Trekking China’s Tiger Leaping Gorge proves to be a more adventurous challenge than anticipated.

By the time we reached the top of the “28 Bends”—a nearly 2,000-foot accent of sharp and rocky switchbacks—the burn in my thigh muscles was more than palpable. I could have sworn I saw steam emanating through my pants, but with streams of sweat blurring my vision, I was lucky I could see anything.

My friend Maggie and I were not even three hours into what was supposed to be a relatively easy two-day hike through China’s Tiger Leaping Gorge in Yunnan Province, Easy, that is, compared to the two-week Annapurna Circuit trek in Nepal I completed 10 years prior. I quickly realized, however, that the memory of my physically fit self then in no way matched the heavier, slower, out-of-breath, ­middle-aged body I possessed now.

Still, I was determined that I would complete this journey, if for no other reason than to prove that I could.

The Tiger’s Trail
The bends (some say there are 28, others 24—I was not about to count) are arguably the most difficult part of the trail that follows the Yangtze River between the Haba and Jade Dragon Snow mountains through Tiger Leaping Gorge, one of the deepest canyons in the world. The gorge gets its name from a legend claiming that a tiger trying to escape a hunter jumped across the river.

Tiger Leaping Gorge is part of the Three Parallel Rivers UNESCO World Heritage Site and is located about 40 miles north of Lijiang in southwest China’s Yunnan Province.

The well-worn trail has long been a backpacker and independent traveler route, with the less adventurous opting to see the roaring rapids of the gorge via tourist bus. But those who prefer slow travel will be rewarded with spectacular vistas, warm hospitality and a good workout.

The main section of the gorge runs for about 11 miles between the towns of Qiaotou and Walnut Garden and can easily be traversed in two days, though three allows for more time to relax and meet fellow travelers. The total assent for the trail is about 6,500 feet, reaching roughly 8,500 feet above sea level.

We started out in Qiaotou, at the southwest end of the trail, which is reachable by public bus from both Lijiang and Shangri-la. There are two paths—the older “High Route” and the newer, paved “Low Road,” which is more prone to landslides and requires sharing space with tour buses and other motorized vehicles. We chose the higher path. We were in Buddhist China after all.

After paying the nominal 50 yuan entrance fee (about $7.50), we bypassed men renting donkeys and followed the road along the river looking for signs that pointed the way to the start of the trail. For the next two hours the sun-drenched path gently rose through terraced farmland, rice padis, flowered fields and Naxi villages. The Naxi are the ethnic group that inhabit this region of China.

We shared the trail with a few locals on horseback and a lone Chinese hiker from Shanghai, and walked through a friendly looking herd of goats munching on the trailside grass while their shepherd sat nearby on a rocky outcrop. A young couple sold Snickers, water and other snacks at the turn where you could look out into the valley now spread out below and follow the gently winding Jinshu River, the name of this section of the Yangtze.

About two hours in and a 15-minute hike up a thick muddy, rocky path from the main trail is the friendly Naxi Family Guesthouse, a clean place to stop for a meal or to spend the night if you’ve started out hiking in the afternoon. There’s also a computer with free Internet connection.

Lunch consisted of eggplant, chicken with cabbage, rice and bitter gourd, a green melon with a bumpy exterior that is, well, quite bitter. The instant coffee here is not-surprisingly weak, but fresh mint in the tea is a nice touch. And if you’ve forgotten your high-tech aluminum trekking poles, this is the place to pick up “organic” ones carved from found branches for a couple of dollars.

Nature’s Challenges
Not far from Naxi begins the climb up the 28 bends, where those poles come in handy. I’ll take the uphill workout any day over risking a fall down the steep and rocky twists, which are doubly tricky and slippery during rainy season. I’m grateful that Maggie, an athlete 14 years my junior, didn’t mind taking breaks and waiting for me to catch up—often.

During one such rest an engaging Chinese man on horseback heading toward us stopped to chat (Maggie’s fluent in Mandarin) and, it turns out, to flirt, with him asking her to be his girlfriend, proving that even in the remotest of places there are opportunities for a travel romance.

Only three more hours at our moderate pace until we’d reach our stop for the night. With the bends behind us, the trail leveled off to a moderate slope, and we could recuperate and relax while taking in the scenery that began to shift from verdant hills into majestic snow-capped mountains. There’s a ledge monitored by an elderly Naxi woman and worth the few yuan she charges to climb out onto it for spectacular views of the surrounding gorge. It’s not for those afraid of heights.

The river is now far, far below with increasingly treacherous drop-offs between the trail and the water. Hikers shouldn’t have any worry about falling, however, provided they’re able to navigate through herds of goats, sheep and cattle blocking the path. In two days we were delayed three separate times by untended flocks, with nothing but steep cliffs and ravines as potential graves off to the side. Some animals looked harmless, others less so.

At one curve, mountain goats lazed across the trail, soaking up the warm afternoon sun. They did not look especially pleased to see us and were much larger and had longer horns than the group we passed that morning.

