The Mother of All Drives - Part 3. Darcha - Bara Lacha La - Tanglang La - Leh

At the start of the More Plains.

The road stretched straight as an arrow across the More Plains in a classic demonstration of parallel lines merging at infinity. In this case, the perceived distance of infinity was substantially more than that at sea level, thanks to the incredible clarity of the high altitude atmosphere, the lack of smoke stacks and the lack of moisture.

Whooping with delight, I slipped the transmission into fourth and floored the gas pedal. The overloaded Gypsy lumbered forth, accelerating slowly. Soon we were going at a fairly good clip and the landscape whizzed past, the occasional nomad family glimpsed in a blur. It was the first time since leaving Solang that we had achieved a speed exceeding 50 kmph and I was elated.

View from the edge of the More Plains

Our elation did not last long. Suddenly, the steering wheel seemed to be possessed - the whole contraption began to vibrate violently. I slowed down. The vibrations continued. My three companions looked rather concerned. I knew what they were thinking: without steering control, the next turn on these mountain roads could be fatal. I pressed down on the wheel in an effort to stop the vibrations. Soon, I was leaning with my full upper body weight on it and it seemed to help. I drove slowly in this positively inelegant fashion for quite a distance before easing off the pressure. We were almost at the other end of the More Plains and the first curves were in sight.

Looking back on the road - seen here as a faint line on the slopes to the left - leading up to the Tanglang La

Downshifting on the gears, I turned the steering gingerly. The Gypsy responded. With a sigh of relief, we continued. The Tanglang La, the highest pass (at 17,582 ft above sea level) ) on the Manali - Leh road loomed ahead many kilometres away and we kept our fingers crossed. It was cold and windy on the pass and a brief snow shower welcomed us. We lingered just long enough to thank the powers that be at the small shrine built and maintained by the Border Roads Organisation, the omnipotent entity without whose sterling work travel on the northern frontiers of India would be impossible.

The multi-faith (Indians should be proud of this!) shrine at the Tanglang La.

Leh was now only 111 kilometers distant and it would be downhill from here all the way.

Flashback to 14 June 2001. Rohtang Pass - Darcha

The escape from the hordes thronging Rohtang Pass was well timed and all four of us sighed with relief as we glided down to Khoksar and headed for Darcha. Every time that I have crossed the Rohtang Pass, the meaning of Rain Shadow has been driven home. On the Manali side of the road, rain falls copiously and the landscape is green and verdant, forests clothe the hillsides and clouds lie in the hollows. On the Lahul side of the pass, a sea change is immediately noticeable: the air feels drier, the hills assume a more rugged profile, the colours of the slopes take on more earthy shades of brown, beige, russet and ochre. The clarity in the air accentuates every ridge, every slope, every rock and pebble and imbues the world around with a subtle divinity.

We stopped briefly at Tandi bridge to refuel and as we turned off the road which leads further to Udaipur a shiver of anticipation ran through my being: the route from here onwards would be new to me. I had passed through Udaipur en route to climb Menthosa in 1986 (see http://taccidental.blogspot.ca/2012/08/menthosa-climb.html ) but the road to the Bara Lacha La and beyond would be a new experience. We reached Darcha at dusk and found a lodge on the roadside where we could spend the night.  The night was cold and chilly and the place was extremely quiet. We were the only tourists here and we savoured the exclusive solitude. We retired to bed early with instructions to the tea shop owner next door to wake us up at 4 am with a brew. I anticipated a long day ahead and it was imperative that we cross Pang before the authorities closed travel on the Pang - Leh section at 3 pm.

15 June 2001. Darcha - Bara Lacha La - Pang - Tanglang La - Leh.

It was well below freezing as we motored out of Darcha in the dark at 4:30 am. We drove in silence as the headlights picked out stretches of the road ahead, its feeble artificial glow competing with the splendour of the dawn as the world around us began to light up slowly. At Patseo, we crossed an Army check post where my license and the vehicle documents were checked and our passage registered. This ritual would be repeated many times on our way to Leh and we soon had a drill perfected: as soon as I spotted a check post ahead, I would slow down and come to a stop, Ravi would hop out with my license and the documents and trot briskly across, greet the soldiers with a cheerful smile, make small talk, complete the formalities and trot back to the Gypsy. Ravi had been born with a permanent smile and it was great to have him on board.

