The Mother of All Drives - Part 6. Chattru - Chandratal - Kunzum La - Kaza.

The exquisite Chandratal

07 July 2001. Chhatru - Batal - Chandratal - Kunzum La - Kaza

It was uncannily quiet as we prepared to depart Chhatru in the faint cold light of pre-dawn. We soon realised that the Israelis had succeeded in inducing their driver to take them to Manali in the middle of the night while we slept.

Waterfall at Chhatru

At 4:20 am we hit the road once again, excited to be on the move and looking forward to the drive to Chandratal. Sixteen years earlier, I had trekked to Chandratal from the Kunzum La as the road to this high altitude lake did not exist then.
(See http://taccidental.blogspot.ca/2012/07/lion-peak-retreat.html )

It took us a little over two hours to cover the 30 km to Batal. The gravel road deteriorated as it wound in and out between boulders, crossed flowing stream beds and at times almost disappeared in the jagged landscape. The Chandra river to our right soon became a broad swathe of braided streams. The terminal moraines of the Chota Shigri and the Bara Shigri glaciers hove into view at a distance on the far bank and as the sun rose the summit snows of Dharamsura and Papsura reflected it back to the world below in a blinding silver light.

The terminal moraine of the Chota Shigri glacier looms on the other side of the valley

The terminal moraine of the Bara Shigri glacier across the Chandra river

The tea shop at Batal was a welcome break for an omelet and bread breakfast. The road now wound its way up to the Kunzum La in a series of switchbacks. At one of these, we left the main road and took an offshoot headed in the direction of Chandratal.

The fast flowing Chandra river at Batal. The sharp pointed peak in the background is Dharamsura.

The stretch of approximately 15 km to the lake was terrifying in parts as the Gypsy wobbled slowly in 4WD mode, tilting dangerously to the left where the extremely narrow road dropped sheer to the Chandra river flowing hundreds of feet below. A bad manoeuvre here would have been disastrous for men and machine alike. My fingers clutching the steering wheel visibly relaxed as we cleared the perilous passage and the road debouched on to a broad valley.

We stopped at the designated parking spot, about one kilometre before the lake, as the Himachal Tourism sign urged us to do. In fact the sign went on to state that driving up to the shores of the lake was prohibited and that trespassers would be prosecuted. It further explained that visitors should be consciously aware of the fragile ecology and be mindful not to cause further damage.

We walked the remainder of the distance to the lake and were surprised to see two Sumos, one Safari and one motorbike parked close to the shore. The persons in these vehicles obviously had no fear of being prosecuted.

There were two tents pitched in the area, another big mess tent and, close to the water, a small dhaba under a blue HDPE sheet. The dhaba was manned by a shepherd who had decided to capitalise on the revenue that tourists and day trippers now brought to Chandratal, thanks to the construction of the road. Though Chandratal had lost some of its magic since my last visit, it was still gorgeously beautiful. While the building of much needed infrastructure in the Himalaya cannot be denied, providing easy access to hitherto remote places of pristine beauty and wilderness is a debatable point - the increase in the number of human visitors throws up some serious conservation challenges. For the record, I do feel like a hypocrite stating that, having myself taken advantage of such conveniences to reach places which, without access roads, might have taken weeks or even months of effort on foot!

For the moment, we took advantage of the cuisine that the dhaba offered: tea, biscuits, and Maggi noodles! We could not help but remember the young American fan of Maggi we had met the morning before at Karzok as we shovelled the noodles down our throats.
(See http://accidentaldriver.blogspot.ca/2015/02/the-mother-of-all-drives-part-5-tso.html)

With our bellies full, we walked back to the Gypsy and began the drive back. We were barely a kilometre on the road when we noticed three sturdy men walking on the road in our direction. As they stepped aside to let us pass I noticed that one of them looked rather familiar. I stopped the Gypsy, stepped out of the vehicle, and greeted Narinder Chauhan with a hearty hello and a hug. We had climbed together just two years earlier in the Kumaon during the Burphu Dhura expedition.
(See http://taccidental.blogspot.ca/2014/07/burphu-dhura-part-2-fin-too-far.html)

Narinder Chauhan in the centre. Franklyn on extreme left. Franco (right) and I 

I had also met with his wife and son at their home in Bhagsu at the end of a trek in the Dhauladhar.
(See http://accidentaltrekker.blogspot.ca/2013/06/across-jalsu.html).
It was truly an incredible coincidence that I had three encounters in the space of three years with someone who lived in a world far removed from the urban jungle of Mumbai. Narinder and his two companions were on their way to guide a trekking and climbing group from the UK who were already on their way to the glaciers beyond Chandratal.

We wished them luck and were soon on our way again. In the distance, we could see the stretch of perilously narrow road above a sheer drop. A billowing cloud of dust indicated an approaching vehicle on that portion. We waited at a place broad enough for two vehicles to pass.

The approaching vehicle turned out to be a white Gypsy with two doctors from the town of Mandi on their very first outing. They stopped when they saw us, we exchanged greetings and then they popped the question.

"Would you have any spare fuel to sell to us? We did not budget for this distance to Chandratal from Manali and were under the impression that there would be a fuel pump somewhere along the road! Now we are not sure if we have enough to get us back safely to Manali."

Being their first time out like this, I could understand their oversight.

"Ten litres is about all we can spare," I said. "We still have a long way to Kaza where the next pump can be found."

We drained the ten liters from our spare 30 litre can, they thanked us and gave us the money and their business cards, we wished them luck and a safe journey, and headed up towards the Kunzum La, the 15,000 ft pass that separates the Lahul and Spiti districts.

The Kunzum La

The Kunzum La in August 1998, when I crossed it on the Kaza - Kullu public bus

View towards Lahul from the Kunzum La - August 1998

View towards Spiti from the Kunzum La - August 1998

Descending to Losar by 1:40 pm, we were in time for lunch at this small village, our first stop in Spiti. The afternoon drive was enlivened by roads that seemed to be made of constantly crumbling mud. The overall colour scheme was pale yellow laced with brown.

Losar

We encountered some rain when we reached flatter ground and as we passed the village of Rangrik, 12 km before Kaza, there was a sudden and loud metallic sound. A piece of our Gypsy parted company with the chassis. The rattling noise continued to emanate from the front underside and we stopped to investigate. The front left leaf spring had broken and the remaining flat sheets of metal comprising the unit had only the bands holding them together. We walked back on the road and found the missing part and threw it in at the back with our luggage.

Not really having any options, we continued to drive the remaining distance to Kaza, the extra rattling now adding a metronomic, albeit harsh, cadence to our journey.

The final stretch to Kaza

At 5 pm we drove into Kaza, the district headquarter town of Spiti, and were lucky to locate an auto repair facility. In two hours the industrious mechanic had fashioned new springs to replace our broken unit. We found some excellent accommodation at the Kaza Gompha, treated ourselves to a hot water bath followed by thukpa for dinner.

The STD/ISD telephone lines were down so we could not make any calls to friends or family. This was in the era before the cell phone revolution, but that did not really bother us. After all, one goes to the mountains to escape the chains that bind (and occasionally choke!) us. Night descended and we surrendered ourselves to a blissful slumber.

to be continued...