Route: Rumtse—Kyamar—Mandalchan—Shingbuk—Riyul—Rajun Karu—Gyama Olma—Korzok
After breakfast of omelette and peanut butter chapatis we survey the situation. The horseman is apparently 20 km away so will not be able to join us here. After an hour or so of confusion it is decided somehow that a local vehicle will take our stuff to Kyamar, the first night's camp, to which there is apparently a jeep track. This vehicle takes some time to arrive, during which time we strike camp and generally loiter around. The weather is better than last night and I take quarter of an hour to wander up the hill a little to where there are three striking rows of (108) ruined chortens.
The grassy campsite lies at the very edge of the cultivated ground, beside the irrigation stream. In fact you have to cross this stream to access the site, something which yesterday's driver was slightly reticent about doing. The site is bounded by fences and provided with a toilet 'block' built over a pit with no obvious outlet. But it's more in the way of facilities than we will see for the next 6 nights. There is another campsite further up the valley which is run by the tourism department, but it's empty and inquiries last night failed to produce anyone with a key to the compound.
The irrigation stream runs just below the main road to Manali, which we used to get here last night. Occasionally buses or trucks pass by: buses mostly carrying soldiers; trucks mostly carrying fuel. Above the main road and the irrigation is the stony desert, the realm of lizards and chortens.)
A local woman wanders up to collect some kind of camping fee. Eventually the vehicle arrives to take our stuff and we all set off: at first we follow the highway, where we are overtaken, but once the fields run out we veer off to the left to follow the river valley upstream. Soon after a fork in the stream we cross a bridge and return to the confluence to follow the other branch. This new valley is stony and barren, mostly occupied by the stream bed.
Soon we have to cross the stream, but it's very shallow and the large stones afford stepping stones in several places. The clear path mounts the other side of the valley to cut off a corner, and after half an hour or so we cross back to the other side. Here we leave the main valley and start following a side stream. The floor of this valley is greener, with large areas of grassy tussocks and in some places what looks like crusts of salt. The valley narrows and we walk between cliffs of varied colours, red, yellow, cyan. A side valley passes, which the map marks as Chorten Sumdo, though there is no chorten here, but a lhatho crowned with the skull of a blue sheep. We see no wildlife aside from the slightly comical short lizards which scurry across our path when disturbed. Katka remarks that they look halfway between lizard and frog.
I talk to Suraj, our guide. He is a Nepali speaker from Darjeeling, though all his family have moved elsewhere. One cousin lives in Sheffield having met her husband in India.
(We see behind us another group going somewhat faster, and when we stop for a rest we are overtaken. It's an Italian couple with their guide. After having some difficulty finding anyone going on this trek, it seems that the route is pretty well used: I guess the agencies don't cooperate as much as I'd thought, despite myself being shunted across three different places to find this group. Perhaps the most profitable group size for them is actually less than they admit.)
At one point Katka and Anna disappear behind us, so Suraj and I stop by the stream for lunch. It turns out they had found a particularly interesting flower. Any flower at all would be pretty interesting in this valley: although not monotonous, the scenery is minimal, composed of only a few components artfully disposed, stream, grass, and shaly cliff.
At length we reach a small mani wall overlooked by three old chortens, and breasting the next rise see the tents pitched before a large open space covered in tussocks. Horses are grazing, and meeting up with the others we gather that our horseman has arrived. He is out there still, so we will not meet him until later. Next to our tents (which have been significantly better pitched than our efforts last night) is a low one-person tent which is apparently occupied by a French solo trekker; in the distance ahead, on the other side of the expanse of tussocks, we can just see the tents and horses of the Italian couple we met earlier.
It's a lovely spot to chill for an afternoon. Raj, the cook, busts out his collection of rock music. He has Nepali metal and Opeth. Suraj says he prefers soft pop. Katka does not appear for dinner: she has a bad headache and has to be fed plain rice in bed. We are at 4500 m here.
