Malana Adventures By Frenchy Cannoli

The countries I have visited along with the cultures, religions and adventures I have experienced have shaped the person I am today; however, few have had as profound an impact on me as the months spent collecting live resin on my hands in Waichin, the last summer pasture of the Malana Valley.

I was deeply in love, there was no place in the whole wide world I would have rather been from September to early December than in this tiny valley in the vastness of the Himalayan mountains making charas.

As you will see, this love affair was as rewarding as it was demanding, both physically and mentally; nothing of real value comes cheaply in life.

The seasons are a little mixed up in my memory, however what differentiates each year clearly is the walk back to civilization though a 12,000-foot pass after the first snow. I had been lucky in my first season: avoiding the first snow was not an experience I would be able to enjoy again.

The reason behind this was simple, there is only one road to come down from the Parvati Valley and it was always policed, especially at the onset of winter, starting in Manikaran, then Kasol and most heavily at the entrance of the Kullu Valley in Bhuntar. The only safe passage available when making charas at the end of the Parvati Valley was to come down from Tosh and Nakthan at night, full moon when possible but going through Manikaran well before daybreak was the key to avoiding any confrontations. From Manikaran you had to parallel the road until you passed Kasol and followed a riverbed to finally face a final and brutal Himalayan mountain stairway for three hours to the village of Malana, perched at close to 9,000 feet. It was then another day’s walk through the Chanderkhani pass to reach safely the more touristic and populated Kullu Valley. The only safe way out was through that pass.

My third season started pretty much like the previous year; three weeks by myself in Tosh and Nakthan before heading to Waichin for the rest of the season. I was super excited to see the fields that had been allowed to revert to their wild state. I was confident on the results but, to hedge our bets, Toumi rented some of the neighboring cultivated fields, which we needed to do anyway because we had guests for the season, a French couple and my best friend Bruno who was back in the mountains and came with two donkeys heavily loaded with everything from the basic necessities to the most luxurious delicacies. In terms of food this season, it was going to be “Versailles” as we say in French.

The plants gone wild had been transformed. They were a lot smaller and much more diverse in appearance, but the gardens were not as densely populated as I had hoped for, the natural selection of the first winter had taken its toll.

Life was simple in Waichin, wake up with the first light, bring the fire back to life, smoke a few chillums with a few cups of tea while a very substantial meal is prepared. Eat like it will be the only meal of the day, smoke more chillums, clean-up the camp and get ready for a long hot day with very sticky hands. There is little that can be done while you are making charas, even a chillum is a challenge to prepare with resin covered hands, so you’d better pre-roll seriously for the day if you were planning to have a smoke.

The days in the fields were a surreal and intense experience; the heat, the altitude, the overpowering smells of the plants, the resin slowly layering on your hands and the solitude was like a Hashishin’s dream of paradise, an El Dorado of cannabis resin. We would even make charas at night during full moon too. We would collect the plants with the last rays of the sun and after our meal we would spread the plants around the camp fire to warm them to regain the resin’s stickiness and make a few precious hands of charas under the moon.

The countries I have visited along with the cultures, religions and adventures I have experienced have shaped the person I am today; however, few have had as profound an impact on me as the months spent collecting live resin on my hands in Waichin, the last summer pasture of the Malana Valley.

I was deeply in love, there was no place in the whole wide world I would have rather been from September to early December than in this tiny valley in the vastness of the Himalayan mountains making charas.

As you will see, this love affair was as rewarding as it was demanding, both physically and mentally; nothing of real value comes cheaply in life.

The seasons are a little mixed up in my memory, however what differentiates each year clearly is the walk back to civilization though a 12,000-foot pass after the first snow. I had been lucky in my first season: avoiding the first snow was not an experience I would be able to enjoy again.

The reason behind this was simple, there is only one road to come down from the Parvati Valley and it was always policed, especially at the onset of winter, starting in Manikaran, then Kasol and most heavily at the entrance of the Kullu Valley in Bhuntar. The only safe passage available when making charas at the end of the Parvati Valley was to come down from Tosh and Nakthan at night, full moon when possible but going through Manikaran well before daybreak was the key to avoiding any confrontations. From Manikaran you had to parallel the road until you passed Kasol and followed a riverbed to finally face a final and brutal Himalayan mountain stairway for three hours to the village of Malana, perched at close to 9,000 feet. It was then another day’s walk through the Chanderkhani pass to reach safely the more touristic and populated Kullu Valley. The only safe way out was through that pass.

My third season started pretty much like the previous year; three weeks by myself in Tosh and Nakthan before heading to Waichin for the rest of the season. I was super excited to see the fields that had been allowed to revert to their wild state. I was confident on the results but, to hedge our bets, Toumi rented some of the neighboring cultivated fields, which we needed to do anyway because we had guests for the season, a French couple and my best friend Bruno who was back in the mountains and came with two donkeys heavily loaded with everything from the basic necessities to the most luxurious delicacies. In terms of food this season, it was going to be “Versailles” as we say in French.

The plants gone wild had been transformed. They were a lot smaller and much more diverse in appearance, but the gardens were not as densely populated as I had hoped for, the natural selection of the first winter had taken its toll.

Life was simple in Waichin, wake up with the first light, bring the fire back to life, smoke a few chillums with a few cups of tea while a very substantial meal is prepared. Eat like it will be the only meal of the day, smoke more chillums, clean-up the camp and get ready for a long hot day with very sticky hands. There is little that can be done while you are making charas, even a chillum is a challenge to prepare with resin covered hands, so you’d better pre-roll seriously for the day if you were planning to have a smoke.

The days in the fields were a surreal and intense experience; the heat, the altitude, the overpowering smells of the plants, the resin slowly layering on your hands and the solitude was like a Hashishin’s dream of paradise, an El Dorado of cannabis resin. We would even make charas at night during full moon too. We would collect the plants with the last rays of the sun and after our meal we would spread the plants around the camp fire to warm them to regain the resin’s stickiness and make a few precious hands of charas under the moon.

Photos by @himalayan_connection @himalayan_escape

Originally published in Weed World Magazine Issue 135