In October 2000 Callie Henderson, Ian Bailey, my wife Liz and myself (Anthony van Tonder) went trekking in the Himalayas in India's Himachal Pradesh province. We had intended going to Nepal to climb one of the higher trekking peaks but after being waitlisted on the flight for three months without getting a seat we had to make a last minute change of plans.
The Eastern end of the Karakoram Range overlaps the Western end of the Great Himalaya Range for about 250 km, (the Karakorams lie to the North of the Himalayas). In between the overlapping ends and parallel to these two great ranges lie the shorter but equally high Ladakh and Zanskar Ranges, with the Indus River running down the valley between these. The area between the Karakoram and Ladakh Ranges is known as Nubra. The area along the Indus River between the Ladakh and Zanskar Ranges is known as Ladakh, the capital of which is the town of Leh. The area along the Zanskar River between the Zanskar Range and the Great Himalaya Range is known as Zanskar. South of the Great Himalaya lies the area of Lahaul bounded by the Pir Panjal range to the South. South of the Pir Panjals is the Kullu Valley and the town of Manali.
Liz and I had thoroughly enjoyed travelling and trekking in Ladakh and Nubra in 1995. Ladakh being in the trans-Himalayan desert region is geographically and culturally part of Tibet, but politically part of India. As a result the Tibetan Buddhist culture and monasteries have been preserved from Chinese destruction. During that trip we had trekked with mules into the edges of Zanskar, a fascinating remote region of isolated little Buddhist villages with bright green irrigated terraces which stand out in stark contrast to the barren mountain-sides where strikingly variegated rock strata in pastel shades are exposed below the snow capped summits. Now we intended to do a three-week long trek from Manali through Lahaul and Zanskar to Ladakh, crossing the Pir Panjal, Great Himalaya and Zanskar Ranges on the way. We would then fly home from Leh.
Arriving in Delhi at midday on a Sunday we had missed all the buses to Manali so we hired a jeep taxi to take us there, rather than wasting the rest of the day. We travelled North from Delhi through totally flat and quite densely populated country on a narrow road full of animals, pedestrians, bicycles and trucks, until we reached the first of the Himalayan foothills where we stopped for the night. Next morning we continued our journey up into the mountains following the Beas River valley to Manali (2050m). The centre of Manali is built up with smart hotels, as it is a popular honeymoon resort for Indian couples. Most tourists and trekkers stay higher up at Old Manali, which is more rural with traditional guesthouses among the orchards. Like most Himalayan towns, Manali has a lot of Tibetan refugees with their Buddhist Gompa.
Upon making enquiries in Manali we found that being autumn we could not get mules or porters to accompany us on our intended trek, as they feared that early snowfalls would prevent them returning home. Our timing, which had suited trekking in Nepal, was wrong here where the best time to trek is in mid summer when the snow has melted on the high passes. Eventually we settled for an 11-day trek up the Parvati Valley across the Great Himalaya range and down the Pin Valley to the Spiti Valley, returning by bus over two high passes. Spiti lies to the east of Zanskar and has a similar landscape and Buddhist culture.
With some negotiation and by offering to carry a lot of our own stuff we got the number of porters down to six, instead of the fifteen that our Tibetan guide, Tsering Tashi, originally wanted. It turned out that only two of these porters actually carried our stuff; the other four carrying the porters' own very heavy food and camping gear. One of our porters, Lobsang was a Khampa nomad; the rest were Nepalese.
After two days of getting organised and shopping, and eating out in Manali's restaurants, we set off in two jeeps up the Parvati Valley for Pulga (2100m) at the end of the road, passing through Manikaran on the way, a major Hindu pilgrimage site with a hot spring and temple. We passed many Gaddi shepherds descending with their flocks before the winter, which was a pity as we missed encountering them at their high camps during our trek.
From Pulga we trekked away the same day, through tall pine forests to the hot springs at Khir Ganga (2850m) where we camped in a meadow. Khir Ganga is a popular destination for Hindu pilgrims and Western "freaks", there being a resident Saddhu caretaker. After being treated to a magnificent sunset, we sat later that evening immersed in the open-air hot baths, our heads sticking out in the cold mountain air under a full moon that illuminated the splendour of the surrounding peaks; an amazing sensation. Next morning I noticed this handwritten sign near the baths:
NOTICE: -
OBSERB THE FOLLOWING RULES STRICTLY.