Today Katka is a lot better: it is Anna's turn to feel the effects of the altitude. We don't get going until relatively late and Suraj is concerned that we will not be able to get over both planned passes today. By the time we set off the Italians have been gone some time, so the valley is empty as we make our way up the track to the pass. We climb over a shoulder on our left and enter a section with smoothly sloping red shale ground, whilst the stream flows on the other side of a low hill to rejoin us later.
(The track is wide and theoretically passable by jeeps, though it does not look well used: it is little more than an excavated terrace, with occasional plants growing on it as they do on the rest of the hillside. It was apparently built by the army when they constructed bunkers up on the ridge, and perhaps could be used to get to Thugje, though Suraj may be making this up.)
The track zigzags up the valley whilst the pony route takes a steeper, more direct path, with the result that we meet the track several times on the way up. The last time this happens we take a break and our goods overtake us on the horses. We have a short discussion and decide that considering Anna's worsening headache and the lateness of the hour we should camp after the next pass rather than pushing on over the Mandalchan La to Tisaling. Ironically, Anna is the main dissenter to this opinion.
The valley bends to the right and our path climbs straight up to the pass, steepening only slightly. Anna decides not to stop at the top so she can descend as soon as possible: unfortunately the path on the other side does not go down the valley but contours round to a second pass, which is the one my map at least marks as the Kyamar La. There is a view of impressive snow-covered mountains from here, and closer to us snow is visibly falling on the range beyond this valley.
(Below us we see our first wild ass, or kyang: standing motionless, with an oversize head and thin neck, looking somehow like a cave painting. On the opposite slope is a small herd of yak, or maybe dzo.)
After the second pass the surface changes, becoming sandier with small spiny bushes. The path begins to descend down the slope towards a junction of three valleys where we can see our tents already pitched: because this isn't the standard stopping place we have the site to ourselves. We meet with Anna halfway down, and enter camp together. In the evening the herdsmen bring their animals down from the pastures, straight past my tent.
We leave the Mandalchan campsite by following the side valley opposite the one we'd entered by. The path climbs steadily up the mountainside. This valley has little in the way of landmarks.
After the pass, and the obligatory group photo, the path descends into the wide grassy bowl of Tisaling. Dead centre in this natural amphitheatre is a tiny white spot, which resolves itself into a parachute tent as we descend, slaloming down the unstable sandy slopes. The parachute is a camp shop and tea place, but it is unoccupied: apparently the proprietor came over the Mandalchan La early this morning to meet us at our campsite (and collect his camping fee) and has not yet returned. It makes some sense, as normally groups don't arrive here until later in the afternoon. Suraj reassures us that he knows the man well and lights the stove for some instant coffee. Soon our horses join us.
As we are drinking and eating our packed lunch the weather closes in and hail begins to fall. Worrying slightly that this will make the next pass difficult, everyone hurriedly packs up and makes a move towards the Shingbuk La, clearly visible on the other side of the bowl. We let the horses go first; in the event, after only a few hundred yards the hail has stopped, or more correctly, moved elsewhere, and the sun has come out.
(We meet with traffic on the way over the Shingbuk La: one group of horses returning from Tso Moriri; a solitary trekker who shouts at us, 'FRANZOESISCH? ITALIANO? I AM FROM THE ALPS!', and is then gone without giving us much chance to respond; after the pass, four Swiss mountain bikers and their (rather larger than our) entourage.)
The Shingbuk La is the most classic saddle-form pass we have crossed: the others were minor dips in ridge lines, but here the mountains on either side rise several hundred metres above our level. And it's a true pass also in the sense that it provides a view into a new country: from here we see into the Tso Kar basin for the first time. The unsettled weather is clearly behind us: the next few days' walking will take us through the desert of Rupshu.
We descend down a wide valley covered sparsely with grasses. The stream runs hard against one side of the valley, the rest of the valley floor lying at an even slope of about five degrees.
'Mountain rats' and occasional marmots to be seen; one kyang, again in lonely profile.
Before long the valley narrows and we see our tents pitched by the stream, a few hundred metres below the cyclists' camp.
