet.
After breakfasting on boiled eggs, fried cornbread, and wild honey, we set out for Pohtana. I am not happy about making Pohtana our destination for the day because it is only an hour and a half up the trail. We are short on time and I want to get higher, farther, faster. Our guide, J.V., normally leads three-week-long treks that require slow acclimatization to altitude. But, due to my busy residency schedule at the hospital, we have only four days. Despite my pleas, J.V. will make no exception to the rules of acclimatization.
We slug forward.
After forty minutes of steep climbing we stop at what looks like any other pleasant resting place along the trail–with flat grass, smooth boulders to sit on, and small rocks for foot stools. A cool brook babbles nearby and the ground is mildly spongy. There is no hint of the squirming hell that lurks beneath the turf.
Sitting comfortably on a stone, I remove my boots and spread my toes, messaging the balls of my feet.
In my peripheral vision, the grass appears to move, like a shag carpet fingering the air in a breeze. But there is no breeze. Something is off. I can’t put my finger on it.
I squint and look closer. The patch of ground at my feet darkens, like an expanding blot of ink. The margins of it are hairy and wriggling. It expands unevenly, almost spastically, like a hoard of arthritic fingers ratcheting toward me. I feel a needling rush cascade down my spine, corkscrewing the hairs on the back of my neck into little quivering spikes. I grab my boots, cram them onto my feet, and jump up without bothering with the laces.
But I am too late. An undulating mass surrounds me and fear and fascination hijack my nervous system. I am rooted to the spot.
With curled lips and wide eyes, I watch as a knot of spaghetti-like creatures crawls up my bootlaces. Caterpillars, I wonder? No, these move too fast, end over end, like tight-wound Slinkies.
They spring up my ankles, making a bee-line for the warm regions of my socks. They surge over me like barbarians over a Roman wall. I feel a pulling sensation as small weights accumulate on my calves.
Dear Lord. I’m sinking into living quicksand.
“Leeeeches!”, J.V. screams.
Like a key, the word unlocks me. Leeches. Of course! But these are nothing like the leeches that cling to rocks in North American lakes. As J. D. Hooker writes in his Himalayan Journals of 1854, “Leeches swarmed with incredible profusion… they got into my hair, hung from my eyelids and crawled up my back.”
Suddenly, I dance and shake as if I am on fire. Dad and J.V. do the same. With flicks and flings and curses, we hop and zig-zag away from the marshland as quickly as possible. We behave as if we have stumbled into a hornet’s nest. Our eyes are wild and unfocused. Our nostrils flare like snouts of horses at a derby. After fifty yards of flailing, we turn around abruptly and stare back at the marsh, breathing hard, trembling with nervous energy.
“What the !@#$!” I gasp.
Even Dad, normally so cool under pressure, looks disheveled and unnerved. J.V. simply collapses into a pile of loose limbs, saying nothing.
Haemadipsids–or Land Leeches–are a nasty slice of Nepal’s biodiversity. This is what I learned in my research after I returned safely to U.S. soil:
“They drop from trees on men and animals and creep through all the openings in one’s clothes, even the eyelets of one’s shoes. If one tears them off, one loses more blood than if one lets them drink their fill, when they fall off by themselves. Some of the valleys are infested to such a degree by leeches that one simply cannot protect oneself against them. The best way of keeping them out is by wearing socks and trousers steeped in salt,” (Heinrich Harrer, 7 Years in Tibet).
These annelids evoke both horror and fascination in me. They are terrestrial blood-feeding worms of unusual stealth and speed–with an equally unusual biogeographic distribution; found only in the Indian subcontinent, Southeast Asia, Australia, Melanesia, Madagascar, and the Seychelles. All other leech families are aquatic and have a global distribution. Haemadipsids (from the Greek word Haematodipsia, meaning “a sexual thirst for blood”) are only about 2 inches long, but what they lack in size they make up for in numbers.
“…they swarm in myriads in every wood… it is impossible to take a single step without being attacked… they are on every bush and tree, from which they drop on the head and neck of the passer-by,” (Haekel, 1883 — A Visit to Ceylon).
And if I had read the following sentence before venturing out, I would have searched the world over for a pair of Teflon underwear:
“I counted no fewer than ninety-seven of them on my body, most of them concentrated round my private parts!” (Campbell, 1953 — Jungle Green).
Thankfully, I fare much better than any of these early explorers. After a meticulous body check, I find not a single leech has gotten its slurping kisser into my skin.
Thank God for small miracles.
To be continued…
If you enjoyed this post, be sure to read the rest from this author. Marc is a local writer, musician, and physician. He is a regular contributor to ConneXions and has written reviews for Spectrum: Adventist Forum. He loves words and music, windsurfing, and going on adventures with Janine and the kids.(Read more from this author) 
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