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...

The Mother of All Drives - Part 5. Tso Moriri - Polongka La - Pang - Chhatru.

Descent from the Polongka La

5 July 2001. Karzok / Tso Moriri - Polongka La - Pang.

I have always considered the ubiquitous omelet, made Indian style with freshly cracked eggs, chopped onions, chopped green chillies and chopped tomatoes - all whisked into a glutinous semi liquid paste and poured directly on to a pan sizzling with hot oil - a great way to start the day when at altitude and when the morning is crisp and cold. The last thing I worry about are the calories and the cholesterol.

The enticing aroma of just such a treat wafted through the small tea shop in Karzok where we sat ourselves down for breakfast. There was a sprinkling of people, intrepid backpackers and globetrotters included, hunkering down under the parachute cloth ceiling. Our omelets soon reached us and as we began to wolf it down, we were interrupted by a petite young girl speaking with a distinctly American accent.

"Oooh! Eggs! That is just awesome, I didn't know you could get eggs here!" she said.

I glanced up and saw a Chinese face looking at our plates.

"Sure you can," I said. "Just tell the cook to bring you some before his stock is depleted!"

"Oh my God! Thank you, thank you, I will, I will!" She ran over to the kitchen side of the establishment and when she returned she looked extremely pleased with herself. It turned out that she and her friend (also Chinese) were from New York and their staple food during their sojourn in Ladakh had been Maggi noodles. The third person in their group was a pleasant middle aged English woman who had decided to see Ladakh after attending her daughter's wedding to an Indian in Kerala.

"Are you serious?" I said, "You have been living off the instant 2 minute Maggi noodles all this time?"

"Ooh," she squealed again, "I think they are delicious! I have never tasted anything like it in New York. I am going to take a whole box of Maggi packets when I go back!"

I looked at her incredulously, shook my head and went back to eating my omelet.

It was a perfect morning perfectly suited to the pursuit of soaking in the gorgeous landscape.

Tso Moriri in the morning

But we had plans to make it to Pang before the curfew was clamped down on the Leh-Manali highway and so, reluctantly, we drove slowly out of Karzok. It was 8:30 am and we reckoned we had ample time to cover the distance. We passed some cyclists on the rough gravel road and admired their grit and tenacity.

The road on the shores of Tso Moriri was an absolute delight

In two hours' time we came to a fork in the road and took the one which would lead us over the Polongka La and into the valley of the Tso Kar. We drove through a stretch of country that was bristling with salt deposits and we even passed the remains of what seemed to have been a salt processing plant. Now it stood mute and disused, perhaps a forlorn testimony to the challenges of trying to do business at these altitudes and in the harsh climate.

The salt flats beyond Puga

A very rough stretch of track followed, rising steeply to the pass. The Gypsy required the 4WD low setting and the first gear to tackle the terrain all the way to the crest. My Suunto watch altimeter indicated a height of 4950 m / 16236 ft at the pass. Since leaving Tso Moriri we had not seen another vehicle or human, the route we had chosen was obviously rarely traversed. We reveled in the sense of isolation and remoteness. On the downside, if we were to have a mechanical breakdown, we would pretty much have to walk out of the area with just the clothes on our backs.

The Polongka La (4950m) 

A long gradual descent to the valley of the Tso Kar followed, the road becoming indistinct and often we would be following old and faint tyre tracks on the sand. Short grass growing in a sparse fashion added a green hue to the landscape, dominated by gentle brown snow clad  mountains under blue skies punctuated by beautiful white clouds. Various species of ducks populated the waters of the lake, often skimming over the surface in short bursts of flight. The Ladakhi pop singer Phunchok Dorjay's album Thundel played in the cassette player, his melodious songs wafting effortlessly into the ether.
(For a sample of his latest numbers check out http://www.saavn.com/s/Thundel )

Tso Kar

Finally we rejoined the Leh-Manali metalled road on the More Plains, about 40 km before Pang. The fuel indicator showed that we were running low on petrol. Using four wheel drive and low gears had been steadily eroding the supply in the tank. We refuelled about 6 km before Pang, emptying the contents of our 20 litre container with the help of a short length of rubber tubing attached to a plastic funnel. The day before we had used up the contents of the 35 litre container on the way to Tso Moriri. I  hoped that we would have enough to last us up to the pump at Tandi bridge.

We reached Pang at around 3 pm, only to be told that the "gate" for further travel to Manali had closed at two o'clock. My driving license had to be surrendered to the check post for the night, to ensure that I did not entertain any foolish notions of slinking out of Pang in the cover of darkness. This was a regular procedure. We were not the only ones to miss the deadline. There was a little collection of jeep taxis and vans and cars clustered around the little village of parachute-cloth tents which spring up in the summer months to cater to stranded travellers. We found accommodation in the form of sleeping space in one of these and spent the evening going for a bracing walk above the highway.

