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S.P. Publishing Group Co., Ltd.
11/1 Soi 3 Bamrungburi Rd., T. Prasingh,
A. Muang., Chiang Mai 50200
Tel. 053 - 814 455-6 Fax. 053 - 814 457
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Chiang Dao National Park - Two Trips to Remember Text & Images: Steve Finch
To be cynical about Thailand's supposedly protected
national parks is no difficult thing. Koh Samet National Park, for example,
which charges farang 300 baht to
enter, is a beautiful island on the Gulf of Thailand strewn with huge piles
of rotting rubbish.
Up north, thankfully, the situation is better.
Chiang Mai Province is blessed with 13 such parks -
more than any other Thai province - that are mostly unspoiled. Chiang
Dao National Park, in particular, is very accessible from Chiang Mai
city and one of the most intriguing natural reserves in the region.
Wedged between the town of Chiang Dao and the
Myanmar border, the park is a kaleidoscope of peoples, scattered over a
huge cluster of sub-2,000-metre mountains through which flows the
Ping River on its way down to Chiang Mai.
Getting to the park entrance from here in the Northern Capital
takes two hours by car or motorbike past Chiang Dao and onto
the 1178 Road, along which the park entrance is sign-posted on the
left. Foreign visitors are charged 200 baht, which is enforced in
and around the facilities and sights at the park entrance. Sri Sang
Warn waterfall dominates this area, gushing down a potted ravine lined
with clusters of bamboo and larger deciduous trees creating a
sheltered canopy that opens out at a camping ground, one of two sites at
which visitors can pitch a tent.
During my first visit to the park on the very last day of 2006,
I decided against staying here, instead opting to get out into the
wilderness to see in the New Year. I then continued driving 20km
north along the 1178, past an army checkpoint and towards Muang
Na village close to the Myanmar border.
The tourist highlight of this quiet little village is a series of
caves beside a monastery. The entrance to Chaeng Pa Hok Cave
takes visitors down some stone steps into the main cavern which
houses a small Buddhist shrine partially bathed with light escaping in from
the outside. Exploring the eerie back section, which narrows into a
tiny corner, requires a strong flashlight and at least a minor sense
of adventure.
Leaving my car parked in the village, I then set off north
towards the border with a few supplies - including a bottle of whisky, a tent and a compass ready to begin 2007 looking out over
Thailand's hilly north.
After walking two hours, the dim December light was
beginning to fade as I neared the top of a hill with spectacular views of
the village below and the surrounding area. There was only one
problem - attempting to pitch my tent, I realised that the terrain was too
rocky. The pins meant for holding the guide ropes in place would not
be driven into the hard ground, meaning I would have to brave the
cold and sleep on top of the tent.
Unperturbed, I built a fire, cooked up some instant noodles
and baked beans and retrieved the whisky from my backpack as I
settled in for the New Year.
By 11pm, fireworks began sporadically shooting into the
night sky, lighting up the village and the surrounding hills in reds and
greens. The distant sound of what seemed like gunfire added to the din
that reverberated around the valley below.
That night was spent desperately trying to keep warm. I
managed to get little more than and hour's sleep before deciding to light
a fire in preparation for the first dawn of 2007.
South face Doi Chiang Dao
At about 6:30am, the sun began edging over the horizon,
penetrating the low blanket of mist and turning the sky a deep red. By
the time I had cooked up another packet of instant pasta for
breakfast, the sky had already lightened in colour, red turning to orange,
and eventually bright blue. Feeling tired, I packed up my equipment
and headed back down the mountain and along a dirt track, past
the turning to the caves.
Thankfully the walk down was considerably easier,
although disaster soon struck when I went to retrieve the car keys from
my pocket, which somehow squirmed out of my weary hands, onto
the ground and through a vent in the drainage channel that flowed
down the road. Just when images of a long-drawn-out New Year's
Day catastrophe began to play out in my mind, I realised it was possible to get into the duct, bent double to retrieve the keys, which I
managed to do after a considerably uncomfortable and dirty five
minutes scrabbling around in the half darkness.
Feeling filthy as well as tired, I drove back down the
road, past the park entrance, to Pong Arng hot spring, a
sulphur-smelly natural pool as popular with the locals as it is with tourists. After
a brief stint in the warm water, which is naturally heated to between
58 and 64 degrees Celsius, it was time to head home and see out
the rest of New Year's as no doubt many others in Chiang Mai had -
in bed.
