Phu Kradeung, a Plateau in Loei Province
Phu Kradeung is a plateau about two hours’ drive south of the Mekong River which borders Laos. The only way up is to trek along the well-worn trail, which is ridiculously steep at the beginning and end, but just very steep in between. There are way-stations along the way for food, drink and, of course, T-shirts.
Going up took about four and a half hours. We rested at each way-station, about seven in all, and paused in between to catch our breath when out of puff. A soda water with ice to keep hydrated became the staple – 50 baht a time, and quite rightly! There are free hiking sticks to collect at the beginning – ranging from Little John stout staffs to the kind of bamboo cane your granddad used to use for his sweet peas. My Japanese carbon trekking poles with shock absorbers were an absolute boon. The average age of the walkers, and scores go up and down daily, seemed to be 18-30. There were some kids aged about 10-12, with a couple of 7 or 8-year-olds too. The kids were of two categories: skipping from boulder to boulder saying, ‘Ooh, look, a butterfly,’ or stumbling along with a slumped gait, mumbling, ‘What did my parents make me do this for…’
Absolutely everything is carried up by porters. Each way-station has 10-15 eateries and there are double this, plus shops, at the top. It doesn’t bear thinking about how all this stuff is carried up and down every single day. There were specialist porters – the gas canister porter, the racks of eggs man, the toilet-rolls guy, the drums of kerosene fellow, the red Fanta and bottles of water chap, and so on. For tourists it is 30 baht per kilo to carry your bag one-way. The most we saw being carried was a 60 kg guy (we asked), but the usual was 50 kg. There were women too, usually carrying 30 kg or so. All kinds do the carrying, young and old, from skinny kids to ripped oldies – some in their 60s, possibly 70s.
Going up took about four and a half hours. We rested at each way-station, about seven in all, and paused in between to catch our breath when out of puff. A soda water with ice to keep hydrated became the staple – 50 baht a time, and quite rightly! There are free hiking sticks to collect at the beginning – ranging from Little John stout staffs to the kind of bamboo cane your granddad used to use for his sweet peas. My Japanese carbon trekking poles with shock absorbers were an absolute boon. The average age of the walkers, and scores go up and down daily, seemed to be 18-30. There were some kids aged about 10-12, with a couple of 7 or 8-year-olds too. The kids were of two categories: skipping from boulder to boulder saying, ‘Ooh, look, a butterfly,’ or stumbling along with a slumped gait, mumbling, ‘What did my parents make me do this for…’
Absolutely everything is carried up by porters. Each way-station has 10-15 eateries and there are double this, plus shops, at the top. It doesn’t bear thinking about how all this stuff is carried up and down every single day. There were specialist porters – the gas canister porter, the racks of eggs man, the toilet-rolls guy, the drums of kerosene fellow, the red Fanta and bottles of water chap, and so on. For tourists it is 30 baht per kilo to carry your bag one-way. The most we saw being carried was a 60 kg guy (we asked), but the usual was 50 kg. There were women too, usually carrying 30 kg or so. All kinds do the carrying, young and old, from skinny kids to ripped oldies – some in their 60s, possibly 70s.
You can hear the porters coming as a lot have a mini ghetto blaster on their pole – Isaan music with the pin lead instrument is the norm – it is rhythmical and pulsing, perfect for a long hike. Some swing their arms to the beat, some are on the phone, and some stop and have a fag. As they come by – they do overtake you – you have to step aside, as to catch the load and send it tumbling would be a disaster. They also switch shoulders, so you have to arch backward so as not to get clonked on the head. Footwear is of three types: open-toed sandals, Crocs (popular with younger ones), or the time-honoured old tennis shoe, laced with a bit of string. Many have knee and calf supports and there was one with a patella brace like me (Yo, brother!). Porters pay 1,500 baht a year in tax, the rest is cash in hand. It’s 1,500 baht takings per trip, some may do more than one trip per day. There were a few husband and wife teams, both with loads. Calling, ‘Su-su’ to them (fight-fight in Thai), drew appreciative, albeit sardonic, smiles.
If this were Japan there would be a ropeway with each gondola carrying 50 passengers. If it were China there would be a glass bottomed walkway round the cliff. But this is Thailand, and when the Thaksin government mooted the idea of a chairlift, locals objected strongly, on the grounds that it would destroy their livelihood.
Once on the plateau it is another three km walk to the campsite. One can only assume that the park rangers are a branch of the army as it is so well organised. You collect sleeping bags, mats, pillows and blankets (all with a rental charge) and are assigned a tent. There are restaurants and even shops selling ankle and knee supports, Deep Heat, Vicks Vapour Rub and many Thai oils, salves and unguents guaranteed to ease the pain. All the restaurants have multiple phone-charging points, which is the first thing customers head for when they enter. I assumed that the restaurant folks spent their whole lives up on the plateau, so we quizzed our jolly breakfast chef. She looked like she would fail a Tellytubbies audition on account of being too large; certainly, she was not Asian-petite. We couldn’t visualise her on the slopes, beyond an image of her suddenly keeling over backwards as gravity asserted itself. She informed us that she goes down two or three times per year for bits of business and seeing her kids. Amazing! The atmosphere was subdued to say the least, and even the dread-group of youngsters with a guitar were just too pooped to even warble a lullaby. Somebody told me to bring ear-plugs as there is always some raucous group keeping everyone awake. Having been born with built-in natural ear-plugs, I was okay. Although some bugger was snoring all night in a tent 9 rows down and 14 across (my estimate). You never sleep properly in a tent: this is a universal truth.