1. NAKED BATH IS NOT ALLOWED.
2. NO BODY ARE STRICTLY ALLOWED TO TAKE BATH AT NIGHT TIME.
3. LADIES ARE STRICTLY NOT ALLOWED TO TAKE BATH IN MAN'S POOL.
4. GO AWAY FOR TOILET.
5. NO SMOKING IN THE POOL.
THANKS.
We had broken all the rules except the last two.
Continuing our trek, we climbed out of the pine forests and the valley became more open with grass and wild flowers. From here on we would not see other people until we reached Mud village in Spiti on the last night of our trek. We camped the night at Bhojtunda (3200m) on the southern side of the Parvati River, which formed a deep gorge separating us from massive rock faces with spectacular high waterfalls on the northern side. There were stands of beautiful Himalayan silver birch trees. On a previous trek, Tsering Tashi our guide had seen bears catching and eating some shepherds' sheep here at night.
Next day we trekked on, crossing to the north bank of the river on a cantilever bridge, and later crossing back to the south bank, one by one, by means of a cable foofy-slide, to camp next to a spring at Thakur Khan (3400m). All our campsites were to be next to springs or small side streams as the water in the main Parvati River was laden with silt from the glaciers upstream. The only vegetation now consisted of dry grass and a kind of dried out red scrubby plant. Higher up bright green lichens growing on the rocks and boulders lent a strange green colour to the landscape.
Beyond Thakur Khan we again had to cross to the north bank of the river at Pandu "Bridge". This is an enormous boulder that spans the river. From the south bank one climbs up the high sloping boulder, then one descends to the north bank on a "stairway" of loose rocks that have been piled up against it.
Late that afternoon after setting up camp in the upper Parvati Valley a Snow Partridge flew clumsily past my elbow and disappeared behind the tent. I later found the bird inside the tent, which it must have mistaken for one of the holes amongst the boulders where it normally lives. It was surprisingly tame and after I chased it out the porters caught it easily and were quite excited about the prospect of eating it, but let it go on seeing our disapproval.
The next day's walk involved strenuous scrambling up the jumbled rocks of a moraine to camp at Mantakal Lake (4200m). This lake is the result of a natural dam formed by a moraine that was pushed across the Parvati River by a side glacier that has since retreated. The lake has since filled up with silt and the river has spread out across its surface as a network of little channels.
Ian and I spotted a snow peak across the valley from our camp, which in our foreshortened view we thought we could climb the next day while the girls took a rest day to acclimatise. Tsering and Lobsang wanted to accompany us. We set off very early and started the day with the icy agony of wading through the now quite small Parvati River with our bare feet. We climbed a thousand meters up steep scree slopes and jumbled moraine rocks before being forced to move onto a high glacier below a rocky col. From the col a steep snow slope led to the summit, which looked very close. According to Ian's GPS we were at 5200m. However the glacier degenerated into a maze of crevasses. Lobsang and Tsering who had no crampons or ice axes were prancing around quite happily over ice bridges trying to find a way through, responding "no problem, no problem" when I told them that they were giving me the heeby-jeebies. Eventually our way was completely blocked and we had to turn back, following our own tracks to retrace our way out of the maze. It was 2pm. The mountain was a lot bigger than it had looked and a successful attempt would have required a high camp to allow more time to find a way around the glacier to the col.
The next morning we resumed our trek, climbing out of the Parvati Valley up a steep side valley to the north and up a rough moraine to a high camp in a dusty dried up tarn at 4750m at the foot of a glacier below the pass. Cold gusts of wind blew the dust unpleasantly into our tents. We had an excellent view across the Parvati Valley of the peak that we had attempted the previous day. It was now evident that it was one of the biggest peaks in the area. It had to be the one marked as "Pyramid Peak 6036m" on our rather inadequate maps. It was probably actually over 6200m as we had found that all altitudes according to the GPS were about 200m higher than what the maps indicated. It certainly looked like a worthwhile peak to climb.
