Pudacuo National Park—Life is a Vast Wilderness

Day 3, May 26: From Dukezong to Wunongding, Deqen We woke up to a brilliantly sunny morning—the B&B owner said it might be the best weather Shangri-La had seen in weeks. In the morning, we visited Pudacuo National Park. The park has three main areas: Youyou Trail (hiking only), Shudu Lake (with options like off-road vehicles, boats, mountain bikes, or hiking), and Bitahai (an out-and-back walking trail). The Youyou Trail was my favorite part of the experience. We wandered through pristine forests and along small streams, chatting, taking photos, and stopping as we pleased. We could admire the blooming alpine rhododendrons up close, search for tiny mushrooms hidden at the roots of trees (a real test of eyesight!), stack small mani stones by the stream, or watch yaks and pigs grazing peacefully in the distance. During this hike, my soul quickly rehydrated from the exhaustion and monotony of daily life—we had so much fun in nature that I even fantasized about running away to live as a wildling. Shudu Lake and Bitahai featured more structured wooden boardwalks, with playful squirrels darting around. We got so immersed in Pudacuo that we far exceeded our planned 3–4 hours (to explore comfortably, allocate at least 8 hours). By the time we left, dusk was falling as we hurried toward Deqen. We drove along the national highway to Deqen, a highland county bordering Tibet—a place that always held a hint of mystery in my heart. As we ascended, the landscape transformed from the lush wetlands of Napahai to rugged rocky cliffs. The sun slowly set, casting the distant boulders in an almost menacing light, their jagged edges looming ominously with every turn of the mountain road, making our hearts race. Further along, we passed the famous Jinsha River Grand Bend viewpoint—an awe-inspiring spectacle unlike anything else in the world. The roaring Jinsha River collided with a mountain whose sharp ridges looked as if they’d been boldly inked into existence. The river surged, but the mountain stood even more unyielding, forcing the water into a dramatic bend, creating a scene of breathtaking grandeur. This season, the Jinsha River was full, its waters a muddy gold from the sediment. I later learned that the Jinsha River is the upper reaches of the Yangtze, which made the sight even more profound. We also passed Dongzhulin Monastery, a golden temple perched precariously on a steep cliff, as if it had descended from the heavens—solemn and sacred. After exiting the Baima Snow Mountain Tunnel, thick fog rolled in, turning the landscape into a dreamlike haze. We drove cautiously, trailing behind a local truck carrying a washing machine that we’d dubbed "Big Bro." Whenever Big Bro overtook another vehicle, we followed suit; when he slowed down, we did too. We stuck with him all the way to Deqen, almost accidentally following him home when we parted ways. By around 8:30 PM, we arrived at our hotel, Meili Podu in Wunongding. In the darkness, the silhouette of Kawagarbo loomed in the distance, though we couldn’t see it clearly yet. Compared to cultural landmarks, I’m more drawn to the raw, sweeping beauty of nature. When I gaze upon it, my soul trembles with fulfillment.