Walking above Pang

On our return to the tent lodge, I was impressed by the young lad who was single handedly cooking and serving hot rice, dal and vegetables to a hungry clientele. His cooking was excellent and his service skills even better. It was not the first time that I had marvelled at the talent of people like him slaving away in unknown corners of the world. They would never make it to the glossy pages of Conde Nast Traveller, but they would always leave a lifelong impression on me.

The cook and innkeeper

6 July 2001. Pang - Sarchu - Bara Lacha La - Chhatroo.

Outside our tent motel

I was among the first in queue in the morning to retrieve my license from the check post guards. We set off at 7:30 am after a quick breakfast (of omelets, what else!) but within 20 minutes of driving the Gypsy sputtered to a halt.

I alighted from the vehicle and opened the hood with trepidation, not knowing what I would find. Everything seemed in order. On closer inspection I noticed that the wire attached to one of the battery terminals had worked itself loose. I reconnected the wire, tightened the clamps holding it in place with a small spanner and turned on the ignition. The Gypsy came to life. We all sighed with relief. Since it was a gorgeous morning in a gorgeous location, I was compelled to take a picture before moving on!

The rest of the drive passed pleasantly enough and without incident: a coffee break with Vijay Dutt at his Northwest Adventures camp site near Sarchu, lunch at Bharatpur below the Bara Lacha pass, a refuel stop at the Tandi bridge pump and onwards through Khoksar and Gramphoo towards Batal where we planned to spend the night before crossing the Kunzum La into Spiti. My plan was to return to Delhi via Spiti and Kinnaur and Shimla, thus avoiding repeating the drive from Rohtang and Manali to the plains.

The distance from Pang to Batal was only about 275 km but I had not reckoned with the mountain roads, our leisurely pace of travel and our frequent stops. The sun had set and it was getting quite dark as we tackled the stretch from Gramphoo to Chhatru. The stretch along the Chandra river in this part of Lahul is extremely rugged. There were waterfalls cascading off the cliffs to our right straight on to the road and driving through them provided us with a free car wash. The headlights picked out the potholes  as we progressed slowly and the sheer drop on our left to the torrent below kept me alert and nervous.

We crossed the bridge at Chhatroo to the true right bank of the river and immediately halted at one of the few teashops for dinner. We asked the owner if we could spend the night here and he agreed. Relieved of the anxiety of further night driving we relaxed and settled down to enjoy the simple and wholesome dal bhat sabji dinner.

Chhatroo owes its importance to being the pit stop for travellers taking the Kullu - Kaza bus. I had camped here with Bir Singh on a meadow above the road in Sept 1985 after descending the Chota Shigri glacier from the Sara Umga Pass.
(See http://taccidental.blogspot.ca/2012/07/sara-umga-la-follow-sheep.html). Running out of kerosene for my little Primus stove, I had bought some diesel to keep it going and I can still remember the acrid flavour of our dinners laced with the sulphur fumes of the fuel!

Now, sixteen years later, our entertainment arrived suddenly in the form of five Israeli youth - four males and a female - who tumbled out of a Sumo at around ten o'clock in the evening in the darkness. They were having an animated argument amongst themselves and seemed quite agitated. The driver of the Sumo followed, shaking his head in a gesture of resignation.

"What's up?" we asked him.

"These people hired me to drive them to Chandratal from Manali. We left at 6 in the morning, reached Chandratal by afternoon, they spent a couple of hours there - more than they should have done, given the fact that they wanted to be back  in Manali this evening - and now they insist that I drive them all the back in the dark to Manali!"

"That's a bad idea," I cautioned him. "I have just driven the stretch from Gramphoo to here. There has been a lot of rain up above the road and it is in pretty bad shape. You would be risking your life and theirs by tempting fate. "

"They are offering me five hundred rupees more if I get them to Manali tonight. I've told them that I am exhausted."

"Five hundred rupees is not worth your life," I tried to reason with him. Spend the night here and go back at first light."

We entered the teashop where his clients had already ordered some food. We exchanged cursory hellos and I reiterated that they should not coerce their driver to drive in these conditions, the risk was unnecessary. It was well past ten o'clock and we rolled out our sleeping bags, sought out some appropriate spots in the inner recesses of the shack and promptly fell off to sleep. It had been a long day for us and we planned to make an early start on the morrow.

to be continued....