The day that followed was long and tiring. Ascending the glacier towards the Parvati-Pin Pass (5000m) we soon encountered crevasses, which were narrow enough to hop over at first, but became bigger and more frequent as we proceeded forcing us to wind a tortuous route between them. We now understood why Lobsang and Tsering had been so blasé about the crevasses on Pyramid Peak. We exited off the glacier to cross the rocky pass and then descended another glacier into a side valley of the barren Pin Valley. On this side of the pass there was more snow, which concealed some of the crevasses, so we had to be careful to avoid any suspicious elongated depressions in the surface. At the head of Pin Valley there was a large glacier that was curiously camouflaged by rubble that had fallen off the steep unstable valley walls above rendering it almost invisible. We waded through the agonisingly cold Pin River just below the snout of this glacier and camped a bit further downstream.
In the upper Pin Valley the trail was vague, rough and stony. As we descended the valley the rich colours in the exposed rock layers of the barren mountainsides became more and more vibrant. Our last campsite of the trek was on a pleasant grassy terrace high above the bright turquoise waters of the river, with views on all sides of the mountains surreally coloured in pastel shades of pink, purple, green and blue.
After nine days of rough trekking and cold camping we were looking forward to arriving on the morrow in Mud Village (3600m), where there was accommodation and, we hoped, a hot shower and a change of diet from our tedious trekking food.
The day we walked to Mud proved to be the most scenically spectacular of the entire trek. In addition to the amazing colours of the rock strata above and the turquoise river below, the dry red scrubby plants we had seen before were now abundant, painting large swathes of mountainside red. We were still far away when we first glimpsed the little white buildings of Mud dwarfed beneath enormous pyjama-striped cliffs. Being in the Himalayan rain shadow where it never rains the buildings were typical of Tibet, with mud walls, two storeys and flat roofs on which animal fodder was stored. We walked into Mud between bare terraced fields dotted with little heaps of fertiliser that were a mixture of human and sheep manure. Yak manure is used for the cooking fires. We did not see the yaks as they were grazing high up on the mountainside. Children were herding a flock of sheep back into the village for the night and as they arrived the animals split up, each sheep running off into the downstairs doorway of its own home. Children gathered around us. A sign "hotle" on one of the buildings told us where we would be staying. It was actually the local teacher's house. The animal quarters and kitchen were downstairs, and a ladder led upstairs. Our landlord and his wife moved downstairs for the night, vacating their upstairs bedroom and spreading Tibetan woollen carpets on the floor for us to sleep on. Of course there was no shower and it was very cramped in the upstairs room. It would have been easier camping. Being difficult to cook under these circumstances we asked our landlady to cook us a meal. Later we dined on a stew of potatoes that had been fertilised with human dung and cooked on a yak dung fire.
We set off early next morning as we had to cover the four and a half hours walk to Sangam village before the daily bus arrived at eleven o'clock. On the way a group of youngsters from Mud caught up with us and waited impatiently as we were crossing the river on a foofy slide one by one with our big packs. When we were finished they all piled onto the contraption together and crossed over at once. They were in a hurry to get to a cricket match at the next village.
On boarding the bus at Sangam all passengers were instructed to sit on the right side due to one of the left double back tires being punctured. After travelling several hours down the rough road we reached the confluence of the Pin and Spiti Valleys and continued to the village of Kaza (3640m), the capital of Spiti, where we found accommodation in a relatively comfortable hotel. There were no showers but buckets of hot water were supplied to wash in, and their kitchen produced good tasty food.
We spent another day in Kaza, taking jeep trips to visit some very ancient nearby monasteries, then fearing that snow would soon close the passes we decided to return to Manali. There were many migrant workers returning to the south of the Himalayas before the onset of winter and the once-daily buses were full. Ian, Callie, the guide and porters, after an unsuccessful attempt to force their way into a full bus, managed to hire a jeep which was returning to Manali and crammed themselves in. They had a nightmare fourteen-hour journey in the vehicle which was running on only three cylinders.
