A night on the rocks

The lights of the town below were lit up like a giant UFO.We stood resting against one of the rocks. The climb was steep and the maze of shrubs and the boulder like walls were intriguing in the flickering light of our torches. The trek started in the night much later than anticipated, thanks to the cops who refused to let us proceed to Papagni Mutt (the trekking base) despite much haggling. My attempts to find an alternative route on google only revealed that post 12 is a bad time to proceed to the base because of the patrolling cops, inviting groans of disappointment from my team.We had reluctantly turned around but bumped into a guide who agreed to take us via an alternative route. We left our bus asking the driver to pick us up in the morning from the base and left off silently with the guide through the fields.

Skandagiri, also known as Kalavar Betta is an ancient mountain fortress located near Bangalore at an altitude of 1350m. Dilapidated remains of Tipu's fort can be found on the top. History says this was a small but strong hill fort. It surrendered to British troops in 1791 and remained in British hands until the peace treaty of 1792, which ended the third Anglo-Mysore war.

The trek is a literal teaser. Just when you think you have reached the top, there is another stone wall towering just beyond. Short but exciting,we had to stop occassionally against the rock ledges (not to mention my shameless dumping over the tripod to Karteek and the undesirable effects of mixing drinks on our young intern).

We reached the summit at around 4 a.m,two hours after we started the trek. The wind was blowing relentlessly and the bone chilling cold left us shivering for cover.Luckily for the trekkers, there is a small shop which sells hot chai and maggi and arranges for a bonfire as well, predictably doing brisk business.We gathered around the bonfire to beat the cold, waiting for the sunrise. Around dawn, a few mist covered peaks in the distance come into view. Like piles of cotton candy the clouds play with the wind, finally giving way to the small orange ball in the horizon. The magical view lasts for sometime before the fog clears up for a bright day.We descended soon after and left back for Bangalore. My first trek of the year was over,hoping to catch up with some more before it ends!

Written in Stone

Folk legend has it that a giant named Hidimbasura lived on the Chitradurga hills. When the Pandavas came with their mother Kunti during their exile, Bhima had a duel with Hidimba who was slain and peace returned to the area. Located amidst these hills is the Chitradurga fort . Built by the feudal lords of the Vijaynagar empire and later captured by Hyder Ali in 1779, the fort stands as a grand stone edifice encircled by seven circular walls.

It was a November morning and unlike most weekends I had to drag myself out of bed a tad too early. The photography clubs from B1 and B2 were off for a day trip to the Chitradurga fort. After the cursory delay of getting all the half awake photographers together, both the buses left the city and sped off on the Bangalore Pune highway. Save a few stops on the way to catch breakfast , and to pick up a lens from Sid (not to mention the attempt to abduct him) , the journey was uneventful. The more awake B1 folks managed to entertain themselves through the bus journey,while the B2 bus was a sleeping graveyard.

We reached Chitradurga around noon and made our way through the fort. The guide we had (unfortunately) hired turned out to be a dictator of some sorts, insisting on undivided attention leaving us running for cover.The boulder strewn landscape around Chitradurga is embellished with watchtowers, temples,bastions and fortifications all around. No wonder that the fort is also known as “Kallina Kote” or the “Place of stone fort”. There are 28 entrances, a palace, 19 gateways, granaries,50 warehouses and water tanks inside the fort.

An interesting story surrounds a small opening in the rocks in the fort. During the siege of the fort , Hyder Ali came upon a clever plan to send his soldiers through the opening in the rocks. The guard on duty near the hole had gone home for lunch and his wife,Obawa,noticed the soldiers emerging out of the opening. She killed the soldiers one by one with her wooden club (“Onake”). In the ensuing battle , the fort of Chitradurga was lost to Hyder Ali , but the opening in the rocks still remains a witness to the legend of ‘Onake Obawa’.