A cold night, made worse by the north-south aspect of the Shingbuk valley: the sun does not melt the frost from our tents until well after eight. But it's an intense sun, and as soon as light floods the valley the temperature mounts. We set off, and follow the right side of the valley as the stream dips into a V-shaped channel. As we get lower, the valley gets drier until we reach a small mani wall at the end of the enclosing hills from where we have a superb view of the Tso Kar basin and the mountains surrounding it. Suraj points out the Horlam Kongka La on the other side of the lake, which we will be crossing tomorrow. Katka balances her camera on the mani wall to take a group photo.
Crossing a low pass and dropping down the hillside we come to the first black-top road we have seen for three days, and (as it turns out) the last we will see until we have left Tso Moriri behind. This road connects the Manali-Leh highway with Thugje, and apparently also Tso Moriri in the other diretion, though it seems not to be the quickest way there, as we will not be coming back this way.
The track next skirts a fenced enclosure, which Suraj says is earmarked for agriculture, though there is no sign of much improvement. I'm not sure either why anyone would want to force agriculture on such obviously marginal land, except out of sheer stubbornness.
(Below the road are enclosures built of stones, for animals, and partially-underground stone structures for humans, looking very similar to Skara Brae, or at least what I have seen of it. Apparently they erect tent roofs over these before hunkering down for the winter: the earth providing some amount of insulation. There had been a similar 'village' of this type just above Kyamar. It doesn't look like a comfortable winter is to be had here, although there is at least water, courtesy of a new-looking pump.)
We are now at Pongunagu, where there is a small stream, an old chorten with resident crows, and a row of fixed tents for overnight trippers.
A couple of families live here, at least during the summer, running a tea place out of parachute tents. Katka and Anna befriend the small daughter of the family, who tries out their trekking poles for size (too big, even after adjustment)
By the stream a group of four men are playing some kind of dice game which is a bit like Ludo without the board. Suraj tries to explain the rules but is mostly unsuccessful.
We next have to follow the jeepable track around Tso Kar itself, although no traffic passes us in the couple hours this takes. We are overtaken by the Swiss cyclists, who have perhaps visited Thugje village on the way, as they started off before us. A few people in a truck are gathering salt from the lake. There are a few gulls flying around the shoreline, but aside from this the valley is silent.
Finally we pass a spur of the nearby hill, marked with a set of old chortens, and our tents come into view, together with those of the cyclists. The campground is just above a wide expanse of marshy tussocks where the horses are already grazing. The view is fantastic, comprising the whole lake, with Thugje village opposite, and the little monastery above it; the mountains behind, including our path from the Shingbuk La, and one peak which Anna decides is exactly the same shape as Slovakia's tallest mountain. We are all agreed that this is a much better place to spend the night than either Pongunagu or Nuruchan, the standard camping grounds, both of which are some distance away from the lake.
(The lake varies in colour from bright turquoise to deep lapis, ringed by a bright white crust of salt. It compels attention as we circumambulate: almost a feeling of sacredness, although in this case we have circled it the wrong way round.)
As we arrive Trinley, the horseman, points out a pair of black-necked cranes in the distance. It's apparently unusual to see these, and sure enough, soon a passing car stops and disgorges two or three tourists with rather large zoom lenses, who proceed to stalk the cranes. The cranes take this with good grace and walk nonchalantly (but purposefully) away from the road toward the lake for twenty minutes or so, before deciding to take off and fly round to the edge of the marshes where they wouldn't be followed.
My own attempts at wildlife photography were disappointing, though the black necks can be made out, which is after all their defining feature.
As usual Suraj says we should be off by 8, and as usual it's nearly 9 by the time breakfast is over and everyone is packed. The Swiss cyclists are off just before us, so we see nobody as we take the dirt road out of the Tso Kar basin towards Nuruchan. At the entrance to the valley a couple of homesteads stand empty, waiting for the winter. Beyond is a gently undulating and gradually rising plain dotted with scrub, which leads up to an obvious pass, the Horlam Kongka. It's difficult to judge distances, the pass looks no distance away, but it will take several hours to approach it.