Liz and I stayed another day then attempted to board the 4am bus, on which we had pre-booked and paid for seats. This was to no avail; the bus was overflowing with people and luggage. After some angry words with the ticket office we were informed that there would be an extra bus at 7am. We later boarded this bus to find it half empty, (pity the poor souls squashed into the earlier bus) and had a relatively pleasant ten-hour journey crossing the Kun Zum (4551m) and Rohtang (3978m) passes to Manali. For most of the way the road was little more than a bumpy track, crossing iced up streams, winding between boulders along riverbeds and cut into steep mountainsides with many tight switchbacks where the bus had to stop in mid turn and reverse back from the brink before making it around the bends.
Halfway down the Rohtang pass we were stopped for a few hours by a traffic jam of vehicles waiting while the remains of a truck that had gone over the side were winched back up onto the road. While walking around watching the proceedings we ran into Callie and Ian who were heading back up the pass at the start of a two-day 485km jeep journey to Leh in Ladakh where they would spend their remaining time doing another trek. They had found a jeep driver who was willing to risk the imminent arrival of snow on the three high passes that they would have to cross. The highest of these passes, the Taglang La is 5328m high.
After spending two days in Manali, then two days hiking to the source of the Beas River and back, Liz and I took a bus journey to Dharamsala, the home in exile of the Tibetan Dalai Lama. The distance was only about two hundred kilometres but it took twelve hours due to the steep winding nature of the roads and frequent stops to pick up or drop passengers in every little village. These long bus journeys in India are particularly trying as the bus only ever stops in the middle of a crowded town and there are never any ablution facilities. The driver invariably tells you that he is stopping for twenty minutes but shortly afterwards starts driving off while you are in mid pee (if you have been lucky enough to find a suitable spot) leaving you to run after the bus which has all your possessions on its roof, hoping that your partner has made it back onboard, and wondering how you would ever find each other again if you got split up in this crazy country. For a woman of course the ablution problem is magnified. The lack of toilet facilities also means that bus stations are disgusting places where you need to tread very carefully using nimble footwork, especially when passing between the tightly parked buses.
We spent a few days in McLeod Ganj (upper Dharamsala) and visited the Dalai Lama's Tsuglagkhang Temple complex, before taking another 12-hour bus journey to Shimla (2206m), the former summer capital of the British Raj. To facilitate the seasonal migration of the government between Delhi and Shimla the British built a narrow gauge railway in 1903 with special small coaches and locomotives, which is still in use today. Known as the "Toy Train", it runs from Shimla to Kalka at the bottom of the Himalayan foothills. After two nights in Shimla we boarded this train for the 96 km journey, which takes five hours and passes through 102 tunnels of which the longest is over 1 km long. At Kalka we changed trains to the "Himalayan Queen", a big fast but very full train with very hard seats, that covered the 300 km across the flat country to Delhi in five bum-aching hours.
24 hours later we were checking in at Delhi airport for our Air India flight to Bombay only to be told that the flight had been rescheduled for a few hours later (despite the fact that all the information displays in the airport said that it was leaving on time at the originally scheduled time). This meant that we would now arrive in Bombay only a few minutes before our Kenya Airways connection departed. The irony was that we had been at the airport early enough to catch an earlier flight had we known. Ian and Callie who should have flown in earlier from Leh were nowhere to be seen.
Upon arriving in Bombay, Liz ran ahead to the Kenya Airways counter, which was already closing up, to ask them to wait, which at first they flatly refused then agreed to give us 5 minutes. Meanwhile after waiting to collect our luggage I was struggling to find my way to Kenya Airways with my trolley. Matters were not helped by the fact that Air India and Kenya Airways were at exactly the opposite ends of the Air Terminal, and nothing was signposted. Nor was it helpful that the airport officials just grunted rudely when I asked for directions. Nor did it help that for some reason you had to exit the building and walk along the roadway outside then re-enter the building further along at one of many unmarked entrances. Nor did the crowds in the road outside help by all directing me in different directions. Nor did the mad taxi drivers help by all trying to grab my luggage and load it into their cars. I was giving up hope when I spotted Liz running towards me gesticulating franticly. We ran down the road with our trolley to the far end of the buildings and into an entrance, heading for the Kenya Airways counter, only to be pulled up by security men who insisted on X-raying and labelling all our luggage first.
With great relief we eventually got onboard the plane, and found Ian and Callie there. They had switched to an earlier flight from Delhi after discovering the rescheduling of our flight.