The temples served up as interesting photo-ops for the photographers. Puja is still conducted at some of these ancient temples. The bored priests break off into a smile as we tried to click them. We also hiked around in groups to the hilltops which provide a stunning view of the surrounding area. By evening , we had finished off our tour and boarded our buses to return to Bangalore. The 15th century fortress lay behind , seeped in stories and legends of it’s own.

Not to miss at the Chitradurga fort:
Watch the ‘monkey man’ Jyothi Raja scale the fort walls with effortless ease. A passionate rock climber, Raja is a regular at the fort precincts and has garnered a huge fan following for his unique rock climbing skills



The reading backlog

“Please return all mail I recieve to the sender. It might be a very long time before I return South. If this adventure proves fatal and you don't ever hear from me again , I want you to know you are a good man. I now walk into the wild. Alex.”

In April 1992 , a young man named Christopher Johnson McCandless from a well-to-do family hitchhiked to Alaska and walked alone into the wilderness, never to return again. Author Jon Krakauer chronicles the story of this enigmatic young man in his book “Into The Wild”. I had picked this up on my way to Ladakh at the Bangalore Airport.The book,however,remained unread through the trip, packed off in a fellow trekker's backpack.Thanks to my incurable habit of picking up books every now and then (airports being an old favourite), I have accumulated a huge reading backlog ever since, something I have been trying to finish off during the past couple of weekends.

Krakauer's book raises some intriguing questions – what differentiates adventure from bravado,and how far would one go in search of raw, transcendent experience? A tryst with the unknown holds a seduction of it's own , and anyone with a passion for adventure can vouch for it. Krakauer relates it to his own climbing experiences , and a personal obsession to climb one of Alaska's remotest mountains – the Devil's Thumb that had overtaken him during his youth. He explores McCandless's personality almost with a personal vigour. An extremely intelligent and idealistic young man , captivated by the writings of Tolstoy, McCandless's strained relationship with his father pushed him into seeking refuge in his undisciplined imagination - a strange obsession to experience living off the wilderness in Alaska. Surprisingly , his encounters with others on his journey to Alaska reveal a more grounded side of his personality and the fact that he held no illusions around his venture into the wild. In fact , as the author delves deeper into the youngster's last few days in the Alaskan wilderness, what surfaces is that save for some insignificant blunders, McCandless would have walked out of the Alaskan woods in 1992 as anonymously as he had walked into it.

A somewhat dark read , a deep exploration of a very enigmatic personality and thought provoking questions around the limits of climbing as a sport ( which as the author himself puts it , becomes a 'psycho neurotic' tendency for some of the most obsessive climbers, an attempt to frame the torment of their own existence).

On a more cheerful note, I moved on to Michael Palin's ' Himalaya' , a day to day account of the BBC documentary series by the same name. Palin gives a befitting introduction -“ What the Sahara is to desert, the Himalayas is to mountains. Both share the same contradictory attractions, appealing and appalling, tempting and terrifying in equal, and ultimately irresistible,measure.”  He traverses the Himalaya from the Khyber Pass, through Ladakh and Kashmir,enters Nepal and the mystic land of Tibet and concludes the grand journey in the Bay of Bengal - “ Mission accomplished. With the help of the Ganges and the Brahmaputra I'm swept away out into the Bay of Bengal , along with millions of tonnes of mud that was once the Himalaya”

Palin's first hand account of his experiences in the subcontinent are earnest – his predicament while filling a permit to buy alcohol in Rawalpindi which among other things , requires him to give his religion (“Agnostic with doubts”), his pleasure on discovering the many facets of Hindu mythology in Krishna's temple in Kathmandu (“Our gods don't tend to have girlfriends. It's something we've rather missed out on”) or his admiration for Wongchu,the Sherpa leader who accompanies him to Annapurna Base Camp (“ He is horrendously over-qualified for this sort of work, having twice summitted Everest. On one of those occasions he arrived at the top at 5.30 in the morning, so far ahead of the rest of the party that he lay down on top of Everest and fell asleep until they arrived. Now that is cool!”). The unmistakable attraction of the Himalaya lingers all through, and photographs by Basil Pao do justice to the captivating accounts. A thoroughly enjoyable travelogue, deja-vu for anyone who has travelled to the Himalays, highly recommended!