If this were Japan there would be a ropeway with each gondola carrying 50 passengers. If it were China there would be a glass bottomed walkway round the cliff. But this is Thailand, and when the Thaksin government mooted the idea of a chairlift, locals objected strongly, on the grounds that it would destroy their livelihood.
Once on the plateau it is another three km walk to the campsite. One can only assume that the park rangers are a branch of the army as it is so well organised. You collect sleeping bags, mats, pillows and blankets (all with a rental charge) and are assigned a tent. There are restaurants and even shops selling ankle and knee supports, Deep Heat, Vicks Vapour Rub and many Thai oils, salves and unguents guaranteed to ease the pain. All the restaurants have multiple phone-charging points, which is the first thing customers head for when they enter. I assumed that the restaurant folks spent their whole lives up on the plateau, so we quizzed our jolly breakfast chef. She looked like she would fail a Tellytubbies audition on account of being too large; certainly, she was not Asian-petite. We couldn’t visualise her on the slopes, beyond an image of her suddenly keeling over backwards as gravity asserted itself. She informed us that she goes down two or three times per year for bits of business and seeing her kids. Amazing! The atmosphere was subdued to say the least, and even the dread-group of youngsters with a guitar were just too pooped to even warble a lullaby. Somebody told me to bring ear-plugs as there is always some raucous group keeping everyone awake. Having been born with built-in natural ear-plugs, I was okay. Although some bugger was snoring all night in a tent 9 rows down and 14 across (my estimate). You never sleep properly in a tent: this is a universal truth.
The temperature was fresh, at 15C in the morning - up at 4.30 am to join the sunrise group. It was a two km walk to the cliff following folks’ flash-lights in the darkness, to join a hundred shadow-figures huddled in anticipation. I did briefly think that things would take a drastic turn for the worse if this was the only day in the history of the planet where the sun didn’t rise. Anyway, rise it did, and it was normal as sun rises go. Next was a nine km cycle to the opposite end of the cliff where a ledge sticks out. This was also hard work as the tracks were topped with deep sand. Even with sand tyres on the bikes it was tough, having to get off and push the bike up steep mini-summits. We were first to the ledge, and enjoyed the bonus of photos without having to queue up. We had passed so many big groups walking that it would have been extremely busy later. There followed a cycle back along the cliff-top stopping for various cliff views – but it was hazy below - before stopping at the last cliff for sunset. Sunset was fairly normal and we didn’t wait for the pink sky as it would have meant cycling back in the dark.
Up on the plateau were signs saying, ‘Beware of the wild elephants.’ They didn’t say what to do if you saw one coming though. Having seen videos of rogue elephants mangling cars on Khao Yai, ‘If you see one, cack your pants,’ would have been appropriate, I thought. We did see a large deer at the back of the restaurants checking out the bins. A real puzzler, this – how did the elephants get up there in the first place?
Going down – the first section is extremely steep and took fifty minutes. I was putting poles out in front, one step at a time, like a blind man, trying to be so careful and not make a mistake and go flying. It looked like broken leg or smashed-head-on-a-rock territory. In fact, the night before, word spread round the camp that a farang had fallen on the way down. I don’t know what the outcome was. On the way up, we saw two coming down in hammocks between two porters (although you can pay 3,000 baht for this service). The rest of the descent was a case of slowly picking our way through the gaps and rocks trying not to skid-slip on the sand-gravel bits. Parts of the trail are forested and shaded, so that was a help. The last section was also mega-steep. By this time my feet were done in, so the last hour was painful, as I winced slowly downwards. I have only ever paid proper money for trainers once, these were them – Columbia brand; so glad I was wearing them. You could get a certificate by taking down an onion-bag full of empty plastic bottles. I thought I deserved a certificate anyway. For first prize my vote went to a 73-year-old Thai fellow who we met near the top as we were coming down. He was going up and down, same day. Put me in the shade slightly!
Up on the plateau were signs saying, ‘Beware of the wild elephants.’ They didn’t say what to do if you saw one coming though. Having seen videos of rogue elephants mangling cars on Khao Yai, ‘If you see one, cack your pants,’ would have been appropriate, I thought. We did see a large deer at the back of the restaurants checking out the bins. A real puzzler, this – how did the elephants get up there in the first place?
Going down – the first section is extremely steep and took fifty minutes. I was putting poles out in front, one step at a time, like a blind man, trying to be so careful and not make a mistake and go flying. It looked like broken leg or smashed-head-on-a-rock territory. In fact, the night before, word spread round the camp that a farang had fallen on the way down. I don’t know what the outcome was. On the way up, we saw two coming down in hammocks between two porters (although you can pay 3,000 baht for this service). The rest of the descent was a case of slowly picking our way through the gaps and rocks trying not to skid-slip on the sand-gravel bits. Parts of the trail are forested and shaded, so that was a help. The last section was also mega-steep. By this time my feet were done in, so the last hour was painful, as I winced slowly downwards. I have only ever paid proper money for trainers once, these were them – Columbia brand; so glad I was wearing them. You could get a certificate by taking down an onion-bag full of empty plastic bottles. I thought I deserved a certificate anyway. For first prize my vote went to a 73-year-old Thai fellow who we met near the top as we were coming down. He was going up and down, same day. Put me in the shade slightly!