One in particular, standing guard atop a rock at the turn, looked to be the leader as his minions bleated at us, showing their yellowed teeth. He glared and grunted. We stood for a while trying to figure out how to get through or around this blockade without falling or getting butted off the mountain.

Would they understand “Easy boy” or “Just relax” in English? Probably not. Maggie tried Mandarin, but whatever sounds she emitted didn’t seem to make much difference. These hairy goats were not moving.

We waited a while longer until I couldn’t take it anymore. “I’m going through,” I said. While I certainly didn’t want to die, the surroundings of forested hills jutting up to snow-capped mountain peaks offered a more beautiful final resting place than, say, crashing in a taxicab on the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway.

The bleating continued, but none of the creatures moved, save for their tails swatting at flies. I kept my eyes on the leader, who kept his big brown ones on me and continued to simply stare as I dashed around the corner. Maggie quickly followed. I breathed a sigh of relief, only to realize that next up was the section where multiple waterfalls flow over the trail.

It was the tail end of the rainy season, and we lucked out—no precipitation for more than a week before our hike, so the falls were not in full flow and mostly easy to navigate over. But there remained one that was tricky. It washes over the trail just before another turn, and the water is deeper and the rocks more slippery than previous crossings. Slow and steady and all should be OK. We ended up nearly crawling over, and once past practically jogged the rest of the 45 minutes to our chosen guesthouse for dinner.

Roaring Rapids
Day two started with the mountains shrouded in mist at sunrise and was a breeze for two hours until we began the descent to Tina’s Guesthouse, located at the viewpoint for the rapids. By now it was raining and the path was slick—so slick I fell twice, bruising my knee and twisting my ankle in the process.
It was a mild sprain, so I limped the rest of the trail to Tina’s, then down multiple staircases to the observation decks that line the edge of the river. It is here, at the middle rapids, where the gorge is at its narrowest and the roaring waters are at their strongest.

You won’t see rafters or any other small vessels trying to navigate the waters as they’re much too rough, slam into rocks and thunderously rush over steep drops, crashing below to form swirling whirlpools before continuing their run downstream.

On the other side of the river is a bridge leading to an outcrop of rock where a stone Tiger Leaping statue sits, poised for its mythical leap across the water. Tour-bus visitors now in our midst armed with cameras and videos clicked away.

It was also here that I learned of a rather amusing Asian practice, which is for individuals to ask Western strangers to pose with them in photos so they can then show them off to their Asian friends and family back home. It was hard to say no, especially since the thought of tired, dirty and sweaty me surrounded by grinning, well-dressed Chinese and Korean tourists couldn’t help but put a smile on my face.

Where to Stay
Along the trail there are about half a dozen guesthouses with double rooms for between 50 to 120 yuan ($8 to $18) per night. Dorm rooms are significantly cheaper. Lodgings are clean but rustic, with simple wooden beds, thin mattresses and a clothesline. Most offer shared showers and bathroom facilities, but a few have en suite baths.

We stayed at the family-run Tea-Horse Guesthouse, which has excellent views, an extensive menu with several organic and vegetarian options, and good coffee. We sat around a stone fire-pit with about half a dozen other trekkers from around the globe drinking Chinese beer and baijiu—a fierce local white spirit that replaced my usual whiskey preference.

The busy Halfway Lodge, another popular option, is about another 90 minutes down the trail from Tea-Horse.

Next to the rapids is Tina’s, mentioned above, where most trekkers stop for a bite and drink if they’re not staying there. Sean’s Guesthouse in Walnut Gardens, about 45 minutes farther, is one of the oldest on the trail—which wasn’t opened to tourists until 1993. His website is an excellent resource for planning a visit.

Return to Qiaotou
Rather than make the return hike, we paired up with two other trekkers and hitched a ride back in a truck. It took all of 45 minutes.

There isn’t too much to recommend In Qiaotou if you plan to spend the night there, other than Jane’s Guesthouse, which offers luggage storage. A new guesthouse, Hiker’s, opened in June 2010.

Upon our arrival two days prior, we had met up with Margo Carter, an Australian who ran the Gorged Tiger Café and offered luggage storage for backpacks. After picking up our bags we had lunch and told Margo of our experiences—stories she must have heard hundreds of times during the 15 years she had been a fixture in Tiger Leaping Gorge.

Little did we know that that would be one of the last times anyone would share their tales with her. About a month after we completed the hike, Margo went off on a more dangerous trek in the region and met her untimely death. Her body was found at the bottom of a ravine, and mystery still surrounds exactly what happened to her.

Margo’s demise is rare and in no way reflects the typical experience most people have trekking in China, and in particular Tiger Leaping Gorge. Still, it made me even more grateful that the worst I experienced were sore muscles and a strained ankle—a small price to pay for two days of bonding with nature and memories to last a lifetime.

PHOTOGRAPHY BY DONNA M. AIROLDI