My reading backlog still continues though, am hoping to bridge more of the pile of unread books on my shelf  before the year ends:)

The Eclectic Getaway

“Kochi, Kerala’s Friendly Gateway, Is No Backwater” read the article on New York Times travel. I was sifting through google trying to figure out a destination for the long weekend around Independence Day. Explicit instructions from M just said “No beach , please!”. The woman elegantly went incommunicado after that and no amount of hounding over phone calls or emails helped. The responsibility of looking for a destination was thus successfully delegated to me , the sole back up plan being hanging out at Hard Rock Cafe in Bangalore for all the three days. The snake boat race in Alleppey around the same time was an option , but I had already been there same time last year. The idea of Fort Cochin seemed like a good fit – I had briefly passed through Jew town on my way back to Bangalore from Alleppey after the snake boat race. I badly wanted to catch a Kathakali dance performance and M could get her first glimpse of the backwaters too – our two main agendas were ticked!

Fort Kochi was the territory that was granted by the Rajah of Kochi to the Portugese , later captured by the Dutch and finally by the British. There is a distinct colonial air around the place, be it the ancient architecture of the churches or the elegantly built boutique hotels on the waterfront , some restored from heritage buildings. The place is also a backpacker's retreat and tell tale signs are everywhere – affordable homestays (the one where we stayed ,bang opposite the St Francis Church claimed to be the last residence of Vasco Da Gama till his death and burial in the same church ), flea markets lined across the streets and small cafes tucked around the corners in the local neighbourhoods.

We reached Fort Kochi on Friday afternoon and decided to catch a Kathakali performance in the evening at the Kerala Kathakali Centre. We got in early to catch a glimpse of the elaborate make up process before the actual performance. The show begins with a demonstration of the main facial expressions used in Kathakali. The experience of  watching a Kathakali performance is a fascinating one -a vibrant medley of dance, mime, music and acting. Expressions so vivid that we were left to wonder how is it humanely possible to practice and perform such an art form! An enthralling 3 hours later we headed off for dinner and back to the venerable Vasco's home . Despite much speculation around the apparition of the Portugese explorer , the night went away uneventfully. Vasco probably decided against a rendezvous with the two not-so-sane women:).

Early next morning we headed off to Kumarakom. Situated on the banks of the Vembanad Lake (the longest lake in India), Kumarakom is a beautiful backwater destination.The cruise took us through an intricate network of canals and lagoons lined with lush, green paddy fields, finally ending in the Vembanad Lake. The boat stood still in the endless expanse of the lake, and the gently flowing breeze put us into the throes of the most heavenly sleep ever. Vembanad  deservedly earned it's place on my list of favourite places to snooze*!

We reached back Fort Kochi in time to catch the sunset along the waterfront and the postcard Chinese fishing nets. Plenty of fish mongers were still open in the evening , selling fresh snapper, prawns or crabs which can be served grilled to your liking ( for those with a strong penchant for the piscean variety , it may also take some effort to steal your glance away from the fish glistening under the light of the lantern). We wandered around in the quiet streets for sometime,whiled time over coffee and headed off for dinner to the Koder House. The Koder House is the former residence of one of the city's most prominent Jewish families , now a heritage building and an all suite hotel. Menorah , the restaurant serves authentic Jewish, Syrian Christian and Kerala cuisine with a wonderful ambience to unwind. A thoroughly enjoyable dinner later (not to mention M's interesting conversations with the waiter after her glass of beer) ,we headed back to the homestay.