Approach to the Bara Lacha La

As the Gypsy laboured up towards the Bara Lacha pass I had to lock the front wheel hubs, engage the 4 WD gears  in Low mode and nurse the vehicle up in second gear. We were heavily loaded and I do not think the Gypsy had been designed to carry such a weight. A small bus carrying a group of BSF (Border Security Force) men and emblazoned on the front with the Swaraj Mazda logo soon overtook us as we crawled slowly towards the top of the pass. I envied the bus its diesel heart and the torque that it could pump out!

Suraj Tal - just before the crest of the Bara Lacha La

The music of Phil Collins and UB40 kept us humming to their beat, the reggae of the latter especially suited to our leisured progress.

At the Bara Lacha La. L to R : Franklyn, Franco, Ravi.

We stopped for a couple of pictures at the pass before beginning the long descent to Bharatpur, the oddly named collection of teashops and dhabas. The name was totally at variance with the more local names of the other stops on the route. A motley collection of vehicles was parked here, headed for Leh or Manali. There was a bus which had come all the way from Kashmir and I could only admire the stamina and fortitude of both the passengers and the driver for undertaking such a rigorous journey in the spartan comforts of public transport.  Suddenly, I noticed a truck mounted on a Tata 407 chassis which looked very familiar. On closer inspection, it turned out to be the same one I had seen at Auli a few weeks earlier on my return to Joshimath from the Bagini Glacier trek
(see http://accidentaltrekker.blogspot.ca/2014/04/bagini-bouquet.html ). I said hello to the crew, they were the staff of Rimo Expeditions, the outfit which had been in support of Harish Kapadia and Suman Dubey's expedition to the Nanda Devi Sanctuary and whom I had also bumped into at Auli!
(For Harish's account of that trip see : https://www.himalayanclub.org/hj/58/9/nanda-devi-juggernaut/)

Ice still covered parts of the fledgling Tsarap river as we descended from the Bara Lacha La

A Lahuli girl in one of the dhabas whipped up omelets for our breakfast in record time. Thus fortified, we drove onwards towards Sarchu, enjoying the rugged scenery. There was one more social call to make a few kilometres before Sarchu. We drove into a flat meadow dotted with tents and a sign declaring North Quest Adventures. Vijay, an acquaintance of Franco's, who managed this campground, pulled out some chairs while his staff plied us with biscuits and tea.

Bharatpur

Ravi taking advantage of a photo-op between Bharatpur and Sarchu

Vijay (left) plays the genial host at the North Quest Adventures camp ground.

Things went fairly smoothly after the steering wheel incident at the start of the More Plains, but we kept our fingers crossed nevertheless as we descended on the snowbound stretch below the Tanglang La. Sighting a herd of yaks cheered us up as the snow gave way to gravel lower down. Soon evening chai was called for and we pulled in at the 3B "restaurant" which was constructed from the ubiquitous old parachute cloth covering almost every tea shop on the route. As we waited for the tea an olive green Army Gypsy came to a halt outside and an extremely smart looking lady officer dismounted, accompanied by a private. She had a baton under her arm and her cap was planted authoritatively on her head. Though a ragged bunch in comparison, we almost sprang to attention like a couple of soldiers. She acknowledged us with a curt nod, spoke briefly with the tea shop owner, and strode out as quickly as she had come in.

"She is a doctor," whispered the chaiwalla to us as we sipped the refreshing liquid from the cups he now offered us.

Descent from the Tanglang La - the black dots in the middle distance are yaks

At Upshi the road joined the one coming from Mahe and as dusk fell we could finally see the mighty Indus as it flowed northwest towards Leh. It was almost dark when we passed through Shey, the famous whitewashed chortens looming and vanishing as the road took a slalom course through the monuments.

At 8 pm we arrived in Leh, almost fourteen hours after having left Darcha. We were tired and hungry and longed for a good night's sleep and almost immediately fell victim to the solicitation by the son of the owner of the Nezer View Guest House!