Perhaps as a result of the problems that marred my first
trip, I ditched the tent and opted for a motorbike to make another visit
to the park, setting off early one morning at the end of February.
This time I followed the 1322 Road along the southern perimeter of
Chiang Dao National Park in a bid to see some of the areas I had missed
the previous time.
The road heads east, cutting up, down and around
steep climbs and sharp drops and occasionally passing through hill
tribe villages set among some of the most stunning scenery I had
witnessed in Thailand. Haze hung over certain stretches, a sign of
the burning that sends clouds of smoke into the country's
northern skies as each and every community prepares for the planting
season, burning away scrubland ahead of the April rains.
After nearly two hours and 77km of winding roads I came
to the town of Piang Luang at the very northwestern end of the
park, which marks the dividing line with Myanmar and the scene of
a recent tragedy for the peoples on both sides of the divide.
Morning mist
After receiving directions to the frontier, I was surprised
to see a dilapidated border gate that had been shuttered and
become overgrown. Faded signs at the border gate gave instructions
detailing the necessary rules on crossing to the other side in
Thai, Myanmar and English. The border, however, was no longer
open and, peering through the gate, I saw what looked like
landmines protruding from the ground.
Walking up a path to the left-hand side, I came to a
simple, golden Buddhist pagoda and adjacent, an information board on
the current status of the border. Among the only literature in
English was an article by The Chiang Mai Mail explaining exactly what
had happened here.
Previously, the Myanmar and Thai communities on each
side of the fence had been able to mix freely at the pagoda which
was actually built on two hills, the one I was standing on and just
the other side of a steep gulley, another temple building that had been taken over by the Myanmar military
and turned into a fortress.
Following a battle with the rebel Shan
State Army in 2002, the Myanmar Army had seized the other half of
the temple complex and laid landmines around the area in a bid to stop
the insurgents from coming back. The people on
both sides of the border - who consider themselves
part of the same Tai-Shan ethnic group and share
the same language - were no longer allowed to
cross and meet freely. The temple and its
community had been split in two.
I walked along the path that used to link both sides, an
area that had become a no-man's land a couple of metres wide at
the most, marked by a pit of sharp bamboo spikes on the
Myanmar side and a sandbagged garrison on the Thai-controlled section.
I was immediately ushered away by the Thai officer on duty,
despite the apparent humour and surprising lack of concern on the part
of the Myanmar soldiers who giggled as I walked away from
their heavily-fortified camp. It was time to move on.
After a late lunch of Shan noodles in Piang Luang town, I
took the west-to-east road that cuts through the heart of the park,
heading back to the village where I had overseen the end of
2006. Following the turning out of the nearby village of Chong, the
tarmac road turned into a bumpy stretch of pebbles and dust that
slowed me down considerably.
After 30 minutes, the fact I seemed to be making little
progress was made worse by the realisation that my fuel gauge was
beginning to hit the red. I soon found myself ignoring the beautiful
scenery and instead routinely glancing to see how much petrol I had
left, which was quickly evaporating as the bike struggled up
twisty, bumping climbs. My concern was growing amid the realisation
that I might not make it to the next settlement of any size, Kae Noi,
my only chance of finding fuel in what is one of the most remote
sections of the park.
I failed to be able to communicate with a passing cattle
herder; same too with a lorry struggling on in the other direction. The
only settlement within the first hour was completely devoid of people
and vehicles and therefore most probably fuel too.
As the road turned from cobbled track to tarmac road
and back again, I began to fear the prospect of another
shelterless, winter's night in Chiang Dao National Park, when I noticed a
large settlement in the distance. Thankfully, after ten minutes I had
reached Kae Noi and one of its glorious petrol pumps.
A further hour of ups and downs, tarmac and pebbles
brought me round to where I started my first exploration of the park,
at Muang Na village, two months previously. As I zoomed through
the town, watching out for the spot I had so nearly parted ways with
my car keys, the sun began to set to dusk, the occasional roar of
bright fire burning the scrub on the road, lighting up the fading sky.
A couple of trips to remember, wouldn't you say.
(Text & Images © 2007 Steve Finch)
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