We checked out the next morning , left our bags at the homestay and decided to cover Jew town and the Dutch palace before heading back to Bangalore. Jew Town is situated in Mattancheri , a 10 minute auto rickshaw ride away. The oldest synagogue in India , built in 1568, is located here. Old , handpainted Chinese tiles decorate the entire synagogue which also has Hebrew inscriptions on the walls. The narrow alleyways around the synagogue are lined with shops selling artifacts and antiques, some owned by the handful of Jews who still stay there. Nearby is the Dutch palace , which was presented to the Cochin rajas by the Portugese. The highlight of the palace are the beautifully painted Hindu murals depicting the entire story of the Ramayana. We headed back to pick up our bags , and with an hour still in hand , decided to spend some time in the St Francis Church.It was empty and quiet inside ,except for gospel songs, being rehearsed by the church coir. The oldest European church in the country briefly held the remains of Vasco Da Gama before it was sent back to Portugal. We sat in silence as the gospel songs echoed in the centuries old church (I am tempted to add the church as well to the my list of soporific favorites save someone sue me for blasphemy). An hour later we headed off to the airport to catch our flight back to Bangalore. The holiday to the Queen of the Arabian sea was over – a tete-a-tete with eclectic culture, the lovely backwaters and plain good times with an old friend:).

*Others in the list include the tempo traveller single seat , the soft grassy, ground beneath a particular tree in Vaxholm and my sleeping bag in Ladakh.

The Himalayan Sojourn,after the Epilogue: High on the Khardung La

The world outside was a perfect monochrome – black and white. Inside the maxi cab , I sat beside the window pane drawing circles on the accumulating mist. The snow outside was getting thicker – inch by inch. The blizzard was getting dangerously stronger and showed no signs of receeding. The cigarette butt that one of the guys had thrown outside just minutes ago was invisible now , buried under a thick layer of snow. “A precursor of things to come?” - I thought to myself. The serpentine queue of vehicles, lined along the Khardung La stood immobile. The Innova standing right infront of us, started the ignition and in an attempt to move ahead, skid dangerously on the snow. We were stranded , on arguably the highest motorable pass of the world.

Our super adventurous trek during the first half of the Ladakh journey had an undesirable post effect- the road trip and mobile camping for the second half of the journey felt like a school picnic in comparison – notwithstanding the lovely landscapes we came across on the way to Pangong,Chumathang and Tso Moriri. Our final roadtrip destination was the Nubra valley. Lying between the Ladakh and the Karakoram ranges , Nubra is a cold desert and is also known as the gateway to the Siachen which lies to it's north. The only way to access Nubra from Leh is through the Khardung La. The road over the Khardung La is two lanes , no guardrails , a vertical precipice of snow below and interspersed with huge military convoys – quite unsurprising given the proximity to Siachen.

The journey from Leh to Nubra through the Khardung La was quite uneventful. Our initial plans to camp in the Nubra desert had to be ditched thanks to a sandstorm right after we arrived ( which I admit gave us cheap thrills , after the picnicky mobile camping days). We camped for the night in a village nearby , and left in the morning for Leh after stopping at the Diskit monastery on the way.As we passed through the military post at around 11 a.m just before Khardung La, the army hurried us across -“ It's snowing and we won't be letting any heavy vehicles across”. A couple of minutes of drive later , we stopped. The snow had blocked the way and all we could see was an unending queue of vehicles along the long and narrow winding road. To make matters worse , the blizzard continued unabated reducing visibility and making the road highly prone to skidding. We hoped the logjam would clear in sometime .What we didn't anticipate was an 11 hour stalemate in the snow blizzard , at 18380 feet .

By evening , we had inched around a kilometre ahead. The effects of high altitude were gradually showing up - staggering breath and headaches. Conversations had died down and everyone was back to the dead stupid game of Uno* .We were out of both water and food , something we hadn't stocked up on our way back since we were heading straight back to Leh. “ Let me make some tea ” - our driver Angchuk enthusiastically suggested. The porters jumped out , broke icicles hanging outside on the walls of snow , and dismantled the stove from the camping equipment stocked above. The driver's cabin miraculously turned into a kitchenette as he opened the seat compartment on the side to reveal well stocked up kitchenware and condiments. The hot tea was a miraculuous relief, albeit only for sometime.