The next morning we drove to Choglamsar to a Maruti service station to have the steering wheel problem looked into and to contact a muleteer for the pack animals we would need for our trek from Martselang to the base of Kang Yaze, the peak we planned to climb. For that story, see http://taccidental.blogspot.ca/2014/10/kang-yaze-trekking-peak.html

Car wash at Choglamsar

For the moment, we were content to let the two enthusiastic boys wash down the grime of the journey from the Gypsy after the bearings supporting the shaft of the steering wheel had been replaced. These two boys were the most cheerful lads I have ever seen working in an auto repair facility anywhere in the world!

We left the vehicle in the premises of the Hotel Horizon on the evening of 18 June because our guest house had no parking space. It would remain there till the next phase of the drive. In the meantime, we had a mountain to climb!

to be continued.....

View from Nakee La

Refuelling en route

The Indus river at Choglamsar

The Mother of All Drives - Part 2. Raskat - Solang - Rohtang Pass

Hanuman Tibba 

12 June 2001. Raskat - Manikaran - Kullu - Manali - Solang.

Chaman Singh's house overlooked the courtyard of the local primary school. The cheerful chatter of excited children filled the air as they prepared for a few hours of learning while we checked that the car tyres had air in them and that there were no oil leaks lurking on their underbellies. Chaman's wife stuffed us graciously with a liberal helping of aloo parathas and chai. Thus fortified, we were ready to face the perils of the road once again.

Ready for school!

The school

Our host Chaman Singh Thakur

The overnight rain ensured that the drive back to Manikaran was less dusty than the afternoon before, but the ensuing mud on the road plastered our vehicles with fresh coats of various shades of brown. Thus decorated, we motored happily onwards till a long and stationary line of vehicles brought us to a grinding halt. As is the custom while driving in India, we got out of the cars, stretched our legs, relieved the hydraulic pressures that inevitably build up in certain sectors of the anatomy as a result of cold air and the constant bumping, then decided to investigate the cause of this massive traffic jam on a very narrow mountain road.

After walking for more than half a kilometer past the parked vehicles, we found the reason for the long line-up. The overnight rain had caused a landslide to block the road. Even as we watched with the throng that had gathered, workers were busy trying to clear the obstruction: mud and stones and a rather large boulder had come crashing down the hillside, creating a mini crater which was filled knee deep with water. One of the workers had carved a narrow channel to let out the water which gushed out in a muddy brown ribbon, gradually exposing an imposing bed of thick, glutinous mud. Other workers jumped into the fray, scooping and hurling out the mud with large tins slung on a pair of ropes attached to each side for two people to work in unison.

Meanwhile an excavating machine was busy clearing the larger stones, its loud throaty growl echoing from the cliffs around while a slim spiral of black diesel smoke wafted upwards into the clean mountain air. There were cars, buses, trucks and vans waiting on the other side as well. People waited patiently and no one seemed to mind the delay that this incident had caused them.

The exception to this arrived suddenly on the scene in the form of a young Israeli with long dreadlocks mounted on a Bullet motorcycle, weaving through the crowd of vehicles and people, till he was at the edge of the crater. Obviously he was in a tearing hurry to go somewhere because he ignored the assembled onlookers and even the workers who tried to prevent him and drove his motorcycle straight into the mud bath where predictably he got stuck, submerged up to his knees in the thick mud, his Bullet puttering out unceremoniously. After everyone had had a good laugh and muttering "Serves him right", some good souls helped this rather immature and reckless youth out of his predicament.

The man operating the excavator nudged the last big boulder with consummate skill into the jaws of the metal bucket and the road was now free of obstruction. We all cheered. Filling up the ditch took another hour or so. Without further ado, the traffic began to move and very soon we drove into Kullu and onwards to Manali. Our destination for the day was Solang, further up the highway, to rendezvous with Franco Linhares, the fourth member of the Drive to Ladakh quartet.

Franco had arrived in Solang a few weeks earlier where he was conducting Outdoor Leadership courses for a company. We drove into Solang just as he had finished work for the day and he helped us settle in for the night.

13 June 2001. A SMALL WALK TO BEAS KUND.

Since this was Cheryl and Rosalyn's very first trip to the Himalaya, it was only fair that they be introduced to the joys of hiking in the hills. With this end in mind, we drove the short distance to Dhundi where we parked. There was a little tea stall under the canopy of an old parachute here. A quick cuppa followed and we were ready to walk.