The road zigzags slightly to run between two barbed wire fences: another attempt at marking off an area for agriculture, like at Pongunagu, and equally abandoned looking. At the end of the fence a few low buildings mark the 'village' of Nuruchan, but we carry on past, following the stream. A jeep track is visible on the hillside on the left: this is the vehicle road to Rajun Karu. Suraj says all the nomads have vehicles these days, thanks indirectly to government subsidies. This road is actually marked as Horlam Kongka on my map; it's pretty much exactly the same height as our pass, but slightly more direct. The horses don't use it, though, perhaps because they would be spooked by the vehicles, or perhaps because our way spends less time away from water sources: the jeep road looks entirely barren.
Continuing up the stream round a rocky shoulder we come to Nuruchan campground. This grassy area is where we would have stayed last night if we had stuck to the original itinerary. We now need to do the whole of 'day 5', but it's still well before lunchtime and everyone is reasonably energetic (Anna still has a headache, which will not go away for the entire trip)
The ladies take off their shoes to cross the stream; I just let my feet get wet. The shoes will be basically dry in half an hour of walking, and the wetness is cool and refreshing in this weather, though it's not actually that hot.
To our right we see a small herd of about six kyang in the distance, just on the foot of the mountain. Later, a braver kyang stops to regard us, allowing us to approach within a few hundred metres before strolling off to the safety of the stream. I don't have my zoom lens today, unfortunately, but the ladies get good photos.
Climbing out of the stream bed we see the pass ahead of us. It's a long, gradual slope up to the pass, the path heading straight up the side of the valley at a constant gradient. Every so often there is a slight break in slope marked by a cairn or two, where we rest, but the valley is mostly featureless.
We reach the top of the pass at the same time as the horses catch us up, and have lunch facing our last view of the Tso Kar basin and our last two days' walking. In the other direction the pass drops down to a sideways-running valley, the view being blocked by mountains on the other side. Lunch today includes salami chapati. Anna and Katka had brought a large salami with them all the way from Slovakia: Raj had fun inventing a salami chilli masala dish last night which was very tasty.
The rhythm of the climb is meditative: I match my steps to a selection of morris tunes, which seem to go at a suitably slow speed for the job.
The descent to the valley is relatively short, and soon we are dipping our toes in the clear water of the stream. According to the map, this stream is actually the same one that we crossed at the campsite at Nuruchan, but presumably it flows through a gorge preventing passage along it, otherwise there would be no point going over the pass.
We find a place to cross the stream and follow the path as it ascends to a gravel terrace on the left bank. Soon we can see the nomad tents at Rajun Karu ahead of us, and the next pass - the Kyamayuri La - behind them. The clear air and straight valley are deceptive, however, and it takes a good two hours to walk up to where our tents are pitched.
I wash my shoes and socks in the stream, which turns out to be a bad idea, as there is an excursion planned to visit a nomad family which I have to pass on, having no other footwear.
We start at the normal time of 8 (actually 8:45), heading for the Kyamayuri La. It's the smallest valley of four that meet at roughly right angles at Rajun Karu.
We watch the Swiss cyclists attempting the pass: only one manages to cycle most of the way, taking large zigzags up the valley. The others all walk their bikes up the path.
This valley is grey, and stonier than the last pass: the rocks have changed from red shale to grey slate, and the only greenery to speak of is the occasional clump of moss. The sky is overcast, and the atmosphere is akin to a Welsh or Scottish mountain.
The pass has the steepest sections of any so far, involving a couple of decent steps, but it's by no means difficult. The mountains here are sleeping elephants rather than jagged peaks, and the paths can always find a steady gradient. Soon we are at the top. A couple of snowflakes fall. Beyond the pass is another sideways valley, wider and higher than the last, flat-bottomed, grass-covered, with clouds covering the higher parts of the valley sides. This valley could easily be in the northern Highlands. It's called Gyama Barma, Barma meaning 'between'. Gyama (and probably Kyama as in Kyamayuri) is generally applied to this whole area of Rupshu between the Tso Kar and Tso Moriri basins. There is plenty of grazing in these valleys, but we see no sign of any animal life apart from our own horses, who have stopped in the valley for a bite to eat.