As darkness fell , visibility levels were down to zero. Temperatures outside had dipped to sub zero and we could feel the biting cold make our toes numb.Govil suggested rubbing the toes constantly with our hands in order to keep them warm and avoid frostbite.An army truck distributing maggi and biscuits on the way stood like a messiah. We managed to get a little more than our rationed share thanks to a colonel from the Siachen regiment whom Avisek had befriended on the way. Angchuk steered the cab slowly through the blinding flakes of snow,carefully keeping distance from the vehicle right infront. We could see a car standing precariously on the edge of the road on the left .The driver had tried to speed ahead and had lost complete control. Angchuk and the other drivers got down , to try and push the car back on the road ( a ritual that all the drivers in this terrain abide by - to always stop by and help a stranded vehicle on the way , irrespective of the prevailing conditions).

The road ahead was now a complete blur. We could see the armymen on the road , walking through the blizzard trying to clear the snow. Inside Govil was making dinner for us - maggi atop the Khardung La. A young girl suffering from respiratory problems in one of the vehicles behind us was brought down by Angchuk, since ours was one of the very few vehicles that night with an oxygen cylinder inside. An army doctor was doing the rounds checking up on passengers inside .The prolonged stay at such high altitude was already taking it's toll on the stranded travellers .

At around 10 p.m , we could see a strong flashlight and the way clearing up infront. Angchuk started the ignition and drove forward. We cheered the armymen who gestured us to move ahead faster. Once we had descended , we dropped the young girl and her father who stayed back at an army post for their family in another vehicle behind to catch up. The pass had finally cleared up and the ordeal at the Khardung La was over. Ladakh had left it's final imprint on our memories for a lifetime.

*the only game the non functional human brain can fathom under the effects of high altitude.

Kudos to the Indian Army who got down to clear up the Khardung La ,and without whom it would have been impossible to get through the pass that night.


Photo credits to Abhinav

The Himalayan Sojourn,Chapter 4: The Last lap

"As far as I'm concerned, if someone eliminates the mental part of climbing, then we might as well all go play miniature golf." -  Greg Opland

The gravel was slipping beneath my foot , I scrambled on all fours to find a ledge against a rock. The steep ascent along the side of the mountain pass was loose gravel and rocks and finding a foothold was next to impossible. The only way was to climb rapidly over gravel and rest over the ledges of rocks. Two of the trekkers had taken to the sheet of snow which lay like a carpet through the mid of the ascent. I took a detour and tried the route – my foot immediately sank inside the deep layer of snow. I stood for a minute trying to choose between gravel and snow. “Just keep climbing this way”, Neeraj pointed at the others who were climbing through a trail on the gravel. “Okay! so gravel”, I decided and turned back to follow suit. Gravity was a killing drag. As we inched higher , the thinning air left us panting for breath with every other step.

A couple of hours later,all of us had arrived on the summit – 5200 m above sea level. All around were the snow clad peaks of the Zanskar and the Karakoram range. The wind was a violent roar and it had started snowing. “Don't wait here , we need to start the descent as soon as possible. The mules will not go any forward. Pick up your essentials from the backpacks and one sleeping bag each”. The horseman was retracing with all the camping equipment and two of the porters would also go back with him. The rest of us, with our guide Govil and cook Gombo, would move ahead till Shang Sumdo.