I soon realized why this small hike to Beas Kund is so popular with most people I had met. It is easy to approach and in the short space of a few kilometers brings you up close to the glaciers below the peak of Hanuman Tibba, traversing flower filled meadows en route. The views back down the valley are also quite splendid. This was a great introduction for Cheryl and Rosalyn who had never experienced anything like this in their lives. They were thrilled and I realized how much I had begun to take things for granted after many trips to the mountains. Looking at everything with their fresh perspective was a good lesson in humility.

Franco lends a chivalrous hand to Sushma

The view down the valley

Deo Tibba rises behind the ridge

That evening we drove to Manali for a dinner of delicious momos, topped up our fuel tanks and bought an extra 30 liters which would come in handy for the long stretch between Udaipur and Leh where there were no fuel pumps.


14 June 2001. Solang - Rohtang Pass.

The plan was that Raj and the girls would accompany us in his little white car up to the Rohtang Pass where we would part company. The girls would have a modest altitude record (13,050 ft) in their resume and could return to Delhi contented while we would get down to the business of descending to Lahul and driving on to Leh.

A cold rain began to fall as we climbed past Marhi towards the pass. The road was pockmarked with potholes, but this did not deter the hundreds of vehicles heading upwards. We soon passed little stalls offering warm hats, jackets and boots for sale and for hire to the thousands of tourists determined to reach the pass. As we neared the top, a section of the road had an impressive snow bank as a white bulwark which stretched for a couple of hundred yards. Some entrepreneural soul had seized the opportunity to carve out a pair of throne-like recesses in the snow and offered these seats briefly for a fee to the hundreds of freshly married couples who regularly make Manali their honeymoon destination every year. He was doing brisk business as the line up of cars along this stretch attested, delaying us further.

Eventually we reached the top of the pass and I was shocked at the transformation I saw from 16 years earlier when I had passed that way. In August 1985, the pass was a desolate place with wind and rain as we crossed it in a public bus (see http://taccidental.blogspot.ca/2012/06/lion-peak-seed-is-sown.html), there was no one in sight, and the bus driver had stopped expressly at our request so we could take a few pictures.

Now, it resembled a mini Kumbh Mela, with hundreds of people milling around and a chain of tea shops and small eateries and vendors roasting corn on small portable coal grills and "guides" soliciting the tourists. There were ponies available for hire for those who did not wish to walk to what the guides called "Snow Point". Everyone seemed to be heading for  Snow Point! Though it was highly amusing, I could understand the underlying desire of a tourist from the plains who had never set eyes on snow to want to experience it at first hand and have a tale to tell the folks back home. If you consider that India has a population of over a billion people, and that perhaps more than 98% of that number live in places which will never see snow until the next Ice Age, you can begin to comprehend the mania that we were caught up in! Since Sushma, Cheryl and Rosalyn also belonged to the 98%, we joined the trot to Snow Point!

We walked and we walked and we walked and there was no sign of any snow anywhere. The sleet and the wind stung our faces like little insects while our boots squelched on ground that was a sea of mud. We stopped someone who was on his way back. "How much further is it to Snow Point?" we asked him. He laughed derisively and said,"What a load of bullshit this is! There is a patch of old snow which looks more brown than white and it will take you half an hour to get there! These guides are taking everyone for a ride...."

By this time, Sushma was so cold that she had ceased to talk - this was serious, because under normal circumstances you had to gag her if you wanted her to shut up! Though she lives in Delhi, she has always considered the winters a challenge. More importantly, the futile trek towards Snow Point was eating into the driving time for the Ladakh Quartet. Sensibly, we decided to turn around and headed straight for a tea shop where we warmed up with a farewell round of chai.

L to R : Aloke, Ravi, Franklyn, Franco, Rosalyn, Sushma, Cheryl, Raj

We wished Raj and the girls a safe trip back to Delhi, fastened our after-market seat belts, turned on the cassette player so that Dire Straits belting out Sultans of Swing drowned out the buzz of the multitudes. I pointed the Gypsy in the direction of Lahul, engaged the gears, and cruised down the empty north side of the pass. We descended out from the clouds and into glorious sunshine. I took it as a good omen for The Mother of All Drives.

to be continued....