Further down the valley the path begins to climb, heading for a low point (hardly a pass) on the other side, the Kostse La. We fall into the usual rhythm as the path contours upwards, leaving behind a couple of nomad tents and one child shouting, perhaps at us, perhaps just into the air. More snow flurries and I put my camera safely in the pack. The sun appears briefly at the top of the pass, but we can see more storms ahead.
The path gently drops down into the valley on the other side, and we reach the grassy campsite of Gyama Olma through alternating sunshine and snow showers. At the junction of two streams we spot a pair of eagles - or at least some kind of large bird of prey - yellow and black.
This campsite is at 5100 m, the highest we will sleep. The mountain blocking the outlet of the valley is over 6300 m but still doesn't have a name. At sunset herds of goats trickle down from the heights into the valley and on to their designated enclosures. They seem to know the way without needing any encouragement from shepherds or dogs.
Up today at 9 per the normal routine. I have been waking up at or before sunrise every day, so it's a bit frustrating to be waiting around in the cold for three hours before we can set off. I think I would prefer to get a couple of hours' walking in before breakfast.
Today's plan is much like the other days: walking up a side valley to the next pass, the Yarlung Nyau La. This one is the highest yet, and also the last. The valley starts off much like the others, but after a couple of km the path starts to follow the rocky stream bed between slopes of large stones. It's an alien landscape, or maybe a Doctor Who landscape, an abandoned slate quarry standing in for another world. The valley sides drop down as we climb, but the stream does not diminish, and eventually we discover the reason as the valley opens out into a wide basin ringed with mountains, some with snowfields on their flanks. But the path does not enter the basin: it suddenly climbs up leftwards out of the stream bed and with hardly any more climbing we find ourselves at the pass, marked as always with sheep skulls and prayer flags.
There is little time for celebration, however, or for lunch, as the weather is closing in and Anna's headache is as bad as it's going to get. We can see Tso Moriri from the pass in the distance, at least until the clouds come in and obscure it. As we descend we get the strongest snow storm yet, but it still lasts only five minutes or so, hardly long enough to put on waterproofs.
The path descends steeply down between great crags, a contrast on this side from the rolling landscape of upland Rupshu. The ground underfoot is stony to start with, but after a few hundred metres' descent becomes sandy and unstable. We slalom down the side of the mountain to a point where a set of boulders and a break in the weather suggest a stop for lunch. Tso Moriri has come out again, we can now see almost its whole length, with dark clouds menacing the mountains on the other side. To our right are the snow-covered peaks of Mentok Kangri, known as '1', '2' and '3', though I don't form a good idea of which is which.
Our route to Korzok is obvious, as the path drops into a great bowl whose only outlet is a narrow gorge directly opposite us. Again the distance is deceptive: once we reach the floor of the bowl there is a good 5 km of trudging across the desert to the other side, mostly in bright sunshine: it's appreciably warmer down here. At one point a cloud envelops us. It would have been a snowstorm further up, and we can see snow appearing on the higher slopes, but down here it's just a strong gust of wind whipping up the sand. Near the entrance to the gorge are signs of human activity: a chorten, the sound of monks chanting (Suraj tells us this is a school rather than a monastery, so presuamably the monks are there for some special occasion only), a small bridge across a stream.
The gorge collects all the water from the bowl we just crossed, and is more of a pleasant valley with a wide stream and grassy banks. Suraj points out tiny fish in a rivulet. We pass an enclosure holding the tents of the Swiss cyclists, cross a bridge, and there is Korzok, a somewhat scruffy village on a rocky spur overlooking the delta of the stream we have been following. The lake is cold, clear, and quiet, surrounded by the highest mountains we have yet seen (Chamser and Lungser Kangri on the other side, Mentok on this side); a fitting climax to the trek. Tomorrow we will be jammed into a vehicle for 8 hours, across Rupshu and diving down into the Indus gorge. But this evening we can enjoy the storms floating across the hills, the chinks of sunlight illuminating the slopes, and also the half bottle of slivovica which the Slovak trade delegation has smuggled all the way here...