“Walk on your ankles, not your toe”-Govil instructed. The other side of the mountain pass was a thick sheet of snow descending rapidly. We tried to walk fast, digging our ankles, but kept sinking in the snow.The descending carpet of snow gave way to a narrow stream lined with boulders and rocks. “Keep walking fast!” chided Govil ,  “we have no way of getting through if it starts snowing heavily”. It was snowing lightly every now and then, and the wind sent a shiver down to the bones everytime I stopped.We split into groups of two - seven of us led by Gombo ,which quickly moved ahead. In case we did not make it to Shang Sumdo, we would still need to get to the nearest village before nightfall. The remaining five led by Govil decided to stay back for the others to catch up and then move.

What lay ahead was a long journey none of us had ever dreamt of.The mountains threw up a new terrain everytime - boulders interspersed with last remains of glacial ice , steep cliffs of gravel and narrow trails over gorges with the river flowing beneath , gradually draining the last bits of physical energy.

Darkness was setting in. We were walking along a narrow gorge which gradually descended into a trail.We could spot the meadows and the closest village – Chogdo.  Gombo and Deepak moved ahead - “we will try and get some hot maggi and water in the village , you guys can rest for sometime and follow us” .The five of us sat along the gorge resting for sometime. I swallowed flakes of snow in the air as I gasped for breath. “ Let's go , we cannot rest anymore, it has started snowing again” - we got up again and started the descent along the trail. We reached Chogdo, but Deepak and Gombo were nowhere to be seen. Neither was our second group of trekkers .We could only hope they would catch up , it was impossible to cross the terrain we had left behind in the dark.

 We walked up to a lone house located on a small hillock in search of the two , but they had not come there. I suddenly heard Govil's voice and turned around – the second group had arrived -“ Bring out your torches , we will continue till Shang Sumdo. Deepak and Gombo will be somewhere on the way”. The final lap to Shang Sumdo started - in the flickering light of our torches , the 10 of us queued up and trudged ahead along the gorge. We met the other two on the way ( Gombo was resting a little ahead , and Deepak had carried along. When we finally caught up with him , he was standing still in the pitch dark ,lighting a cigarette. As he told us later , every sound in the dark would remind him of all the snow leopard stories we had heard earlier during the trek:)).

The last trek to Shang Sumdo was a 2 hour journey , and by the time we reached the village , our bodies were numb from cold , hunger , thirst and pain. The entire trek was close to 36 km . Unfortunately the maxi cab which had come to pick us up had waited till evening and gone back to Leh , assuming we had retraced our way back to Chilling since all the other trekkers had done so. We dragged ourselves to the doors of a small monastery where the kind lama lent us a room to rest for the night. As we slipped into our sleeping bags ,I slumbered into my most peaceful night ever - the end of a Himalayan adventure in God's own abode.

Epilogue:

A word of gratitude as a small token of thanks for Govil and Gombo ,who tirelessly guided us , at times carrying all our sleeping bags to ensure we were not bogged down by weight. To me personally , they will always remain role models in courage , persevarance and patience.

Also a word of thanks for our porters whose astounding physical ability amazed me. They would start the trek after us , reach the campsite way before we did , work tirelessly to set up the camp , cook dinner and have tea ready for all of us by the time we reached.

On Himalayan trekking -

To be honest , the mountains beat you up black and blue:). Everytime you cross a terrain , there will be an entirely new one waiting to challenge you. But once you learn to push the limits , you will be amazed at the amount of pain the human body can endure.

Always respect the mountains , there is something so eternal and timeless about them that everything else seems insignificant.

Trek responsibly , please do not litter. It's disgusting to find plastic, bottles,wrappers etc lying around at campsites or on the way .It just takes a moment to collect the garbage and burn it away.

The Himalayan Sojourn,Chapter 3: The Journey

The Zanskar was raging below in full force,we stood on the cliff looking down. How on earth were we supposed to cross this? One of the porters quickly ran ahead, hauled himself in what looked like a rickety version of a cable car (a metal cart with a wooden sitting board ,suspended over a rope which connected the two banks), and slid ahead in full force.We gaped as he reached the other end and pushed the cart back.The other porter followed suit. "Get in groups of two with your daypacks. We will move all the backpacks once all of you are on the other end"- our guide Govil instructed. A moment of contemplation, a last look at the bellowing Zanskar and the 10 of us exchanged glances - let the adventure begin! We quickly got into groups of two, sat crouched facing each other and crossed over to the other side. Except for a broken wooden plank on the sitting board below and a momentary suspension over the Zanskar mid way (not too pleasant a moment I can say), the ride was smooth enough. In an hour's time, all of us had crossed over.

Once the horseman had arrived with the mules,the backpacks and camping equipment were loaded.The first day trek was a 5 km hike from Chilling to Skyu , a virtual stroll compared to what was in store for us in the days ahead. But even a slight ascent would leave me exhausted and completely out of breath.I was realising the demands of high altitude trekking and hoped the body would adapt , which it quickly did over the course of the trek. The short trek got over by late afternoon when we reached our camping site at Skyu (3300m).

Our second day was a 20 km trek from Skyu to Markha at 3780m.We followed the meandering Markha River through groves of apricot, willow and poplar,looking out for grazing blue sheep (blue sheep is a misnomer,this variety of sheep found in the Ladakh region actually has a brownish-gray coloring providing them with protective camouflage.They often stand motionless,can be extremely difficult to spot and , when alarmed will swiftly bolt to safety). We spotted herds of blue sheep twice on the way,grazing high on the mountain tops,met nomadic horsemen and passed through remote villages and ancient gompas. On the hilltops around us were remains of ancient forts and fluttering prayer flags. The sun started beating down harshly as the day progressed. It almost felt like walking through a wild west movie with the ochre coloured cliffs and high folded mountains towering high across us all around.Water was running out fast and some guzzled from the glacial streams on the way. In the days to come, the sedimented water in a variety of colours from the glacial streams became our only source of drinking water, a fact we learnt to ignore, and thankfully our body immunity systems caught up.The campsite was near the Markha village where the last satellite phone would be available for the rest of the journey.We gathered exhausted ,sipping cups of hot tea and learnt from Govil that all the trekkers had retraced their way back from the Nimaling base camp. The Kongmaru La pass (5200m) was still closed , and no one had crossed over. We decided to figure out the final course of action once we reached the Nimaling base camp.

Markha to Hankar (4000m) is a 12 km trek to the highest village in the Markha Valley and the last before the Nimaling plateau.The path runs through frozen river beds , and we often had to cross streams with freezing water barefoot. The relatively heavy wooded sections of the Markha valley are left behind and the path runs through grassy ridges , with steep ascents at times.The weather was playing spoilsport and we could see snowfall in the distance." The horseman might refuse to proceed with the mules if it snows heavily at Nimaling.Carrying all the backpacks can be a huge burden", said Govil. In the event of crossing the pass without the mules around, we decided to let the horseman retrace with our luggage and camping equipment.

Hankar to Nimaling basecamp (4700m) is another high point of the trek. The trek from Hankar simply goes up,up and up! As we ascended, the Kang Yatse (6400m) comes into view. The Nimaling plain is a broad undulating meadow which slopes upwards to the base of the ice-clad Kang Yatze .It offers some of the most stunning views, and enroute is a lake with a shimmering reflection of the Kang Yatze.The tiny rivulets flowing all over its meadows provide pasturage in the summer.The camping site was on the other end of a frozen river.

The overcast clouds had disappeared , "there is an alternative pass which is used during winter that we can cross" - Govil said."You would need to climb the same height, but we don't know what the way ahead after you cross the pass looks like". We would need to descend to Shang Sumdo by evening where our maxi cab would be waiting to pick us up to Leh.Retracing back from Nimaling base camp didn't seem like a good idea.Once we climb the pass and reach the summit, the descent ahead should not be a problem , we asssumed.

As it turned out later , the summit was less than a halfway point, and assumptions in Himalayan trekking don't work.